by Shyla Colt
There’s something about the woman that infuriates me. With her blinding white smile, dancing brown eyes, and flawless mocha-colored skin, and thick dark mane, she’s like a fairy come to life, hawking her handmade items and living in her horribly mis-matched niche apartment. She’s got so much personality it oozes out of her pores and all over anyone in close proximity.
Her long legs, curvy frame, and the button nose featured on her heart-shaped face with its high cheekbones, and cupids bow lips aren’t lost on me either. Her go with the flow attitude, and optimism about everything makes me uneasy.
“It is.” Rachel frowns. “Rude, Luk. I invited her. I wanted the boys to meet her outside of work. She’s going to be so involved in the wedding. It only makes sense. I see her more than I see you some weeks.”
“And pray tell whose fault is that?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes and Asher, Micah, and Kane chuckle.
“I think Papa bear is missing his cub, sister,” Kane says. His green eyes sparkle, and I scowl. It’s okay when they give me shit alone, but not in front of this interloper.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this would be a big deal,” Olive says. The sincerity in her voice almost makes me feel bad.
“It’s not,” Rachel says from between gritted teeth.
“Don’t mind, Luk, Ms. Bateman. He doesn’t like when plans are changed without him knowing,” Asher says, smoothing ruffled feathers.
“She’s been quite charming,” Micah says with a smirk that makes me want to slap him upside the back of his head. The little womanizer thought he was God’s gift to women.
“Oh, you can call me, Olive,” she says with a bright smile that reveals a tiny dimple in her left cheek.
“Well then, I insist you call me Asher.”
“Okay, Asher.”
“I’m Kane,” he says waving like the annoying man-child he is. Traitor. It’s clear she’s not going anywhere, so I take the only seat left, beside her. I nod my head.
“Micah,” he says delivering a wink.
“Ms. Bateman.”
“Oh come on, Luk. We’re not at work anymore. It’s Olive here,” Rachel insists.
I want to wring her neck, but I’ve already made the deposit on the flowers and the venue.
“Olive.”
“Luka,” she says dryly. Her eyes sparkle with laughter and her lips twitch upward. Mine attempt to respond in like. I shut them down with a stern frown as I look at the menu in front of me and try to gather my bearings. I wasn’t expecting this.
“How do you manage to put up with him, love?” Kane asks. The boy loves to push my buttons.
“He’s easy to work with. I prefer a client who knows what he wants and has no problem instructing me on the way he likes things.”
Micha snickers. “Well then.”
My head whips around as I study her. The words paint pictures I don’t need to be thinking about in front of my family. Her insanely long legs wrapped around my hips while I drive into her fast and hard. I shift in my seat and give her a quick once over out of the corner of my eye. I can’t help but notice how the off the shoulder, cream sweater shows off the smooth expanse of her graceful neck, and shoulder. I wonder if her skin is half as soft as it looks. I swear I can feel the warmth rolling off her right now, and she smells spicy and floral. The contradicting scents shouldn’t mesh well together, and yet they do. Just like her eclectic personality, it’s a blend of a million things that don’t make sense until you put them together just so.
I clear my throats. “Clearly, the lady, has common sense,” I say.
“Is that what it is?” Kane asks.
I shoot him daggers with my eyes. Now isn’t the time to mess about. He’s always been the stubborn troublemaker, my brother. I’ve bailed him out of jams so many times the incidents have all blurred together into one long string that kept me from sleeping for five years straight. The parent thing didn’t come with instructions. Not that it would matter if it did. Each kid is so different they all have to be handled in a specific manner.
“I’d like to think I’m pretty smart, so yes,” Olive says.
Kane flashes her smile, and I swear I see hearts forming in his eyes like he’s an emoji come to life. Bastard. I grunt. His eyes widen, and I feel Olive’s gaze zero in on me.
“Are you guys ready to order?”
Saved by the waitress. I relax as the food ordering begins and the attention shifts to other topics. Once the food is ordered and the drinks are in front of us, we begin to play catch up.
“I feel like we never see you anymore,” Kane says.
“With the upcoming launch and the expansion in Britain, I have been away quite a bit lately.”
“You should scale back on your hours, Luk,” Rachel says.
“Did you forget I have a lavish wedding to pay for?”
“It’s not that bad,” she said throwing her balled up straw wrapper at me.
I chuckle. “No. but once the new product launches, I’ll be able to take a step back.”
“New product?” Olive asks.
I glance over at her.
“She’s already signed a non-disclosure agreement about us and our secrets. What’s one more to keep quiet?” Rachel asks.
“Fair enough. We’re launching a new line of candy. It’s in the prototype and tester stage at the moment.”
She sighs, and her entire demeanor changes as sensuality is splayed openly on her face. “I love Davenport chocolate. I don’t even know what you’re about to sell me and I’m ready to line up for a taste.”
I chuckle. “Fan are you?”
“I don’ think you can come from Loveland and not be. It’d be like sacrilege.”
“Look at that, we’re on biblical terms now,” Kane says.
Asher chuckles. “We certainly appreciate your loyalty.”
“Hey, you guys never wavered from your recipe like other companies. I don’t bite into it and feel like I’m missing something. That’s happened too many times with other products, even the hometown ones.”
“Never fear then, love. Luk would never dream of differing from the original recipe,” Rachel says.
“He’d make the candy personally before he let that happen,” Micha adds.
“Smart man. If it’s not broke, don’t fix it.”
‘I’m surprised to hear you say that,” I admit.
“Why?”
“Isn’t it your job to create new things?”
“Yes, but that’s different from what you do. If I find a process that works best with my beauty products, I don’t change things up on my customers. I stay the course. So I get it.”
Her words are making me reevaluate my initial opinion of her, and that pisses me off.
Olive
“O, are you still alive in here?”
“Barely,” I call back as I set aside the needle nose pliers and clench and unclench my aching hands.
“Holy crap it looks like a Hobby Lobby threw up in here.”
“Your compassion is boundless, Petunia.”
She smiles and raises the brown paper bag.
“I retract my previous statement. All is forgiven. You are a goddess among women,” I say.
She laughs.
“I thought that might change your tune. You’re not mad. You’re just hangry. You’ve been at this for a week straight with little break.”
I roll my neck and then my shoulders. “I know. I have to stay on top of the deadlines, and this is the only way to do it.”
“You can’t work if you pass out from exhaustion and hunger, babe,” she says.
“I know.” I rise. My knee pops. Stiff legs, back, and neck. Invisible pins and needles torture the soles of my feet. “Crap my feet fell asleep.”
“I’m not even going to ask you how long you’ve been sitting there.”
“Good, because I couldn’t tell you.”
“I’ll get the food ready in the kitchen.”
“What did you get me?” I ask
perking up. My belly rumbles at the scent of well-cooked Chinese food. The Blue Gibbon was arguably the best Chinese food in the entire city of Cincinnati. Voted number one more times than not in the yearly polls, the restaurant prided itself in using the freshest ingredients, and it showed.
“I got us the Poo Poo Platter to split. And for appetizers, drum roll please.”
I play an imaginary set of drums on my thighs.
“Coconut shrimp and Wonton soup.”
“Perfect. Let me change and wash my hands.”
“Take your time. I’ll make drinks too.”
“Mimosas?”
“Of course.”
“If you weren’t already married and I liked girls, I’d be trying to convince you to be my wife right now.”
“We’d be the best couple ever,” Petunia says blowing me an air kiss.
I laugh and nod my head in agreement. I’m inclined to believe soulmates don’t have to be romantic because no one has ever understood me like Petunia. One glance and we’ve spoken an entire conversation. She hears the words I don’t say, knows how to talk me down when I’m on a ledge, and believes in me unconditionally. I’ve never experienced love and acceptance like that in a romantic relationship. It could be that my picker is broken.
It always starts off well, and then their true colors came out, and I run for the hills. Other times we just grew apart, or they blame my ambition on the distance that sets in. I don’t want success on a small scale, or to eke a leaving. I wanted an empire. Achieving that will take hard work and sacrifice. I’m willing to put the time in now in order to reap the rewards later. They weren’t, so we parted ways. At thirty-four, I’m starting to feel the solidarity that comes with dream chasing. This project is a make it or break it moment for me.
It’s a chance to get my name out there, build my reputation further, and have enough money to sit on and to go big. It’s time to expand and give it the old college try. I’m so close to a breakthrough I can taste it. I shed my black tights and Rancid t-shirt and put on a clean pair of jeans and a lightweight black sweatshirt that says Shenanigan Enthusiast. I step into the bathroom, scrub my face, and put a dollop of Pumpkin Latte lotion on my palm. I rub it in and gently massage my hands as I move to the living room.
“Better?” Petunia asks.
“Much,” I say wiggling my fingers to return circulation.
“Come and eat with me,” Petunia says holding out a flute filled to the brim with the ambrosia called Mimosa. I take a long draw and sigh as the cool liquid hits my dry throat. I moan my approval and lower my cup. “You always make the best Mimosas.”
“I try to keep up with your drink making skills, Ms. Mixology. Your cocktail parties put all of us to shame.”
I shake my head. “You know I love a good theme party. That’s how I ended up learning how to make everything. Each theme required a different set of cocktails. Hell, I bet I could bartend on the side at this point if I needed to. Funny. I’m a jack of all trades, but I only want to be the master of one.” I sigh. Some days the dream seems further away than others.
Petunia frowns. “You okay, O?”
“I’m having one of those days where I wonder if my career is ever going to take off. If I’ll ever get over that hump and go from struggling artist to an established one. Don’t get me wrong. I love what I do. I understand I’m one of the few who gets to live their dream, and I’m so very grateful for that. Still, this is not easy. It’s a constant battle with self-doubt, continuous work, and the fight to stay on top of bills while trying to have a life outside of work is real. I’m reaching that burn out stage.”
“It’s okay to take a break every now and then. Get out of the house, breathe fresh air, have some me time doing anything not work related.”
“I can see your husband has been working hard at you, Ms. Work-a-holic. Look at you giving me advice about taking a break,” I say with a smile.
“He made me see just how much I didn’t have to do. I know what it’s like to run your own business. Unlike the regular nine to five, you can’t just leave it at quitting time, and you’re fully aware of the fact that no one will hustle for you the way you will for yourself.”
“Oh my God, that’s it exactly.”
“I get it. Before Mason and I got together, I couldn’t see the important difference between existing and living. You have to balance it, babe, or you’re going to go insane. I know you have this massive job, but plan in time to relax too. Is your boss still riding your ass?”
“Like I’m a horse, and he’s the jockey trying to win the derby.”
She giggled. “Maybe what you’re sensing is a little sexual frustration. He’s hot, right? I’ve seen the Davenports, they’re as gorgeous as they are rich, and you my friend have not been laid in some time.”
“First of all, I don’t mix business with pleasure. Especially not with a job this important. Second of all his hotness does not make up for his assholeness.”
“Assholeness?”
“Shut up. You know what I mean.” I grab a Rangoon and bite into the crisp crust. The sweet cream cheese explodes in my mouth, and I groan. “Enough about me. How’s married life treating you, newlywed?”
“It’s been almost a six months. I don’t think we fit that category anymore.”
“You still getting it on at least once a day?”
“Maybe,” Petunia says bashfully.
“Hah. If the shoe fits, wear it.”
“I think I’m due after the drought I had.”
“I agree.” I take another sip of Mimosa.
“I think your drought will be ending soon.”
“Did your marriage turn you psychic?” I ask as I start to make a plate for myself from the red cartons she set out, buffet style along the counter.
“Let’s call it woman’s intuition,” Petunia says.
I chuckle. “Don’t hold out on me now. When will my mystery man arrive?”
“He’s already here. You always thought there was more between me and Mason, even after the friends with benefits thing ended.”
“Yeah, but that was obvious. You guys couldn’t see it, but your attitude toward one another was different. He doted on you long before you were engaged.”
“You think so?”
I snicker and take a bite of my coconut shrimp as I nod and chew. “Oh yeah. It was clear he thought the world of you. He always has. I don’t have anything remotely close to that going on.”
“You know the saying. The lady doth protest too much? You and the sexy candy maker might be butting heads because the sexual tension is thick enough to choke you.”
I cough. “Are you trying to make me choke on my shrimp?”
“No. just tossing out an alternate explanation to the current friction occurring between the two of you.”
“You’ve never even seen us together.”
“No, but damn do I want to.”
I roll my eyes. It’s the couple effect. They want to see you happy and paired, so they see things that aren’t there.
“You’d be entertained, but proved wrong swiftly.”
“We’ll find out soon enough. We have that meeting in a week.”
“Crap. I forgot about that,” I say as we move to the Big Green Monster to eat in front of the television.
“Have you thought about what you want to do with the bridesmaids floral arrangements?”
“No. We need to figure out what the flowers will be, and then I’ll sketch them there.”
“I love it when you draw. You’re so talented it kind of makes me sick.”
“And yet, I couldn’t keep flowers alive to save my life, let alone make arrangements. We all have our skills.” She turns on the television.
“Binge-watch Supernatural?”
“Sounds good to me, I am so far behind it’s not funny,” I say with a sigh.
“It’s okay, we’ll get our Sam, and Dean fixes, and get you ready to start watching regularly again.”
Silence falls as sh
e navigates Hulu to the show and I let all thoughts of work disappear.
I pull the emerald green dress with navy flower print with orange centers over my head and turn to the left and right. Luka always seems to prefer business attire, but I’ve been working my fingers to the bone all day trying to finish off the napkin rings before he moves on to assigning me yet another task. I look at my reflection and sigh heavily. I look tired. Concealer. I grab the makeup bag off my vanity and liberally apply the liquid under my eyes. I blend it in and apply a light coat of powder. It’ll do. I replace the caps on my brushes, coat my lips with a nude gloss, and rush out of the bedroom. I grab the bag I’ve loaded up with my sketchbook and pencils and rush out the door.
I don’t want to be late. It would prove Luka right. I get the feeling he thinks I’m some sort of irresponsible woman-child playing at a business. I’m used to not being taken seriously. I’m a young African American woman with a unique sense of style and an unconventional business I run from my home. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. Proving myself is second-nature. It’s why I strive to give the best customer service and produce a high-quality product each and every time. I have to work harder than the bigger corporations. I don’t mind paying my dues, but I’ve been at this for so long I need to see the light at the end of the tunnel to add more fuel to my tank. I’m approaching thirty-five, and watching my friends all pair off, marry, and move forward with their lives. I’m ready to shine.
My nude-colored heels clack over the concrete as I hurry inside Bunch-A-Blooms flower shop. Of course, his stupid black Escalade is already parked in the newly expanded side parking lot. The man runs like clockwork, and it irks me to no end. People aren’t meant to be machines. He has very little give, nearly impossible expectations, and an almost abrasive personality. He doesn’t have any heart. Unless he’s dealing with his family. The bell above the door jingles as I slip inside and find Petunia smiling up at Luka.
I place my hand on my hips. How dare that traitor be charmed by my arch nemesis? They turn to me and the smile that shows his dimple fades away. I’m almost offended. I don’t like you either, bub. I let my hand drop to my side, and clutch the handle of my purse.
