Taming Mr. Charming (The Taming Series Book 2)

by Nia Arthurs

  A few new faces had moved to Crenshaw Lane, but for the most part nothing had changed in this little poverty stricken street. When the rains came down too hard, people still got their pieces of driftwood to walk over the drain water rising like a tide and flowing into the street in the same majestic way the Red Seas had returned after being parted. The gunshots still rang out every now and then, a stray bullet ricocheting into houses, into arms, legs, heads, hearts. My family grew up on the fringes of Crenshaw Lane as though aiming for a better life but never quite getting there. I trudged slowly up the three steps to the front porch. Mama’s veranda was filled to the brim with potted plants. She had an obsession with the flora but lacked any order in their display. The front smelt of mulch and fertilizer.

  “Mama!” I yelled, opening the screen door by slipping my hand into the hole in the left corner and unhooking it. “Mama!” I banged on the wooden door.

  My mother unlocked the wooden door and peered at me. Laura Arana had been a beautiful woman in her youth. Her smooth ebony cheeks and curly afro had drawn the attention of the dashing Noah Johnson who soon swept the sensible church heels off her feet and got her pregnant out of wedlock. The two married quickly, as was the custom of the day, and had three more children. The stress of running after my father and his girlfriends, however, had stolen that beauty from my mother. Her eyes were sunken; the high cheekbones I’d inherited from her were sharp and bony resembling knives more than beauty. The firm set of her mouth had encouraged wrinkles to form in the region where life and death could be spoken with a harsh word or a soft compliment. My mother looked nothing like the woman in the black and white pictures on the mantel. I mourned the loss, not of her physical beauty but of the fire that had burned out behind her eyes.

  “Mia!” she said a lot of surprise coloring her tone. I hated that my parents and I had such a strained relationship. Sometimes, I think my mother tried to love me as I was. Unfortunately, I was too far removed from the picture that she’d dreamed up for me.

  “Hi mama, how have you been? You guys moved in good yet?”

  A year ago, my mother and father had moved back into this old house after only a few years in a huge seaside mansion near the North side. Daddy had insisted on the big house, but their finances could not support the rent. They soon had to tuck tail and return to this place.

  “I’m fine. We’ve got a few boxes left, but I’m just procrastinating.”

  We stood there looking at each other for an awkward second before she offered me some food. I was starving and I took her up on her offer.

  “Is daddy home?”

  “He’ll be back soon. He went to help Mrs. Lorenzo with her gas tank.” The wrinkles around her mouth deepened exponentially as she frowned. She dished up a plate and I ate it quickly.

  Mrs. Lorenzo was the woman that Mama currently suspected Daddy was sleeping with. She’d had no evidence to ascertain this other than the long string of women that Daddy always seemed to find time to ‘help’ around the house.

  “Thanks for the food, mama.” I said when the plate was clean. My mama made the best rice and beans. Period.

  “So,” she began and I instinctively knew that the topic of Daddy and his women was firmly closed, “Mrs. Bethel says that a white man is always hanging around your apartment.”

  I rolled my eyes. Here we go.

  “Mia Elizabeth Johnson, you know how your father feels about foreigners. You’ve made a mess of many things, but you will break your father’s heart if you defy him in this.”

  “Mama,” I warned. It had been a long day and I was not in the mood for her chastisement about Peyton of all people. Not after the fight I’d had with Charles.

  “Whatever experiment you’re doing with this white man, you need to stop before your father finds out.”

  “Before I find out what?” Daddy’s booming voice echoed into the kitchen. I stood quickly and went over to hug him,

  “Hi Daddy,”

  “Mia Johnson, it looks like you haven’t forgotten us after all.”

  “Dad, you know the street runs both ways. You can come visit me at the store or accept the Reyes invitation for Sunday dinner.”

  “That mess of heretics? No thanks. I’m good. Give me that old time religion, it’s good enough for me.” He recited the words of the ancient hymn. I cracked a small smile for the sake of keeping the peace. “Now, what should I not find out?”

  “Don’t worry about it, Daddy, I was just leaving.”

  “So soon?”

  “Yeah, Mama and I had something to discuss, but I’ll get home now.”

  “You walking?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Let me take you,” He swung his keys on his index finger, “Laura, I’ll be back in a minute.”

  From the table, Mama nodded and gave me a look of caution before shooing us out the door.

  “So, how have you been, Mia?”

  “Fine Dad.” I answered woodenly.

  Growing up, I always preferred being with my father than my mother. Daddy was a go-lucky, charismatic man. He used to tell me all kinds of stories and they were always spell-binding. We’d have tickle wars when he came home from work and sometimes we’d go out for ice cream, just me and him. I practically worshipped my father. In my eyes, he could do no wrong. Until I turned fifteen and my eyes were opened. I found out that Daddy didn’t sleep on the couch because he kicked in his sleep or because he snored loudly, but because he constantly cheated on Mama. As far as I knew, he hadn’t fathered any children, but the betrayal felt as personal as if he’d cut me with a knife. I knew my father loved me, but his inability to face the truth when confronted irked me. Our relationship kept on deteriorating with the years.

  During the drive back to my apartment, Daddy tried engaging me in conversation. For some reason, I couldn’t relate to him in the same jolly manner with which he tried to connect with me. I kept up the shallow appearance of cheer but inside all I could hear was Mama crying in her bed and Daddy coming back home from a frolic with his mistress and slinking off to shower. Thank God he didn’t start on his ‘white people are devils’ speech. I probably would have gone off on him if he’d gone down that path.

  “Thanks dad,” I breathed out a sigh of relief when he pulled up to my apartment.

  “It was good to see you, Mia.”

  “You too, Dad,”

  “You’ll be by for my birthday next month?”

  “I will.” I waved at the car as I tramped up the stairs.

  In my apartment, I shook off my shoes and checked the time on my phone. I texted Peyton:

  WE R STILL ON.

  He didn’t reply immediately but I didn’t care. Another great pro of having a male friend is not worrying when they don’t text back.

  I padded to the bathroom and rinsed the make up from my face. I stared at that face for a long time and allowed myself to rethink my commitment to Charles Engells. Attraction was a huge part of entering a relationship. I would be crazy if I didn’t find myself oddly drawn to Charles’ adorable dimples and killer smile. But looks are not everything. I wanted a man with character, someone strong but sensitive; principled but forgiving. Charles’ cruel use of my past as a form of punishment was a low blow. I don’t know why I was astonished. I should not have been surprised. You can’t outrun a past like mine in a city like this.

  Feeling down, I scooted unto my bed, too lazy to change into home clothes just to return to street clothes when Peyton came for me, and swiped my phone open. I wanted to learn more about this Paul fellow. He sounded like an okay dude. Especially if he got the struggle of constantly doing stupid things and not being able to stop. As I read his online biography, scholars described Paul as patient, kind, forgiving, and ethical. But when I read the words of Paul in the Constitution, he used terms like ‘sinner’, ‘wretch’, and ‘slave’ to express his weakness. The dude acknowledged his darker side with humility and openness yet according to my internet research, he’d been an amazingly influential ma
n.

  Confused, I put the phone away and lay down on my bed soaking in the quietude like rain. Melody always complained about the silence of the King. Sometimes He chose to speak in a song or a passage from the Manual or in an encouraging word. For whatever reason, be it our inability to hear or see his response, most times only stillness reigned on the other end of the line. The King’s silence, however, has never discouraged me. I was intimate with the quiet. The silence after a one night stand, the emptiness when coming off a high, the hush of a room when you enter because everyone had an easy time talking about you behind your back but not to your face, these silences were familiar to me. In my world, silence meant death. In His world, it means peace. I would never trade one for the other.

  Lazily, I stayed in bed all evening and sketched, only venturing out to pee and once to eat an apple. As six o’clock approached, I got up and washed my face applying only eyeliner and lip gloss. This was Peyton. I didn’t need anything more. I moved to the living room to wait for him and reminisced on my dating experience, or lack thereof. Deep in the throes of my rebellious antics, I rarely went on official outings with the boys I was messing with. First of all, a part of me was a little embarrassed. I knew I was being used and I didn’t want the world to know. Secondly, and this was probably the main reason, the guys I used to be into didn’t believe in investing the money to buy the girl dinner before getting to the ‘dessert’ if you know what I mean. As I grew up, my ideas of romance and dating was measured by the type of breakfast the guy treated me to the morning after.

  It felt strange to think of dating Peyton. Over the past few months, he’d become a good friend. Given my lifestyle, my best friend quota had climaxed at 1. And I was still trying to wonder how the very principled Mr. Reyes allowed his sweet, innocent daughter to run around with a hoodlum like me. Thinking about friendships and relationships made me a little nervous. I knew from experience that it was hard to come back to a place of comfort when feelings are revealed and they’re not reciprocated. I wasn’t stupid. I knew that Peyton found me attractive. He had never hidden that from me. The leap from an attraction to a relationship is not a big one. Either way, I just didn’t want the dynamics of our friendship to change because of tonight. I really hoped that the bonds connecting us were tighter than our chemistry because I personally wouldn’t mind exploring my feelings for Peyton. But it would be a tragedy if our friendship suffered for it.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Hey,” I greeted Peyton when I unlocked the door and stepped into the hallway.

  “Hey,” he tilted his head to the side and gave me a surveying look, “you look nice,”

  I shook my head, “I’m wearing the same outfit I wore this morning.”

  He grinned, “It still looks nice.”

  We walked in tandem through the hall and down the stairs.

  “Where are we headed?” I asked.

  “I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it, so there’s been a last minute change of plans.”

  “Okay,” I drew out the word. I noticed a rambling stooped figure walking up the apartment stairs and cringed. “Hi, Mrs. Bethel,” I greeted my mother’s unofficial herald.

  The expression on her face when she saw me beside Peyton would have been comical if I didn’t understand just what it meant. This little sighting would be reported to my mother in less than half an hour.

  “Good evening,” she stuttered before kicking up her skinny legs and fleeing to her room as fast as her artificial hip would carry her.

  “Uh, what was that about?” Peyton asked as we got to his car.

  “She’s my mother’s friend and my neighbor.” He arched an eyebrow, “Don’t ask,” I added.

  He shrugged,

  “Are you hungry?”

  “I’m starving.”

  He frowned, checking the watch on his arm, “We’ll be pushing it a little but we can stop for some sweet and sour chicken.”

  “’Kay,” I acknowledged. Mama wanted food. It didn’t matter what kind right about now.

  Peyton handed me his phone where he had his favorite Chinese restaurant on speed dial and I ordered our food. In the next fifteen minutes, we picked up the hot Styrofoam plate and pushed the speed limit to get to our mystery destination. The sun was just making its descent and the lower it arched the more antsy Peyton seemed to get. I decided to mess with his head and plugged my phone into the aux cord to play rock music. Peyton smiled at my selections, but kept on his little Fast & Furious remake. We neared the Baron Bliss lighthouse and I grew curious. Baron Bliss was a sailor who donated a ton of money to Belize on his deathbed almost a century ago. The lighthouse was a monument to him and his generosity. It was also off limits to be in there. Peyton shut the engine, got out and rounded the car to open my door.

  “Peyton, what’s going on? Why are we here?”

  “Come on,” he grinned like a little child on Christmas morning, “we’re missing the show.”

  I grasped his hand and he led me to the lighthouse ladder.

  “You cannot be serious.” I groused.

  He laughed. “Let’s go, Mia. Release that inner kid and climb.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him but gripped the ladder. I have to admit, it was kind of fun, until the wind came and blew my skirt anywhere but down. I yelped and held on to the bar with one hand as I pushed my skirt, which seemed to have dreams of becoming an umbrella, securely down. Peyton laughed at my squealing. I almost tore off my shoe and stoned it at him. Finally, and without anymore ballooning articles of clothing, I made it to the landing of the lighthouse. Peyton soon joined me with a cooler and our food in tow and we both travelled up the long flight of rickety wooden stairs together. I was a little annoyed at the hullabaloo at first but when I topped the stairs… I was blown away.

  The sky was blazing in a fiery red glory as the sun put up a fight, gripping its hold on the daytime with tenacity and vigor. Its rays reached out and touched every corner of the sky in glowing orange hues, before softening to a dull pink. The sea lapped at its feet as the sun descended even deeper into the horizon. The moon peeked through the clouds, as if unsure if the sun would stay down for the next few hours so he could do his thing. I smiled at Peyton, who had joined me by the protective railing on the lookout point. Words did not need to be spoken. Bodies did not need to touch, but a thousand words and a thousand feelings flooded through me as our gazes connected for a brief moment before returning our eyes to one of the Creator’s grandest displays of majesty.

  When night finally conquered day, Peyton lit the old time gas lanterns in the room, the soft lighting thoroughly fitting the rustic appeal of our five star lighthouse. He then laid a thick blanket on the floor to keep me from dirtying my skirt. He blushed sheepishly when he realized that we hadn’t brought plates or forks.

  “It’s okay,” I accepted the food from him and tore the Styrofoam cover plate in half.

  “Sweet,” he complimented me and then we shared the food between the two of us.

  “Hey,” I protested when he took a bunch of fries. Scooping some out of his plate, I saucily deposited the crisp potatoes in my own.

  The night was perfect. No mosquitoes terrorized us up here. They were chased away by the subtle but persistent breeze that ruffled our hair and caused me to tuck my skirt under my thighs to keep it from exposing my tights. The sound of the waves lashing out on the rocks below provided the perfect playlist of songs for our hushed conversation.

  “Tell me more about your sister,” I urged after our meal. Peyton leaned back on his hands thought seriously before speaking, “She was beautiful. She was tall like me and so gorgeous. All my friends had a crush on her.”

  I smiled softly at the picture he painted. “What did she like to do?” I asked.

  “She sang.” His voice hushed as he recalled, “She sang all the time. Her voice was haunting and sweet all in one. I always told her to post her stuff on Youtube or something. She would have sung songs that mattered, you know?”


  I felt the sadness descend on him and decided to change the subject. “I have two older sisters and an older brother,” I confessed.

  His eyebrows shot up in surprise, “Really? You never talk about them. You don’t discuss your family much at all.”

  “That’s because I have issues,” I confessed. He scooted closer as I continued. “My parents are volatile around each other. My siblings moved out as soon as they could. We all did.”

  “Mia, I had no idea,” Peyton consoled. “It’s okay.” I kept my eyes on the velvet night dotted with shining stars, “That’s why I take love so seriously. Even when I was messing around, I knew love and marriage meant a lot more than attraction and sex. I watched my parents live miserable lives and I promised myself that I would be sure, as sure as humanly possible, that I was making the right choice, that I loved the right person, before I gave my heart away.”

  He cleared his throat, “I loved someone once.”

  “Yeah?” I leaned in. I enjoyed a good love story. “What happened?”

  “Well, we met in college and we dated for two years. On our anniversary, I bought a ring and took her for a big romantic dinner. I had it all planned out. During the dessert, the orchestra started playing ‘our’ song and I got on one knee… but before I could propose she told me to stop. Said she’d been sleeping with one of my friends and that she was sorry but she couldn’t keep lying to me.”

  “Ooh, harsh. Did you ever forgive her?”

  “I was the best man at their wedding, so I think on the outside I got over it.”

  “But on the inside,”