The Right Fit

Chapter 27

Something like confusion flashed in her eyes and then her features softened. Maxine kissed his earlobe. “A new beginning,” she repeated. “Sounds like a good name for a nail polish.” They both laughed, brushing the seriousness of the moment to the edges of the room.

She cleared her throat then squinted at his lip. “Did the doctor give you any antibiotic cream?”

“Uh…no.”

“You should be putting vitamin E on your stitches. You’ll scar less and it helps healing. I’ve got some you can have. What do you use for cleanser? Are you drinking enough water?” Without waiting for an answer, she pulled him over to a kitchen stool. “Sit here, I’m going to give you a facial.” “A facial?”

“You’ll love it, Antony!” She went to the closet by the door and began to pull out several large bags. “I have all kinds of samples, plus I’ve been working on my own formulas.”

Antony spied the fridge. “Formulas?” he asked. “Essential oils, acids…” her voice became muffled

as she leaned deeper into the bag.

He opened the freezer and stuck his face in the frosty air, feeling instant relief. There was a half-empty ice cube tray. He rolled his eyes. Why do women never have a full ice cube tray? He moved a bag of frozen peas out of the way then his hand paused. Way at the back was a small container of chocolate ice cream. A label with ‘Johnny’ was stuck on the side.

“Do you have any allergies?” she asked. “It feels weird asking you these questions.”

“Uh…non,” Antony shut the freezer, holding an ice cube to his lip.

Maxine spread a white cloth over the kitchen counter and started to assemble her equipment of small bowls and a fist full of cotton swabs. She pulled her hair into a ponytail then sat him on a stool.

Antony took in the array of tiny bottles and jars. “You are like scientist?”

She laughed. “I love the whole science behind cosmetics.” She tilted his chin up and leaned in. “Anyone can make their own cosmetics if you have the right distributors.”

He smiled under her touch. “Even nail polish?” he teased. “You could be fortune teller and makeup lady all at once.”

A rosy glow bloomed on her cheeks. “I’ve been doing some research about opening my own little shop.” She turned and busied herself by unscrewing a few jars. “But it’s a far off dream, something fun to think about on rainy days.”

“Dreams are important.”

She stopped for a moment, her back still to him. “What would be best part of owning little shop?”

he asked. The ice cube was melting against his lip. He put it on the corner of the towel and dried his fingers.

Maxine turned her chin and gave him such a sweet smile over her shoulder he wished he had a photographic memory. “Making people feel beautiful,” she told him.

He reached out and twirled the end of her ponytail in his fingers. “Don’t you mean look beautiful.”

She shook her head. “No. When I was in high school, my Aunt Margo was going through chemotherapy for breast cancer. She’s completely recovered, but back then her hair was falling out, and

she felt miserable. The hospital had a program where makeup artists and hair stylists specializing in wigs would hold teaching sessions. I went with her one time and even though I already had a dresser loaded up with makeup, when I saw the transformation in my aunt’s spirit and the other women in the room, I was completely hooked.”

“By what?”

“The power of makeup,” her voice picked up speed. “And how there were so many tricks to applying it different ways. There was a man who talked about style and brought in all these gorgeous wigs and clothes.” Dimples appeared on either side of her smile.

“That was Carmine. When I walked into his shop years later I had no idea who he was, but he remembered me,”—she shrugged—“well, he remembered my hair.”

“Mais bien sûr, but of course. Go for dream and open little shop.”

“It’s not that easy,” she said. “You should know, being a small business owner yourself.”

Antony frowned at her.

“Or maybe not so small?” She laughed. “I guess having a towing business and garage is different than retail.”

“Ah, oui.” He squirmed on the stool. “Different.”

She waited a moment. Antony felt she was waiting for him to elaborate. “What would name of little shop be?” he asked.

The tips of her ears reddened. “I’m not sure.

Besides, it’s only for fun.” “You have name.” “Maybe.”

“Tell me,” he pressed. “Do I have to guess?” “No.”

“Maxine’s Makeovers?” “No, that’s terrible.”

“Mad Max Makes Makeup.”

Her eyes widened. “How did you guess?” “Really?”

“No!” She slapped his arm. “That’s a horrible name for my store. The real name, or at least what I imagine the name would be is…”

“Oui?”

Maxine let out a sigh. “Beauty Full. It’s a play on words, like you’re full of beauty inside and out.” She couldn’t hold his stare. “But like I said, it’s a far off dream.”

“C’est bon. C’est perfect.”

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes lingered on his mouth, and he started to feel warm. “Are you sure about the no kissing rule?” she asked.

He closed his eyes, trying to fight the impulses and then nodded.

“Then go in my bathroom and wash your face with warm water. I’m giving you a facial, remember?” She motioned down the hallway. “Try not to escape out the window this time.”

“Oui,” He winked. Antony paused at her bedroom door, then pushed it open. It he hadn’t been in a fight, they would have been here right now. He glanced at the bed and frowned at the disarray.

For someone who was planning on jumping into his arms and hustling down the hall to make love, Maxine didn’t even clear the bed off. She had piles of sweaters in various colors scattered over the spread. A box was on the floor with identical white cards spilled out face down.

Antony looked at the blank cards and was inspired. He went to her bedside table, looking for something to write with, but there was only a fashion magazine, cotton candy flavored lip balm, and an empty glass. Opening the top drawer, he found a pen clipped to a newspaper crossword puzzle, completely filled out in ink, perfectly.

“Bring out a facecloth with you, okay?” her voice sang down the hallway

“Oui,” he said distractedly, tapping his chin with the pen.

He wanted to keep the phrases simple but clear enough to let her know how he felt. Antony was impressed with how romantic he’d become. He’d never made flashcards for anyone.

Je t’adore

Embrasses-moi—Kiss me. Perfect for when his stitches come out.

Tu es belle

He wrote the next phrase automatically. Je t’aime. “I love you,” he whispered, or at least he loved being with her and loved what they were becoming.

“Antony?” her voice was closer. “Please don’t tell me you’ve gone through the window again.”

“Ici,” he said, jumping up, tucking the cards behind his back. He met her in the hallway just as she was coming to the doorframe.

“This will be fun.” She smiled. “Wait, where’s the face cloth? Never mind I’ll get it. You go back on the stool.” Then she called over her shoulder. “Maybe we can order a pizza or something?”

“Uh-huh,” Antony sat on the stool and flipped through the cards again. “Oh shit,” he whispered, seeing the fancy scrolling on the other side of the cards. He thought they were all blank. Then he studied the words. The stool felt like it was tipping on its side. His English was able to decipher enough to uncode what he was looking at—a wedding invitation.

Maxine’s wedding invitation.

Maxine Nicholls and Johnny Delong along with their parents…

pleasure of your company on June 29…

Antony felt like he was getting punched by Bachlahov all over again. Maxine would be married to another man in four months.