There will be no laughing tonight, he thought, unless she’s laughing at me. Micah quickly shook that thought away.
“You are a twenty-eight-year-old mighty man of valor,” he said, looking at his reflection in the mirror. “You can have a conversation with a woman without the aid of a six-year-old.” Micah made the statement in his deepest, most masculine voice, but deep down, he hadn’t succeeded in convincing himself. Micah continued talking audibly at his cloudy image in the steamed mirror.
“What kind of questions should I ask her? How much information should I disclose? Should I ask about Matthew’s father? Should I ask about her dreams and aspirations?” Micah looked around the bathroom as if waiting for a voice to answer back. Then he remembered what Pastor Jackson said: it was all right for him to talk to himself, just as long as he didn’t answer himself back.
Micah chuckled at the thought of him being scared to talk to a woman. But then again, this was new to him, and right now he needed reassurance he wasn’t going to make a complete fool of himself. No sooner had the thought left his mind, the phone sounded, alerting him that he had a visitor.
“Yes,” he answered, annoyed that someone would disturb him in his time of crisis.
“Man, buzz me in.”
Micah breathed a sigh of relief. It was Anthony Combs. He pressed the button for the security gate, and then quickly stepped into his pants and slipped on a turtleneck sweater. In the middle of tying his casual dress shoes, Anthony finally knocked on the door.
“Man, are you hyperventilating yet?” were the first words from Anthony’s mouth once Micah let him in.
“AC, what are you doing here?”
“Making sure you don’t stand Sister Pamela up.”
“I’m not going to stand her up. I may sweat like a pig before I get there, but I am going to show up,” Micah said, right before splashing on cologne.
Anthony’s eyes lit up. “Man, when did you start wearing Sean John?”
“The day Pamela told me she likes it.”
“You really like her, don’t you?” Anthony asked, although the smile on Micah’s face told the story.
“Yes, I really like her,” Micah answered. “Which is why tonight is so important. I need to make sure Matthew isn’t the only thing we have in common, and that outside of church we’re still compatible.”
“I understand your concern,” Anthony said as he helped himself to bottle of water from the refrigerator. “But, Micah, my man, I honestly don’t think you have anything to worry about.” Anthony closed his eyes and pretended to receive a revelation. “The Spirit is telling me she’s sprung.”
Once Micah stopped laughing, his expression turned serious. “I hope she’s also open-minded.”
Anthony nodded his understanding of Micah’s dilemma. “If she’s the one God has for you, she will be.”
Chapter 2
Pamela nervously applied the finishing touches to her makeup, then checked her hair one final time. Micah was due to arrive any second, and she didn’t want to keep him waiting too long. That might give the impression she wasn’t interested. Lord knows that was far from the truth.
“Jessica, you were right again,” she whispered at her reflection in the mirror. The long-sleeve crepe dress flattered her size twelve shape nicely and complemented her mocha skin. Perfect, she thought. Not too dressy, not too casual. She didn’t have any idea where they were going, but this dress could adapt to any environment. The doorbell sounded. She quickly stepped into her new pumps, and then dashed for the door. She hesitated before opening it. “How long are you supposed to make the guy wait?” she mumbled. “Oh, forget it. I’ve been single for five years, that’s long enough.” Pamela put on her friendliest smile and welcomed her guest.
“Good evening, Micah.” She thought he was handsome in his black slacks and leather parka. Around his neck, she could see the collar of his cream turtleneck.
Micah stood there motionless and stared at her. He held flowers in his hand, and his mouth hung wide open. His face was perplexed, like he’d forgotten what he wanted to say. Seconds later he still hadn’t returned her greeting, so she spoke again.
“Good evening, Micah.”
“Hello, Pamela.” As if suddenly remembering something, his facial muscles relaxed. “These are for you.” He extended the flowers to her.
“Thank you.” Micah watched her put the flowers in water and place the arrangement on the living-room table inside a crystal vase. Her back was turned, and her shoulders remained still. He couldn’t tell that she considered his momentary memory loss hilarious. She turned to face him. “I’m ready; I just need to grab my coat.” Her smile made him smile. He exhibited more confidence.
“Pamela, you’re beautiful. I like that dress on you, and your hairstyle is very flattering.”
The richness of his voice gave Pamela goose bumps, and she blushed uncontrollably. Yesterday’s visit to Portia over at the Top it Off hair salon for a fresh relaxer had paid off.
“You look nice too,” she replied, then reached inside the hall closet for her coat. In two long strides, he was at her side assisting with her coat. “Micah, where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise, but trust me, you’ll like it.”
“And just why should I trust you?”
He had a quick comeback. “Because your son chose me; remember?”
“I’ll be sure to thank my son later.” She offered him a smile, and he exhaled.
Riding alone with Micah in his SUV proved more awkward than Pamela had imagined. She didn’t know what to say now that she didn’t have to turn her head to the backseat to warn Matthew to be still or to answer a question from her inquisitive son. Pamela directed her attention to the red taillights in front of them as they traveled eastward down Interstate 80. She started to comment on the heavy traffic, but figured that would reveal how desperate she was for conversation.
She looked at Micah. His palms were so sweaty they kept sliding down the steering wheel. He popped in a CD, she assumed, to calm his anxiety and also to break the silence.
“I didn’t know you listen to him. He’s my favorite praise and worship artist,” Pamela said, relieved they had more in common than Matthew and church.
“Mine too.” Briefly, he grinned in her direction. “What’s your favorite song?”
“All of them. I have all of his CDs and DVDs,” Pamela answered proudly.
“I haven’t seen his DVDs, but I have all of his CDs also.”
Pamela sung and moved to the beat of the song. “I’ll let you borrow my DVDs if you want,” she offered then resumed singing.
“I’d like that.” He pumped the volume and the two continued singing and chatting about the popular gospel artist the remainder of the way.
“Micah, I didn’t know you were bringing me here. I have wanted to try this place for months,” Pamela said when they pulled into the parking lot of the Dead Fish.
“I know.” Micah smiled mischievously before he continued. “I heard you mention it to Jessica one Sunday after church.”
As she watched him walk around to the passenger door, Pamela was impressed. He’d remembered a conversation from at least a month ago. After he assisted her from the vehicle, she interlocked her arm with his, and together, they walked toward the restaurant’s double wooden doors.
“I like your cologne,” Pamela complimented before stepping inside the waterfront seafood restaurant.
“A pretty girl once told me she liked it, so I picked some up.”
Pamela didn’t have a response, she was too busy blushing.
“Micah, this is lovely,” Pamela said once they were seated at a corner table along the glass wall overlooking the Zampa and Carquinez bridges. The romantic atmosphere was complete with candlelit tables and fresh-cut roses. Soft jazz played in the background.
“You sure are. Your beauty enhances the atmosphere.”
“I was referring to the view of the lighted bridge,” she responded just as the waiter intr
oduced himself, and then asked for their drink orders.
Micah touched her arm. “Allow me.” He looked up at the waiter. “We’ll have a bottle of nonalcoholic White Zinfandel, please.”
“How did you know I like White Zinfandel?” Pamela asked after the waiter left.
“I saw a bottle in your kitchen.”
“Micah, I’m impressed. You notice everything.”
“Thanks, but I must admit, I’ve been a nervous wreck about tonight.”
“Is that how you cut yourself?” She had noticed the fresh cut just below his lip.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice,” Micah admitted.
“That’s nothing; I almost put my eye out trying to put on eyeliner.”
“Why were you nervous?” he asked once he stopped laughing.
“Probably the same reason you were.”
“It’s different without him, isn’t it?” Micah referenced Matthew’s absence.
“Very. I was scared we wouldn’t have anything to talk about.”
The waiter returned to chill the wine and to take their dinner orders. Pamela chose the stuffed salmon and Micah, the blackened catfish. They agreed to share crab cakes for an appetizer.
Pamela tried not to stare, but it was hard. Micah Stevenson was by her account a handsome man: over six feet tall and milk chocolate with a goatee and a full set of lips. Every time she looked into his warm smile, she was nearly mesmerized. And his body, that was enough to make any woman thank God for creating man. But what she loved most were his eyelashes. They were so long, they almost curled.
“Micah, you said on Christmas Eve you’d been watching me for months. What exactly were you looking for?”
He took a sip of wine before answering. “At first, I don’t think I was looking for anything. When I saw Matthew sitting next to you that first day, I thought you were pretty. That’s how it started; I enjoyed looking at you. Especially when you danced in the Spirit.”
Pamela blushed again.
Micah rested his arms on the table. “I know you’re not shy, the way you dance all over the place.”
“Don’t sit there and act like you don’t get your praise on nearly every Sunday,” Pamela replied, placing her hands on her hips.
“So you were watching me also?”
She took a sip of wine. As the cold liquid lubricated her throat, she wondered why she favored the watereddown drink so much. “After I realized how fond Matthew was of you, I had to check you out.” He nodded his understanding. “Did you like anything else?” She had to know if he were sincerely attracted to her or if Micah’s purpose for being in her life was only as a role model for her son only.
“I love the way you take care of Matthew,” Micah answered sincerely. “Coming from a home without a father and an alcoholic mother who sometimes forgot I was alive, I can appreciate a woman who cares for her child as well as you do.”
Micah’s unsolicited history surprised her, but she didn’t let it show. “Thanks for the compliment. I do my best, trying to make sure he has everything without a father. I’m sorry you don’t have a close relationship with your mother. Is that why you moved here from Chicago?”
Micah pondered his answer before responding. “No. I moved here because my uncle was here, and he was willing to help me turn my life around.”
Pamela was curious just how much turning he needed to do, but decided to wait for him to disclose more of his past on his own.
“Exactly how are you related to Pastor Jackson?”
“He’s my mother’s oldest brother.”
The waiter placed the crab cakes and two small plates on the table. They savored the aroma, then dug in after Micah said grace.
“Um, this is so good,” she said, relishing the taste. Micah agreed, but Pamela discerned he was more interested in her than the crab cakes. He’d barely touched his cake.
“Pamela, tell me about your late husband, if you don’t mind.”
Pamela finished her crab cake and sipped more wine before answering him.
“While attending junior college, I worked part time as a cashier at Walgreens. Just before closing one Friday night, Marlon Roberts came running through my line. He flirted. I blushed. Three years later we were married. Then he died. That’s it in a nutshell.” Pamela shrugged her shoulders as if her marriage was no big deal. A coping mechanism to remain emotionally detached from her late husband’s memory.
“Were he and Matthew close?”
“No. Marlon was killed in a motorcycle accident when Matthew was a year old. The only thing Matthew knows about his father is what I tell him. Beyond that, he doesn’t remember him.”
Micah took a sip of wine before asking his next question. “Do you think you’ll ever marry again?”
Pamela looked him dead in the eyes. “If God sends me someone who’ll love me and love Matthew as his own, and love God, I would marry him before the ink dries on the marriage license application.”
The waiter approached the table to clear their dishes before Micah could respond to Pamela’s declaration. “How would you want this man to look?” he asked once they were alone again.
A lot like you, is what she thought. What she voiced was, “As long as he’s good to me and my son, I don’t care what he looks like.” Then with a smile, she added, “Just as long as he’s not ugly and weighs five hundred pounds.”
Micah laughed.
“What about you, Micah? Do you think you’ll ever marry?”
“Of course, I told you on Christmas Eve, I come with a lifetime warranty.”
Pamela blushed again. She was tired of blushing, but as long as Micah kept saying the right words, she had no control.
“What type of woman are you looking for?”
“The true and honest type,” Micah answered frankly and without hesitation. “The type of woman I can share my goals and dreams with and she in turn does the same. A woman I can share my heart with and trust her not to intentionally break it. A woman who will open her heart to me and trust me with her fears. Quite simply, the type of woman who will love me for me and allow me to love her back. It goes without saying, she has to love God.”
Pamela needed a sip of water after that. Micah appeared to have heard her secret prayers. The ones she whispered in the dark snuggled against her pillow. “And what does your type of woman look like?”
“If you have a mirror, I’ll show you.”
Pamela really needed some water after that statement. She finished off the entire glass. Afterward, Micah was amused as he watched her try to figure out what to do or say next. She looked from the window to the couple at the table next to theirs. Then to the front door; she even looked down at the floor. Pamela looked everywhere except in Micah’s eyes. When the waiter delivered the main course, Pamela wanted to jump up and scream, “Hallelujah!”
Micah gently touched her hand. “Don’t worry; I’m not going to propose tonight.”
“No, this man didn’t sit here and break every dating rule in the book, implying he’s going to propose,” she mumbled underneath her breath as she sprinkled salt on her vegetables.
The dinner conversation took a funny turn when they discovered they both enjoyed watching commercials. They ranted and raved about their favorites through dinner and over the hot fudge sundae they shared for dessert.
“Did you see the one where the dog barks, ‘I love you’?” Pamela asked, just before popping the maraschino cherry into her mouth.
“What about the one where granny goes flying into the air and lands doing the splits?” Micah countered.
“What about the one where the bridesmaids tumble down the hillside?”
Pamela was ecstatic; she thought she was the only person in the world who preferred commercials over sitcoms. During the ride back to her place, Micah held her hand. It seemed appropriate as they laughed and sang commercial jingles.
“Micah, I had a wonderful evening,” Pamela said when they reached the door of her town house. “I was really afraid we wou
ldn’t hit it off after the novelty of you being my Christmas present wore off.”
“Well, do you think we hit it off?” he asked, but he knew the answer. Pamela Roberts was everything he was looking for in a woman—saved, sweet, funny, loving, and pretty.
“I think we at least have a base hit,” she answered, but failed to prevent a satisfied grin from escaping.
“Is that all?” Micah pouted, pretending to be offended. Then he embarrassed her. “Pamela, the way you downed that glass of water back at the restaurant says I hit a home run. Maybe even a grand slam.”
“Every major-league player starts in the minors,” she said unlocking her door.
“Pamela Roberts, you are too much. It’s a good thing you have a pretty face, or I’d send you to the minors.”
She flicked the light switch and stepped into the doorway so she could face Micah. “All jokes aside, I like you, Micah Stevenson.”
“I know you do.” His smile was wider than normal. “I like you too, Pamela Roberts.”
Pamela nearly jumped when he kissed her hand. Her first thought was it had been a long time since a man was romantic and genuine toward her, then she realized this was the first time.
“I hope you don’t mind me kissing your hand,” he remarked. “Don’t worry; I won’t kiss you anywhere else without asking first.”
“I don’t mind,” she answered faintly. “Not at all.”
“Good night and sweet dreams, Pamela. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Watching Micah disappear down the walkway, Pamela knew it was time to pray. Micah was the kind of man she could love, really love. He was God-fearing, caring, attentive, and romantic. “Maybe my son really does know what I need,” she said before closing the door.
Right Package, Wrong Baggage Page 2