Lipstick & Lattes Read online

  “No one has responded, anyway. I doubt anyone will show up.” Oh, how I want someone to. Him. I’m well aware of the likelihood of this Prince from Vogue finding my ad, but it’s worth a shot. Most things in life are but this is the first time I really feel like I’m taking one.

  “When is this big meeting supposed to happen?”

  Big meeting. I hope I’m not building this up to be something bigger than it is, or to be a big letdown. After the raw honesty my parents laid on me the night before I’m afraid a rejection could break me. “Next week. I want to give him time to find me, if he is, in fact, looking for me.”

  “I don’t know how often guys are randomly combing the singles section of Craigslist, but why not put it out there? You’ve got nothing to lose.”

  Except my dignity.

  “What does Hannah think?”

  “Hannah doesn’t know.”

  Josie’s mouth drops open, and I casually reach across and lift it back up for her. “Hold the phone. You didn’t tell Hannah? Your best friend?”

  It may seem odd to her that I didn’t divulge the information about the Craigslist ad to the person closest to me, but I worry a tad too much about what she thinks. Josie is my roommate and a close friend, and while her opinions are important to me, they don’t matter as much as Hannah’s. I want to do this. I need to do this. Should Hannah place any doubt in my mind, I’ll delete the ad and I’ll never know. I’ll spend my days wondering if I missed out on a great opportunity and a possible whirlwind romance because of something she said. Best friends support one another, and I’m sure she would support me, but I still don’t want to take the chance.

  “No, I didn’t. She was there with me that night, and she may think I’m crazy.”

  Josie rolls her eyes and slides her hands up and down the counter. “I know if I were your best friend, I’d be hurt you didn’t tell me. So what if you’re finding this guy in an unconventional way? She may ream you out about safety like I did, but I think she’d want to know just the same.”

  I don’t want to admit that she’s right, but she is. I’ll tell her. But after I meet him. I finally finish the dishes and place the last dish on the drying rack. I sigh as I wrap the towel around my hand, tightening it.

  “What’s up, Whitney?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It looks like you’re going to rip that towel right in half. What’s going on?”

  I toss the towel aside and lean back against the counter, crossing my legs. She has to be to work soon and I really don’t want to get into this. “It’s nothing.”

  “Liar.”

  “You have to get to work.”

  “Newsflash. I run the class. Class doesn’t start until I arrive. Now tell me what’s going on.”

  “What do you think about my job?”

  “I don’t really think about it, I guess. I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

  I stand up straight and start patting my thighs with my hands. “Do you think what I do is a waste of time? Should I be doing more to advance my career?”

  “Working in and of itself is never a waste of time. If you’re happy with what you’re doing, then who cares what other people think. Where is this coming from?”

  “My parents. My brother. My parents mostly. I just found out that they hate what I do for a living. And my brother is convinced I’ll never make anything of myself. Yet here he is wanting to drive an 18-wheeler his first year out of high school.”

  “Exactly. So where does he get off judging you? Are you doing what you want to be doing?”

  “That’s the problem. I have no idea. I love makeup. I love transforming people. The best way to do that is in entertainment of some sort. Where do I start something like that? It’s not like I have a contact list full of celebrities. We live in Wisconsin, for God’s sake. How am I going to make any connections here?”

  “There’s a few things you can do from where I see it. Pack your bags and move across the country to California, or better yet, New York, where Broadway is. I totally don’t see you doing that though. As much as you complain about your family, I don’t think you’ll ever leave them. You can keep doing what you’re doing and hope that Beyoncé walks into the mall one day and offers you some sort of job. Highly unlikely. Or, you take matters into your own hands and think outside the box and create a life for yourself that you love and can be proud of.”

  This is why I love Josie. She’s levelheaded. She always has good advice. But the person she’s describing, the one that I can turn apples into oranges and take lemons and make lemonade, that’s her. Not me.

  She drums the counter and stands up. “I have to get to work. Think about what I said. It will come to you.”

  As the door closes behind her a burst of energy surges through me at the thought of doing something creative and proving everyone wrong. My phone dings, and it’s a text from Hannah asking if I can cover her shift today. I don’t really want to after the things my parents said. Picking up extra shifts at work is a reminder that I’ll always be the girl at the makeup counter. Is that a bad thing, though? I can’t imagine a world where supporting yourself isn’t good. What do my parents want me to do? How can I alter this opinion they have of me? Do I want to?

  Ugh. Screw it. Money is money. I text her back that I’ll work for her, but she owes me one. She responds with a thumbs up emoji when all I want to do is give the world the middle finger.

  Chapter Four

  After a week of what seems like constantly checking my Craigslist app, the day has arrived. Today I show up at the Redbox and hope my hero, my Prince Charming, does as well. I didn’t expect a reply via the app, but a response would have prepared me. Not showing up and deleting the app did cross my mind more than once. No one may have even seen the message and I’ll be stood up. But what if the man of my dreams does show up and I don’t? It’s not like I’ll ever know the truth, but I’ll hate not knowing. I suck it up and drive to Walmart anyway, hoping for the best, because it’s all I’ve got.

  I check my makeup in the mirror at least five times and straighten out my shirt. I think I look good. Should I put my hair in a pony tail? I pull my hair from the sides and peek at how it would look. No. I feel like a teenager doing that. My hair is super long but not wild so I can comb it over my shoulders and it’ll be fine. My eyes could use more eyeliner. I pencil some in and a close up in the mirror confirms I may be in need of wrinkle cream soon. Hopefully he won’t notice. I slide on my favorite shade of lipstick—Sassy Saffron—and pat my lips together. There. Good.

  The parking lot is pretty packed. Everyone must be out doing their grocery shopping. I normally do mine late at night, around ten, when the store is mostly empty. My heart is racing and my stomach is on the spin cycle. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Am I insane? Was Josie right?

  With only one minute to spare, I enter the store and move directly to the left where the Redbox is located. A couple is going over the movie selection. Good. I don’t want anyone behind me in line. As they bicker about what movie to choose, I scan all the covers, not processing any of them. I think I’ve seen a few, but I can’t even comprehend what the titles. The couple picks out an action flick, which I can tell she’s not happy about, and leaves me standing next to the big, red case of movies.

  Each time the double doors slide open my stomach drops. I’m floating outside of myself as I watch each person move past me. No doubt everyone is judging me as they witness me standing there, my arms crossed, waiting for a stranger. This is a dumb idea. Dumb. What am I thinking? I run my fingers through my hair and pat at my head. Shoot! I forgot to put the flower in. It’s nearly ten after so I’m sure he’s not coming, anyway. I’ll wait five more minutes and if he’s a no show, I’ll cut my losses and pick up a pint of ice cream. Forget the flower because if I leave to get it he’ll probably show and I’ll miss him.

  “Excuse me, do you need a cart?” An older woman approaches me, her blue vest buttoned from top to bottom, t
he name Carol Anne across her name tag in big, bold letters. She’s pushing one toward me as others enter and grab one for themselves.

  “No, I’m okay.” Another glance proves I’m still alone. “I’m meeting someone here.” Maybe. I hope so. I doubt it at this point.

  While I wait, I can peruse the movies. If my Prince doesn’t show I can rent one, go home, and wallow in my despair. Zootopia. No, not in the mood for a kid’s movie. Batman V. Superman? Nah. I don’t understand why two superheroes are fighting. Makes no sense to me. How To Be Single. That may work. I’m an expert by now. Do they including placing an ad in Craigslist and being stood up?

  Five long minutes later, and a decision to binge on Netflix instead, I start to head into the store. I’m fresh out of popcorn and chilling with Netflix requires it. It’s written in the Netflix Terms and Conditions, I’m sure. Before I’m through the security gates, the door opens. I spin around for one last check, and I gasp when I’m face-to-face with the scruffy beard and big head of hair. “Ed?” I’ll never forget his name. The man who ruined my morning. The man who can’t pour coffee. And the man who honestly could pass as an older Edward Cullen, minus the pale skin and blood-sucking tendencies.

  “It’s you?” My voice cracks when I ask the question. This can’t be right.

  “Yeah, it’s me. Ed. And you’re…”

  Does he even remember me from the coffee shop? I suppose so many people come and go on a daily basis. I expected a bit more of a reaction, though. “Whitney.”

  “Ah, Whitney, yes!” He snaps his fingers. “How are you?”

  Without his apron on and him fumbling behind the counter, he looks a little different. Somehow his eyes appear softer and his smile is less forced. Though I’m shocked he didn’t dress up a tad bit more. Can I deal with jeans and a Korn T-shirt? Sure, but for an occasion such as this, pull out a nice polo or button-up! His hair is combed, I think. The lustrous locks are so curly it’s difficult to determine if this is a sought after look, or if he let his hair air dry and said forget it. Still, it looks good. I can appreciate a lot of hair. My mom used to tell me I’d look like Crystal Gayle, some singer from the seventies, if I kept growing mine.

  “Good.” I stand there, staring, scrambling to figure out what to say next. “I’m a little surprised to see you.” I imagined a big, burly man, one I could compare to the Rock perhaps, tattoos running up and down his arms and a piercing of some sort. Bad ass. Don’t get me wrong, Ed’s attractive in an odd kind of way, if you’re into the normal run of the mill guy. When I imagine someone swooping in and saving the day, a barista is the last person I envision.

  “Well, I’m here.” He throws his arms in the air as if to tell the world of his arrival. “Any good movies in there?” He moves past me and starts to review the selections in the Redbox.

  I’m waiting for…something. I guess what did he, or I, expect? I asked for him to come, and he answered. So the next thing to do is go on a date of some sort, right? While I’m okay with having met him and going on a date, I don’t think I want to go back to one of our apartments. Now that would be stupid on my part. I don’t know him, but at least we have a mutual acquaintance in Leann. Though I suppose I don’t know her all that well, either. It’s not like we hang out or anything.

  “There’s a few. Nothing jumps out at me as something I want to see. I like to turn on Netflix and binge watch shows and search for movies. Romantic comedies, specifically. My favorite actress is Drew Barrymore. I like her best with Adam Sandler, though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love Ryan Reynolds. I mean, who doesn’t love Ryan Reynolds? Though Tom Hanks, he’s in all the classics like You’ve Got Mail.”

  Shoot. I’m rambling. Make it stop. Make it stop. Shut up, Whitney! “Did you want to ditch the movie and go do something?”

  “Oh?”

  His eyes light up, and I’m certain I see that dimple now. And I’m also certain he’s going to blow me off. He probably thinks I’m some sort of crazy person the way I’m going on and on. Really? Ryan Reynolds? I might as well have professed my undying love for all the members of the Backstreet Boys, too. I can’t backpedal now. I’ll come across as even more stupid.

  “That sounds great.” His response sends a jolt of shock through me. Did he agree to go out with me? “A mini-golf place just opened up off of Elm. Meet you there in ten?”

  I haven’t been mini-golfing since high school. That could be fun. “It’s a date!” As he turns to go back to his car, I realize I didn’t say what I wanted—the reason I searched for him. “And Ed?” He stops and turns his head over his shoulder, his eyes a tranquil shade of blue sprinkled with diamonds. “Thanks for your help the other day. I appreciate it.”

  His brows narrow and he half smiles. “You’re welcome?” He gives me a thumbs up as he makes his way to the parking lot. He’s not cocky. He doesn’t want to think of himself as a hero, even though he is.

  Like a true prince would.

  ••••••••

  Okay, I’m going on a date with Ed from the coffee shop. That’s not so bad is it? He’s definitely cute with his crazy hair and puppy dog eyes. Cliché, I know, but I’m drawn to them, like I’m a horse and he’s my cowboy corralling me in. I think he’s older than me, but I’m not sure by how much. The beard is certainly deceiving. He came across as gentle, a tad on the clumsy side, and as someone who takes things seriously. I try to picture him as the man who dove in to save me, throwing a punch and putting himself at risk to help. Even though I know it was him, it doesn’t seem real to me. This is Ed, the barista who can’t pour a cup of coffee or put a lid on a to-go mug. Ed, the man with an apron. I didn’t notice any tattoos or piercings. He is not at all what I pictured, but sometimes it’s not the painting but instead all the colors and strokes that make up the masterpiece.

  I arrive at Buster’s Putt Palace, appropriately named since I’m meeting my prince. The lot is almost full, not surprising since the place opened about a week ago. It’s exactly what I would expect out of a mini-golf course. Waterfalls, windmills, and multiple obstacles make up the course. Not to mention about a million kids. That may be an exaggeration, but the place is swamped. Depending upon who we get stuck behind this could be a long game. I want to get to know Ed, so this is perfect. Most first dates happen at the movies, giving no opportunity to talk.

  I park right next to Ed’s Kia Sorento. The design reminds me of a BMW, although it’s far from the luxury car. Still, the less than fancy vehicle is much better than the 2008 Grand Prix I’m driving. I’m thankful for the hand-me-down but the rusted roof and ripped seats are embarrassing. One day I’ll be able to afford a new car. Or at least one newer than this and that doesn’t reek of roses and baby powder. I guess at forty-six my mom isn’t tremendously old, but this car screams uncool everywhere.

  Before meeting him, I close my eyes briefly and take a deep breath. Should I be doing this? What if Josie is right, and I’m walking into a dangerous situation? Am I so desperate to create an ending like the movies I watch that I’m writing my own script? What’s romantic about that? And am I using this to fill a void left empty by my inability to take a leap and move on with my career? Am I allowing the chain of events from Vogue dictate my future?

  Ed knocks on my window, and I break out of my daydream. I’m here so there’s no turning back. We drove separate, and we’re in a public place. If things don’t go well, I’ll leave. Easy. Today is my day off, and I plan to enjoy it.

  I exit my car, and we stop on the sidewalk. “Do you mini golf often?”

  I think the last time I went would have been on a double date in high school. “No. I’m not a very sporty person.”

  “I don’t really consider miniature golfing a sport. Regular golfing, but not mini.” He hops in front of me and holds the door so I can go through. Score a point for him. “I assume you’re not any good then? This should be an easy win for me.”

  Ah, he’s sizing up his competition. “I’m not horrible. I eventually sink the ball
.” I don’t admit that I often take the penalty stroke, hoping that I fare better today than I have in the past.

  “It’s time to show me what ‘not horrible’ means.” He pays the clerk without giving me an opportunity to give him any money. I can’t recall the last date I went on that I didn’t pick up my half of the bill. Maybe I’ll buy us some ice cream later to even it out.

  We each choose a club and a ball, him an orange and me a yellow, and head out to the course. “Do you need to do any practice swings first?”

  “I think I’ll be fine.” It’s not like this is the first time I’ve ever played mini-golf and the game isn’t difficult. He’s teasing me, anyway.

  The first hole is extremely simple, a straight drive from the green to the hole. It’s a par two and we both score exactly that. The second and third, I spiral downward and he takes the lead. He’s far ahead by the ninth hole when I’m forced to take the max of seven strokes.

  “What did you say about not being horrible?” Ed winks and his long eyelashes flutter. Why is it that I need mascara to achieve luscious lashes, and he only needs to blink?

  Even though he’s pointing out my sorry excuse for a game, I smile. “Okay. I’m horrible. Guilty as charged. However, considering I always need five to seven strokes, I’m doing better than usual.” My secret is out. I wonder if I’ll tell him more of them.

  He tosses his head back and the thick hair on his head goes with it. “Did you make it to work on time that day?”

  “As a matter of fact I did not. I was about thirty minutes late, and I had to stay after work, and my boss reamed me out. She got over it though since I made a few sales.” I’m impressed he remembered that I was running late that day. It was a month ago! Score another point for Ed. At this rate he’ll win the golf game and me.