“Welcome to Polished Perfection!”

Letting out a yawn, Paden took another bite of his sandwich. Automatically turning his head towards the front desk despite being on his lunch break, he took stock of the new customer. As soon as he saw you—he froze.

There you were, standing at the front desk and chatting pleasantly with the receptionist.

His muse is here.

Forcing down his mouthful of food, Paden launched to his feet—sandwich dropping from his hands onto the table, now forgotten.

It’s been days—weeks since you had come back to the beauty salon, and he wasn’t about to pass up a chance to do your toenails! He’s only been able to barely hold himself back from seeking you out himself by staring at the one picture he managed to snap of your feet the last time you came for a pedicure. It wasn’t even a good picture, blurry and taken behind his back in a rush when he realized you weren’t able to stay long enough to be asked for a photo due to an urgent matter right after your appointment.

He had taken the photo on instinct, desperate to preserve such beauty forever.

You just had such perfect feet.

Paden knows the difference between a good pair of feet and a bad pair of feet. It’s a learned aesthetic, one he’s developed after working for so many years as a pedicurist.

He’s compared your feet to the dozens of other pairs of feet in his portfolio’s collection, each photo carefully selected to reel in new potential customers and for his own enjoyment. His criteria was strict and the available space in his binder was limited, so whenever a picture failed to live up to his standards or was outshone by a new pair of feet, it was immediately discarded.

Despite this—despite the terrible quality of your picture, Paden still put it front and center on the first page of his portfolio.

That was simply how perfect your feet were.

“Yes, we do take walk-ins. What service of ours are you interested in today? We can style hair, find your color palette, give you a manicure or—”

“A pedicure.”

Paden slammed his hand onto the front desk, frazzled from worry.

No, no, no. It wouldn’t do at all for you to choose anything other than a pedicure.

Meeting your startled gaze, he smiled, clearing his throat as he composed himself. Sweeping a hand through his hair, he took a deep breath.

“I meant, we were offering a discount for pedicures to the hundredth customer who happened to walk through our doors today.”

He ignored the receptionist’s confused glance, subtly gesturing at her to keep quiet. Paden sweetened his smile as you stared back, dumbfounded. Unperturbed, he bulldozed forward, continuing the conversation alone.

He was going to give you a pedicure today one way or another.

“And you just happened to be our hundredth customer! How lucky. Would you like to have your discounted pedicure now?”