The pic she sent was a selfie. She sat in front of her dressing table, in a strapless peach nightgown. Her dark, lustrous hair, which was usually tied up, fell loose around her shoulders. She wore no makeup except the Lipstick Wesley bought her.

Wesley’s hand shook a little, and the enlarged image snapped back to its normal size.

“You’re quiet. That bad? Never mind. I’ll take it down,” Blair said.

Before she deleted the pic, Wesley saved it.

“I just wanted to let you know that not all lipstick is red. This one is buttermilk with a brownish tint. You can call it a Mocha Lipstick shade.”

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Holding his phone in his Left hand, and a cigarette between his fingers of his right, Wesley leaned against the wall with his eyes closed.

his head. Her smile, her voice… the gentle Blair,

Every one of them

his phone. He found the picture and

missed her so much,

a slap in

she grabbed a cotton swab and started to remove the lipstick. She

tossed the Lipstick into a drawer and buried it deep under the rest of the detritus in

went to bed, leaving the desk

tossed and turned in bed,

and reached for her phone out of reflex. It was

excitedly and put her

he said. He was breathing heavily, as if he was

Blair thought the world was bright and

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