by Ella Fox
He spins on his heel and walks away without waiting for my response. Stomping across the room he grabs the cart and steers it back toward the storage area it belongs in. When he comes out a minute later, he acknowledges me with a jerk of his chin before leaving without another word.
20
Eden
I scramble after work to get ready as quickly as humanly possible, racing through a shower, doing my hair and makeup, getting dressed and packing an outfit into my massive purse all at warp speed. Being busy has kept me from being nervous but as I turn down the street to my destination, my stomach fills with butterflies. The fluttering stops when I pull up in front of Julie’s house and find no sign of Donovan’s truck. Great, maybe he’s avoiding his family because he knew I’d be here. That gives me the opposite of a warm fuzzy feeling. Picking up my phone, I text Julie.
Me: Please tell me Donovan didn’t bail on dinner. If he did it’s 100% because he heard us on the phone earlier and he knew I was coming. I can’t stay if that’s the case
Julie: Don’t panic. He’s in the garage with his dad changing a tire on his stupid motorcycle
Relieved that I didn’t ruin a family event, I get out of the Jeep and head toward the house. Julie flings the door open and greets me with an excited whoop.
“I thought you’d never get here!” she exclaims.
“I’m exactly on time,” I point out.
She laughs and yanks me inside before she takes my purse from me and hangs it on one of the hooks inside the door.
“Mom, Aunt Stella,” she calls over her shoulder, “look who’s here!”
“We’re right here, Sweetheart. You don’t need to yell,” Stella laughs as she and Margie walk into the foyer. Both are holding glasses of white wine and smiling like seeing me is somehow exciting. They come toward me at the same time, their movements synced up almost like they’re one being, which makes me chuckle. Margie hugs me first, waving me off when I tell her that the birthday gift I got her will be delivered to her at work on Monday morning. Next up is Stella, who hugs me like I’m a long lost relative.
“Your hair looks lovely down,” she says approvingly.
Running my fingers over the back of it, I nod. “Thank you. I curled it.”
I don’t mention that the loose curls aren’t exactly what I was going for—for the record, the style I wanted was beachy waves—or that I think it looks like crap. I probably need Stella to give me some lessons in hair styling. Just like last week, her hair is perfect.
“It’s beautiful,” Stella and Margie say in unison.
I thank them both, then laugh as I tell them they might as well be twins.
“Aww,” Julie interrupts, “Morrow is calling. I’ll be right back.”
Looking over my shoulder, I nod at Julie before Margie and Stella take up position on either side of me and guide me into the kitchen.
“Would you like a drink?” Margie asks.
“Of course she wants a drink,” Stella answers. “Every girl needs a nice glass of wine before family dinner.”
A twinge of sadness hits me at the use of the word family, but I push it down. “I’d love a small glass of wine.”
I could use some liquid courage to survive sitting at a dinner table with Donovan.
“Do you like barbeque?” Margie asks.
“I love it.”
“Wonderful! I hope you’re hungry because Ron has truly outdone himself this year. There are ribs and chicken wings for days,” she tells me as she pulls down a wine glass from a beautiful espresso colored cabinet.
“Make sure to save room for dessert,” Stella instructs as she pulls the stopper from the wine bottle before handing it off to Margie. “I got a German chocolate cake from the bakery Margie and I worked at back in high school. I guarantee you’ve never had a better chocolate cake.”
“She’s right—the cake is to die for.”
Turning, I smile when I see Paul Beckett walking toward me. He says hello and gives me a quick hug before walking around the counter and wrapping his arm around Stella’s waist.
“How have you been since we last saw you?” Paul asks. “Anything new, interesting, or noteworthy?”
“I’ve been good. Nothing new, which I guess is a good thing.”
Taking a sip of my wine, I think about his son hauling ass from my room after finding out I was a virgin. That was certainly new, interesting, and noteworthy, but it’s not like I would share that with the group.
“She’s lying,” Julie announces as she walks into the room. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell them the highlight of the week.”
I stop breathing, my eyes widening as she stops and elbows me in the side. “Her new pizzelle maker arrived. Before I got ahold of her she’d planned to spend the night at home making cookies.”
Remembering to breathe, I sag with relief. She scared the crap out of me for a second.
Opening the sliding glass door to the patio, Ron sticks his head in. “Who wants to help me bring all this food in?”
Julie, Paul, and I go out to help while Margie and Stella stay back to take all of the sides to the table. When we get back inside and set the mountain of food on the table, Donovan is lining up bottles of sauce in the middle.
“I’ve got A1, Worcestershire, buffalo, honey barbeque and smoky barbeque. Does that cover it?” he asks the group.
“You forgot the spicy vinegar Uncle Ron puts on his coleslaw,” Paul answers.
“If there’s any yellow mustard I’ll take that,” I add.
Donovan shakes his head like I’m some kind of weirdo. “You’re really going to put mustard on meat?”
I shrug and take the seat Julie gestures to, which is next to her. “It’s good stuff. A lot of people do it.”
“What’re you going to put it on?” Julie asks.
Looking at the mountains of meat on the table, I grin. There are ribs, lemon garlic chicken wings, honey barbeque wings, steaks and pork tenderloin, all of which have my mouth watering. “All of it,” I laugh.
“Is that actually a thing?” Stella asks from across the table.
“Apparently in my family it is. My grandfather put mustard on everything, which I thought it was just one of those things until we went to visit his cousins in North Carolina and they all did, too. The only thing most of the others didn’t do that he and I did was put mustard on pizza and popcorn.”
Julie makes a gagging sound. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I can’t speak to the pizza but I’ve seen the popcorn thing with my own two eyes,” Donovan says as he takes the seat across from me and sets a bottle of yellow mustard down on the table. “I thought she was messing around when she asked for the packets but sure enough she squeezed a little drop on every fourth piece.”
My eyes go wide before I can school my expression. Thankfully Julie chooses this moment to pass a plate of steaks to me. Glad to have an excuse to look away, I spear a piece of meat with my fork and set it on my plate. Holy crap—Donovan pays a lot more attention to me than I realized. That he noticed my mustard to popcorn rotation is craziness.
When I glance across the table I find him watching me. Ducking my head, I hope no one is noticing the blush that I feel spreading across my face. It doesn’t seem like anyone is paying attention though, which is good. For several minutes, everything is about the food being passed around the table so we can all fill our plates. I ignore Julie’s dramatic shutter when I squirt mustard across all of my meat, then let out a little groan when I take a bite of Ron’s ribs.
“These are incredible,” I tell him after I’ve chewed and swallowed.
Everyone concurs except Donovan who is currently watching me like a hunter would monitor prey. My stomach flutters nervously as I look away. For the remainder of the meal there isn’t a ton of talking other than each of us commenting on how amazing the food is. If Ron ever decides that owning a motel isn’t for him, he could open a barbeque place without any problem. After Stella and Julie bring out the Ge
rman chocolate cake, we all sing happy birthday to Margie. For the record, the cake is as amazing as Stella said it would be. I’m stuffed but if it were possible to eat one more bite I’d be going in for more of that cake. Instead I’m enjoying some delicious hazelnut coffee while my food digests.
“So, Eden, Julie tells me you’ve got a blind date tonight,” Stella says.
Annnnd now I’m choking on my coffee. Julie bangs on my back as I swallow, holding my hand up to let everyone know I’m okay. When I can breathe without choking, I nod. “That’s what I’m told.”
“That’s wonderful, honey. I have to say that I’m stunned a sweet and beautiful girl like you isn’t already spoken for. How is that even possible?”
Embarrassed, I shrug.
“Only an idiot would pass you up. My bet is that you’ll be off the market by the end of the night. Margie put Paul and I together on a blind date and we haven’t spent a night apart in the thirty-five years since. I’m very confident that my niece has that same matchmaking skill.”
“I think so too,” Margie chimes in. “Her instincts are incredible.”
I chuckle nervously as I look back and forth between them. “So you’re thinking I might meet Mr. Right tonight?”
“From what Julie tells us you’ve already met him,” Margie announces. “I don’t want to spoil the surprise but I think you’ll be very happy with the man she’s chosen for you.”
I smile as if I think that’s a possibility even though I absolutely know there’s no way that’s happening. Donovan is the one I want and with him unwilling to touch me, I’m out of luck.
“Would you mind if Margie and I helped you get ready?” Stella asks. “Julie knows to expect our meddling but I figured we should ask if it would bother you.”
I nod my head and completely ignore Donovan’s muttered curse. Surprisingly, so does Stella. I know how she feels about him cursing.
“That sounds like fun,” I say with a smile.
Apparently in the Miller household the men do the dinner cleanup. I realize this when my offer to help clear the table is met with surprised looks from Ron, Paul and Donovan while the women all laugh.
“The men clean up after family dinners so that we have time to gossip,” Margie explains. “That means we’re free to go up to Julie’s room to get you ready.”
My grandmother would’ve said these men were well-trained gentlemen, and I’d have agreed with her. It’s sweet the way Paul and Ron take care of their wives—and the way Donovan chips in to take care of the women in his life. Too bad I’m not one of them.
Free of cleaning duty the four of us make our way upstairs to Julie’s room. I grab my purse on the way up, and they all stare at me expectantly as I pull a black skirt, a pale pink dolman top, and my favorite open-toed black heels from it.
“It’s almost perfect but I have to say no to the pink top,” Margie announces decisively. “Too sweet. You need to be a little vixen tonight. Julie?”
Julie’s already in her closet going through her clothes. “On it, Mom.”
“Um, I don’t think I’m very vixen-ish,” I mumur.
Stella titters as she pats me on the arm. “Honey, every woman has some vixen in her when the right man shows up.”
While Julie pulls options out of her closet—all black, I notice—Stella and Margie guide me to the chair at the makeup station that takes up a ton of real estate. I knew Julie loved makeup but I had no idea it was this big of a collection. You could probably pay a few months’ rent with all of the products in here.
“There’s so much stuff,” I murmur. “I imagine this is what it might feel like to walk into Charlie’s chocolate factory.”
“We spoil her terribly,” Stella laughs.
“No, you spoil her terribly,” Margie snorts. “Every time a package comes from Sephora I know you’ve been binge watching YouTube beauty influencer videos again.”
Stella spears her bestie with a look. “In my defense you and Ron are the ones who built her a beauty kingdom up here. What was I supposed to do but fill it? And don’t get me started on the two Nordstrom boxes I saw in the garage when I went to give Paul a beer. You order her makeup too.”
“You order more,” Margie counters.
They’re so adorable I want to hug them both. It’s a little jarring when they abruptly stop squabbling and turn their attentions to me. Gently holding my chin between two fingers, Stella turns my face so she can see both sides. “Julie says you don’t like a lot of makeup and I see why. If I had your complexion I’d not wear a stitch of concealer. Tell me what your normal makeup routine is.”
“I like ink black liquid eyeliner, mascara, and a tiny bit of lip gloss.”
I pull out my makeup bag and hand it over. As I’m explaining my miniscule makeup routine to Stella, Margie puts on some music. I giggle when the song Grease starts playing. I adore the movie.
“Laugh now but you’ll lose your mind around the four zillionth time they make you listen to the soundtrack all the way through,” Julie deadpans.
“Hush your mouth child,” Margie snickers. “You sing along every time.”
“I’m thinking we should do the eyeliner she likes and then smoke her out a little,” Stella announces. “I’m further thinking that some highlighter would be an incredible accent.”
“Yes!” Julie claps. “That new one with the slight tint of gold is the bomb.”
“Exactly,” Stella says excitedly. “We’ll do a hint of a soft peach blush before we finish it off with that absolutely amazing Charlotte Tilbury pillow talk lip liner and lipstick.”
“Yes,” Margie agrees, “but make sure to add a little vavoom in the center of her lips with some gloss.”
“Of course,” Stella nods. “You grab some of that quick dry nail polish I sent last month, Julie will handle the makeup, and I’ll take care of her hair.”
I touch it self-consciously and frown. “I knew I messed the curls up,” I mutter.
“It’s beautiful, honey,” Stella hastens to assure me. “We’re leaving those perfect curls the way they are. I’m just going to give you a little oomph to make it perfect. It won’t take but ten minutes.”
“We need to decide on a top for her first so that we can get it on her. Don’t want to ruin her hair putting it on.”
The next thing I know, Julie is busy holding four different tops up in front of me, one at a time, to allow Stella and Margie critique them. When they both applaud at the same time, I know we have a winner.
Everyone looks away while I take the simple gray floral tunic I wore for dinner off and replace it with the black top they liked best. The low cut strappy-backed shirt is made of a soft floaty material that feels good on my skin. The bad news is that the back is so low I can’t wear my bra.
“I’m not wearing the right bra for this,” I tell them.
“You’re not supposed to wear a bra!” Julie laughs. “Take it off.”
I debate for half a second before shrugging and going with the flow. Julie and I wear the same size top so the only difference on me is that it hangs a little longer than it would on her. Once I have it on without the bra, I survey myself in the mirror. It’s far sexier than anything I’ve ever worn before, but I have to admit that it looks good.
“It’s on,” I announce.
The second I say this the three of them descend on me. They check out the front and back of the top, congratulating themselves on the “perfect choice.” With that done, Julie orders me to close my eyes so she can get to work on my face. When I comply she immediately starts with the black eyeliner, while Margie begins painting my nails—a color I’m praying isn’t awful since I can’t see it with my eyes closed. Not one to wait it out, Stella starts doing whatever it is she’s doing to my hair.
They sing along to the Grease soundtrack, but I can only hum since Julie is working on my face. I feel like I’m on a secret makeover show and all I can do now is hope I don’t come out of this looking like a lady of the night. That’d be hella e
mbarrassing considering Donovan is probably going to see me like this. The three of them are like a beauty squad, working so fast that I feel like I’ve just taken a seat when voila, they’re finished.
When they allow me to look in the mirror, my jaw drops. For lack of a better description, I look like a sex kitten. What Stella did to my hair didn’t change the curl, but it added a tousled bedhead look and Julie’s makeup job is incredible. Glancing down at my nails, I smile when I find that Margie painted my nails a deep plum, something I’d have chosen myself. I keep my toenails painted a soft cotton candy color but I am almost always too lazy to paint my nails. It was nice having someone do it for me.
“Time to put the skirt and the heels on,” Julie says.
“I’ll do that while you get ready,” I answer.
She snickers and waves me off. “Don’t worry about me—this is about you.”
Shrugging, I do as she instructs. Taking off my black leggings, I pull on my skirt and then step into the heels I brought.
“We need a necklace to accent the décolleté,” Margie says.
“Already on it,” Julie answers as she flings open the left side of her closet and starts going through the biggest collection of accessories I’ve ever seen in one person’s room.
Declaring that she’s found the perfect thing, she hands it off to Stella who puts it on me. When I glance in the mirror I have to agree—the lariat necklace is simple and classy, the circle accent just enough to draw attention, but not in a POW look at my cleavage kind of way.
“She’s perfect,” Stella says with a sniffle.
“Stunning,” Margie agrees.
“I’d do her,” Julie jokes.
Margie lets out a long-suffering sigh as she elbows her daughter. “You’re lucky you’re so cute,” she teases.
