The next evening, I stood by the small mirror in the downstairs bathroom and applied the new lipstick I bought at the drugstore. It was a shade called Warm Berry, brighter than the pale pink I had worn since our wedding day.
I smoothed my hands down my apron, trying to decide if the color made my teeth look yellow. A floorboard creaked in the hall behind me.
“Is there a parade in town?” Damon asked from the bathroom doorway.
He had a mug of black coffee in his hand and was checking his watch.
“I wanted to try something different for the dinner next week,” I said, looking down at the sink.
“It makes you look like you’re heading to a high school dance,” he said, taking a sip from his mug. “At fifty, Elena, we should probably leave the paint to the girls.”
He smiled to show he was just kidding, but the coffee mug clicked hard against the tile counter when he set it down.
