The Makeover Surprise (Surprised by Love Book 2)

by Laura Burton

But I’m terrible with words, so I’ll go for the next best thing. A meaningful gesture might just be enough…

  I’m going to gift her the necklace I bought years ago at a collector’s store. I’ve been saving this too, for someone special. I wanted to give it to someone who completes me. Someone who could make me feel like the real Aragorn...

  Someone like Lucy.

  I get dressed quickly and stuff the necklace in my pocket, patting it with a satisfied smile.

  Chapter Twenty

  Lucy

  I couldn’t sleep, so somewhere between three and four in the morning, I rolled out of bed, stripped the sheets, and bundled them into the washer. Then I ventured into my game room for the first time in days.

  I had the walls painted a dark gray and put up movie posters of my favorite blockbusters––the posters get switched out every six weeks because my top ten keeps changing. The big screen TV and Hi-Fi look dejected. It almost feels like they’re asking me where I’ve been.

  I slide my hand across the back of my super squishy fabric couch as I walk to the wall on the far side of the room. I open up the sliding door to reveal my walk-in closet and pull on the cord to switch on the light. A little shower of dust particles rains down over my face. I sneeze with a sleeve in front of my mouth. Then I survey all the pretty costumes hanging in a neat line, protected by cellophane bags.

  “It’s in here somewhere,” I mutter aloud, rooting through the clothes.

  Memories flash before my minds’ eye as I flick through them all. Halloween 2010; I was Bo Peep at a Pixar party. Unfortunately, some kid spilled soda on my dress and nothing I did would get the stain out.

  New Year 2016, when I was Katniss Everdeen––I went to a woodshop to learn how to craft my own bow. It was a lot harder than I thought, so I ended up paying one of the guys to make one for me.

  Sometimes I still put on the Katniss outfit before a spring clean. There’s just something about having to deep clean the apartment that makes me feel like I’ve gone into the Hunger Games.

  Several of my princess dresses don’t fit me anymore, but I can’t bring myself to get rid of them. I’m convinced I’ll have a niece one day who’ll want to wear them.

  I laugh out loud when I find my Poison Ivy costume. It was the wrong shade of green, and so tight, I looked more like the Jolly Green Giant––although much shorter and a far less jolly version––than the sexy and mischievous villain from Batman.

  Finally, I find what I’m looking for.

  It has long, whimsical sleeves that almost reach the floor in a beautiful cascade of blood red cotton. The brown, scoop neckline has the most exquisite gold stitching and the whole length of the dress is such a stunning shade of red, it contrasts beautifully with the long dark wig that came with it.

  There she hangs, unworn. Untouched. I’ve been saving this outfit for something really special. In all honesty, I had hoped to use it for my engagement photos, should my real-life Aragorn stride into my life. But I guess going to a book fair with Wyatt is the next best thing.

  I pull the dress out of the closet and carefully drape it over my body. I’m not sure whether the jitters in me are from nerves or excitement, but minutes later, a wave of sleepiness takes hold and I find myself putting the dress down and laying on my couch. The last thought I have is a promise, that I’ll just shut my eyes for ten minutes.

  I wake up to the sound of my phone vibrating on the coffee table with an obnoxious rattle. I wince against the jarring sound and scramble for it.

  When I answer the call, a high-pitched squeal blasts out of the speaker.

  “What the heck happened to you two last night? You both just left. With that terribly rushed goodbye!”

  Chessy makes an exaggerated gasp like she’s just been struck by a scandalous thought. “Did you two…”

  “No!” I shout, my face growing hot. “We haven’t even kissed.”

  Shortly after asking me to the book fair, Wyatt called us a cab. We washed up the dishes in comfortable silence and then found Leila and Blaze snuggling up on the couch. Chessy was reading a romance novel in the corner of the living room. We said our goodbyes, got in the taxi and then Wyatt dropped me off at home with a peck on the cheek.

  “Really?” Leila asks, her voice laced with disappointment. I expect after all the effort she put in to set up our moment, she was hoping for a more positive result.

  But even though we didn’t get to have our first real kiss, I can’t stop grinning.

  “Listen, I’m going to his hometown for a book fair. And guess who we’re going to dress up as…” Now it’s my turn to squeal.

  “Who?” my sisters ask in unison.

  I take a big gulp of air and exhale. “Aragorn and Arwen!”

  There's silence as I wait for the penny to drop. Neither of my sisters has ever been into fantasy, or cosplay. But they do know about my obsession with Lord of the Rings.

  “Wait…” Leila says slowly.

  I thought Chessy would be the one to get the reference first. But turns out, Leila does listen to my ramblings after all.

  “Don’t tell me you’re going to wear the dress?”

  I squeal again and hop around the room so much, I almost drop my phone. I have too much energy. If I don’t do something with it, I’m sure I’ll explode.

  I switch on my games console and pick up a controller. The familiar weight of it in my hands already soothes me.

  “Yep. I’m wearing the dress.”

  I start playing a shooter game and my brain settles down. Now my subconscious mind is busy with the game, I can listen to my sisters with laser sharp focus. It’s the one thing about me they’ve never been able to understand.

  “He’s picking me up at noon,” I explain.

  “Wait… are you gaming right now?” Chessy asks, her voice concerned. I roll my eyes. “Yes. Don’t judge me.”

  “So, you’re ready to go?” Leila asks. “I can totally picture you sitting on that couch playing games in your Arwen costume.”

  “No, I’m not showered yet. I’ll get ready when I get off the phone,” I say, smashing the buttons on the controller with my thumbs. A space cruiser explodes and falls from the sky on the TV screen but it's Chessy’s low voice that raises the hairs on the back of my neck.

  “Lucy. Do you not know what time it is?”

  My chest pinches and I drop the game controller. “No… I fell asleep.”

  There’s a gasp and I’m not sure which sister made it. Maybe they both did at the same time. “It’s eleven fifty-two.”

  “Yikes!” I leap off the couch faster than a cat spotting a pickle. “I’ve got to go.”

  Eight minutes. I’ve got eight minutes to shower, shave, get dressed and put on my makeup. Panic courses through my veins and the adrenaline feels like a super power. I shower at sonic speed, making sure to lean at odd angles to avoid getting my hair wet––I’m wearing a wig and my hair isn’t that greasy, so what’s the point?

  But I use way too much shower gel and now there are bubbles everywhere. I slip on a wet patch on the bathroom floor on my way out of the tub and have to make a mad grab for the shower curtain. I pray there aren’t any hidden cameras, because anyone watching will think I’m auditioning to be the new Mr. Bean.

  After rubbing my skin raw with a towel that feels like sandpaper after Leila’s soft Egyptian cotton towels, I fumble with my contacts, and nearly poke an eyeball out in the process.

  In summary, my frantic morning teaches me that just because I can move faster doesn’t mean that I should. The faster I try to go, the more I hurt myself.

  I send up a silent prayer that Wyatt doesn’t ask to use the bathroom before we leave, because it looks like a bomb exploded in there.

  I blink until my contacts settle in place and my vision comes back, then quickly climb into my dress. Thankfully, it fits like a glove and drapes over my body like a waterfall. I don’t know what I would have done if it didn’t. I swish the skirt from left to right and take a mome
nt to admire the way it hugs my curves in the wall mirror. Then a knock on the door has my heart racing again.

  “I’ll be right there!” I shout. Then I dash to the table in the hall littered with things from my makeup kit. I hold a mascara wand up to my eye with a trembling hand and blink over it, hoping that some of the stuff coats my lashes. Then I dab on a touch of concealer to hide the dark circles under my eyes.

  It’s all I have time for. I slide a berry lip balm over my lips and smack them together. If I had more time, I’d contour and highlight, but Wyatt is waiting.

  Not wanting to leave him on my doorstep too long, I yank on the wig, slip on a pair of flats, and dash to the front door.

  I pause, taking deep steadying breaths, and grip the handle a little too hard.

  Okay, Lucy. Chill out. Be cool. Cool as a cucumber. Mellow as a marshmallow.

  With a final breath, I unbolt the lock and throw the door open. A gust of air rushes into the apartment and throws my hair back like I’m in a shampoo commercial, and I lock eyes with none other than Aragorn, King of Gondor.

  Well, it’s not. It’s Wyatt, wearing the most realistic medieval costume I’ve ever seen. His soft brown hair hangs in waves over his ears and a realistic looking silver dagger sits in a sheath on a brown leather belt at his waist.

  His eyes sparkle at me and he grins as our eyes meet.

  “Wow. My lady,” he says. Then he bows and offers me his hand. I giggle and take it. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. The way to my heart is through role play.

  Wyatt kisses my knuckles and looks up at me through the wisps of his dark hair. Finally, he rises. “Are you ready to go?”

  I lift a finger and run back to grab a cloth bag, stuffing my phone, wallet, and keys inside. After I lock up the front door, I pull out a pair of elf ears from the pocket of my dress and carefully attach them to the top of my own.

  “I am now,” I say, grinning wide.

  I slip my hand through the crook of Wyatt’s arm and we walk down the steps outside my apartment looking like we just waltzed out of Rivendell.

  We stop beside a red Mustang GT500 and I turn to Wyatt in surprise. “Is this your car?”

  He grins, sheepish, then holds up a clicker and the car beeps. I place my hands on my hips. “Why have I never seen you driving before? Why couldn’t we have taken this yesterday?”

  When we get in, that new car smell washes over me. Nothing like that musty old taxi we rode to Leila’s BBQ.

  “I just got her back from detailing,” Wyatt explains. He keys the ignition and the engine roars to life. My seat starts to vibrate beneath my thighs and I grip the sides as the car pulls away.

  “Detailing?”

  Wyatt shrugs. “You know. A deep clean.”

  I don’t know much about cars, but I do know that this one is expensive. So expensive that Wyatt pays for it to be sent away to be cleaned.

  Whatever business he’s in must be good. I just hope it’s not the mafia. Because I like this guy, and if or when this… thing between us ends, I’ll have more than my heart on the line. I’ll probably have to change my name and go into hiding too.

  That sounds like a lot more trouble than an article is worth.

  Instead of letting my mind spiral into a million worst case scenarios, I change the subject. “Where’s your hometown again?” I ask. I’ve already forgotten the name.

  “Snowdrop Valley. We’ll get to it just before the border to Philadelphia.”

  Snowdrop Valley? Sounds like something from a holiday movie.

  “So, tell me about your town. Is it like Gilmore Girls?”

  Wyatt glances at me, then focuses on the road again. “What do you mean?”

  I play with my fake hair and watch the world whizz past outside the window. “Oh, you know, like everyone is into everyone’s business and there’s town meetings and one handyman for the whole town…”

  Wyatt chuckles. “Pretty close, actually.”

  I settle back in my seat and try to picture what life might be like growing up in a small town named Snowdrop Valley. I imagine rolling hills capped with green in the summer months, then blinding white snow in winter.

  When it snows, the kids probably line up with rubber tires, dustbin lids and all manner of materials for a homemade sled.

  There’s a rich sense of community, I tell myself with a small smile. Everyone knows everyone else by name, and there’s a Christmas ball every year where old couples spin on the dance floor, while children run around and play and the other adults talk.

  “It sounds like a dream,” I say. But a thought hits me and I frown at him. “Why did you leave?”

  I hear a little sigh and a hum. “Remember the girl I dated in high school?”

  I nod.

  “Well, she settled down there. She’s married now, with three kids.”

  I rest my hand tentatively on Wyatt’s leg, and to my relief, he doesn’t flinch. “You really loved her, huh?”

  Wyatt clears his throat. “It’s just awkward now, you know? You shouldn’t have to bump into your ex when you’re picking up toilet paper at the grocery store.”

  I nod along, humming. That’s a perk of growing up in the city. I’ve never bumped into an ex. Not that there are many of them walking around for me to bump into.

  We fall into a comfortable silence, and I don’t try to fill it. I just leave my hand on Wyatt’s leg, almost protectively. Green country whizzes by as we leave Newark and enter the more rural parts of New Jersey.

  I’ve often marveled at how tiny houses sit next to mansions. We drive along a road covered in tall trees. Next to a beaten down trailer is a ridiculously huge house. It must have eight bedrooms and a pool. Part of me wonders who would be more depressed. Would it be the occupant of the trailer? Being so close to a palatial house must be intimidating. Or would it be the owner of the mansion who’d be glum about having to share land with a little trailer?

  Something my dad used to say pops into my mind.

  People in big homes have holes in their knickers.

  It’s an old English saying he used to tell us he learned from his grandma.

  I smile contentedly and mold myself into the seat, while the whirring sound of the engine massages my soul. My grip on the side of the seat loosened a long time ago, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel a need to stim. The faint sound of traffic from outside is like a whisper in my ears. Wyatt’s leg is warm and soft to the touch. The next thing I know; someone is gently nudging my arm.

  I blink into brilliant sunshine and feel the unmistakable pull of drool when I move my head. Ew. Way to go, Lucy.

  “We’re here,” Wyatt says softly, his face coming into focus.

  I must have dozed off and slept for the rest of the journey. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Sorry, I guess this week caught up with me.”

  Wyatt’s smile melts away my embarrassment. It helps that he’s dressed as my favorite fictional hero. “Don’t worry about it. You looked cute as a sleeping elf princess.”

  His comment settles in my stomach and explodes into butterflies.

  “We’re just in time for the opening ceremony, come on.”

  We climb out of the car and I adjust my dress and wig, as Wyatt casually strolls around to meet me. He offers his arm and I slide my hand through. The familiar scent of his cologne blankets me like a fuzzy pair of socks on a cold night.

  “All right, Aragorn. Lead the way.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Lucy

  I’ve been in Snowdrop Valley for thirty minutes, and I’ve not seen a single snowdrop flower anywhere. If I were mayor of this town, I’d make sure there was a snowdrop on every signpost, streetlamp, store window and bench.

  The town itself is much smaller than I pictured in my head.

  As Wyatt and I walk arm in arm, it’s like we wandered onto the wrong movie set. There’s an old English vibe to the architecture, lines of crooked houses with chimneys and cute
weathervanes spinning in the breeze.

  Wyatt gives me the tour, starting with Betty’s, the only coffee shop. Next door is the Snowdrop Xpress, the town’s local newspaper. The townspeople are dressed up as storybook characters, and they all stop to greet Wyatt by name. He introduces me to a sweet old lady dressed as Gangster Nanny, and within minutes, whispers of “Wyatt has a girlfriend” are flying up and down the street. It circles back to the couple of teenage girls walking behind us, both sporting Gryffindor uniforms.

  As we approach the town square and come across more townsfolk, Wyatt and I start to play a game of guess who.

  Seeing everyone in costume says a lot about the sense of community in this town. So far, everyone I’ve seen has excellent taste in literature.

  Wyatt groans suddenly. “Here we go,” he mutters under his breath. “Sorry about this, Lucy.” I turn in time to see a mature-looking Belle approaching us from the left, with a man dressed up as a beast on her arm. I’m not sure what the apology is for until the beast roars and pulls Wyatt in for a bear hug.

  “Good to see you, Son!” the beast says gruffly.

  Then understanding strikes like a bolt of lightning, and I realize who these people are. Belle’s hazel eyes are similar in shape and size to Wyatt’s.

  Wyatt turns and hugs Belle and she holds him for much longer, stroking the back of his head in a motherly fashion.

  These are Wyatt’s parents.

  I hold my breath and dig my nails into my palms to distract myself from the wobbly sensation inside me. I’m not good with parents. I can’t remember the last time I spoke to my mom––probably during my obligatory annual phone call on Mother’s Day. And even then, I barely did any talking. All I managed to get out was a “Happy Mother’s Day” before my mom launched into a two-hour rant about all of the things that disappoint her about me.

  I'm in my thirties and haven’t settled down yet. I’m working a lame office job, with no future prospects (in her eyes.) I’m not as skinny as Leila, and I’m not as sweet as Chessy.