by Nicole Falls
Cat got your tongue? Kitchen too hot, can’t stand the heat? I come on too strong? – Bakerman
Instead of responding to any of those inquiries I shot back a message with my ten digits. Put up or shut up was the name of the game. I knew that I wanted him and was going to allow myself to have him. Why delay the inevitable with this back and forth on a website? Almost instantaneously, my phone rang. I looked down to see a jumble of unfamiliar digits and hesitated in answering for a brief moment. I just knew he’d text instead of call, but look at him proving me wrong. I took a minute to gather myself and not sound too giddy when I answered.
“Hey there.”
“Dame Patterson, calling to schedule a taste test,” his baritone rumbled.
I giggled briefly before responding, “Daaaang, a girl can’t even get a proper courting before you’re tryna sample the goodies, huh?”
“Well…when they’re being offered, who am I to say no?” he countered.
“Touché.”
A brief moment of silence lingered before we both began speaking at the same time. He truncated whatever he was about to say and insisted that I speak first.
“So…I usually don’t do this, but…” I paused, not sure of how to continue this sentence.
“Are you about to break me off with a preview of the remix?”
“What?” I said, laughing because I was caught completely off guard.
“Oh we aren’t doing the intro to the remix to ignition. My bad,” Damon responded, humor lacing his tone, “Look, I think I know where you were going and before you give me that ‘I’m not this type of girl’ speech, know that I’m not looking for you to drop down and get your eagle on by command. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in you in that way at all, but I definitely would like to get to know you better, if you don’t mind.”
“I…um…yeah I’d like that, Damon. But…I mean, I’m also not opposed to us getting to know one another…in the biblical sense. I want to be clear with my intentions.”
“Well, this conversation did begin on JustOneNight.com, so I kind of figured what your intentions would eventually be. However, you still seemed to be a little skittish, so you know…I erred on the side of caution.”
“It’s not like…I’m plenty accustomed to the whole FWB situation, but I didn’t want to come off as a thirst bucket, you know? I could make you work for it a little bit,” I teased.
“Oh I’ll definitely be putting in work, sweetheart,” he responded, his voice lowering to the deep rumble from when we were first introduced, “So what’s your scheduling looking like? Can you fit me in?”
The double entendre wasn’t lost on me as I chuckled in response. I grabbed my iPad scrolling through my week to see how soon we could actually get together. The only evenings I had open were Tuesday and Thursday of this week. All others were filled with client dinners or being Patrick’s shuttle.
“Is Tuesday too soon?” I asked, biting on my lip hoping that the answer to that would be no. It was the day after tomorrow.
“Nah, I should be able to work that out. Wanna meet up at Imbibe? Around seven?”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said, around a yawn.
“Aight, well I won’t keep you. Sounds like you’re about ready to lay it down, so I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
“Until then…”
DAMON
I pulled up to Dorian and Reema’s house with my appetite on swole. Today was the first time since I’d been back home permanently that I’d had a chance to stop by for one of Reema’s home cooked meals and I was taking full advantage. Between her being able to burn on her native cultural cuisine, Indian, and being able to throw down on some soul food, sis in law was all right with me. Before I took off for France, I was at their table at least three out of five nights of my work week, too exhausted to even think about cooking for myself, I knew I could count on a hot meal or easily microwavable leftovers at Dor and Reema’s. There was also the added bonus of being able to hang out with the coolest three year old I knew, DJ. Dorian and Reema had named me his godfather, which shocked the hell out of me, but I took the role very seriously from day one. I loved all of my nieces and nephews, but my bond with DJ went just a little deeper. Which, honestly, was expected because of all of my brothers—Dorian and I were the closest.
As I walked up to their door, I could see DJ’s little face peeking through the curtains. I shot him a grin before lifting my hand to ring the doorbell. I used to have a key, but Dorian took it back after one too many incidents of me walking in him and Reema in…delicate situations. I could hear Reema coaching DJ to ask who was at the door and his little voice saying, “Is Unca Dame…I seed him!” Slowly the door crept open, and DJ turned back to Reema looking at her like “didn’t I tell you who was there?”
“Deej, my main man…gimme five,” I said, crossing the threshold and scooping him up into my arms.
With DJ in one arm, I gave Reema a half hug with the other and handed her the box I’d been carrying. I figured the least I could do was bring dessert, so before I left the bake shop, I made a simple pineapple coconut cake—Dorian and Reema’s favorite.
“Where’s bighead?”
“You know where he is,” she replied, shaking her head.
There was only one place to find Dorian after work, but before dinner. He was in his state of the art man cave, probably watching The Six.
“I fly?” DJ asked, flashing me a grin that showed all twenty of his teeth.
All it took was those two words for me to transform from mild mannered Damon to Super Uncle Dame. Ever since he was a little baby, much younger than Reema would have probably approved of, I would hoist him into my arms and fly him all around the room. Since he was already in my arms, it just took a quick shift in my hold in order to send him flying. I made all sorts of sound effects with my mouth as we “flew” from the foyer to Dorian’s den. DJ’s delighted giggles bounced off the walls as I simulated turbulence, rocking and shaking him at random junctures as we maneuvered. Making our way into Dorian’s den, we crash-landed in a heap on the small sofa next to Dor’s recliner.
“You just can’t come in here like somebody regular, huh? Always gotta cause a ruckus,” Dorian laughed.
“You know it,” I said, “Sup bruh? What Mike and Jemele talmbout today?”
“Actually, they ain’t even on today. I swear they the most vacation taking TV personalities on ESPN. And this dude covering for them is boring as hell, so I can’t even pay too much attention to what’s going on because I’m damn near nodding off. What’s good with you though? How’s the bakery?”
“It’s going well. Actually…really well. I got a call from the features editor of the Trib a few days ago. They want to do a profile of me and the patisserie. From a ‘hometown boy comes back to do good’ sort of angle. I don’t know how I feel about it though.”
“Are you serious, bro? It’s an amazing opportunity. What’s holding you back?”
“Honestly? I don’t know if we could handle what would surely be an increase in foot traffic after a major feature like that. We’re rocking and rolling now, but there’s still some hiccups every now and again. Tyrel has been a godsend, but that Jami…I don’t know if she’s gonna last much longer, bruh…”
“Damn, that bad?”
“Worse. Last Tuesday Ty was running late and asked her to open for him. Well let’s just say it’s a good thing that I live right above the damn shop because old ass Mrs. Johnson was telling everybody that walked past that she didn’t think this shop was gonna last because we opened at the anointed and not appointed time.”
“Yoooo, she still got her lil seamstress shop over there? She gotta be at least a hundred, man. I know she ain’t still sewing.”
“Man, she ain’t doing shit, but sitting out there in her rocking chair and playing Benita Butrell to the whole damn neighborhood.”
Dorian fell out laughing. “Wait though…where was…what did you say her name was, Janine?”
; “Jami. And that’s a great question. She came strolling in at about 9:55 like nothing was wrong. I asked her about opening that morning and she claimed that Ty had never discussed it with her. Never mind the fact that I was standing right there when they made the agreement. She’s a nice kid, but she isn’t really cut out to have such a large responsibility right now. I don’t wanna axe her completely though, so I think I might just reduce her role to be more cashier oriented.”
Dorian just shook his head and chuckled again, “Who knew lil Peanuthead would be out here doing boss shit?”
“Chill with that Peanuthead shit, man.”
“Dadaaaaaaaah, DINNUH!” DJ yelled out.
I don’t even think I’d realized he had left the room while Dorian and I were talking.
“That is the laziest three year old I know. Reema tells the boy to come get me for dinner and this is what happens,” Dorian said, walking toward the dining area.
Dorian and Reema lived in a modestly sized ranch style home that betrayed how long their money actually was. Dorian was a shrewd moneyman, taking some calculated risks in early startup investments that paid major dividends and Reema, before she took time off to stay at home with DJ, was a nurse practitioner. Between the two of them, they were financially set for quite some time. They were actually silent investors in the Sweet Thang, helping me pony up the money to buy the building that housed it flat out instead of having a mortgage. I reluctantly took the money, not wanting to be beholden to any of my siblings for that kind of major purchase. They’d bailed me out too many times before. It was important to me to do this thing on my own.
Dinner at Dorian and Reema’s was never a quick affair. I’d been there for a few hours and we’d put DJ down for bed before enjoying cognac—for Dor and I—and wine, for Reema. I was going into a bit more detail about the patisserie, its earnings, my highs and lows so far when Reema interrupted me.
“Okay, so, you know every time we get together doesn’t have to turn into a shareholders meeting, right, D?” she laughed.
I shook my head, laughing. “I know…I just want y’all to be in the know about everything that’s going on.”
“Bruh, we invested because we trust you. You don’t have to give us a rundown. Just run our quarterly dividends and we’re Gucci,” Dorian chimed in.
“Besides,” Reema started, with a sneaky gleam in her eye, “We have more pressing issues to discuss. I mean…DJ needs a little god brother or god sister. So why won’t you let me hook you up just one more time?”
“Have we forgotten the last time you tried to hook me up, Ree? I’m good.”
“But—“ she started before getting cut off by Dorian.
“Baby, he’s got a point. That girl was…crazy…deranged. Your quality control aspect of this whole Chuckisha Woolery thing you tryna pull is lacking.”
“In my defense…she always seemed perfectly normal whenever I went in for my manicures!”
“And you talked to her for what…all of two minutes? For her to let you know that your nail tech was either ready or running a little behind? C’mon, Ree.”
About six or seven months ago, Reema tried hooking me up with the girl who was the receptionist at some swanky ass nail salon she went to…Regina. Regina was bad as fuck physically—cocoa brown skin, thick frame, short boy cut. On the mental tip…let’s just say homegirl was a few steps behind in the Cha Cha Slide. My first tip off of something not being all together with her was when we met for a quick coffee and she spent the time she shoulda been spending getting to know me telling me about her cousin’s baby daddy issues. She was going into intimate details about these people, their custody agreement, sex lives, and all sorts of information that a perfect stranger should not have known about them. She claimed she was sharing under the guise of making sure she had better judgment than her cousin regarding “who she let skeet in her all willy nilly”—her words, not mine.
Despite that…odd start, I did attempt a second date with her. I say attempt because every time we tried to schedule, something came up suddenly and she had to reschedule. We did that song and dance about four times before I gave up the ghost. I don’t know what was wrong with the girl and didn’t have the energy to even try to figure it out. I’d done my time with my fair share of crazy in my early twenties and was looking now…at damn near thirty to settle down.
“And actually, I already have a date coming up. So let me see where things go with her before you even start scheming and throwing women at me again,” I told Reema.
“A date? With who? What’s her name? Do I know her? Where you meet her? When are you going out? What does she look like?”
“Ree…chill with the twenty questions. For a minute I thought you were going to ask me if she was bigger than a breadbox.”
“D, you know I always gotta look out for baby bro. I just wanna see you done hoeing around and settled with a nice girl. I can’t have a vested interest in your happiness?”
“You absolutely can, sis. Just not on your terms. Damn…let me cook,” I replied, laughing.
Reema pouted for half a second before bursting into laughter.
“Fine. I guess you can find the love of your own damn life! But for real you’re not gonna tell me anything about her? At all?”
I looked a Dorian and he held up his hand.
“I don’t know why you looking at me. You know I can’t corral her ass. You’re going to have to give her something.”
“Fine…I met her at the soft launch, Ree.”
“But that was only for family and press. Wait a minute, please don’t tell me you’re tryna fuck your way into a good review in a newspaper or magazine.”
“Ree!” I exclaimed, laughing, “Really? This is how little you think of me? I am shocked and appalled. I am wounded.”
“Well it’s not like I don’t have precedent…”
“You always bringing up old shit, Reema. But no…she wasn’t a member of the press,” I started, feeling a grin overtake my face, “She was just…a lost neighbor who thought we were open for real and wandered in.”
“Is that shorty Danny and Nico were telling me you pulled the Derica mack voice out on?”
“I hate all of y’all niggas! That’s my damn voice.”
“Suuuure it is, Billy Dee.”
“Shut up, man. But yes, she and I…uh…ran into each other again and made plans to link up. Doing drinks at Imbibe tomorrow.”
Reema clapped her hands excitedly.
“You know Dor and I could…”
“NO!” Dorian and I said at the same time.
“Y’all don’t even know what I was about to say?”
“You were about to suggest getting a sitter and crashing my brother’s date and that’s where I will definitely draw the line, babe. No way in hell.”
I reached out my hand to dap up Dorian, grateful that he squashed that shit immediately. He let Reema get away with a lot of line crossing shit, but I was glad to see that he knew that this went way too far in her overstepping bounds. On that note, I decided to pack a to-go plate and get outta there. I was already playing games with having a few drinks knowing damn well I had to get up at three to begin baking and prep for tomorrow. I was working the early shift, with Ty coming in for the evening since I’d be out with Patricia.
***
I sat at a table for two and flicked my wrist up once again to check the time. Yep, definitely seven twenty and Patricia was nowhere in sight. I debated sending her a text after waiting for fifteen minutes, but assumed that if she was running late she’d at least give the common courtesy of a quick “hey, running late” text. I picked up my phone to shoot off a text to her when she suddenly rushed in the door. She looked a bit frazzled as her eyes scanned the area looking for me. Where I sat was kind of tucked off into a corner and not easily visible from the front of Imbibe at first glance, so I stood and lifted my arm to wave her over. That caught her eye and she quickly maneuvered back to where I was sitting.
“Oh my god I am
so sorry, Damon. I feel bad because a…I’m normally not late for anything. I’m actually ridiculously punctual to the point of compulsion and two…I was so thrown off my game that I didn’t even hit you to let you know I was running behind. I would not have held it against you if you’d left by now,” she said, all in one breath, finishing with a sheepish grin.
The sight of the twin etchings in her cheeks allayed any irritation I’d been feeling before she walked through the door. I had always been a sucker for a woman with dimples.
“You’re all good, gorgeous. Sit down…what you drinkin? You look like you can use whatever it is ASAP.”
“You have no idea,” she replied, “I need a glass of Ganarcha like nobody’s business.”
Imbibe had a serve yourself wine bar, with rotating selections of red and white wines. All you had to do was grab a glass, swipe a prepaid card, and select a pour size that ranged from an itty-bitty (four ounces) and to the big mammajamma (twelve ounces). I quickly glanced at what was on tap currently to see if they had the blend she’d just named and luckily there was one on tap.
I stood again and said, “You take a minute…a breather and I’ll be right back with a large pour of Ganarcha.”
“I got it like that? Already…” Patricia said, biting on her lower lip.
“As long as I can make it happen, you absolutely got it like that, sweetheart.”
“Oooh, I’m scareda you, Bakerman.”
I chuckled and walked away to retrieve her glass of wine. As soon as I got back to the table, Patricia apologized for running late again.
“You’re good,” I reassured her, “You’re here now, we’ve got wine and our good health, so here’s to that.”
I raised my glass in toast and she lightly clinked her glass against mine, smiling a little.
“So…tell me about you. How’d you learn to make sinfully delicious baked goods?” Patricia asked, resting her chin in her palm as she leaned in a bit.