Page 20 of Love and Other Paradoxes

“Okay.” He spread his arms. “So. Where do we start?”

“Where every good romance starts. With a makeover.” She stepped back, her eyes moving over him. “We need to overhaul your look.”

“Mylook?” He blinked. “I wasn’t aware I had one.”

She waved her hand at him. “What else do you call this whole messy-hair tatty-jumper aesthetic you have going on? We can lean into it, but it needs work. We need to make you look more—arty.”

“I am arty!” he protested.

“Arty likemy dad owns a gallery, not arty likeI got rashed at the library then fell asleep in a bin.”

“Rashed?”

“Use context, Joseph Greene. You can figure it out.” She turned, beckoning him to follow. “Come on. Time to dress you up in the finest vintage early 2000s fashion.”

“Can you stop calling now ‘vintage’? It’s making me time-sick.”

Reluctantly, he followed her into Oxfam. She sorted throughthe racks, pausing on a pale blue fitted shirt. She examined the label, then the price, and whistled. “Okay, your friend has a point.”

Her surprise made him curious. “Do you not have charity shops in the future?”

“Yeah, but they’re expensive. Only rich people shop there.”

“That doesn’t seem right.”

She threw him an amused look. “No one said things only get better.” She lifted the shirt from the rack. “To bring out your eyes,” she said, glancing briefly into them.

“Uh—okay,” he said, feeling a little flustered.

She moved through the racks, gleaning clothes like a magpie, then dropped an armful on him and steered him for the changing room. “Transform, butterfly, transform.”

There was a gap in the curtain that wouldn’t close. Through it, he could see Esi looking at her phone. She appeared to be playing Snake. “What difference is this going to make?” he complained, pulling off his jeans. “It doesn’t matter how I look if I don’t know what to say to her.”

She turned. Down to his boxers now, he hid behind the curtain. “Patience, Joseph Greene. This is Phase One. The goal of Phase One is to maximise the chances she’ll actually let you near her.”

“I see. Which she’s unlikely to do if she recognises me as the guy who—how did you put it? Walked up to her dressed as a railway accident and told her I’m her destiny?”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “Look at Joseph Greene quoting me.”

He caught his own smile in the mirror as he buttoned his shirt. “So what’s Phase Two?”

“Don’t rush me.” She looked airily back to her phone.

The shirt was tighter than he would usually have been comfortable with. He pulled on a pair of black boot-cut jeans and a long black trench coat. He tried to fix his hair, which had got all messed up in the process of taking off his jumper, then sighed and gave up. “All right. Coming out.”

Esi’s snake crashed into itself and died. She reached up and smoothed out his collar, breaking into a grin. “This is—wow. Not terrible, actually. Can you take the coat off for a second?” He obliged, and she stepped back, appraising him with frank attention. “The shirt was a gamble, to be honest. I couldn’t tell what you were shaped like under all those jumpers. But turns out, you’ve got nice arms.” She clapped. “Buy it. Buy it all.”

He bought it all, for a surprisingly small amount, and met her back outside the shop. “Now we need to do something about the hair,” she announced. “Do you use any product?”

“What kind of products?”

She sighed and took him to Boots. Armed with a tub of blue goop, she dragged him into the shopping centre toilets and stood him by the sinks. “Stand still,” she commanded, and started dolloping the goop into his hair.

At first, he was uncomfortable. Then, the feeling of her hands in his hair started to be almost relaxing. She was humming a soft melody, a little furrow of concentration between her brows. He became acutely aware of her breath and his, touching in the space between them.

She met his eyes. Surprise, and a flicker of something else. “There,” she said, stepping back.

He looked in the mirror. His hair was swept into an artfully tousled faux-bedhead. “I look like I have a trust fund.”

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