Perfectly Polished

Craig sat at his glass desk in the chair that had turned itself pink over the weekend, with one leg crossed neatly over the other, the pointed toe of a charcoal grey stiletto heel bobbing almost imperceptibly beneath the desk. Morning sunlight spilled through the office windows, glinting off the glass surface and illuminating the collection of manicure supplies spread out before him with humiliating professionalism.

A charcoal pencil skirt hugged his hips and thighs before ending just above his knees, tailored enough to make every movement feel deliberate. The dark blue blouse tucked into the waistband softened the severity of the skirt, its short puffed sleeves giving it an almost vintage elegance that looked far too natural on him. Pantyhose hugged every inch of his legs beneath the skirt, disappearing into the heels that, somehow, felt as comfortable as running shoes. Gold hoop earrings brushed lightly against his neck whenever he moved. Fresh red lipstick framed his mouth. A crisp line of black eyeliner gave his eyes an almond shape they had never possessed before Eros decided to ruin his life.

The finishing touch sat in his hand.

A bottle of deep burgundy nail polish.

Craig glared at it. Not because he was sitting in what was supposed to have been a management position while being paid to paint his fingernails. Not because his brain now contained years of impossible experience applying cosmetics with the confidence of a professional. Not even because in only a few hours his employer expected him to attend another pole dancing lesson for his so-called professional development.

No.

What truly tested his patience was the ancient Greek goddess seated in an equally pink chair beside him.

"Oh wow," Euphrosyne gasped, leaning closer as though Craig were unveiling a masterpiece. "You're doing really well! Look at that line! That's gorgeous!"

"Thanks," Craig muttered.

"Seriously!" she continued, bright eyes practically sparkling. "Has anyone ever told you how talented you are?"

"It's just nail polish."

"But you're so good at it!"

"I'd rather not be."

"You should! You could become famous for nails alone!"

Craig simply sighed. It had been like that all morning. On the drive to work:

"You used your turn signal! That was magnificent! I don't think I've ever seen anyone merge so gracefully!"

In the parking lot:

"Oh! Look at that! Right between the lines! Craig, you're extraordinary! Is everyone this good at parking, or are you secretly gifted?"

Inside the lobby:

"You held the door for that woman! You're delightful!"

Every tiny accomplishment. Every mundane task. Every ordinary movement received the enthusiasm normally reserved for Olympic medals or miraculous healings. It was like being followed everywhere by an immortal cheerleader who had never experienced cynicism.

Worse, nobody else appeared capable of seeing her. Craig had quickly learned to keep replies to the bare minimum, usually under his breath or while pretending to cough. Talking openly to an invisible goddess seemed like an excellent way to lose what little credibility remained.

Unfortunately, whether people saw Euphrosyne or not, they certainly felt her. The entire office seemed lighter. Coworkers smiled more. Conversations drifted into laughter.

Someone walking past Craig's desk suddenly stopped just to say, "Looking good today!" Another gave him a spontaneous high-five without explanation. A third complimented his lipstick before happily continuing on their way.

It was contagious. For everyone except Craig.

Good.

He didn't want whatever impossible sunshine Euphrosyne carried around with her. Frustration still belonged to him. So did anger. Stress. Those feelings were reminders that he'd once had another life. A better one. Every ounce of irritation helped anchor him to the man he'd been before Eros decided his destiny needed rewriting. Yes, his feet adored these ridiculous heels. Yes, his hands instinctively knew exactly how to paint immaculate nails.

That didn't mean he had to enjoy any of it.

"So," Euphrosyne asked, resting her chin in both hands, "what happens after your nails dry?"

Craig kept his voice barely above a whisper.

"I'll probably fold laundry."

"Oh!"

"Or wash dishes."

"Ooh!"

"Maybe iron something."

"That sounds wonderful!"

"It really isn't."

"I've never washed dishes before," she admitted with childlike excitement. "Is it difficult?"

"No."

"Messy?"

"Sometimes."

"Rewarding?"

Craig looked at her.

"No."

"It sounds rewarding."

"It isn't."

"I think it sounds lovely."

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"It's not a manager's job."

"Oh?"

"I wasn't supposed to spend my days cleaning kitchens and matching socks."

"But think how happy the socks must be."

Craig stared.

"The socks."

"They belong together now. They probably missed each other. Like soulmates."

He slowly closed his eyes.

"I was hoping you and your sisters would fix things," he said.

"We are," she said, a smile in her voice.

"No."

"Honestly, we are."

"No, Euphrosyne. You're celebrating everything I've lost."

"Setting things right is Eros' job," she said, her smile softened only slightly. "I'm here to make the journey joyful."

Craig looked back down at his hand before answering.

"I don't want this journey."

"That's because you can't see where it ends."

Silence settled between them.

Craig uncapped the polish again.

The familiar scent of lacquer drifted upward as he drew the tiny brush from the bottle. Thick burgundy polish clung to the bristles in a glossy bead. Almost automatically, his wrist twisted, wiping the excess against the neck of the bottle with a soft scrape that left exactly the right amount behind.

One slow stroke travelled from the base of his thumbnail to the tip, perfectly centred. The second curved delicately along the left edge, hugging the cuticle without touching it. The third completed the opposite side.

Three strokes. Perfect coverage. No streaks. No bubbles. No wasted motion. The glossy finish reflected the office lights like polished glass.

Craig lifted the thumb, inspecting it from three different angles before giving it a gentle puff of air. The wet shine slowly settled into something smoother, deeper, richer.

Professional.

Elegant.

Perfect.

"I hate that I'm good at this," he murmured.

Euphrosyne tilted her head.

"I don't believe you."

"I do."

"No."

Craig frowned.

"I think," she continued gently, "you hate that you enjoy being good at it."

"I don't enjoy it," he argued.

"You do."

"I hate every second."

"No, you don't," she said, smiling knowingly. "I can see it."

The goddess leaned closer, her brown hair catching the light with warm chestnut highlights. Soft curls framed a face that seemed almost impossibly alive, every smile bright enough to lift the room around her. She wasn't merely beautiful. There was a fullness to her that made beauty feel welcoming instead of intimidating. Gentle curves softened every line of her body beneath a flowing blue sundress that danced around her knees whenever she moved. Along the hem and straps ran intricate bands of deep navy Greek meander patterns, ancient geometry woven into modern fabric. The faintest golden radiance clung to her skin, subtle enough that Craig wondered if it was only the sunlight. Whenever she leaned close, another sensation accompanied her.

Citrus. Fresh oranges. A squeeze of lemon. The scent was delicate, clean and impossibly cheerful.

"I can see it," she said again. "The joy. You're carrying around this enormous bubble of happiness inside yourself." She gently tapped the centre of his chest with one finger. "Right there."

"I assure you..."

"You keep sitting on it. I've watched you all morning. Every time something makes you smile, you immediately decide you shouldn't."

"Because I shouldn't," he said too loudly, then caught himself, whispering again. "This isn't my life."

"But it is," she said calmly. "We only get one life, mortal or immortal alike. You are one of the lucky ones whose errant course gets corrected."

"I didn't choose it."

"Neither does anyone."

"Maybe humans just want to be left alone," he said. "Left alone to live their lives apart from interference."

Euphrosyne laughed so suddenly that two people walking past the office glanced toward Craig's desk.

"Oh, that's adorable! You mortals spend your entire lives asking for help. You beg the heavens for love. You beg for success. You beg for happiness. And then one of us actually listens..."

She spread her arms dramatically.

"...and suddenly everyone wants to be left alone."

"Lucky me."

"Exactly!" Euphrosyne beamed.

Craig stared. The sarcasm had sailed directly over her head.

"I'm not spending the day watching someone determined to be miserable," she declared, climbing to her feet. "I think your office could use a little excitement."

Craig's eyes widened.

"No."

"Oh yes."

"Please don't."

The goddess smiled mischievously. Then vanished. The empty chair spun gently once before becoming still.

Craig looked around the office. Nothing. No glowing brunette. No citrus. No infectious laughter. Just coworkers quietly working.

For now.

A cold knot settled into his stomach.

"Oh no."

Whatever the goddess considered "a little excitement" was now loose somewhere in the building. Every instinct screamed at him to get up and find her before she accidentally transformed the accounting department into a parade.

Unfortunately, there was still one fingernail left to finish. Craig looked down at the bottle of polish. His hand twitched. With a long, defeated sigh, he dipped the brush back into the lacquer.

Whatever catastrophe Euphrosyne was creating would simply have to wait.

There was no way he was leaving until his manicure was perfect.