Maybe This Time(67)

“Do you want the I’m a lead singer in a rock band look or the I’m Captain Jack Sparrow look?” I asked.

“I want the minimalist look, whatever that is.”

“He wants the just make these baby blues look even bluer look,” Micah said. “Seriously, I don’t know why more guys don’t wear makeup.”

I leaned closer to him and his eyes were intent on me. “You need to look down,” I said.

He followed my direction. Never before had I analyzed how I put eyeliner on someone until that moment. The edge of the palm holding the liner had to rest on his cheek and my free hand went to his chin to hold him steady and control his movement.

“I’ll be right back,” Micah said. “I need to make sure Dad doesn’t need help.”

I gave her wide eyes as she left but she just shot me an innocent smile, then closed the door behind her. My breathing went shallow, but I tried to steady it. I continued lining his right eye.

“You smell like chocolate,” he said.

“Yes, I ate a …” I trailed off.

“A what?” he asked.

My cheeks went hot and I knew I couldn’t say the word kiss without completely giving myself away. “Some chocolate,” I said. “Look up.”

His whole head went up.

“No, just your eyes.”

“Oh.” He readjusted, and I lined the bottom of his right eye. Then I dropped my hand and leaned back to assess.

“How does it look?” he asked.

This very handsome boy in front of you is leaving. He always leaves, I reminded myself. “Um … yeah, so blue. Let me do the other side.”

He looked down without me having to ask and I now had to rest my palm across his nose.

“Sorry,” I said.

“The lengths we go to for beauty.” His hand brushed my knee and I nearly smeared liner across his temple.

I managed to steady my grip on the pencil. “Look up.” He did, and I finished off the last of it. “There.” My hand that was still on his chin moved his face one way, and then the other, so I could make sure I got it even. “You’re a babe.” I didn’t know why I said that—it just flew out. I pretended like it was a completely normal thing to say. It actually probably was. It was something Micah would say to a friend. He would think nothing of it unless I acted weird. Which I kind of was. I dropped my hand and scooted away from him. “Have a look.” I pointed to the mirror.

He turned to look at his reflection. “How much do you want to bet nobody out there even notices I’m wearing it?”

“You already owe me so many things, sir, but I will take that bet.” I held out my hand.

“You with your shaking of hands.” He took my hand and gripped it tight, meeting my eyes. That eyeliner really did make his eyes pop. They were gorgeous. He shook my hand several times, then hopped up from his sitting position and pulled me up with him.

“How are things with Micah?” he asked, not letting go of my hand.

“Getting better. And you? How are things with your dad?”

“Getting better as well. He actually apologized if you can believe that. Said he’s been under a lot of pressure.” He finally dropped my hand.

“You were right about that, then.”

He shrugged. “It’s not a good excuse, but maybe he needed to blow up at a little kid to see how bad he’s gotten. He seems to be trying.”

“Good.” We stood staring at each other. My stomach was fluttering with a million winged insects that seemed to want to escape. And I wanted to escape with them.

So I did.

“We better go help in the kitchen.” I turned on my heel and left the room too fast to pull off casual.





The kitchen was a bustle of activity and I dove right into it, needing the distraction. Mr. Williams was stirring some gravy at the stove and I sidled up next to him.

“I’m a really good stirrer,” I offered.

He handed off the chore and moved to slicing up some butter to add to the mashed potatoes. Micah was getting plates from the cupboard and taking them to the dining room next door. Jett was standing in the middle of all the action, but he looked more lost than I’d ever seen him look in a kitchen.

“Jett,” Mr. Williams said, obviously not for the first time. “You are my guest today. You can join the others in the living room.”

Jett probably didn’t want to be in there with my mother, and I wasn’t sure if it was because he was worried she might yell at him or flirt with him.

He didn’t listen. He moved to a bowl on the counter and tossed the salad, which looked like it had already been tossed. “I still don’t understand why you aren’t catering today,” he said to Mr. Williams. “People pay triple the amount on Thanksgiving.”

“It’s a family day, Jett. That’s why,” Mr. Williams said. “Sometimes it’s not about the money.”

Jett harrumphed.

“I also won’t be catering on Christmas.”

“Your loss,” Jett said.

“I’d like to think of it as my gain,” Mr. Williams said. “You’re welcome to join our family for Christmas Day if you’d like to as well.”

“Since you’re not catering, I think we’ll go home for Christmas,” Jett replied.