by Nia Arthurs
There were two red circles on this page.
Thursday.
Elliot’s restaurant opening.
Saturday.
My wedding.
I should be worrying about the latter, but the former kept invading my mind. The urge to stop by and see Elliot, just for a moment, increased with each tick of the clock.
I knew he didn’t expect me to come. I’d made it crystal clear yesterday that we wouldn’t be meeting each other in person.
Avoiding him was the right thing to do. The mature thing. The responsible thing.
When someone was addicted to cake, they didn’t march into the nearest bakery, claiming they’d ‘just look’. When someone had a shopping addiction, they didn’t walk into a bank ‘to talk’ about getting another credit card.
No Elliot, no emotional cheating.
It was as simple as that.
I couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes. Portia, Mrs. Williams, and my mom were right. Everyone knew about this wedding. Everyone expected us to marry. What would people think of me if they heard I’d called things off for some other guy?
What if I did all that, and Elliot and I didn’t even work out?
I smacked my head against the table in my tiny kitchen, praying for some peace in the chaos.
Elliot and I were wrong for each other. Biggest piece of evidence, he didn’t conform to my philosophy. If he truly loved me, he’d be making a fuss, banging on my door and demanding that I dump Amir.
He hadn’t done that.
I wouldn’t even have spoken to him if I hadn’t drunk-dialed him last night. Here I was, debating whether I should throw it all away, and he couldn’t even spare me a text?
No, it was clear that I liked him more.
You’re an idiot, Imani.
I should call Amir. Try to reclaim the passion I’d felt for him before Elliot strutted into the picture. Days away from our wedding, we weren’t speaking to each other. We couldn’t start off like this.
I changed into a comfortable T-shirt and shorts, slipped my feet into sneakers and swiped my keys from the dresser. After locking up, I headed to my car.
As I drove, snippets of my fondest memories with Amir flashed through my head. The day he nursed me back to health when I was sick with the flu. The lunch where he surprised me with a poem inspired by my smile. Our first night. Our first kiss.
Each moment with him was so tender. He’d made it clear that I was his greatest treasure and I’d never doubted that. Ever.
When I looked at it that way, going to Amir was really not a loss. So what if Elliot made my heart race with just one look? So what if he could read me without having to say a word? Or that, when I was around him, I felt like I could be myself?
I shouldn’t make a decision based on feelings. After a lifetime of fooling around, I wanted to be a decent person. Good people didn’t waver when hard choices had to be made.
I sucked in a deep breath and parked the car in front of Amir’s apartment. Pulling out my phone, I dialed his number and glanced up.
My jaw dropped.
The line clicked. “Hello?”
I blinked rapidly, my heart pounding in my chest. What the hell?
“Imani?” Amir’s voice.
I forced my gaze away from the windshield. “Hi.”
“Hey.” He paused and quietly added, “I was afraid you wouldn’t call.”
“I should have called earlier.” I licked my lips, my eyes skittering forward again.
My throat pulled tight.
I blinked and rubbed my eyes with my knuckles.
The image in front of me didn’t change. Somehow, instead of Amir’s apartment building, I’d driven to a restaurant with the name ‘Olivia’s’ emblazoned on a wooden sign.
‘Olivia’s’. As in Elliot’s mother.
As in Elliot’s restaurant.
“Imani?”
“Amir,” my hands shook, “I’m gonna have to call you back.”
“Wait, babe!”
I dropped my cell phone to the seat and climbed out of my car, drawn by a magnetic pulse that I couldn’t ignore.
How had I ended up here? My mind had been on Amir. I’d mapped out the route in my brain and followed all the stop signs, so why…?
The front door opened and a guy wearing a white apron around his waist stepped out. He switched the sign on the door and then glanced up. When he noticed me standing awkwardly in the shadows, he frowned. “Ma’am, we’re closed.”
“Sorry.” I clutched my purse strap tighter and turned.
Footsteps pounded behind me.
A hand clamped my shoulder.
I shrieked and spun, smacking my purse against my assailant’s chest.
He cried out. “Ma’am!”
I paused, peering past my squinted eyes to the face of the young man who’d just closed Elliot’s store.
“I’m sorry.” He pulled his hands back and held them in the air. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“What do you want?”
“You’re Imani Davis, right?”
My head tilted. “How do you know my name?”
“It is you!” He grinned and pointed to the restaurant. “You can come in.”
“I thought you just said the store was closed?”
“Not to you.” He stared earnestly at me, dark chocolate eyes bright.
“Huh?”
“Please?” He gestured to the door.
I trembled but agreed. “Alright. Just for a minute.”
The curiosity was killing me. Besides, I’d driven all the way here…
The young man—whom I was guessing was a waiter—pushed the glass door open. A golden bell jangled prettily, alerting the rest of the staff to our entrance.
A beautiful older woman, dressed in black slacks and a white top, jumped from behind a gleaming podium. Her eyes narrowed. “Bryan, I told you to change the sign, not…” Then her gaze flipped to me and she stammered, “M-Ms. Imani.”
“Hey.” How does she know me too?
She straightened her shoulders and pasted a wide smile. “Welcome to Olivia’s. Right this way, ma’am.”
I glanced over my shoulder at Bryan, searching for his approval before I went off with this random chick. He nodded proudly, like a father who’d just given his daughter permission to ride the bike without training wheels. I shuffled forward, still hesitant and a little confused.
Belize was a small country. Most people knew someone who knew someone else. There was very little anyone could do that could stay buried for long. We were just that tight-knit.
Still, I didn’t know any of these people. So how the hell did they know my name on sight?
“Uh, aren’t we staying here?” I asked, pointing to the classy and elegant dining hall decorated with dark wooden panels and elegant red booths.
“Your table is reserved.”
“Okay?”
The hostess led me into another room and pointed to a beautifully dressed table. Beyond it was a long, rectangular-shaped cutout in the wall. I could see straight into the kitchen. “It’s the best seat in the house. Enjoy.”
“Thanks.”
The hostess turned and trotted out, her heels clicking behind her.
I slowly slid my purse off, my eyes drawn to the shiny pots hanging on the wall in the kitchen. The sound of metal banging together and the hiss of water hinted that the chefs were cleaning up for the night.
So why did Bryan and the hostess bring me back here?
Someone strode by the window. Immediately, my body perked to attention.
Blond hair. Round cheeks. Chiseled jaw. Elliot. He strode forward without looking left or right, so I wasn’t sure he’d seen me. Then he doubled back, his head whipped forward, his blue eyes taking me in like I was a ghost.
“Imani?”
“Hey.” I wiggled my fingers.
Elliot dashed out of view. The door to the kitchen smashed open and he sprinted toward me. “Imani.”
“That’s my name.” I smiled awkwardly.
“You came.”
“I was in the neighborhood and,” I shrugged as the excuse sounded lame even to my ears, “I just thought I’d pop in.”
A corner of his lips tilted up in the sexiest smirk known to man. “I’m glad you did.”
My stomach coiled.
This was so damn dangerous.
What had I been thinking?
As if sensing my internal struggle, Elliot placed a hand on my wrist. “Stay. Let me make you something.”
“It’s fine.” My eyes flitted to the kitchen where two sous chefs were darting back and forth and stealing looks at us every so often. “You’re closed and it feels like you were just shutting down the kitchen. I really just wanted to take a peek—”
“I waited all night for you,” he softly admitted.
My heart thundered. “You did?”
“Stay.” Blue eyes softening with an irresistible charm, he stepped closer. “Stay, Mami.”
The coiling in my stomach sank lower and turned to flames.
Oh boy.
Oh Lord.
My heart squeezed painfully. “I can’t.”
Elliot didn’t say a word.
I turned and managed one step toward the exits before my body revolted and refused to move. Slowly, I spun back around. “Fine. Just one meal. Then I have to go.”
Elliot was smiling calmly at me, as if he hadn’t—for a moment—thought I would leave. “One meal.” He winked. “I’ll blow your mind tonight.”
I stared at his lips.
Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of.
Chapter 19
Elliot
Imani’s dark eyes fastened on me, monitoring my every move. She sat a few inches away, poking her head through the hole in the wall to watch me flip the spider crab cakes in the frying pan.
“It’s smells great,” she murmured, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. I got caught up watching her. The upturned tilt of her nose. The smooth dip of her neck. The lips that I wanted on mine now.
She was so damn beautiful.
I didn’t want her to leave, but I reminded myself to be grateful she’d come in the first place. Wanting more than that would be pure greed.
I forced my attention back to the dish at hand and prepared the plate. The kitchen was quiet except for the whooshing sound of the stove’s open flame. I’d sent the workers home already. I’d wanted Imani all to myself.
She tapped her fingers on the counter. “You named the place after your mom?”
“I thought it was fitting.”
“That’s sweet of you.” She cradled her chin in her palm. “What did Gran say when she saw it?”
“’Oh, Elliot, your mom would have been so proud’.” I spoke in a high-pitched voice and tried to imitate Gran’s Belizean accent, failing spectacularly.
Imani chuckled.
“Something along those lines.”
“Did she like the food?”
“Gran loves my food.”
“What about the rest of your customers?”
“We didn’t have any complaints.” I slid the vegetables I’d chopped into a heated pan. “But I think we can work on our run time. Some menu items take a while to get out to the customer. We’d need to tighten that up.”
“Hmm.”
I grinned. “You’re bored.”
“No. I love hearing the details.” She covered her mouth with a yawn, eyes dipping to my pan. “What are you doing?”
“Sautéing the vegetables.”
“How exciting.”
I laughed. “From your reaction, you’re not impressed by the chef’s table idea.”
“I used to watch you cook all the time. This is nothing new for me.” She shrugged.
I nodded.
Imani licked her lips. “Elliot, can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.” I focused on flipping the pan and ignored the urge to stare at her tongue on those perfect brown lips.
Imani cleared her throat. “Why did the workers outside recognize my face?”
My hands froze.
She caught the guilty flush stealing across my face. “Elliot, what did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Really?”
I set the pan down and pressed my palms against the counter, leaning toward her, going as close as I could with the wall between us. “I knew you were coming so I got my team prepared.”
“You knew I was coming?”
“Yup.”
“But I told you I wouldn’t.”
“You said that from here.” I tapped my lips. Her eyes dipped there and darkened. I almost lost my train of thought. Shaking my head, I finished, “But I heard you from this place.” I poked my chest.
“How? You couldn’t even see me.”
“I don’t have to see you to feel you, Mami.”
She went quiet.
Snapping my wrists, I easily slid the crab cakes into a plate along with freshly chopped cilantro, onions, and grated carrots. Finishing that off, I garnished with citrusy jicama.
Imani’s eyes brightened when I offered the plate to her. “This looks fantastic.”
“Wait until you see what’s coming.” I thought of the specials I’d served tonight—coconut-ginger curry lionfish with rice and beans and baked lobster tails in a red wine sauce topped with caramelized hibiscus, green beans and glazed carrots. Imani would go wild.
“I’ll just eat this and then go,” she said with her mouth full.
My excitement petered out. “Oh.” I covered my disappointment with a smile. “Tell me what you think.”
She used the fork to cut into the crab cake. Bringing a small piece to her mouth, she popped it in and chewed. Her reaction was instantaneous.
“Elliot,” she moaned my name softly.
A vision of her beneath me, moaning my name with a similar vein of delight, flashed in my head and sent skitters of flames shooting up my skin. I blinked, struggling to rein in my feelings.
She’s getting married. She’s getting married.
Why did it have to be Imani? Why her?
My eyes danced over to the window, noticing the way she sat with her back slouched in the chair and her mouth slowly chewing my food, savoring my work.
My blood heated.
There was no explanation for the madness, no reason, no rhyme. I’d met plenty of beautiful women. Some, arguably, prettier, curvier, and more feminine than the bull-headed woman on the other side of the wall.
Why didn’t I feel this way about them?
Why was Imani the only one I could see?
My heart was tangled up with her whether I wanted it to be or not. I had absolutely no say.
Get a grip, man.
Thoughts like that would get me nowhere. Love wasn’t a solitary ambition. It needed two. Imani seemed hell-bent on getting married to someone else. To make matters worse, I couldn’t even prove he was wrong for her. Amir cared for Imani as much as I did. It would be foolish of me to claim I deserved her after I’d missed my window.
She’d made her choice.
I turned the stove off quickly and focused on cleaning up to hide from the whirlwind of thoughts. The sous chef had already taken care of most of the preparation for tomorrow, so all I had to do was put things back in order.
“Elliot, this is good. No, not just good. It’s amazing. You’re amazing.”
“Thanks.” I grunted, avoiding her face. The only way I’d keep my hands off Imani tonight was if I pretended she wasn’t there.
It was too much.
My love for her. My need for her. My desire…
The door swung open and Imani stepped through, entering my world, my domain. She was dressed casually in a plain T-shirt, shorts and sneakers.
She might as well have been wearing a ball gown the way my body reacted to seeing her with that satisfied little smirk on her lips.
“My compliments to the chef,” she said, flipping the plate up to cover her fa
ce.
I laughed when I saw that she’d licked the plate clean. It was gleaming white. “I’ll relay the message.”
“Where can I wash up?” She twisted around, searching the kitchen.
“Just put it over there.” I pointed to the metal counter near the sink.
She arched an eyebrow. “I’m guessing you’re not going to charge me.”
“You’d guess right.”
“So the least I can do is clean up after myself.”
I sighed. “All these years and you still do whatever you want.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She smiled cheekily.
I held my hand out. “Give it. Guests shouldn’t pay for their meals with work.”
“What are you talking about?” She pulled the plate behind her back and lifted her chin. “Remember sophomore year? That dine-and-dash gone wrong? A really big kitchen with lots of greasy pans? We washed dishes until our fingers turned to prunes.”
I moved closer to her even as her words painted the memory. “That was a long time ago.”
“My point still stands.”
“You don’t always have to be right.”
“Says who?” She cocked her head, her eyes sparkling.
“Hand over the plate, Mami.”
“You’re not the boss of me.”
I reached behind her and got a hold of the plate. She held on stubbornly. My other arm wound around her, snagging on the rim of the dish. It started to budge from her grip.
Her eyes narrowed. “Using your strength is cheating.”
“My strength is my only advantage.”
“At least you’ll admit it.”
I leaned down. “That mouth of yours will get you in trouble.”
“Are you going to punish me?” Imani’s smile dripped with feminine seduction. The moment shifted from playful to painful awareness. My throat tightened.
Imani was pressed up against me, my arms around her, her chest against my abdomen. I saw the moment she realized how closely we were standing. Her eyes bugged. I read desire, fear, and longing in her swirling chocolate irises. Dark fingers slipped from the plate. It would have crashed to the ground if not for my hold on it.
Imani laughed hoarsely. “We’re not kids anymore. Let me pay for my meal.”
“You could pay in other ways.”