Page 3 of Locked Down In Watch Hill
TWO
ASHLEY
Deliveries—the onebright spot of my current life.
Over the last few months, I’d spent so much time at home, almost never leaving my apartment, that I’d come to regard the occasional drop-off from a delivery driver as an event, something that qualified as the highlight of my day. A ten-second interaction, sometimes less, and sometimes a moment that came only with the silent thud from a person leaving a package on my doorstep before slinking away without a word.
But nonetheless, an event.
I leaned closer to the mirror, examining my face. It had been so long since I’d put on a full face of makeup that I had almost forgotten how. The compacts, mascaras, tubes of lipstick, and palette of eyeshadow on the bathroom counter were all strangers now, relics of a former life, one where I needed to be presentable every day at work, one where I had a commute, happy hours to attend, trips to plan, brunches to eat, and an Instagram account to maintain.
Now, I went days without opening that stuff.
Still, I could use a little spruce up. If I greeted the pizza delivery driver with some makeup on my face, I might feel better about the fact that I was about to be alone with nothing but a bottle of white wine for company, and my own misery to hold me tight.
I unscrewed the cap on the BB cream and patted a gob on my cheek. Then I rubbed some on my chin, and a little more on my forehead.There, that’s better.Once finished with the foundation, I opened the compact of loose powder topped with a small blending brush. After that came a swipe of mascara on my eyelashes and some blush on my cheeks.Even better still.
For once, I didn’t look like sunken, hollowed-out mess.
“Give me a second,” I called, when the doorbell rang.
I slipped on the mask hanging from the hook by the door. I hated wearing it just to get a delivery, but I’d been exposed to someone who had the virus and I didn’t want to risk giving anything to anyone else. Still, it felt odd. I didn’t have any symptoms, and I’d been taking my temperature every four or five hours for the last few days. Always normal. I pulled the door open a few inches. I knew I could have just instructed them to leave the dinner on the welcome mat, but I wanted—needed—to see someone else. There was something about having my gaze catch with another person, something about the mere act of saying hello...
“Kyle?” I stepped back from the doorway. “Is that you?”
“Yes.”
“Kyle Ross, right?”
Good Lord, I remembered this man. He was gorgeous to look at, but he’d also been fun. Witty and intelligent. And now he was here. In front of me.
“Guilty as charged.” He held the large pizza box and a smaller container of garlic knots in his hand. “And you’re Ashley Stevens from New Year’s Eve, aren’t you?” The skin crinkled around his eyes, so I guessed he smiled underneath the white mask he wore with the Watch Hill Pizza logo stenciled in the center. “From The Frosted Heart.”
“Same one.” I laughed once, realizing I was smiling too. Not that he could see that underneath the black fabric across my mouth and cheeks. “We did the vodka shots.”
“Yep, and you were telling me all about the different ones. I didn’t realize there was such an art to the ordering of a vodka and club soda.”
“There is, thanks to that semester abroad I did in Finland.”
“Probably the first person I know who did a college semester abroad in some place other than London or Paris.”
“Trust me, if you ever get to go to Finland, you’ll love it.”
His eyes softened. “Of course, travel like that seems so far away right now.”
“I know. We used to travel so easily, as if it all was no big deal. We just went to the Bahamas, or Canada, or .. . or ...” My breath caught on something raw about that sentence, and I pushed away the emotion. “I was supposed to be in Mexico this weekend. Cabo, actually. And then I had to cancel it.”
