As he approaches, I inhale his spicy aftershave.Cloves, cinnamon, and orange, oh my!“You smell great.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. That’s another fun thing about me—I don’t always think before speaking, which can sometimes make other people uncomfortable. Like the time I told a woman in the grocery store that her pants made her butt look amazing. While meant as a compliment, it was clear she wasn’t used to such forthright comments from a stranger. Ifigured that out when she walked out of the store, leaving a full cart behind.
The last thing I want to do is make Thomas nervous. I hurry to tell him, “You smell like my favorite Christmas cookies.”
“Huh. I’ve never heard that one before.”
“It’s a compliment of the highest order,” I assure him. “My mom makes the best orange spice shortbread you’ve ever tried.” Just when I think I’ve saved the moment from getting too awkward, I groan suggestively and declare, “Yummy!” Thomas’s eyes pop open wider in an expression I once again worry is fear.
The backroom of my store is one big unfinished space with a variety of backdrops scattered about. I point toward the barber-style chair in front of a big lighted mirror in the corner and tell him, “Let’s start there. I’ll get your hair and makeup done first and then we’ll settle on wardrobe.”
“Hair and makeup?”
“Yeah, you know, so we can get the look we’re after.”
“I thought I was okay the way I am.”
“You’re fantastic,” I assure him. “Really great! But I want to make sure we capture your character to the fullest.”
“I’m a doctor,” he tells me. I’m starting to think Thomas might be the one new to the English language.
“Doctor, pirate, sexy duke with a superiority complex … you can be anything you want and I’m here to make that happen.”
Thomas sits down in the makeup chair looking highly uneasy. “I really am a doctor.” Then he asks, “Do you get a lot of pirates and nobility in here?”
“Tons,” I assure him.
Thomas sits down with the same amount of enthusiasm he might have knowing he was about to be electrocuted. “I’m pretty sure I don’t need hair and makeup,” he says again.
“I’m not putting lipstick on you, Thomas.” Picking up a bronzing palate, I tell him, “Just a bit of contrast to sharpen your angles.”
“Why exactly do I need sharper angles?” How is it possible that he’s even sexy when he’s acting stupid?
Turning to look him square in the eye, I ask, “Why do you think you’re here?”
“I’m here to get my picture taken for …”
“Constance,” I finish his sentence for him. “You’re here for Constance. And you want to make her happy, don’t you?”
“I … suppose?” He isn’t selling it.
“You suppose? She’s paid me four hundred dollars to take very specific pictures of you and that is exactly what I’m going to do. Do you understand?” He nods his head almost imperceptibly. “This is my job, Thomas. Myjob,” I tell him. “It’s what I do for a living. It’s how I pay my bills.”
“Yes, but …”
“Constance came in hereherselfto tell me what she wants, and assheis my client. I’m not going to let her down.”
Thomas sits as still as a statue while I brush bronzer on his cheeks and jaw. By the time I’m done with him, he could have posed for a Michelangelo statue of a Greek god. I can’t take all the credit for that though—he practically is one on his own.
Once I’m convinced his face couldn’t look any better, I put the makeup brush down and face my model once again. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. After turning the chair so his back faces the mirror, I lift my hands and run all ten of my fingers through his hair. Holy heck. It’s even softer than it looks. It’s better than all my furry sweaters combined. It’s like running my hands through a litter of baby minks. It’s softer than the Barefoot blanket I spent way too much money on. But only because it lost some of its softness after being washed. Until then, it was worth ten times as much.
Dear Santa, all I want for Christmas is to rub Thomas Culpepper’s head every day of my life until I die.
Reluctantly, I remind myself that Thomas is Constance’s boyfriend, not mine. Yet I don’t understand how that can be because this man is so vital and alive. Constance has the warmth of a vampire bat in winter. But they got together somehow and now it’s my job to give my client the best fantasy material I can.
She never has to know it’s doing the same for me.
CHAPTER SIX
THOMAS
