by Tif Marcelo
It was only then that Pearl noticed the other class participants sitting on the benches, in pairs. Pearl shook her head ever so slightly, stiffening.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I’m down for that,” Trenton said in Pearl’s silence, nonchalantly. “I’m Trenton, by the way. Kayla Young’s brother.”
“Ruby Dunford. Kayla told us you’re back in town after being stationed elsewhere with the Army. Thank you for your service. I’m a co-owner here, but I know Sanjana—the other co-owner—would agree that you should try a class out for free. We have a military and veterans discount, if you decide to grab a membership. Oh, let me introduce you to my husband . . .”
The two continued to yammer while a knot of anxiety bloomed in Pearl’s belly. How was she going to do this? Couples’ yoga meant touching. At hot flow sessions, women peeled their clothing down to boy shorts and sports bras, and guys stripped down to their shorts. Pearl had never felt shy before since she was usually too focused—but with Trenton? And all while having to lure Daphne to Rings & Roses?
The bells of the front door jingled, snatching Pearl’s attention. Daphne and Carter sauntered through as if they owned the place, their voices not in keeping with the studio’s peaceful vibe.
All at once, Mari’s doubtful face flashed in Pearl’s memory, transforming her anxiety into sheer determination. Shyness be damned. She wrapped her arm around Trenton’s waist, his abs contracting, to her delight, and with a singsong tone said, “Ready to get our mats set up? I am so needing a break from Rings and Roses right now. It’s definitely wedding season.”
Ruby’s lips wiggled to keep a smile at bay. Pearl never talked about work while in class. Yoga was her tool to calm her nerves, to silence her brain, since it had a tendency to run amok. While Mari coped with cooking and Jane found solace reading, Pearl looked to yoga, especially the most important bit at the end, the savasana, or corpse pose, as her center.
But right now yoga was for networking.
Trenton was quick on the uptake, picking up Pearl’s yoga mat for her as they both kicked off their shoes. And before they walked into the already heated room, she glanced at Daphne and smiled sweetly, as if she hadn’t just planted a seed that she would soon water and sun.
five
Mood: “Poker Face” by Lady Gaga
It was 8:30 p.m., and Mari’s feet were killing her. Now in flat canvas shoes, she walked home from Burg Street with the straps of her heels wrapped around her finger, her leather bag slung over her shoulder, and two paper bags stuffed with three baguettes and various meats and cheeses from La Crémerie, the cheese shop two doors down from Rings & Roses. Her tummy rumbled at the smell of the savory prosciutto. She couldn’t wait to dig into the flaky bread.
But this was her commute home, and she was going to take her sweet time.
People in the DC area complained about the commute like it was an Olympic sport. It was common for folks to be on the road or the Metro an hour, if not more, for their trek into and out of the city. Mari’s walk, a short three blocks east and one block north, was ten minutes. Fifteen if she took her time.
Being so close to work had its disadvantages, though, much like living in the same building with the people one worked with. The main: privacy was almost nonexistent. Their town house on Duchess Street might as well have been a college dorm. Mari and her sisters kept their doors unlocked until it was time for bed. During waking hours, it was open season for socializing and crisis management. They also had keys to each other’s places, just in case. Mari was never surprised to encounter one of her sisters in her kitchen—she was the default family chef and had a stocked pantry and refrigerator—or someone rummaging through her closet.
Her walk home was the only time of day, besides bedtime, when she was alone, and she took advantage of the peace and the beauty of Burg Street at night. Shops outlined their awnings and topiary trees with white lights. A street musician played his guitar, serenading the tourists, setting the stage for what could be a Hallmark movie. Historic Alexandria had a small-town feel, with just enough charm plus the inclusive environment of a diverse metropolitan city nearby.
She’d needed this. Today had been a whiplash of emotions. Work exhausted her daily, sure. Surprises arose in this business with such frequency that a lack of drama would be unusual.
But Hazel had thrown her a curve ball with her request, and even though Mari had agreed to keep her secret, she now had reservations. And on the slim chance that Pearl did, in fact, convince Daphne Brown to sign with Rings & Roses, Mari wasn’t sure if her sister was ready for that kind of client—a client that would monopolize her every day, who would hold her to the fire of a schedule. Mari couldn’t allow for failure to occur under her watch.
Which meant another fight between the two of them was on the horizon, another discussion where she was made out to be the uncompromising individual.
Sometimes it was so exhausting to have to continue to defend oneself, to fight for one’s position. It was simply tiring for the past to keep nudging into the present to impose its shadow and affect how everyone saw her and treated her.
And yet none of that topped the shock of seeing Reid Quaid in her office.
This was bad.
Would she have to disclose their fight to Hazel? Had he done so already? Would their disagreement affect her working relationship with Hazel?
I’ll have to apologize. Mari worked on her bottom lip with her teeth, strategizing. Apologizing was not a thing she did often . . .
And Reid Quaid? He was gorgeous.
Hence the stop a La Crémerie. A late-night snack would soothe her thoughts, would refocus her, and help her act like the professional that she was.
Now in front of 2404 Duchess Street, Mari set down her bags and shoes, and dug her keys from her pocket. A quick glance to her left, and she noticed the first-floor lights of Reid’s building were on. She pursed her lips. Another renter.
But as she stuck her key into the lock, 2402’s door swung open. A shadow stepped out, followed by the deep timbre of a man’s voice. “Ms. de la Rosa. I was hoping it was you.”
Mari stilled. No. Her heart fluttered in her chest; her stomach hollowed out. Was her hair a wreck? She didn’t have a lick of lipstick left after she’d noshed on their leftover meringue cookies.
She straightened herself, inhaled a deep breath to squelch the heat that had surged through her. “Mr. Quaid. What . . . what are you doing here?”
“I live here.”
She frowned. “I . . . don’t understand.”
He crossed his arms, leaned against the brick. “Well, this is my house. I usually stay in Crystal City when I’m in town, but since this is vacant, it only made sense to occupy it.”
This was good, right? No more loud renters, not for a while. But how long was he staying? Would she see him every time she stepped out of her house?
She shook her head at her own nonsense. Her clients lived everywhere in the tristate area, many within a ten-mile radius of Alexandria. Then again, she’d never had a contentious relationship with any of them. “Well, that’s nice. Have a good night.” She attempted to pick up her things from the ground, but failed, with the weight of his stare and the need to escape pressing against her. She dropped a shoe. A bag tipped precariously out of her arms.
“Do you . . . here, let me help.” Reid stepped toward her. “I was reading by the window and saw what I thought was a camel, and realized it was you, with your two bags.” He eyed her packages and scooped one under his arm. “Three, actually.”
“No, I’m fine.” But Mari wasn’t. Her heart was beating as if she had a heart condition, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. Her face flushed with embarrassment, that he could be so nice after she’d lashed out at him. But it was more than that. Reid was out of his slacks and crisp white shirt, now wearing jeans and a black long-sleeve V-neck, and he was hands down adorable in casual clothes. She glanced down at her forgotten shoe. “I’ve got it.”
It was too late. He bent down as she stooped. Their eyes met; she darted hers away, catching herself. What was wrong with her? Fumbling, she stood, popped the front door open, then stepped into the foyer, leading him to her apartment, the first door on the right.
He looked around. “Interesting. How many apartments are in here?”
“Four, one for each of my sisters and one for my parents, though they’re only now living here in the US part-time. The top floor is an unfinished attic.” Speaking of her sisters, Mari took a moment to train her ears. Thank God, it was silent. Very few men entered the apartments in 2404. None of the sisters wanted to subject their dates, love interests, or “special friends” to the scrutiny of the two other women. Her sisters would have a field day with this one. She could see it now, the teasing, the I told you so from Pearl that Mari shouldn’t have contacted Reid to begin with. “It was converted about a decade ago. My parents kept a lot of the old charm, so the baseboards and moldings are original. The fireplaces are intact, though not all of them working. But the heating, ductwork, plumbing were all updated.”
He nodded, appraising the molding. “I’m in real estate and am investing in three homes in Grant Park in historic Atlanta with some renovations in the plans. Trying to mix in old and new. I’d love to get a tour of your building . . . for research,” he said, casually.
“No.” The word shot out of her mouth before she could stop it.
His eyebrows lifted.
“I mean, yeah. But a tour, ah, it’s late. And I’m exhausted and starving. Another time?”
“Marisol.” The smooth way he said her name refocused her wayward thoughts. “Can I call you Marisol?”
“Sure.”
“I know we started off on the wrong foot, but I want to thank you for the work you’ve done with the wedding. Hazel only has had nice things to say.”
She nodded, her body relaxing. He’d wanted to thank her—that was all. “It’s what I do.”
He grinned. “I have a feeling that it’s more than a job.”
Mari’s cheeks pinched into a smile despite herself. In this business, not many people cared to say thanks for her sincere effort. Some were more willing to throw money at services, at problems, than they were to express true gratitude. “It is. And, you’re welcome.”
“And our conversation the other day on video chat? I hope it’s water under the bridge. It’s obvious I have some plans to make for this property, and until then, it will be for private use.”
“I appreciate that.” She glanced at the door and then at Reid, unsettled at the silence. This would’ve been the perfect time for her to apologize for her own behavior, but the suddenness of this conversation and his candor had properly thrown her off her game. “So when you’re in town . . . you’ll be here?”
A grin sliced across his face. “I promise—no raging parties. I’m quite boring after a long day.”
“Oh, okay. Well, good night, Mr. Quaid.” She leaned in and gestured for the bag he was carrying.
He piled it into her arms. “Reid. Please.”
Mari placed a hand on the antique glass doorknob, twisted it slowly. “Until next time, Reid. With Hazel, I mean. If she needed you there . . . again.” Stop it, now. The air was too thick, too heavy. She spun toward the door.
“Don’t forget your—” he said behind her.
The knob jiggled under her fingertips, and the door swung open wide to her nephew, Pio. His eyes widened, matched by an even more mischievous grin. “Tita Mari?”
Mari sighed, but it wasn’t because of her nephew’s reaction to the stranger at her front door. It was because of her two sisters behind him, both barely holding back distinct looks of curiosity and amusement at Reid, who was holding up her shoe.
She really had to change her locks.
Her sisters were out for blood. As soon as the door shut behind her, and after Reid exited the building, Pearl and Jane swooped toward Mari, unburdening her of her physical load but attacking her with questions.
She dropped her shoes. “You guys. It’s nothing. Quit it!” Except instead of annoyance, she laughed, swept up by her sisters’ excitement.
Her sisters worked on each other’s love lives like Cupid’s assistants, but they tackled Mari’s as if there were a grand prize at the end of it. As if getting hitched at thirty-two was a feat, a lost cause. As if it was a requirement.
There wasn’t such a thing as a timeline where Mari was concerned, nor was there a fire raging inside her to find a partner. She was perfectly happy with her easy, casual dates. Exposed to every single one of the different types of grooms, she’d seen the gamut from sweet to douche; it took a lot for a man to impress her. Not to mention a certain Saul—she cringed as the name of her ex materialized in her brain—had forever smudged the possibility of a shiny new relationship.
She was also never truly alone. She was like a mother to her sisters, and Pio had given her the baby, toddler, and cuteness fix she needed, with the advantage of sending him right back to his mother when it was time for discipline.
No, it was this interaction, this closeness with her sisters, that gave her joy. Even if the teasing was at her own expense this time.
Pearl set plates on the island while Jane pulled the food from the bags—Mari always bought extra in anticipation of sharing with her family—and arranged the meats and cheeses on a wooden breadboard. Pearl sliced oranges from their fruit basket. Pio hopped up on a stool, and they all took their places around the island. Their quick-style meals were unfussy but checked the box just fine. While their parents had been sticklers at the dinner table—cloth napkins, a pitcher of water, and a somber prayer before meals that sometimes spun off to a Joel Osteen lecture—the sisters’ tradition was simple and their prayer had morphed into a one-line “Thank you for the food, God” before they dug in.
Pio, as usual, took over the conversation, and the sisters indulged him. And, right on time, after a few minutes, he declared he was full. Jane excused him so he could watch television.
He’d just rounded the corner and Mari had barely layered a mouthwatering slice of goat Gouda on a cracker, when she felt the heavy stare of two pairs of eyes. She knew where this was leading. “He saw me walk by, is all. It was nothing.”
“I just have never seen a man make it all the way to your apartment door,” Pearl teased.
Her sister was right. Mari, if she’d even conceded to letting a date pick her up or drop her off at 2404 Duchess Street, usually ended things at the building door.
“Don’t forget Lolo,” Pio mentioned his grandfather from the couch. His back was to them.
“Pio. Not your conversation.” Jane’s voice was stern, though Mari couldn’t help but giggle.
“He’s right.” Mari stuffed the cracker in her mouth.
“Seriously,” Jane said. “You guys were out there for minutes.”
Mari swallowed and picked up her glass of water, swirling it around. “Just small talk.”
“He is way cuter in person, right?” Pearl asked.
“I’m not even going to justify that question with an answer. You know I don’t look or think twice about people I work with.”
“Except”—Pearl lifted her glass, then tipped the edge toward her lips—“you aren’t really working with him.”
“Oh, yes, I am. He’s my top’s brother.”
“I’m just saying.”
“And I’m ignoring it.”
“Well, since we’re talking about things ignored”—Jane lay both palms on the table—“I’m glad we’re all together before another Wedding Day tomorrow, because I have something to discuss. This is business related, not personal.”
Pearl groaned. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
Jane’s gaze cut to Mari. “You won’t like it either, Ate Mari.”
“Shit.” Mari pressed a napkin to her lips. “This has everything to do with inventory, right?”
“Numbers rule. Unfortunately, it looks like our parents didn’t think so.�
� Jane nodded somberly and took her phone out of her back pocket. After a series of swipes and taps, she placed the screen in the middle of the island. “I know this is going to be pretty hard to see. There are a ton of numbers on this page. What you need to focus on is this.” She zoomed in to the screen using her thumb and pointer finger. “See that? That figure is the value of product we’re missing from the store.”
“What?” Mari picked up the phone and stared at the low five-figure number highlighted in red. Pearl came around the countertop and peered over Mari’s shoulder. “What do you mean ‘missing’?”
“Meaning it was either sold, given away, or stolen, but not accounted for. It could also mean we never got the item in the first place, though we had it listed in our inventory. Now, look at these items.” She took the phone back and after two long swipes, presented it to Mari and Pearl. “This is a list of accessories and dresses—yeah, dresses, too—that we have double stock on. And for the pièce de résistance.” She swiped down. “This is a list of the events that we did for free last calendar year.”
Next to her, Pearl whistled the tune of a bomb incoming. Mari’s tummy bottomed out. “Eight? Mommy did eight events for free last year?”
Jane nodded. “Most of it was for day-of coordination. Basically, all your events Pearl. She also gave discounts.”
“This is a mess.” Mari’s brain felt suddenly fuzzy, like it had been crammed with cotton balls. Her heart sped up. Her fingers tingled with the first signs of anxiety. “This isn’t good. This is setting us up for a crisis if we have one big emergency.”
Pearl stepped back. “But we can still fix this, right? We can take on more clients. I can use our growing social media platform to reach out. The bridal expo we signed up for is a good way to pull in some clients.” She waggled her eyebrows and grinned. “And when Daphne Brown signs with me, that’s another top on our list.”
Mari shook her head. “Hold on. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”