Before I could offer any response, a male voice bellowed, “She lyin’!” from… somewhere. A moment later, a tall, fine ass man came bursting through the swinging doors of the kitchen, scowling at the woman behind the counter. “You think I can’t hear you, woman?”
“I think you need to mind your business before you scare off this customer,” she countered, the smile in her eyes and on her lips contradicting his glare.
“She ain’t scared. You ain’t scared, are you?” he asked me, wrapping a big arm around the woman to drag her against his side as she giggled. “Ay, you’ve gotta come through tomorrow if you want the good mac&cheese.”
“Mixing it up will be your only reminder of a certain sound for a while if you don’t go somewhere,” she said, pinching him, hard, under the arm.
“You so mean,” he yelped, jumping away from her as he rubbed the tender spot. “Hey,” he said, addressing me again. “Remember what I told you.”
“Nixon.”
“Okay bye!” he called, disappearing back through the kitchen door as she aimed a swat at him.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said, her face flushed with happiness as she turned back to me. “I’m supposed to be recommending a plate for you, not playing around with my foolish husband.”
I shook my head, returning her smile. “No, it’s fine. Y’all are sweet,” I assured her, not bothered in the least by their display. If anything, it was a bright spot in this gloomy ass day, seeing their natural chemistry.
The kind of love I’d feigned for the purposes of a mission, but never actually experienced before.
That whole interaction could’ve been pulled right from a training video.
“Did you want to try the mac?” she asked, taking us back to the matter at hand. “If you eat meat, we can put some fried chicken with it, some greens, some yams…”
“Yeah that sounds amazing, sign me up.”
She grinned. “I gotcha sis.”
I paid for my meal and then ventured to the open dining area to take a seat. It wasn’t prime lunch time, so it was semi-empty enough for me to relax and let my mind drift.
Back to the candle shop.
Damn that space for being so intriguing, cause now I was wondering about it. Well… daydreaming, really.
I didn’t need money, thankfully, so I didn’t have to give a job much consideration. The work force was not ready for me, nor was I ready for it.
I had some acclimating to do first.
What I could use, was a hobby – one I could safely engage from the privacy of my own space, without anybody getting into my damn business. Honestly… I was getting a little excited about the thought of figuring out the whole process without much instruction, blending and formulating my own scents.
I did good with something to focus on.
Unfortunately, the bell over the front door drew my attention, breaking me away from my thoughts. My eyes instinctively went to the new arrival, going wide for a moment at the familiar sight of locs, a beard, and dark bronzed skin.
Tristan.
I watched, enthralled, as he interacted with the woman behind the counter – Charlie, according to him. They talked and laughed while he ordered his food, their conversation drawing Nixon back out to the front to join the fun for a few moments before Tristan moved on, to take a seat and wait for his meal.
I’d already looked away, pretending to bury my attention in my phone, but of course he spotted me.
“Ms. Not Interested,” he said, and I looked up in time to see him taking it upon himself to slip into the seat across from me in the booth I’d claimed. “So I did end up seeing you around.”
I shrugged. “That’s not really a great feat, since I do live in the neighborhood. Also, you know my actual name, so…”
“I do,” he conceded, his lips spreading into a grin that brought inappropriate things to mind. “But I so enjoy reminding you of that, since you did, indeed, end up quite interested.”
“In your talent as an artist. Not your dick,” I said bluntly, even though I was, actually, very much interested in that.
“Fair enough. Although…” he glanced around, then leaned across the table a bit. “You should know… I’m about forty percent sure you’re actually trying to convince yourself of that.”
I smirked. “Forty? That’s pretty damn confident.”
“I think it’s pretty solid too. Am I right?”
“This wouldn’t be much fun if I just told you, now would it?” I asked, lacing my fingers together and propping my elbows on the table as I leaned in a bit myself. “You’ll have to figure it out. And risk me stabbing you in the process, if you’re wrong.”
One eyebrow shot up. “Stabbing? Damn. I know you’re mysterious and all, but…”
“You’re the one who sat down to flirt with a stranger,” I reminded him, glancing up as a staff member brought out my food, which I’d luckily ordered to go. “Don’t act scandalized now.”
He chuckled. “Nah, that’s not it. I’m just not sure what it says about me that the threat of being stabbed has me even more interested in your lack of interest.”
“You should examine that,” I said, rising with my food tucked in one arm, umbrella tucked in the other. “By yourself.”
I left him sitting there laughing, knowing he couldn’t follow me without leaving his own food behind – and as good as this place smelled, he wasn’t doing that.
The endless storm had picked up, so I spent a few moments underneath the awning outside the restaurant getting myself situated – wristlet and food secured, umbrella held high to protect from the elements.
That didn’t last long.
I’d barely made it half a block when a sudden, heavy gust flipped my umbrella inside-out, making a complete mockery of the “heavy duty” claim that had been all over the
