by Shyla Colt
“I’m glad you did.” There’s something about his openness that encourages me to be the same way.
He gives a boyish chuckle, and I find myself feeling like a preteen with stars in my eyes and butterflies in my belly. Leaning back against my couch, I take a long draw off my sweet tea.
“What are you up to today?” he asks.
I glance down at my plaid boxers and tank top. Sundays are my lazy day. I tend to spend my time curled up with a good book or catching up on my TV shows in my pajamas
“Reading.”
“Anything good?”
“I think so. I’m trying to finish the Odd Thomas series by Dean Koontz.”
“Wasn’t there a movie?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say excitedly.
“I think I caught it on Netflix. It was a pretty interesting concept.”
“If you liked the movie, you have to read the books. They’re so much better.”
“They always are.”
“Do you read?” I ask.
“Whenever I get the chance. I like nonfiction self-improvement type of books, classic literature, and some science fiction.”
A man who reads feels like a rare gem.
“That’s cool. I love classic lit, chick lit, horror, and romance.”
He chuckles. “Ahhh, a romantic at heart?”
“Maybe just a little.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Are you busy this afternoon?”
I swallow. Being along with him this soon makes me nervous. Especially when he appears squeaky clean. Sometimes, those are the people with the most to hide. “I thought this was the getting to know you stage?”
“It is. I just thought you might like to do that over ice cream?”
“You’re trying hard to rack up the brownie points or what?” He’s constantly surprising me.
“Happy bonus.”
I like him, darn it.
“Since you answered, I’m guessing it’s safe to say I haven’t scared you off yet.”
“You’d be correct. Tell me more about this ice cream.”
“Have you ever been to Aglamesis Brothers?”
“To Agla who?” I ask.
He chuckles. The rich baritone sends a gaggle of geese soaring in my belly. We’re moving past the butterflies faster than I like. But who am I kidding? He had me at I like to read.
“It’s an old-fashioned soda fountain that’s been around since nineteen thirteen. They have all kinds of homemade candy and ice cream. Do you know where the King Arthur’s Toy Store is off Madison Road?”
“The one next to the Blue Manatee Bookstore?”
“That’s the street. The Aglamesisis Bros is between the two.”
“I can’t believe I’ve never noticed it,” I say more to myself than him.
“It’s hidden. If you’re not looking for it, it’s easy to miss. Are you up for meeting there in say an hour?”
A million negative thoughts rise in my head. I tamp them down. It’s time to take a chance. Waiting by idly had gotten me a Dear John dismissal from Ross. Drew is actively interested in me and putting in the effort.
“I can do that.”
“Good. I look forward to seeing you.”
“Me too,” I admit softly. We hang up, and I can’t help but feel a little giddy. I’m getting ready to have ice cream with a sweet guy who I know wants more than to get in my pants. I move to my room and rifle through my closet, coming up with a soft pink T-shirt dress, and a pair of pink sandals. It hits all the three c’s—casual, cute, and comfy. It’s perfect for a kind of date outfit. I grab my oversized floral purse and head out the front door.
Not wanting the girls to make a big deal out of this If things don’t pan out, I keep the meet up to myself. We’re meeting in a public setting, so I don’t feel I need an emergency out. It’s ice cream, how long could it take to eat if things turned bad? Feeling empowered, I head to the car with an extra spring in my step.
***
Drew
I can’t believe I’m actually nervous. I wipe my hands on my jeans as I wait for her to appear. I could wait until we’ve had a few more dates and delay coming clean, but I know how precious time is. I have a few months of downtime to do some recording before I’m back on the road. I can’t waste any of that if I hope to turn this connection I felt with her into something tangible that can withstand all the time I spend away. It’s been a long time since I attempted to date. Between the girls, my career, and the fact that long distance is like a plague to most people, it’s easier to stay single.
But there’s something about Willow that makes me want to try. So here I am, sweating bullets because I have a lot of baggage. It’s better to be honest upfront, so I have to tell her about my girls and let the chips fall where they may, but not before I enjoy at least one date with her. The door opens, and she steps inside, lit by the sunlight pouring through the door behind her forming a halo on her dark hair.
She’s gorgeous in a simple pink dress that covers everything but hints at the shapely frame beneath. Her legs are long with muscular calves, and her skin all but glows. I stand. She smiles, and walks over to the table to join me. The heart-shaped design on the backs of the chair suddenly seems less cheesy and more romantic.
“Drew, this place is adorable,” she says as she meets me halfway.
“And yet it doesn’t hold a candle to you.”
“Smooth talker.”
“Truth-speaker.”
“I think I see those word skills in use.”
I shake my head. “Nah, you haven’t seen anything yet. Since it’s your first time here, I’ll let you pick the seat.”
“The romantic in me can’t resist these chairs,” she whispers.
I hide my chuckle with a cough. “All right, ladies first.” I gesture toward the table and pull out her chair. Being the father of girls made me hyper aware of how I treat women. I was young and stupid when they were born, but I tightened up. I had no other choice. I push her back in and sit across from her. A few moments later a waitress in a pair of jeans and a crisp white T-shirt with a black apron approaches with two laminated placemat-style menus.
“Hi, I’m Rhonda, and I’ll be your waitress today. I’ll give you to a few minutes to look over the menu.”
“Thanks, Rhonda,” I say politely as I keep my eyes trained on Willow. Her eyes dance with mirth, and she exudes an almost child-like sense of joy and wonder.
“I love places like this. Where history is baked into every nook and cranny.” She peers around. “I can just imagine girls in poodle skirts, and boys in button ups and crisp khaki pants lined up. Ha, or maybe on the other spectrum. Bad boys with slicked back hair, white T-shirts, and denim jeans.”
“You like bad boys, Willow?”
She snickers. “No. I like men who can handle their business.”
Her answer sends something like hope running through me. Women say they want a nice guy, but in reality, we finish last often.
“I like to hear that.”
“Did I strike you as someone with a penchant for bad boys?”
“I never assume. That’s why I’m asking.”
“It’s never been my thing.”
“Good to know. You decide on what you want yet?”
“Everything?” she says with a laugh.
Her lips quirk up, and I admire the natural beauty displayed on her heart-shaped face. Dark hair frames her face, straight and thick. Full lips sit below a slightly upturned nose, and her large, chocolate-brown eyes are highlighted by ridiculously long lashes. She’s beautiful without trying. If she’s wearing makeup, it’s slight. I know more than I ever wanted to about beauty products thanks to my daughters. They’re not allowed to wear more than colored lip-gloss, but it doesn’t stop them from watching YouTube tutorials, or window shopping as they like to call it.
In the end, we both get two-scoop sundaes with various flavor ice creams so we can compare them. I smother mine in chocolate sauce, and she goes the marshmallow
route.
“This is so good.” She moans as she takes a healthy scoop of banana chocolate chip.
“They hand make this here, along with all the candy,” I say with a nod toward the counter on the opposite side of the room that had everything from chocolate-covered pretzels to toffee and truffles.
“Tell me more about you.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
Her eyebrows rise, and I shrug. “When you’re constantly on the go, you learn how precious time is. I wouldn’t be here with you if I wasn’t interested. So, I want to know what you like what you don’t. What your aspirations are.”
Her eyes widen, and her expression turns thoughtful. I can come on strong when I want something, so tempering my personality would only lead to disaster later down the road.
“I like where I’m at in my career. I might buy into the shop I manage once I get my duckies lined up. I like quiet days at home on Sundays after hectic work schedules, traveling, thrifting, and spending time with family and friends. I have one baby sister who’s twenty-five and works as a nurse. My family and I are fairly close; we get together every couple of weeks for dinner. I dislike sour flavors, liars, raw onions, and the color purple.”
“The movie?”
She laughs. “No, the actual color.”
“Isn’t that like sacrilegious for a girl?”
She clucks her tongue. “So old school and close-minded.”
“My bad.”
She smirks. “Tell me more about you. Same question.”
“You know I’m close to my family. I have a love-hate relationship with travel for obvious reasons. I like spending time at home with my family and friends, old school hip hop and vinyl records. I despise liars, drugs, and judgment.”
“Wait. You’re a Christian rapper, and you consider yourself open-minded?”
“Whatever thoughts you have about Christians, throw them out the window. I don’t believe I’m perfect, or that my way is the only way. It’s the right one for me, and yes, I think everyone should have a personal relationship with God, but that’s not for me to force onto anyone. Nor is it up to me to dictate how it should look. It’s people who do that give us a bad name.”
She tilts her head. “Hmm.”
“What I do, it’s controversial. There are plenty of people who have a lot to say about me and what I rap about. They want me to be someone else and paint a happy, rainbow-filled picture about life. But the truth is life is hard. It can get dark. I want those kids out there to know they’re not alone when they hit those times in their life.”
“It sounds like you’re coming from a personal place.”
“I am. All you have to do is google me to know my history, but I want you to hear it straight from the source. I came from a happy family. I’m the oldest of three. I have a younger brother and a sister. We had the American dream. White picket fence, an awesome mom who taught second grade, and a dad who worked construction. I was in sixth grade when my dad was in an accident on a site that injured his back. Insurance paid for the operations, but he was in and out of the hospital for months and in excruciating pain. The only thing that helped were painkillers. Eventually, he needed them more and more, and it became a habit he never kicked. It put him in the ground.”
She gasps. “Oh my God. I am so sorry.”
I shrug. “He’s been gone for years now, but the devastation he left behind his alive and well. We’re all working on it, and healing a little at a time. I spiraled in my teens. I was looking for something to fill the hole he left behind and fell into the same trap. Unlike most, I had a parent who fought for me. I got on the right path, and I stayed there.”
“Wow.”
“I know it’s a lot, but omission is too close to lying.”
“When did this happen?”
“Right after high school. I was a mess from nineteen to twenty-one.”
“What happened?”
“That’s more complicated. The short answer would be a woman, Monica. We met at vulnerable times in our life. Birds of a feather flock together, you know? I went to rehab, and she refused. When I came out, I discovered she was pregnant.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah, nothing like being fresh out of rehab and getting a call that your pregnant ex-girlfriend is going into labor early with twins. The girls barely made it. They were under birth weight and addicted to opiates. It was touch and go. Fresh out of rehabilitation, I was searching my soul for something greater than myself. It’s cliché, but I found that stability in God. So I cried out to him. I promised him if he’d spare my girls, I’d dedicate my life to him. It was the catalyst to change in my lie. The cuss words left my rhymes, and I got myself together in every aspect … physically, mentally, spiritually.” Gooseflesh breaks out over my arms as the hairs on the back of my neck stand on in. The story never fails to have a profound effect on me.
“Wow.”
“I know it’s a lot to take in, but I wanted to be up front. My girls and my career are my life. They both take up a lot of time, and energy, but they are the best things I’ve ever done, and completely worth it.” I sit back in the chair and watch as a range of emotions pass over her face. I’m past being ashamed of my past, and I refuse to let my children be something I feel I have to hide. If she can’t accept me as I am, it’s better to find out now.
She scrapes her bowl with her spoon as an odd silence falls between us.
“How old are you girls?”
“Neomi and Ilana are ten going on twenty,” I reply with a roll of my eyes.
She laughs. “So, who watches them when you’re away?”
“My mother now that she’s retired from teaching. Before that, we had childcare, and then a nanny when it became necessary. I would never allow them to suffer due to my lifestyle.”
“What does their mother think?”
I sigh. “She’s been in and out of the picture. The pills were a habit she’s never managed.”
“So you’ve got sole custody?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“That’s a lot.”
“Now you see why I have so much to say in my music.”
“I can imagine. I’ll be honest, you have a lot going on in your life, but I’ve never been afraid of a challenge. I enjoy talking with you and spending time. I’d like to continue doing that and see what happens.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.”
The tension I’ve been carrying subsides and the conversation turns lighter. I feel like I dodged a bullet. Kids aren’t everyone’s cup of tea. Especially with a drug addicted baby mama who comes in and out of the picture. You add my past with drug addiction and my unusual job, and you have a trifecta that usually lands me in the undateable zone. I study her casually as we move to pay the bill and take a walk. I’m a man who goes after what he wants, and I want this woman beside me.
“My treat. I invited you here,” I say, taking the bill.
“What? No.”
“One thing you should get used to with me is being treated like the queen you are.”
The intake of breath sends blood rushing straight down as I find myself wondering what she looks like in the throes of passion. My pants tighten, and I clear my throat and think about icy showers. This woman is going to test my resolve in the most amazing and tortuous ways. I don’t believe in sex before marriage, but there are plenty of other ways to bring pleasure that don’t involve penetration. Given a chance, I’d worship her from head to toe.
Chapter Three
Willow
Peering at myself in the mirror, I laugh. Dressed in a pair of worn blue jeans and a three-quarter sleeve black and white baseball T-shirt, I’m ready to go bowling. Things with Drew are never dull, and I’m having more fun than I can remember having in years. It’s more than dinners and movies. We’ve hiked trails, explored tiny antique shops, and had picnics in the park. This is the first time he’s coming to my place to pick me up. It’s not a coincidence. T
his has moved into deeper waters. I lick my lips. I want him. The chaste kisses on the cheeks and hugs are no longer going to cut it.
I want to explore the chemistry between us. Can I do this? We’ve been living in a bubble. The phone calls, texts, and weekly get together were fine when we were deciding where this would head. Now that I’m free falling into like, things are getting serious. Sex is important, but not everything. It’s the commitment that comes with him. We’re dating with the intention of a potential marriage match. My heart jumps in my chest. I’m getting everything I said I wanted, and it’s terrifying.
I study my reflection. My eyes are bright, and my skin glows. I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time. Work is excellent, but it’d been the leading lady in my life for far too long. Now I’m living.
The knock on the door tears my attention away from the mirror. Heat infuses my body and popcorn starts to pop in my belly. It’s stronger than butterflies now; tiny bursts of excitement and joy fill me. I move from my room and down the hallway, through the living room to the front door.
He smiles, and I’m lost in his dark blue eyes. The cornflower blue darkens to sapphire, and he steps forward, wraps a warm hand around my neck, and pulls my body to his. I moan at the feel of the hard planes of his body pressed against my curves. My lids lower and I tilt my head back to accept his kiss. His lips brush mine, like the whisper of wings, once, twice. My stomach muscles clench, and he comes back. What starts as a sampling is a full-blown feast. Our heads tilt as our lips move together. I moan as my legs grow weak and he places his hand on the small of my back. His tongue slips into my mouth, and I swear I see bursts of bright lights beneath my lids.
I grip onto his T-shirt to remain standing as our tongues tangle. The need for oxygen makes me pull back, breathing like I just ran a 5k. He rests his forehead against mine, keeping us connected as we calm ourselves.
“Holy shit.”
He chuckles. “Yeah.”
I step back, still reeling as he walks inside and closes the door behind me. “I been wanting to do that since we first met,” he admits.