Page 41 of Lace

Becky glanced at Caleb.

“I can do my own makeup,” Caleb assured her and pulled free of Mitchell’s grip. “Thanks anyway.”

“What’s the occasion?” she asked, a slight grudging tone to the question.

“He’s off to win back the love of his life.”

“In a skirt?”

“I can do my own makeup, thanks very much,” Caleb said again and turned to leave.

“Does he like the skirt?” Becky called after him.

“That’s what he’s going to find out, isn’t it, Becks? Please. Do this for me. Make him lovely.”

“He already is lovely,” Becky admitted. “Come here, model boy. Let’s have a look at you.” She set her case down on the table and opened it up. “We do have to get this tramp goo off your face. You can’t go see him looking like this.”

“I don’t want to put you out,” Caleb said.

“Shut it.” She pointed to her chair. “Sit.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No, but this is my business, and now I’m invested. This is true love, right? Noble cause and all that.”

“The noblest,” Mitchell agreed.

“We’ll see,” Caleb muttered as he hefted himself up into the chair. The plastic was cold on the backs of his legs and he wasn’t sure if that was annoying or intriguing. It was certainly different.

Becky made short work of removing the caked-on stage makeup and then quick, careful progress of applying more subtle enhancements.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Caleb held up a hand in protest when she brought a blush brush towards his face. “Eyeliner and mascara, okay…”

“Trust me.” She batted his hand away and continued.

“I don’t want to look girly.”

She flicked a significant look at his skirt.

“I just want to look like me.”

“But more,” she added. “I’m not going to whore you up. I’m only enhancing your natural beauty. Believe me, there’s plenty there.” She dabbed at his cheeks briefly and set the brush down. “Lip gloss, and we’re all done.”

“No.”

“Mitchell, is he always this horrible?”

“Yes. Caleb, sit still.”

“Jerk.” Caleb shot him a mutinous glare.

“Stop pouting,” Becky said, smacking is arm, “and hold still.”

Caleb relented and let her brush a bit of gloss over his lips. It felt odd, slick, but he had to admit, once she was done, he did look like himself, but more, just as she’d promised.

“Okay?” she asked, one plucked eyebrow raised.

“Okay,” he admitted. “Thanks.”

---