Overwhelmed by the sense of disenchantment, she drooped back in her chair. “You’re an idiot, Scarlet.”
She was so gullible. She knew it. No matter how much she warned herself it was a joke, she still got carried away.
As she prepared to log out, a notification pinged. A strange cross of skepticism and longing filled her when she read his name. If she let this continue she’d likely wind up more disappointed than she already was.
He isn’t real.
Sighing, she—a glutton for punishment—clicked the notification and was taken to a post on her profile.
I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Scarlet rolled her eyes. “Oh, okay, Humphrey Bogart. Now you’re just being lazy.” He could at least make up his own lines.
Disgusted with how hopeful she’d allowed herself to become, she backed out of the page, accidentally hitting the key that took her to the page last visited. His page. But now it was updated.
“What the—” The post was to her.
Good morning, Ms. Farrow. I told you I took my privacy seriously. No one can see this page but you. Stop wasting time on GP and go start your day. I don’t expect you to be distracted when we have lunch.
Scrolling down to his friend list she, again, noted more peculiarities. She was it. This was such crap. She should defriend him and block his lying ass. But she’d be lying if she said his flirty post didn’t excite her. God, she really was desperate, settling for a pathetic puppet profile rather than having the dignity to move on.
She scowled at her laptop. She should shut it. Just walk away. Forget he existed—which he didn’t—and go interact with some real people in the real world. Funny, that was easier said than done. And maybe that was partly her fault.
She growled. Her dating life was a disgrace due largely to inner monologues like this. The games, the facades, it was all bullshit, nothing but smoke and mirrors leading people to destinies they probably weren’t meant to find. She could be mysterious too, she decided.
Leaning forward, she quickly commented on his post.
I’m not wasting time. I was talking to friends. A little arrogant of you to assume I came here for you.
Her finger snapped down on the enter key and she waited…and waited…and waited as doubt slowly corroded her bravado. What if she pissed him off? She shouldn’t care. He wasn’t even real. Stone indeed. She desperately needed to adopt a nothing to lose attitude where this guy was concerned.
The computer chimed and she refreshed her screen in a demeaning display of hopefulness. Oh well, it wasn’t like anyone was around to witness it.
Noon, Scarlet. Noon.
She pouted, actually pouted. What was happening here? He’d somehow taken control of the situation and now she was pressed to do—what exactly? Housework? Grade papers?
There were three hours until lunch. Her schoolbag was in the hall. Retrieving the tests from last week, she settled in at the table. Thirty minutes later they were marked and she was adding the scores to her grade tracker.
Once she finished with the paperwork, she put everything back in her bag and tapped her foot impatiently. What the hell should she do now? She glanced at her laptop. Don’t do it.
Shaking her head she went to the broom closet and retrieved the furniture polish and a rag. As she dusted, her mind wandered. Why was she listening to him? Who was he to tell her what to do? Yet, for some reason, she wanted to do as he asked, liked the subliminal link to someone other than herself.
Attention that had to be begged for, only held a fraction of the value of freely given attention. If she waited and kept herself busy, it would be worth more in the end. It would also be more exciting.
Wow. She was excited. But her empty availability shined a bit too much light on her lonesome circumstances. Once the furniture was clean and her house smelled like soft lemon, she tossed the rag in the laundry and went to take a shower. As the water poured over her body, her mind wandered. Visions of blue eyes and broad shoulders filled her head. What would his voice sound like?
Oh, she imagined that horrid episode of Sex and the City when the girls were checking out the pool boy who turned out to have an unbearably high-pitched voice. That wouldn’t be good.
There had to be something wrong with him. Eventually she’d discover his flaws and that would be that, alone again. Wait. What was she saying? She was alone now.
Shaking her head, she dried herself off and tried to get a grip. She was really getting ahead of herself.
Slipping into soft lounge pants and a hooded sweatshirt, she grabbed her purse, and headed out the door on a whim. She drove aimlessly for several minutes, her pointless wandering irritating her more with every passing second. Go buy something.
There really wasn’t anything she needed, but—Her gaze caught on the new boutique on the corner. It looked like something of a perfume imperium, but she wasn’t sure. It also looked expensive. Sliding into a metered space, she stared at the storefront, noting the well-dressed woman entering.
Her gaze dropped to her lap, scrutinizing her yoga pants and flicking a tuft of Thor hair off the knee. A sense of empowerment slipped through her. She could be a woman like that, couldn’t she? She shut off the car and grabbed her purse before her introverted nature got the better of her.
She hadn’t always been such a homebody. As a matter of fact, she wasn’t exactly sure when she’d decided to shut the world out and make her own. It wasn’t something she excelled at—world building. If anything, hers was bleak and littered with conversations between her and her cat. Yeah, she was doing this.
Pushing through the heavy glass door of the boutique, her senses were assaulted with feminine fragrances as her eyes adjusted to the lush displays and white lighting. “Good morning,” a woman adjusting a display of necklaces crooned.
Scarlet smiled. “Good morning.”
“Can I help you find something?”
When she didn’t scoff at her attire or sloppy bun, and Scarlet’s anxiety faded a notch. “You know, I’m not really sure what I’m looking for. Something for myself, I think.”
The woman smiled, placing the last of the necklaces on the display and coming around the counter. “Well then, we should find something great. Do you like jewelry? Or perhaps one of our signature fragrances? We also have a new makeup line. Do you have time for a consultation?”
Her awkwardness might as well be body odor, because it seemed to be emanating from her pores. “Um, like you do my makeup and show me how?”
The woman laughed. “Exactly. Come have a seat.”
Scarlet followed her to a plush violet stool and stashed her purse on the floor. She fidgeted as the woman gathered pallets and enough brushes to paint the Sistine Chapel.
“My name’s Fiona.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Scarlet.”
Fiona used a soft cloth with something moist to wipe down her face. Whatever she was using smelled so good if it was food, Scarlet would have eaten it. “What sort of regimen do you use, Scarlet? Your skin’s beautiful.”
Having the other woman so close gave Scarlet ample time to appraise her beauty and it was astounding. “Um, I don’t really have one. I put lotion on my face when it’s dry and I’m a big fan of chapstick.”
Fiona smiled. “Are you going somewhere? Looking for a new look?”
“Not really. I guess I just figured a change might be nice.”
She combed her eyebrows with a dainty bristled wand. “Change is fun. A woman needs a good change now and again. Are you married?”
Why? Why did this personal inquisition happen with every stranger? “No.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Well, lucky you. I sometimes wish I had a chance to go back to your age and do it all over again, single, without all the dating nonsense.”
She frowned. It was so rude, but she had to ask. The woman looked fresh out of college, if that. “How old are you?”
; Fiona winked, as if the illusion of youth was intended and Scarlet’s uncertainty flattered her. “I’m forty-six.”
“Wow.”
She nodded and applied a silky beige cream to her cheeks. “The products we sell are amazing. You’ll see. What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a teacher.”
“So you’ll be wanting a subtle look, I assume. Something easy for those early Monday mornings?”
“Sure.” Makeup was a foreign concept to her. On fancy occasions she sometimes swathed her lashes with drug store mascara, but that was the end of her knowledge on facial products.
As Fiona brushed her face with various powders, Scarlet developed a strange fondness for all the fancy vials and compacts, finding them ultra feminine, but nonetheless intimidating.
“You have gorgeous eyes. They’re such a fascinating shade of blue-green.”
Her skin heated. “Thanks. Yours are pretty too.”
Fiona winked. “Contacts. Mine are actually brown.”
Her lips parted. “I never would have guessed.”
The woman smiled again. “Part your lips. This shade of gloss will compliment your complexion.”
As she worked, Scarlet lost herself in her surroundings. When the thought of Mr. Stone suddenly popped in her head, she was pleased to note the lapse of time since she’d last thought of him. Mission accomplished. Maybe Fiona was right and there was something about being thirty and single.
“Take a look.”
The woman in the reflection was almost unrecognizable. It was her, but the prettiest version of herself she’d ever seen. “Wow.”
Her eyes were defined in an understated way that gave them a naturally dramatic appeal. Her skin tone was perfectly even, looking like it had years ago. She hadn’t taken note of the exact time that youthful glow faded, but Fiona had magically restored it. Her cheeks and brow bones were perfectly defined and for the first time in a long time, Scarlet saw herself genuinely smile.
“You like it?”
“It’s amazing.” Her fingers lifted to her cheek and feathered over the soft makeup, not finding it heavy or thick.
“It didn’t take much. You’re a natural beauty.”
Her reflection tinged with a sharp blush. “Thank you.”
She described all the products she’d used and where she applied them. In the end, Scarlet bought everything she suggested. Who knew if she’d ever look that way again? Her ability to replicate Fiona’s work was a lot to hope for, but she appreciated her time and effort. The cost was minimal compared to the jolt of confidence she found in that boutique.
As she returned to her car, her cheeks pinched with an unbending grin. At a traffic light on the way home, a man in the car beside her smiled in her direction and Scarlet nearly got in an accident as the light turned green she was so taken off guard.
Recognizing how low her self-esteem had plummeted was upsetting. Whatever provoked her to enter that boutique, she was grateful she did. The experience showed her there was a salvageable spirit hiding inside of her, beneath all the jaded, Debbie Downer garbage that had been weighing on her shoulders since her thirtieth birthday. No more—she decided.
As she plucked the keys from her car and walked into her house, she made a vow. This next chapter of her life would be a happy one. She was going to try new things and force herself to take risks. She would not let the next year pass like the last one. She made the resolution to take advantage of every exciting opportunity that came, promising to start this decade off right. It was a deca-lution, she decided.
She was done waiting for a man to give her purpose or a reason to live. From now on, she would live and let the men wait for her. If they wanted her to notice them, they’d better up their game, because she no longer had time for little boys.
Speaking of which, her eyes glanced at the clock. The morning had passed a lot faster than she’d expected—which was what usually happened when one stopped sitting around waiting for the phone to ring, or in her case, the laptop to ding.
The closer the hour came to noon, the more her tummy twisted with fluttering excitement, but there wasn’t the sense of dependency she’d woken up with. This time, she was curious, but no longer hanging her every hope on one guy. However, she was definitely giddy with anticipation. There was no denying that.
In the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of water, and grabbed her laptop. Six minutes. Anticipation had her breath quickening. Shit. She was supposed to have lunch with him. In a matter of two minutes she made a PB and J sandwich and grabbed a banana for dessert. Perching on the couch, she opened her laptop.
It chimed and she let out a breath she’d seemed to be holding.
Good afternoon, Ms. Farrow.
Good afternoon, Mr. Stone.
Did you enjoy your morning?
Yes. I graded some papers and did a little shopping.
Proud she could honestly say she didn’t spend the morning sitting around waiting, she grinned.
What did you buy?
Just a few things from a little boutique that opened in town.
It seemed wrong to tell a man she spent over a hundred dollars on makeup, so she kept that little tidbit to herself. He didn’t seem overly interested in her shopping excursion anyway.
What subject were you grading?
She smiled, finding his interest in the fundamentals refreshing.
Math.
Is that what you teach?
She hesitated. Last night they’d sort of flirted and discussed inconsequential things. Now his questions were getting personal.
I teach the basic language arts subjects, but math is my focus in the grade. What do you do?
She waited, anxious to see if he’d share.
I’m a designer of sorts.
As in interior design?
Funny, that didn’t fit with what she’d assumed about him. It wasn’t disappointing information, just unexpected.
It’s a bit more technical than interior design. My career focuses more on digital design. What are you having for lunch?
He always tended to give minimal information about himself and deflect the conversation back to her. Was he shy or literally that private? Or perhaps the better word was secretive.
Peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a banana.
Ah, the lunchroom special.
What are you having?
Finishing her sandwich, she crumpled the napkin and peeled her banana as she waited. Her heart pounded as she considered how curious she was about this man, not just about his lunch, but everything.
Her eyes continuously checked the time, fearing the moment he’d conclude their conversation. Her phone suddenly rang at the same time the computer chimed. The caller ID said Nicole, but she hesitated, too drawn to Mr. Stone’s reply.
I’m having seared ahi tuna, fingerling potatoes, and green beans mixed in a balsamic vinaigrette.
“Holy shit.” She distractedly reached for her phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, what are you doing?” Nicole greeted. There was an echo on the line, telling Scarlet her friend was in the car.
“Um, I’m having lunch.”
“Are you home?”
“Yes,” she answered slowly, not wanting any interruptions.
“Perfect! I got a dress for that get together at my work. I wanted your opinion. I’m going for thirty and owning it, but I’m afraid this might scream trampy desperate. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
She should have never answered the phone. Sighing, knowing her BFF duties couldn’t be overshadowed by a guy she barely knew, she said, “I’ll be here.”
“Great. See you soon.”
Call ended, she tossed the phone aside. There were several messages waiting for her.
What else did you do this morning, Ms. Farrow?
Scarlet?
Did my lunch offend you?
She quickly typed out a response before he assumed she’d left.
Hi.
Sorry. I got a phone
call. I’m going to have company very soon.
His response wasn’t immediate this time. Damn it. Why did Nicole have to come over now? All she wanted to do was talk to Mr. Stone. They’d only had a few minutes and Nicole would likely be walking through the door in the next five.
I assumed we would have longer to chat.
It was amazing how disappointed she was over the same thing. Interesting that they both seemed to be experiencing the same frustration.
She could’ve told Nicole she was talking to a guy. She could even continue to talk to him while Nicole tried on her new dress, but for some reason she wanted to keep Mr. Stone a secret—at least until she got to know him a bit more.
Huh. It suddenly occurred to her that if Nicole was in the car driving to her house, she definitely wasn’t pretending to be the mystery man occupying her time. Strange, her suspicions of such a charade had disappeared sometime in the last eighteen hours without her realizing. The more time that passed the more real he became.
Scarlet, you’re developing a habit of making me wait for replies.
Sorry. I was hoping we’d have more time to talk too. I could come back after she leaves.
I’ll admit I’m relieved you said she. I had wanted to speak to you about my expectations, but it isn’t a conversation that should be rushed. How does 7:00 work for you?
That was seven hours away. Wishing he’d suggested a closer time, she pursed her lips and agreed, not wanting to come off too needy.
That works fine. I’ll talk to you then.
BLIND: A Mastermind Novel Page 8