13. Carina
THIRTEEN
CARINA
The week flies by, and before I know it, Saturday arrives and I’m knocking on Mia’s front door. When we met for burgers the other night, they weren’t joking about their pampering game. She and Jen take it to a whole new level.
“Hey, Carina,” Mia sing-songs as she opens the door. Standing next to her is Jen, in a pair of black Lululemon leggings just like mine.
Laughing, I point at my leg. “Great minds think alike.” They both smile, welcoming me in.
“Your home is gorgeous,” I gush after stepping inside.
Mia’s house is a cute ranch-style design, decorated in all things rustic.
A black-and-white photo of a longhorn hangs above her shiplap and white stone-covered fireplace.
Her floors are a muted gray, and all the cabinetry is in a restored white wash finish.
Her furniture looks like it could be used for a Pottery Barn ad.
It’s white and very chic, and much nicer than what I have.
Decorating isn’t my strong suit. I can tell you what I like, but putting it together like Mia has isn’t in my wheelhouse.
“Everything is set up, and I’ve premixed the hair and facial creams. I suggest we start with our hair masks because it needs to set the longest. Once those are done, facials can be next.
They’re a two-step process that will take almost as long as the hair mask, and while they’re both working, we can do our manicures and finish with pedicures. How does that sound?”
“Amazing,” Mia praises.
“Wow, Jen. You put a lot of thought into it. Thank you.”
Smiling, she blushes. “It’s nothing. I love doing this. Anytime I can help one of my friends pamper herself, I’m in.”
“Do you girls know what color you want to paint your nails or should I pull out my OPI collection?”
“You have an entire collection?” I ask in surprise, and Jen laughs.
“She isn’t kidding. Mia is a bit of a nail polish diva. She has lots of different colors and only buys OPI.”
Mia shrugs. “It’s the best, and I love having options.”
Feeling slightly embarrassed, I admit, “I don’t paint my nails often, but I stopped by the store yesterday and grabbed a bottle.” I let out a humorless laugh. “I’m ashamed to admit, I don’t even know what brand it is.”
“Let’s see it. I’m sure it’s fine,” Jen says, making me feel less self-conscious.
I retrieve the bottle from my bag and laugh. “It’s OPI. I guess I got lucky.”
“That’s a fantastic color. I don’t have that one. What’s it called?” Mia says.
Flipping over the bottle, I check the label. “Alpaca My Bags. It reminds me of the ocean.”
While Jen and I sit down on the white and gray marbled rug, Mia grabs her collection.
The word makes it sound so intimidating, reminding me that my new friends are more girly than I am.
Instead of letting myself be bothered by that, I consider myself lucky.
My new friends can teach me how to better care for my skin, hair, and nails.
“Man, this is tough. What to choose?” Mia says as she returns with her nail polish assortment.
“Pick a color you haven’t used in a while,” Jen suggests. “Or you can let me pick for you.”
Pushing the polish toward Jen, she mumbles, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but do your worst.”
Jen’s brown eyes sparkle, full of mischievousness. Ten minutes later she’s picked a light lavender color for Mia called Polly Want a Lacquer? And for herself, she picks something more edgy, called Lincoln Park After Dark.
“I don’t think I’ve ever painted my nails black. I can’t wait to see how they look.” Setting our colors aside, we move to Mia’s kitchen for our hair mask application.
Our hair masks go well, even though I fight my gag reflex as Jen is applying it to my head.
I’m not the biggest fan of mayonnaise, so I’m grateful when Mia agrees to coat Jen’s hair.
When she shares how much mayo it took to make her secret concoction, it was mind-blowing and dare I say, artery-clogging.
Good thing you don’t get the effects of its high fat content by inhaling the fumes.
Jen’s promised it makes your hair silky smooth, and I can’t wait to see if it’s true.
Right before lunch, we apply our avocado face masks.
I learned the recipe is another of Jen’s tried-and-true concoctions.
“This looks edible,” I say as I stand in front of the mirror and paint it on my face.
It’s cool and hydrating, which feels great after the tingling sensation of the exfoliant we used first. When it’s all applied, I look like a goopy-faced swamp monster.
My hair is slicked back with clumps of off-white creamy paste, and I look like I face-planted a bowl of guacamole.
Glancing at my friends, I laugh. “We need chips.”
Mia smiles, and it only makes me laugh harder. “I know, we look ridiculous, and it’s making me hungry too. We’ll have lunch soon.” Then she looks down and wiggles her feet. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m ready to make my nails and toes shine.”
Jen gives me tips on my polish application as we all sit hovering above Mia’s coffee table. Thankfully, she covered it with a throwaway plastic tablecloth before we started because I’m apparently not a paint-in-the-lines kind of girl.
Returning to the couch, Jen hands out brightly colored foam toe spreaders. They seem simple enough to use, but on the rare occasion I’ve had a pedicure, the technician has effortlessly put them on. Today, I learn it takes finesse.
When I finally get my toes spread in a very unnatural distance, I look over at my friends, who have both grown silent. With bouncing shoulders and lips pinched tightly, both Mia and Jen appear to be holding something in.
“What?” I innocently ask before they both burst into a fit of giggles.
They’re laughing at me, but I know they’re not making fun of me.
Smiling back at them, I’m sure I look ridiculous.
I’ve always had a habit of sticking my tongue out when I’m concentrating hard, and fitting my toes into that torture device they call a foam spreader required ultimate concentration.
Thankfully, giving myself a pedicure goes smoother.
By one o’clock, I’ve had the works with regard to the self-care treatments, and that’s when someone knocks at Mia’s front door.
We all look at one another with wide eyes, gauging which of us should answer it, considering we’re all sitting around, looking like creatures from the Black Lagoon.
Waiting on our pedicures to dry, we’re all still wearing toe spreaders, making walking a task.
“Come in,” Mia shouts.
I assume she knows who it is. The door opens, and I look past my blueish-green toenails to see who’s here.
My heart stops and I freeze. No, no, no.
Standing there in worn jeans and a rugged striped flannel, is Henrik.
My eyes widen, and I pray he doesn’t know it’s me.
What am I thinking? He won’t. Seeing we’ve never really been face-to-face, I think I’m good.
With mayonnaise in my hair, avocado on my face, and freshly painted toes shoved apart with spreaders, I look ridiculous.
Our gazes lock. Look away. I’m no one. I swallow past my discomfort when his sidekick, Eirik, bows, smiles widely, and says, “Looking lovely, ladies. Hi, Jen. Hi, mystery woman.”
Mia pops up out of her seat, waving her hand at him. “Stop teasing, Eirik. Why are you here?”
He puts his hand to his heart. “Because I missed you, Amelia, my love, and I wanted to see your beautiful face.” Then he gives her a jaw-dropping smile that would melt the panties off a nun.
I look at Jen to gauge her reaction. Her eyes dance with laughter, confirming my suspicion something’s happening between Mia and Eirik.
Mia waddles on her heels to where Eirik and her brother stand. She pokes Henrik in the chest and whines, “Why did you bring him?”
Oblivious to the tension between Mia and Eirik, Henrik shrugs with a smirk.
“We were hanging out when you texted to remind me to pick up your lunch. We added onto your order and decided to eat with you.” My pulse races.
They’re staying? I need to make an excuse to leave.
I don’t want our first meeting to remind him of a souped-up BLT.
Defending me, she clucks her tongue. “No, you aren’t and she isn’t a mystery woman.
She’s my friend, Carina. We all went to high school together.
” I look over to see Henrik’s reaction. He’s zeroed in on me, and he’s eating me up with his intense gaze.
It feels like he’s trying to see beyond all the goop.
He shuffles, almost taking a step closer, when he stops, forcing himself to remain in the same place.
The entire time, his eyes never leave me.
He takes a labored breath, and I swear I feel it in my bones.
It’s like we’re connected by an invisible force.
We’re two magnets with different poles, unable to deny our attraction to each other.
Still focused on me, I sense he feels it too. When his lips lift into a slight smile, I have my confirmation. It’s then I remember how I could be the doppelg?nger of the swamp thing. Great first impression. Embarrassed, I shift my gaze to the floor.
“Now, if you jokesters are done… Thank you for delivering our lunch. As payment, there is a bag of monster cookies in the kitchen for you.” Then she smirks. “You’ll have to share because I didn’t know it’d take two of you to deliver three sandwiches.”
“Monster cookies?” Eirik growls. I look up to see if he’s mad. Before I can even interpret his reaction, he sprints into the kitchen. “They’re all mine. I’m not sharing,” he declares in a deep voice.
Henrik’s gruff objection fills the room. “Mia said we had to share, asshole.” He’s grumpy, but funny.
I snicker. They sound like me and my sisters when we argue. Except we aren’t as crude.
Eirik returns and shoves the bag down his pants and then smirks. “Want one now?”
Henrik shoves him. “No, I don’t want any cookies that have gotten up close and personal with your balls.”
Eirik laughs. “It’s payback after you taunted me with them while we were fishing.”
They’re crazy. Removed from the conversation, Jen and I laugh, and Mia crosses her arms and glares.
Henrik looks at his sister, pained. “Please tell me there are more.”
She shakes her head and points to the door. “It’s time for you two to leave. And P.S., there won’t be any more cookies for either of you. Neither of you deserves them. You’re cut off.” Both guys gasp. They don’t challenge her. Instead, they grab their sandwiches and head for the door.
Before they’re gone, I hear Eirik say, “Don’t worry, buddy. I’ll share my monster ball cookies with you.”
Just as they’re about to walk out the door, Henrik glances over his shoulder and catches my eye, the corners of his mouth lifting the smallest amount. My heartbeat picks up.
He smiled at me.
Henrik smiled at me.
Henrik Berg smiled at me.
At least, I think it was a smile.
My stomach pitches, and my hands shake as I fold them in my lap. Just as I’m about to return his smile with one of my own, I remember the mayonnaise in my hair and the squashed avocado all over my face, and a new wave of embarrassment rocks my body, stealing the joy I felt only seconds before.
If I didn’t have green mush on my face, I’d be face palming right now.
Why am I like this?