Page 11 of Maid For Each Other

Set up?I nodded dumbly. “Sure.”

Apparently the one-syllable word was all they needed, because it was on after that. I stood, off to the side, watching in awe as they went to work “setting up.” In fewer than five minutes, they had the fancy dining area looking like a dressing room.

A huge three-way mirror had been erected on top of the table, and a cartful of hair-styling implements—blow dryers, curling irons, tools I couldn’t name—had been unpacked and plugged in.

There was a giant tackle box full of makeup sitting wide-open on the surface, and as I watched, the small guy unfolded a director’s chair and set it in front of the mirror.

The trio looked over at me, and the woman said, “Are you ready?”

“I guess I’m, uh…,” I said, not wanting to sound like I didn’t know what was going on when I totally had no idea what was going on. It looked like they were all loaded-out to do my hair and makeup, but who was going to be paying for it? I surely couldn’t afford this kind of treatment, and to be honest, I wasn’t interested even if I could.

I’d never been talented with makeup, and my hair had its own unruly curls that did whatever they wanted, so I’d decided in tenth grade that the “natural look” was my jam. A little blush and mascara, a messy bun—I pretty much called it good at that.

But this? This scared me. I tried sounding unfazed when I said, “I just realized that Declan forgot to leave me his card when he left. Let me give him a call—”

“We don’t need a card,” the woman said. “We’ll just bill Mr. Powell.”

“Who?”

“Declan…?” The woman’s eyebrows furrowed together just the tiniest bit.

“Oh,” I nearly shouted, my cheeks getting hot as I tried recovering. I hadn’t even realized that I had zero idea what my fake boyfriend’s/potential murderer’s last name was.

Powell. Declan Powell.

I spoke quickly when I said, “I thought you said Mr. Lowell, which is my uncle’s last name, so I got super confused for a second. Don’t mind me. You meant Declan. Duh.”

And then I fell into some ridiculous fake giggles that made me want to punch myself.

Thankfully, the trio laughed and didn’t look suspicious.

The redhead gestured to the chair with his arms in a sweepingplease sit down heremotion.

“Okay,” I said, pulling the robe tighter still before walking over and taking a seat in front of the mirrors. The face that stared back at me was shiny and embarrassed, and as three strangers watched me like they were waiting for a sign, the moment feltexcruciating. “I’m new to…whatever this is, so do I need to, like, tell you anything here, or should I shut up and let you do your thing?”

“We are more than happy to proceed however you wish,” the blond guy said, leaning down to grin at me in the mirror. “But if youdoshut up and let us do our thing, you won’t be disappointed.”

“Shutting up, then,” I said, gesturing that I was locking my lips. “What are your names, by the way?”

“I am Johnny,” the redhead said from behind me, looking very serious in the mirror as he squirted some sort of hair product into his palm. “I’ll be styling your hair.”

“And I’m Katarina,” said the blond woman, also not smiling. “Your makeup artist.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, watching Johnny as he rubbed his hands together, evenly dispensing the goop to both palms while staring at the top of my head.

“When they’re finished, I will dress you,” the blond guy said. “I’m Edward, a stylist.”

“Nice to meet you,” I repeated, wondering yet again if I was dreaming. Like, this couldn’t really be happening, right?

“I would like to cut this to your shoulders,” Johnny said, running both hands over my hair. “What are your thoughts?”

I looked in the mirror and wasn’t sure. I’d always had long hair. Always. It felt like I should refuse, because (a) it was ridiculous to get my length taken off for one night, and (b) even though he looked cool, I didn’t have a clue as to how good Johnny was with a pair of scissors.

He could be the one responsible for micro-bangs, for all I knew.

Johnny Scissorhands.

But it also occurred to me, as I sat in the luxurious makeshift dressing room, that I’d never have this chance again.

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