Page 34 of The Lipstick Flip

I grabbed my phone, started recording, and moved to where I had a view of the kitchen.

Noah’s cheeks were red; he’d lost the reindeer hat somewhere, and he stood now with his hands on his hips next to the cabinets Joe had been installing all morning. “Joe, sweetheart, I like you. I also know you think I’m some pretty eye candy you can placate and send away, and then the men will figure things out.”

“Now hold on—” Joe said, and now his face was turning red.

“But I’m not just a great piece of ass, Joe. Understand? And when I tell you I don’t want the lights installed that way, it’s because—” Noah reached over and flipped a switch. Lights came on under the cabinets. They probably looked nice when you were closer, but from where I stood, they were too bright. “—they’re too harsh.” Noah fiddled with one of the lights, and the intensity lessened. “That’s why I’m telling you to install them this way. Do you see what I mean?”

Joe scratched his chin. And then, with a trace of embarrassment, he said, “I didn’t think about that.”

“I know,” Noah said. “Now, what’s it going to be? Are you going to install them the way I asked? Or do I have to take my wig off and fight you?”

I shrank down. Physically. Made myself smaller, even if it was only a little, even if I was the only one who knew it.

But Joe burst out laughing.

I didn’t even have a word for how intense the wave of relief was. It was like my joints wanted to melt. And for several seconds, I couldn’t hear anything.

Whatever Joe and Noah said, though, they both seemed to be back to normal. Noah spotted me on his way out of the kitchen. He looked at the phone, which I was still holding, and then he smirked and struck a pose. “Did you get my good side?”

I wasn’t sure why, but I fled—grabbed my sandwich and the Coke and finished my meal on the back stoop.

It was fine.

Joe had been laughing.

Nothing happened.

But why did he have to say things like that? About his wig? Or the pose at the end?

Because he was Noah.

I put my trash in the garbage can and went back to work.

The time slipped away from me until I was on the stoop again, reaching inside to find the porch light because it was too dark to make a cut, when Noah said, “Are you planning on working all night?

He was leaning against the newly installed cabinets. The undercabinet lights were—I had to admit—perfect.

“A little longer,” I said. “And then I’ve got to get over and visit Si.”

“Interesting,” Noah said. “Because it’s almost seven, and visiting hours end at nine.”

“Fuck me,” I said.

“Been there,” Noah said, and his eyes looked liquid with reflected light. He was smirking. “Done that.”

I got the table saw back into the garage. I put away the baseboard. I did a half-assed job sweeping up, and then I hurried into the house.

Noah was leaning over the counter, doing something on his phone.

“You’re still here?” I asked.

“Of course. I’m having so much fun spending money. Why would I go home?”

I couldn’t even bring myself to ask. I locked the back door and started toward the front of the house. “If you’re serious about staying, can you lock up when you leave?”

“Howie.” When I glanced back, Noah stared at me for a moment, as though communicating something. And then he sighed—dramatically—and said, “You aren’t going to see Si in work clothes and with sawdust in your hair.”

I touched my head. Yeah, okay, there was a little; I scruffed my head a few times, sending the sawdust trickling down to the floor.