Page 75 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
“Much. Now you’re just an ordinary bloke taking his girlfriend Christmas shopping.” She pauses, studying my face. “You look nervous.”
Of course I’m fucking nervous. Two reasons. First, I’m wedged in a crowd, with no quick exit, next to a woman who turns heads—tall, blonde, that red coat. I’m praying they notice her and not me. Second, I’m about to go shopping, and I hate it: overheated air, the same four Christmas songs on a loop, salespeople hovering, queues, pissing about over near-identical choices.It’s all standing still when what I want is a back door and breathing room. Unless it’s for her.
“Do I?” I jam my hands deeper into my pockets, thumb worrying the edge of my sunglasses.
“Terrified actually. It’s kind of cute.”
Behind us, two doormen appear, and the crowd surges forward towards the revolving doors. We’re swept along with them. Inside, we edge past tourists stopping for photos.
“This way.” Rachel grabs my hand and tugs me away from a determined group swarming the escalators, into an area of gleaming glass counters.
“Beauty Hall first. Fair warning—this could take a while.”
We’re met with a suffocating cloud of competing perfumes. Everything is black lacquer and gold trim—and mirrors. So many mirrors it feels like I’ve walked into a funhouse, seeing my slightly bewildered face reflected from different angles as I trail along behind her.
A sales assistant glides over to us—crisp black uniform, helpful smile and flawless makeup.
“I’m thinking of this for Geordie.” Rachel waves a perfume card in the air, then brings it to her nose. “Unisex.” She offers it to me. “I’m surprised you chose this one next off the list. Every guy I’ve ever known hates shopping. Most refused point blank.”
I breathe in the scent—clean, woody, not terrible.
“Why d’you think I’m here then?”
“Good question.” She’s watching me carefully now. “But you tell me. Why are you here, Teddy?”
The direct question catches me off guard. Around us, the Beauty Hall buzzes with activity—women testing lipsticks, couples debating fragrances. I could give her the easy answer, the charming one.
“Because every other guy probably chose the easier options,” I say instead. “I figured if I’m trying to show you I’m different, I need to actually be different. Even if it means learning the difference between whatever you’re waving at me and the fifty other bottles in that case.”
She nods to the assistant—she’ll take the perfume—then turns back to me. “So you don’t normally go shopping with the women you date?”
“Never. You’re my first.”
Her expression softens. “That’s either the sweetest thing or the slickest line.” She pauses, finger resting against her lips, then smiles. “But I’m going to go with sweet.”
Sweet. I’ll take that. Better than any line I could throw at her.
“Careful, though.” I glance around, making a show of it, then dip in close, my lips grazing her ear. Her hair smells of tropical flowers—lush, warm, like a stolen holiday in the dead of winter. “You’ll ruin my reputation if word gets out I’m sweet.”
Her smile lingers, but there’s something sharper in her eyes, as if she’s weighing me up. “Alright then. Let’s see how long you last.”
An hour later, I’m juggling bags and trying to look knowledgeable about a lipstick set that costs more than dinner for four.
“These colours will look great on Haley, don’t you think?” Rachel holds up the box, watching my face.
What do I know about lipstick except some taste better than others when you’re kissing them off?
“Absolutely. She’s got that olive skin, right? These’ll suit her.”
She stares at me for a moment, then puts the lipstick set on the counter.
“Pierre met Haley dozens of times, yet I bet he’d never have paid enough attention to know that.”
“I’m not like Pierre.”
“No,” she says quietly. “You’re not.”
As she watches the assistant process the purchase, her mouth curves up in a little smile. It transforms her face, and all I can think is how easy it is to put it there.
