by Raquel Belle
“Okay,” I say, and nod at him. “Thanks, man.”
I step out into the nippy air once more and pull the coat around me before I jog into the building. The warmth embraces me as I enter and I soak it in as best as I can…until I’m forced to face the monster waiting for me outside again.
I check the directory and find the store on the ground floor just like the cab-driver said. It’s a small store, but Michael’s doesn’t need much more space. Their diamond ring collection is impressive, and I begin to get confused standing there—seeing nothing but flashing lights bouncing off the stones.
“Need any help?”
“Yes!” I say emphatically and enthusiastically to the gentleman who approaches me from the other side of the display case. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Don’t worry, you’re not alone. You have no idea how many men come in here and say that very same thing.”
He has a kind face, and looks like one of those men you’d see on a magazine cover advertising real estate. He’s middle-aged, and the crinkle at the corners of his eyes tell me he has some experience.
He smiles. “What are you looking for exactly? Let me see if I can help you make that special someone smile.”
He makes me want to buy something. “I want an engagement ring, but all I’m seeing is lights and stuff that mean nothing to me.”
He shows me everything from the most expensive cuts to the more conservative ones. But I’m no cheapskate, and Jazz deserves more than a titanium ring or simple white-gold. No, I’d give her the store if I could, but I settle for a princess-cut diamond ring instead, under the manager’s advice.
“She’ll love it,” he says, and hands me the bag.
I smile back. “I know. Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure,” he says, waving as I walk out of the store. He’s already sweet-talking another customer into a huge sale by the time I exit. Now, to figure out the perfect way to get this diamond onto her finger.
The cab driver is all smiles when I return twenty minutes later. I need to get a rental car soon…I think to myself, this cab fare is probably going to be pretty close to the price of the ring.
“Did you find anything?” He asks, like he expects me to confide in him.
“I did, thanks.”
He waits, but I don’t say anything else. What’s in the bag is between me and the jeweler…for now.
As we pull into traffic, I gaze through the window at how busy the streets are—even in this weather. This is what I’ll have to get accustomed to. I might as well embrace it.
“This is it,” the driver says, a few minutes later.
I look out the window at a large apartment building before I pay the driver, gather my bags and get out. He pulls off while I’m still standing on the pavement, and I suck in a lungful of frigid air which pinches my nostrils before I walk off.
The concierge greets me and directs me to the correct floor. It’s actually a nice building, with a warm and friendly staff manning the lobby area. The space is still decorated with green garland, gold ribbon, and white tree lights. A red and green wreath with mistletoe hangs on the wall behind the receptionist, and I wonder when they’ll take them down.
Christmas is long past. But it does look good—maybe the place would look bland without it. I walk past them and to the elevators that will take me to the eighth floor. I wheel my luggage to her door and smile broadly before I knock.
It’s then that I think she might not be home. But it’s the weekend, so she should be. I hope.
The door opens, and I watch as Jazz’s mouth drops, seconds before she latches onto me like a squid and starts kissing me.
I drop the bags and wrap my arms around her and kiss her right back, burning the emotional distance between us to ash.
She feels so good in my arms, and I’m reluctant to let her go, even when she does.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was in the area so…”
She laughs hard. “In the area, huh?”
I rock my head. “Yeah. I heard New York’s great this time of the year, and when I was on Flatbush, I was like, wait, doesn’t Jazz live close by? So here I am…”
Her eyes are watering from laughing, and she wipes her eyes. “Get in here, you idiot.”
I walk in after her, noticing the way her ass rolls in the pink and white sweat pants she’s wearing. And the way her breasts swell in the tank, making my mouth water, and my other parts tense and on edge. It’s been too long since I’ve held her in my arms, and I scoop her up again as her curls brush against my face.
“God, I’ve missed you, Jazz.”
“Me, too,” she says and locks her arms around my neck.
“So, why did you leave?”
She stands again, and sweeps the hair from her face. “You know why. I told you.”
“And that made all the sense in the world,” I say, sarcastically, as she weasels out of my arms.
“It does. I didn’t want you to…hate me….” Her voice thins, and she toys with her fingers.
I know how serious she is, but I can’t help laughing. “Hate you? Jazz, I couldn’t feel anything but love for you, even if I tried.” I walk over to her. “You’re my life, and there’s nowhere I want to be but with you.”
Her eyes are seem to be filling up with tears when she looks at me. “Yeah?”
I caress her cheek, and she leans into it. “Yeah. Listen, I have something to tell you.” Her eyes widen. “No, no, everyone’s fine back home…it’s not bad news.”
“Don’t play like that,” she says, and pushes me as she giggles. “What is it?”
“I’m thinking about your idea for starters.”
“My idea?”
“Yes. I applied for a position in the FBI. I should be hearing back from them in a week or so,” I say.
Her face lights up. “What?”
“There’s more. I left Bubba in charge of the shop. I’m going to complete the formalities soon, but he’s unofficially the manager.”
Her eyes bulge. “You gave up the shop?”
I rock my head from side to side. “Not really gave up. I’ll still get an income. I’ll be more like a silent partner.”
She flings her arms around my neck, and I hug her back. “Trip, that’s so amazing. Wait, but what about Trisha?”
“She’ll be fine. She understands. She actually gave me her blessing before I left.”
“You’re kidding,” she says, excitedly.
“Nope,” I say, and shake my head. “I’ve officially gotten rid of all the excuses you gave me in that poor excuse of a break up.”
She laughs hysterically. “Is that what it was.”
I stroke her face again. “I’m not going anywhere Jazz, so find as many reasons as you like. I told you…you’re my girl. Even if you run off like a scaredy cat.”
“I’m not scared,” she says, and then she leans in and kisses me. “But now it’s no fun because I have no reason to say no. I’ve got nothing more to give you to work for.”
“And why would you want to?” I say, and kiss her soft lips again. This time she melts in my arms, and I can feel the difference as she eases into it. She’s ready now, like I am, and damn if it doesn’t feel good.
“I think we should celebrate, don’t you?”
“Yes!” She says.
“I wish I knew where an excellent, first-rate restaurant was,” I say, as if to the room.
She smiles. “Well, I know just the place. I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t take too long,” I call after her. “I’m starving.”
She giggles. “I won’t.”
She disappears into what I presume to be her bedroom, and I get a chance to check out her place. She has really exquisite taste—from the off-white sofa with the plush rug underfoot, the accent pieces placed artfully around the room, and the state-of-the-art kitchen that makes me feel like I’ve walked onto a page of Better Homes and Gardens.
This is a f
ar cry from the simple and worn furnishings at my old home. My old home. I smile at the idea that soon she and I will be sharing a new home, and the excitement swells inside me as I touch the small, black box stashed in my coat pocket.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jasmine
I’m walking, but I’m not feeling the ground under my feet.
Everything feels surreal ever since Trip showed up at my door a few minutes ago. I’m tempted to think that I’m dreaming, that I’m just imagining him inside my living room right now.
But I can still feel my lips throbbing from his kiss, and as the water cascades down my back, I touch the still pulsating spot.
He’s waiting for me, and he has come after me. He told me he would. But these things only happen in dreams.
I smile at the thought that he is my dream, and this is also my reality. I’m so excited I want to scream. After days of feeling sorry for myself, of moping, of shrunken faces and sagging shoulders, finally, I have something to smile about.
I feel like I should hurry, and that if I take too long, it’ll fade.
But when I get back to the living room, he’s still there, standing and poring over one of my favorite landscape paintings.
“I like this one,” he says without looking back at me. “It gives me a sense of calm.”
“Me, too,” I say. “It’s my favorite.”
He turns, and I watch as his eyes widen and his mouth opens, before he forces it closed with his index finger and walks over to me like a predator cornering his prey. “I’ll never get tired of telling you how beautiful you are. Damn…”
I loop my hands around his neck. “And I’ll never get tired of hearing it.” I kiss him, and my entire body begins to throb. Again. It keeps doing that when he touches me. Is this how it’s going to be from now on? Because if that’s the case, I won’t be able to function at work and I’ll break the traffic lights racing home to him.
“Maybe we can skip dinner, and I can help you get out of this outfit,” he says, huskily, as he nuzzles my neck.
“You should have thought of that before,” I say and slip out of his arms, “because I’m all dressed up now and starting to feel kind of hungry too.”
He grabs me around the waist as I’m walking away and kisses my neck. “We can feast on each other.”
“And then we’ll be even hungrier afterwards,” I say, and struggle to get away.
“Fine,” he says, smiling, “let’s go to the stupid restaurant.” I giggle even more, and feel a little drunk, and like everything he says or does is funny. Something’s wrong with that, right?
“It’s not like Nana’s Diner is it? Because if it is, you’re paying,” he says, as we enter the elevator.
I laugh. Naturally. I’m bubbling over with happiness, and it keeps spilling out. “No, Trip. It’s a really, nicer, classier place.”
“I’ll trust your semi-okay judgement,” he says, and pulls me hard against him. We’re alone in the elevator, and he takes the opportunity to kiss me to the sound of the dull elevator music.
It dings, and we’re forced to quickly step back as another couple walks in. They’re holding hands, and Trip thinks that gives him leave to kiss me again. I don’t stop him, but when I check from my peripheral vision, the other man is smiling, and I see when he moves his hand and pinches his date’s ass.
I think we’re giving them ideas, so I clear my throat and step back. I’ll need to reapply makeup the first chance I get.
Trip insists on driving, and I hand him the keys and slide into the passenger seat of my Kia Sorento for the first time. “It feels weird over here.”
He winks at me. “Get used to it.”
“Get used to being on the passenger side of my car or any car?” I say, wondering if he really thinks I’m going to be driven everywhere by him.
He glances over. “Fine. I won’t drive you everywhere, but it’s going to be pretty hard to let you leave the house otherwise.”
He’s suggesting we’ll be living together. That’s not a bad thought at all. “Here, let me put the address in the navigation app,” I say with a smile and a floating heart that feels like it’s about to pop right out of my chest.
I set the address to one of my favorite restaurants, Le Bernardin. I know he’s going to love it, but Trip isn’t really a food lover like I am—at least, not for the things I’ve grown so accustomed to in the city. If I know him, he’ll choose the simplest meal he can find on the menu.
It’s a busy night, but thanks to the clients I have, I’m able to get us a table on short notice. Usually this restaurant is booked in advance, but what can I say? The stars are in our favor.
“Damn, you weren’t kidding,” Trip says when we step inside.
He looks over the large painting on the wall facing the table where we’re seated. It’s of waves crashing on the shore, and it always makes me feel like I’m at sea just by looking at it.
“That’s a great picture,” he says, as he leans his head so he can get a better look at it.
“I know, right?”
A waiter comes over and introduces himself, and Trip asks for Chardonnay.
I cock my head and look over at him. “What?”
He grins. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say. I’m impressed. Trip is usually more conservative. I thought he would have just taken water, or iced tea, or something safe.
“I’ll have the same,” I say to the waiter.
“Make it a bottle,” he tells him, and the waiter nods and smiles.
“I’ll be right back to take your orders,” he says, politely. He hurries off, weaving his way through the tables as he heads to the bar area.
I’m feeling like a princess, but Trip appears nervous. Maybe it’s being in a new place that’s messing with his head. “What do you think you’ll like on this menu?”
“Uh, I’ll go with the sea trout to start, and the striped bass for the main course.”
“Nice. I was thinking of that, but I’ll take the scallops, and for my main course it has to be the lobster. It’s so delicious here,” I say, and lean across the table like it’s a secret.
“I bet,” he says and gazes around again. “Look at this place. The crème de la crème.”
“Yep,” I say. “I come here all the time.”
He gives me a weird look, and I laugh.
The waiter returns. “Are you ready to order, or would you like some more time?” He pours the wine, awaiting our answers.
“Are you ready, love?” Trip asks me.
Can my head swell any bigger, or my heart flutter anymore?
I smile at him and sigh contentedly. “I am.” This is my life. It feels like this can’t be happening. Someone, please, don’t wake me up from this dream.
The waiter takes our orders and leaves, and I’m left drooling, embarrassingly so.
“You look happy,” he says and reaches across the table to take my hand.
I squeeze his. “I know. It’s because I’m so happy you’re here. I still can’t believe this is happening.”
“Well, believe it, because I’m going to be here tomorrow,” he says, and smiles as he kisses the back of my hand, “and the day after that,” he kisses it again, “and the day after…”
I blush. “I get the idea.” But if we continue along this train of conversation, I’ll be a dribbling mess by the end of dinner. “So, the FBI…nice move.”
He pulls his hand back slowly and shuffles on the chair. “Yeah. It was a good suggestion. I’m not sure which department just yet, but obviously, field work. Maybe with the local PD…I don’t know.”
“You’ll know soon enough,” I say. “I’m happy for you. There’s a lot of good a man like you can do in this city.”
“Maybe,” he says. His dark hair looks even darker under the pale lighting, and the dimple in his chin is deeper when he smiles. He’s wearing his classic dark jeans, boots, and white button-down shirt. He’s a magazine cover. He looks so damned sexy…good enough
to eat, just the way he is, boots and all.
This is the man I fell in love with, even before he became a man. There’s nothing about him I want to change.
The waiter returns with the food, and my stomach starts to rumble when I smell the savory meal that he lays in front of us. Trip rubs his hands together, excitement spreading across his face and transferring across the table like a contagion. I’m excited too, like it’s also my first time here.
Trip’s going to start with the sea trout in tomato chutney and a lemon tandoori olive-oil.
“Mmm, that smells so good,” I say, and eye his plate.
He grins. “Nope, this is all mine.”
“Meanie,” I say. But my scallops in their lemongrass and ginger lime broth are not to be outdone, as the tangy and flavorful aroma reminds me of a vacation in the Tropics. I’m only about three spoonsful in when he scrunches up his face. I cock my head to the side. “What?”
“Is this supposed to taste bitter?” He says, and wipes the napkin over his tongue. He begins to look around, and I start to get embarrassed.
“Where’s the waiter?” I say, and look around too. “We need to send it back. I’m so sorry, Trip. They’re usually on point with their food.”
“Why are you apologizing? It’s not your restaurant,” he says, almost angrily. “You know what? I’m going to take this back to the kitchen myself,” he says and pushes his chair back. “Excuse me.”
I’m sitting alone after he’s gone, wondering what the hell just happened. I wish he’d left the trout—I would have tasted it for myself. Le Bernardin has a reputation, and I feel insecure about the rest of my meal.
Still, I eat slowly, since nothing’s off about my scallops. But I keep searching the room for Trip. Five minutes go by, and still no Trip. I’m thinking of going to search for him, when I finally spot him walking back, without any food.
“What happened? Did you get something else?”
“I spoke with the chef personally and he says he’ll have the waiter bring something out in a few minutes, on the house.”
“Oh,” I say, and sigh with relief. “He must be having an off night.”
