18 | Nail Polish
I could hear the men laughing upstairs from where I sat at the kitchen island with my laptop open in front of me.
Usually, laughter meant fun. Happiness. Proof that everyone was getting along.
With Midnight Theory, it could also mean property damage.
Another burst of laughter came through the ceiling. Wesley said something about surprising me. Leo told him to focus. Kadir suggested asking me for help.
“No,” Leo said, loud enough to reach the kitchen. “That ruins the point.”
I closed the laptop.
The lodge had been suspiciously calm for several days. We had recovered from the bowling alley with headaches and an argument over whether getting thrown out technically meant the final game had ended in a tie. Wesley had kept the selfie.
I climbed the stairs quietly.
The voices grew clearer as I approached Leo’s room. Wesley was explaining that thinner layers dried faster. Leo told him that information would have been more useful before the third coat. Kadir asked why his finger was stuck to Wesley’s knee.
I stopped outside the doorway.
All three men sat on the carpet around an open bottle of black nail polish.
Leo leaned against the side of his bed with his hands spread in front of him. His nails were fully painted, though several had thick ridges through the center and black smears along the skin. Wesley’s looked worse. He had managed to paint one cuticle completely and missed part of his thumbnail.
Kadir sat beside him with one hand resting on Wesley’s knee. Four of his nails were black. Wesley held his pinky carefully while applying another uneven layer.
It was unexpectedly sweet.
Leo and Wesley had apparently decided all three of them needed matching nails. Kadir had agreed to participate despite possessing enough common sense to recognize the risks of placing an open polish bottle on pale carpet.
For a moment, I only watched.
Wesley’s concentration made his mouth tighten. Kadir remained still for him. Leo offered instructions while contributing nothing useful.
They had known one another for years. I had seen that history in the studio, in arguments, and in the ease with which they crowded around me without asking anyone to step aside.
This was quieter. Three men sitting cross-legged on a bedroom floor, painting one another’s nails because someone had decided it would look good.
Then I noticed the bottle balanced near Leo’s thigh.
“I hate surprises,” I announced.
All three men jumped.
Leo’s knee hit the bottle.
It tipped sideways.
Thick black polish poured directly onto the carpet.
The stain spread slowly through the pale fibers, widening beneath the bottle while four adults stared at it as though silence might reverse the process.
Leo looked at me first. “You scared me.”
“You put an open bottle on the carpet.”
“Because Wesley was using it.”
“I was using it on Kadir,” Wesley said. “You were supposed to hold it.”
“You never told me that.”
Kadir removed his hand from Wesley’s knee and looked down at his unfinished nails. “Keep arguing. It’s really helping.”
The black stain had already reached the edge of Leo’s discarded sock.
I stepped into the room. “Nobody touch it.”
Wesley moved immediately. He ran into the bathroom and returned with a white towel before I could decide whether tackling him would create more damage than allowing him to continue.
He dropped to his knees and pressed the towel against the spill.
The polish soaked into the fabric.
When he lifted it, the towel had acquired a large black circle and the carpet stain had become wider.
Leo pointed. “You’re smearing it.”
“I’m blotting.”
“After rubbing.”
“I didn’t rub.”
Leo reached for the towel to demonstrate.
I put both hands over my face.
The lodge was expensive. The carpet had probably been selected by someone who used phrases like custom weave and natural fiber. I could already imagine the damage invoice arriving at the label.
It would list equipment rental, cleaning fees, and one section of carpet destroyed during a group manicure.
Behind my hands, Wesley and Leo resumed arguing over whether the towel should be folded.
Kadir came to stand beside me.
His palm settled at my lower back.
“We’ll fix it.”
I lowered my hands and looked at him.
He was watching Wesley attempt to fold the polish-soaked towel without touching the wet section. Leo kept redirecting his hands. Every few seconds, they made the situation visibly worse.
Kadir pressed his lips together.
“You’re laughing.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re trying not to.”
His shoulders moved once.
Wesley lifted the towel. “I think some came out.”
The stain looked larger.
Kadir turned his face toward my hair, hiding the beginning of a smile.
I elbowed him.
“Where’s the nail polish remover?”
The room became quiet again. Leo looked toward the bathroom. Wesley looked at Kadir. Kadir looked at the open bottle.
I waited.
“You brought nail polish to an isolated lodge without nail polish remover?”
“We didn’t plan to remove it,” Leo said.
Wesley held up his hands. “The plan stopped working pretty early.”
His fingers looked like he had dipped them into wet paint and attempted to wipe them clean on himself.
I stared at the three of them.
Kadir checked the bathroom cabinet, then Leo’s bag. There was no remover. No acetone. Nothing stronger than a bottle of facial toner and a tiny packet of lens wipes that belonged to sunglasses Leo didn’t need.
“I’ll go into town,” Kadir said.
“Get acetone. Carpet cleaner. White towels.”
“More polish,” Leo added.
“No more polish.”
“My other hand needs fixing.”
“Your other hand needs supervision.”
Kadir took his keys from the dresser. Before leaving, he leaned down and kissed my cheek.
The gesture was quick, but Leo noticed. Wesley did too.
Nobody commented.
Kadir looked back at Leo and Wesley while leaving. “Listen to her.”
I stood over the stain with Wesley on one side and Leo on the other.
The silence lasted several seconds.
Then Wesley lifted both hands toward me.
“Do they look good?”
I inspected them. Black polish covered most of the nails. It also covered several knuckles, one fingertip, and a narrow streak near his wrist.
“No.”
His face fell.
Leo extended his own hands. “Mine are better.”
“Technically.”
Wesley looked between our hands. “We wanted to surprise you.”
Leo leaned back against the bed. “My execution was fine before you appeared like a horror-movie child.”
“You screamed.”
“I reacted.”
“Kadir cursed in Turkish.”
“He has a wide vocabulary.”
I took the damaged towel from Wesley. The polish had begun thickening through the fabric.
“Come on. We need to rinse this.”
I led them downstairs to the laundry room beneath the staircase.
The room hadn’t been designed for three adults. A washer and dryer occupied one wall. Shelves of detergent and cleaning products took up another. The utility sink left a narrow strip of floor between everything else.
I turned on the hot water, then stopped.
“Cold.”
Leo leaned against the dryer. “Confident.”
“Do you know whether hot water sets nail polish into fabric?"
“No.”
“Then you should stop talking.”
I switched the water temperature and worked soap into the black section of the towel. Wesley rolled up his sleeves and moved beside me. He reached into the sink, taking one corner of the fabric while I held the other.
Leo continued watching. I handed him the soap. His expression suggested I had assigned him manual labor without consulting his contract. He squeezed too much onto the towel.
Wesley flicked water toward him. Leo responded by dragging one wet finger across Wesley’s forearm. A black streak appeared on the skin.
I looked up slowly.
Both men stopped.
“If Kadir returns to find two dead bodies in this room, he’ll understand why.”
“He’ll criticize how you hid them,” Leo said.
“He’ll help,” Wesley added.
The stain in the towel faded from solid black to dark gray. The carpet remained upstairs awaiting professional chemicals, but the towel might survive. I left it soaking in the sink.
Wesley’s hand brushed mine beneath the water.
His fingers closed lightly around my wrist.
“You got some on you.”
A small smear of black polish marked the side of my thumb.
He rubbed at it with his own thumb, though the touch did very little to remove the color. His attention stayed on my hand. The playful energy had quieted.
Leo moved closer to inspect the mark.
“We should paint one of hers.”
“No. Please don’t.”
Wesley smiled. “You thought the surprise was cute. Didn’t you?”
“I thought it was poorly planned.”
Leo took my other wrist and examined my nails beneath the utility light.
The laundry room felt smaller now that nobody was splashing water or arguing. Wesley stood close enough that his shoulder touched mine. Leo’s legs nearly brushed my knees.
I could still smell detergent, wet fabric, and the chemical sweetness of nail polish.
Wesley’s hand moved from my wrist to my waist.
“You looked disappointed,” he said softly.
“That you weren’t destroying something more interesting?”
“That we were only painting our nails.”
Leo turned my hand slowly between his fingers. His gaze moved from the black smear near my thumb to my face.
“You’re less convincing when you’re trapped in a laundry room.”
“I’m not trapped.”
“No,” he said. “You came down here with us.”
Wesley’s palm settled more securely against my hip.
The towel continued soaking behind me. Kadir was somewhere on the road into town. The lodge had gone quiet around the three of us.
Leo brushed his thumb across my clean thumbnail.
“We could still make you match.”
The way both men looked at me suggested he was no longer talking about nail polish.
Wesley was the one who closed the last inch.
He cupped my face with both hands and kissed me slow and careful. His mouth was warm. Behind me Leo’s palm settled at the small of my back, then slid higher under my shirt, tracing the line of my spine while he watched.
“Look at her,” Leo murmured, voice low and interested. “She’s so cute when she gets excited.”