Raising her head, she gave me a funny look before laughing.
“But in all seriousness, I bet he’d be proud to see all that you’ve accomplished. This watch is amazing,” she stated as her eyes closely examined the stainless steel case with black silicone band. “The hands are stainless steel?” she inquired.
“Observant. Yes.” I nodded. “The dial is made of quartz but I’m looking to change that. It reminds me of another brand I already own.”
She nodded.
“It’s shock resistant as well.”
“So you can wear it while working out.”
“Exactly. It’s meant to be a weekend or off-hours piece. Not a wear to work piece.”
She nodded. “I can see that. It looks like you spent a lot of time thinking about and designing it.”
“Close to twelve months.”
“Any idea when you’ll begin selling it?” she questioned as she handed the watch back to me.
“That’s up in the air. Like I said, some changes still need to be made. But we’ve already got one retailer interested. We’ll see.”
“I would wish you luck, but I don’t think you’ll need it.” She smiled, and I believed that she had total faith in me, which somehow deepened my own faith in myself.
“Now that I’ve shared a passion of mine, tell me one of yours,” I requested just after our waitress placed our plates in front of us and walked away, leaving us to enjoy.
“Me? Um, well, I’m not starting a fortune 500 company any time soon.”
I chuckled. “Maybe one day.”
She shrugged. “Not likely. But you’ve already met the main thing I’m passionate about.”
I swallowed the forkful of the chicken kabob over rice I’d ordered. “Monique?”
She grinned widely.
Anyone with two eyes could see how much she loved that little girl. At one point, I thought I was going to have to step in front of that counselor at the hospital to keep Sandra from taking her head off. Which is such a departure from the woman I’d thought she was. I mean, yeah, I’d heard most women had that motherly, protective instinct thing going on—we’ve all heard shit about the mother who lifted an entire car off her toddler—I just hadn’t experienced that type of motherly protection in my own life. At least, not when I really needed it.
“She’s my world.”
“But there has to be something else you’re passionate about.”
She thought for a minute. “People.”
I frowned, curiously.
“Groups of people, why they behave the way they do. I’ve always wondered. I wanted to go to college and get my PhD to become a professor of sociology.”
“And what happened?”
Biting her lower lip, she glanced off out the window. Every protective alarm in my body went off.
Slowly, she turned her head back to me. “I got pregnant and plans changed. Suddenly, spending the next decade as a full-time student didn’t seem like the responsible thing to do.”
“And Monique’s father wasn’t around to help out?” Why did I ask that question? Why the fuck did I bring that shit up? I had a rule if I happened to date a woman with a kid—never ask about the father. It wasn’t my business, and I damn sure wasn’t trying to make it my business.
Now here I was holding my breath, waiting for Sandra to spill all of the details about the motherfucker that’d gotten her pregnant. He was a motherfucker. I knew it because the terrified expression that covered her delicate face when I’d asked that question almost had me leaping out of my skin to go find him.
Breathe, Damon.
Fucking breathe.
Sandra wiped her mouth with the white linen napkin and I didn’t miss the shakiness of her hands.
“N-no. He wasn’t around.”
A muscle in my jaw flexed as I grinded my teeth for the second time. There were few things I found more abhorrent than deadbeat fathers.
“But I’ve recently taken up Pilates. I like it, though I wouldn’t consider it a passion of mine.” She was trying to change the subject.
I’d let her … for the time being.
“Exercise can be a passion.”
She shook her head. “Not for me. I mean, I enjoy it. Kayla and I go to the same classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays after work, and I walk on the treadmill on my lunch break at the gym in my office’s building. Being active help keeps my brain sharp, according to some of the articles I’ve read on exercise.”
“Articles?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I like to research things before I do them. There was an article in the New England Journal of Medicine on the importance of movement, especially for those of us who work in offices five days a week for eight or more hours.”
In spite of the tension from earlier, I chuckled. “You seem like the type to research everything.”
She covered her mouth as she giggled. “As a kid I loved spending my weekends at the library looking up all kinds of facts and history.”
I chuckled.
“No wonder I didn’t have many friends, huh?” She laughed.
I shook my head. “They just weren’t good enough for you,” I responded, my voice deeper and slightly thicker than I’d intended.
She looked up at me through lengthy lashes that, at first glance, could’ve been fake. But Sandra didn’t do fake lashes. She wore makeup but it was subtle, not over the top.
We finished our meal, Sandra telling me some of the facts she remembered learning in her spare time as a kid. I got the sense hiding out in the library felt safe for her. She was used to hiding. That I definitely picked up on from the first moment I saw her. Someone should’ve told her long ago that she was meant to stand out.
“Monique’s probably thinking I abandoned her,” Sandra stated, laughing as we walked down the hall toward her apartment. She’d just checked her phone and had received a second text from her daughter asking what time she’d be home. “Sometimes I forget who’s the daughter and who’s the mother in this relationship.”
“Short stuff’s demanding, huh?”
“You’re still insisting on calling my child short stuff?” she questioned, hands on her hips as we stopped in front of her door.
“Hell yeah,” I chuckled. “She’s short just like her mama.”
Sandra lowered her head, laughing.
“You should watch out, you know the little ones have that Napoleon Complex.” As soon as I made the quip, the door opened behind Sandra.
“Mommy! You’re home. Oh, hi, Mr. Damon,” Monique’s little head popped out of the crack in the door.
“Hey, short stuff.”
“Monique, where’s Ms. Oralia?” Sandra inquired.
“Right here, Sandra. The little one was anxious to see her mommy,” an older, Latina woman answered, pulling the door open a little more from behind Monique.
“Mr. Damon, did you buy my mommy a new car?”
Sandra gasped. “Monique, why would you ask that?”
Monique blinked, looking back to her mother with a confused expression. “That’s where you went today, right? To buy a new car?”
“Yes, but I—”
“No, short stuff. I helped your mommy look for cars. She bought it herself,” I stated, crouching low.
“Is it here?”
I looked up at Sandra.
“It’s being cleaned and ready for me to pick up tomorrow.”
“Yay!” Monique declared, clapping.
“Come, Monique. Let’s let your mommy and Mr. Damon talk.”
“Aww,” Monique sighed.
“She’s a trip,” I chuckled, standing upright.
“Lucky me.” Sandra rolled her eyes playfully. “I would say thank you for helping me with the car and for dinner but I don’t want my head bitten off.”
I gave her an incredulous look. “I should be the one afraid of getting their ass handed to them like you did the last time we were standing in this exact same spot.”
“I didn’t—”
&nb
sp; “You did. But it’s all good.” I took a step closer. “It actually turned me on a little.” And just as I suspected she would, a tiny gasp escaped her lips, leaving them parted.
I licked my bottom lip as my eyes remained planted on her full, luscious lips. Forcing myself to look up, my gaze rose to her wide eyes. They were begging me to do exactly as I had done the last time we were standing here, as well. Her shyness just wouldn’t let the words fall free. Bending low, I reached out, lowering my right hand to her waist, pulling her into me. I took it slow just in case she wanted me to stop but those words never came. Next thing I knew, my lips were covering hers.
This wasn’t the same kiss as last time. No, this was a real fucking kiss. My hand tightened around her waist, and my tongue swiped over hers, tasting both the remnants of the Greek salad she’d eaten for dinner and a taste so damn syrupy sweet it could only come from her. She was hesitant. Out of practice. That I could tell. But when she pressed her little body against mine and let out a short moan into my mouth, I knew she wanted it just as badly as I did.
I pulled back before I got too lost. Before I failed to remember that just on the other side of that two inches of solid wood was her nine-year-old child.
She was breathing heavy, her small hand clutching the front of my sweater, as if hanging on for dear life. I covered her hand with mine. It was trembling slightly.
“Have dinner with me this Tuesday.”
Her head raised to meet my gaze.
“Tuesday?” she repeated, as if trying to remember what a Tuesday even was.
I would have laughed if I hadn’t felt the same way.
Suddenly, the door I thought was closed widened, and a high-pitched voice announced, “We’re having dinner with my new grandma on Tuesday. Right, Mommy?” Monique’s big brown eyes shot to her mother.
“Monique, go inside!” Sandra insisted, hurriedly, turning to her daughter, pushing her inside and pulling the door closed behind her.
“I’m sorry about that.”
I shook my head. “Don’t be.” I paused, knowing I shouldn’t ask, but like with most things where she was concerned, my common sense flew out the window. “Her new grandmother?”
Monique’s eyes widened. “Long story.”
“You can tell me about it on our next date. I’m heading out of town on Wednesday, but I’ll be back on Sunday. How’s next Monday sound?” And when it looked like she was trying to come up with some excuse to say no, I planted my lips on hers again.
She responded immediately, opening up again, letting me taste her. I wanted to bite her lower lip, to suck it into my mouth and run my tongue along that plump lip, but that would lead to more. And I knew, like I knew my own name, she wasn’t ready for more. Hell, maybe I wasn’t either.
“Monday?” I questioned against her lips.
She swallowed but nodded. “M-monday.”
I was a grown ass man. No way I should’ve felt as excited as I did at a woman agreeing to a mere date. I had at least ten women in my contacts list right now that would’ve agreed to a date with half the effort. But the only woman I wanted to take out, was the woman I had sworn was off limits to me.
Like I said, maybe I didn’t understand myself as well as I thought I did. Least of all, when it came to her.
Chapter Eight
Sandra
“This was probably a mistake,” I mumbled to myself in the mirror as I wrung my hands around one another. Yes, this was a total error in judgment on my part. I needed to cancel it before it got—
My thoughts were cut off by a knock at the door.
Too late.
“I’ll get it!” Monique yelled from her bedroom.
That’s when I sprang into action, out of my fearful stupor.
“No!” I yelled, halting Monique in her tracks as she sprinted up the hall. “I told you, Mommy or an adult opens the door. Not you. Besides, you forgot to put your shoes on, little girl,” I admonished. I stared at her as her shoulders slumped and she turned, marching back into her room to put on the black pair of flats I’d matched with the red and black striped dress she insisted on wearing. She wanted to look nice for tonight’s dinner.
“Coming!” I called as the knock sounded again. It wasn’t a loud or insistent knock. Which didn’t surprise me. It wasn’t her style.
“Hi.” My grandmother smiled as I opened the door.
I’d done it.
I’d saved the card she’d given me, after my intentions were to throw it in the garbage as soon as I got home from the hospital that day. But then I’d shared my first kiss with Damon and my brain went to mush. The next day I found the card stuffed awkwardly in my pants’ pocket and I got curious. I wondered why she had given it to me, why she wanted me to call her. And then I started thinking about Monique. As her only family, I ached for her. I wanted my daughter to have a larger family support system but had no idea how to make that happen. Seeing Kayla with her husband and his large family sometimes made me envious—not only for Monique, surprisingly. I found myself wanting a larger family for me, as well. A husband to share my days and life with, and who knew, possibly more children. I’d always wanted at least two kids so they would always have a sibling to depend on, unlike I had.
And since I couldn’t give Monique a sibling right then, I made a decision. I picked up the phone and dialed the number for the only family I had ever known, at least to some extent. Though the conversation was brief, I invited my grandmother over to dinner to finally meet Monique. She’d wanted to. I felt defensive at first, but I remembered I wasn’t the eighteen-year-old child she’d thrown out. If she had anything negative to say, she’d be out on her backside and that would be that.
“Hello,” I responded, rather formally.
“Hi!”
My gaze lowered to Monique who’d come up beside me.
“Well, hello,” my grandmother replied in a voice I’d never heard before. At least, I couldn’t ever remember her using the sweet, high-pitched tone most adults used with children. She’d never spoken to me that way as a child.
“I’m Monique. Mommy says you’re her grandmother which makes you my great-grandmother. Right, Mommy?”
I nodded. “Right, baby. Come in,” I stated, stepping back.
“Thank you.” My grandmother smiled over her shoulder at me as I helped her remove the long coat she wore.
I frowned. She seemed … different. She was the same height; her golden skin complexion was the same though slightly duller than I remember. But she appeared even skinnier than the last time I’d seen her all those years ago. Her hair was cut short, something I never thought I’d see on my grandmother. And the few strands of greying hair at the temple were a huge departure from what I remember. Throughout my childhood my grandmother had had a standing bi-weekly hair appointment.
“This is for you.” She handed Monique a gift wrapped box with a purple bow on it.
“Can I open it, Mommy?” Monique asked excitedly.
I nodded.
“Thank you!” The two words weren’t even out of her mouth before she was tearing at the paper. Underneath was a grey gift box. When Monique opened it, I saw a light blue globe that looked something like a paperweight.
“It’s a birthstone wishing ball. Your mommy told me your birthday is at the end of next month. And this aquamarine is the birthstone for the month of March.”
“I know. My mommy gave me an aquamarine ring last year for my birthday.” Monique held up the globe, a pondering expression in her face. “What do I do with it?”
“You can do whatever you want with it. Leave it to sit out on your desk, or hold it in your hands and make a wish. Or meditate with it.”
“I make wishes on sunsets like my mom taught me. If I use this will my wish come true?”
My grandmother’s gaze moved up to mine. I gave her a short smile, not bothering to explain about sunsets and wishes.
“You’ll have to try it and see.”
Monique’s smile was as big as
the globe. “Thanks, Great-Grandma!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around my grandmother’s waist.
I moved to pull Monique off of my grandmother, knowing she wasn’t a hugger. But then she shocked me when she put her arms around Monique and smiled widely as she looked down on her.
“I’m going to put this in my room. Mommy, can you please escort my great-grandma to the dining area?”
I rolled my eyes as she dashed out of the room, down the hall to her room.
“She a lively little thing.”
“She is.”
“And she looks just like you.”
I narrowed my gaze on my grandmother, wondering if she was trying to imply something, or build up to asking something she had no business inquiring about. Instead, she simply stared at me for a heartbeat.
“It’s been a long time, Sandra. Could I give you a hug?”
My eyes bulged before I caught myself. “Uh, sure.” I awkwardly stepped closer with my arms outstretched.
My grandmother moved closer, her arms wrapping around my back, pulling me in. It didn’t feel natural at first. Felt nothing like the embraces I’d shared with Damon. I blinked and silently scolded myself for even comparing. Of course, a hug with my grandmother wouldn’t feel the same as an embrace with a man like Damon.
“Thank you,” my grandmother stated as we pulled back.
I nodded and gave her a half smile. “Are you hungry?” I questioned.
“Yes. I also brought something for you as well.”
I stopped. “Oh.” I took the book she handed me, nearly dropping it. It was my senior yearbook.
“You left it when, um …”
You kicked me out.
“I thought you might want to have it.”
I hadn’t even thought about this thing. I hadn’t forgotten it. I’d left the book on purpose. It seemed less important than ensuring I’d have enough clothing and linens with me wherever I went, rather than a yearbook full of pictures of students who barely knew I was alive even as we sat in the same classes together. The book was even less relevant now, more than ten years later. But she was trying, I guessed.
“Thank you.” I placed the book on my shelf next to the mounted television, amongst the magazines and other books I kept there.
Just Say The Word Page 9
