“You must be the lil’ cute weirdo Keem was telling me about,” I heard shouted at me, as soon as I stepped from underneath the awning.
Shielding my eyes from the sun with my hand, I peered around until a raucous chuckle drew my attention upward, to the balcony above the store front next to mine, where a fair-skinned man was sitting, shirtless, cocktail in hand.
It’s not even seven in the morning yet.
“Um… I guess so?” I answered, making a snap decision to actually follow Alicia’s advice and try to engage people more.
And since I did know who “Keem” was.
I’d met him pretty shortly after moving in – inevitable, since he owned the storefront directly next to me – an atelier and styling service. I knew from personal experience that could go one of only two ways – men who cared about clothes were either insufferable or great, no in-between.
Luckily, Keem seemed great.
I could only guess that the shirtless, light-skinned man of obvious leisure on the balcony was the husband he’d mentioned when he introduced himself.
Carlos.
“Nothing wrong with being weird – these regular motherfuckers are boring,” he called down to me, then took another sip of his drink. While I watched, he sat forward, lowering his shades to peer at me. “He was right. You’re gorgeous. You’re not wasting that face and body not being somebody’s sugar baby, are you?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “As a matter of fact, I am wasting this face and body on exactly that.”
“Mmm,” he exclaimed, shaking his head. “Damn shame. If I looked like you, I wouldn’t pay for shiiiiit.”
My eyebrows went up. “You’re definitely prettier than me.”
He snatched his shades off to grin down at me. “I like you bitch.”
“Thank you, I think.”
He tossed me a wave, and then went back to… tanning, I guess. Whatever he was doing, I was clearly dismissed, so I returned to my business of getting across the street, and into Urban Grind, which was already packed.
Prime people watching material.
I made a quick decision that instead of leaving with my drink, I would actually stick around, finding myself a quiet corner. Halfway through the line, I heard my name called, bringing an instant frown to my face as I peered up to the counter, where the woman I’d identified as a manager was holding up a cup, and looking straight at me.
“Tempest – I’ve got your Mocha-Matcha Melee ready.”
Confused, I stepped out of line to approach Anika – that was her name, according to the badge pinned to her chest. “Um… I haven’t even ordered yet…”
“Yeah, but you get this every day… unless you were switching it up?”
“No,” I admitted. “I guess it didn’t occur to me that anybody was paying that much attention to me.”
I definitely should’ve.
“We make it a point to identify our regulars,” she grinned, handing me the cup. “No creepiness intended.”
I shook my head. “It’s fine, really. At least I don’t have to wait in line. It’s three-eighty-two, right?”
Her grin stretched wider. “You’re already taken care of, actually. Tristan had me put you on his tab.”
Really?
Unbidden, a smile came to my face before I mentally smacked it back down, realizing that shit like this was… exactly what I didn’t need.
Probably.
“Motherfucker,” I grunted, and Anika’s eyes got big, the grin dropping from her face.
“Ah, hell – I thought it was a cute thing since he obviously likes you, but I’m not accidentally helping that nigga with any stalker shit, am I? Cause I can have his ass kicked for you. It might take a few people,” she murmured, frowning as she really considered it.
“No, nothing like that,” I quickly cleared up, before she took those thoughts too far. “It’s not really a problem. I … I’m… shit.”
“Not sure about him?” she asked, leaning over the counter so she could lower her voice. “If it helps, I’ve not heard anything bad about him. He’s only lived here a few years – Blackwood transplant. He does security for us a couple nights a week. Cute. Funny. Never seen him on any disrespectful or inappropriate energy, all that. He’s cool.”
“Yeah… I don’t know. He’s a little too fine. Too smooth.”
Anika nodded, laughing as she straightened up. “I will not front like I don’t understand that. I spent as long as I could dodging it, personally, so… I get it. But… you paying for your own drinks, or running his pockets?”
“He got it,” I answered, joining her in a laugh before I moved on so she could get back to her job.
Just like I’d planned, I found myself some solitude in a cozy corner and planted myself there.
To watch.
For so long that I got desensitized to the bell over the door, because there was so much more to look at.
Well.
Until he came through the door.
With his arm wrapped over the shoulder of a much younger woman.
Actually… not a woman at all, even though she was tall.
A fucking teenager.
The youth in her face told the real story as Tristan leaned down to speak into her ear, saying something that made her burst into laughter, showcasing hot pink rubber bands on her braces. I was already out of my seat, my face hot with rage as I gripped my empty mug, thinking about how much force I’d have to use to put it through his temple.
She couldn’t be older than maybe fourteen.
Maybe.
But then Tristan looked up.
Noticed me.
Smiled.
Said something to the girl who was way too young to be with him, causing her to look up too – she, as opposed to him, shrank away.
“Daddy, she looks like an assassin.”
Tristan scoffed. “See? I told your mama you watch way too much damn Netflix. An assassin, really?”
“Look at her face.”
I could hear their conversation, of course, but my mind was still stuck way back on one word.
Daddy?
“You have a kid?” I finally said out loud, some of the tension leaving my shoulders.
His eyebrows went up. “Yeah. Temp, this is Kiara. Kiara, this is Tempest. I told her
