Chapter 6 #3
“Eric, it’s been days.”
“I know.”
“That is insane.”
“Maybe.”
“You can’t just say maybe.”
“What you want me to say? That I don’t feel it? That I didn’t think about you all night? That I don’t want to make sure you eat and get home safe and stop looking at love like it’s a setup?”
Her lips parted.
I lowered my voice. “I’m not saying you have to fall with me. I’m saying I’m already on my way down, and I’m not about to lie about it.”
The room went so quiet I could hear music from the salon faintly through the walls.
Monica stared at me like I had handed her something fragile and dangerous.
Finally, she whispered, “You scare me.”
I nodded. “I know.”
“Not because you’re dangerous.”
“I know.”
“Because you’re not.”
That one hit me deep.
Because I understood exactly what she meant.
Danger was easy to reject.
Safety made you wonder if you could finally rest.
“I won’t use that against you,” I said.
She looked down, then back up at me.
“I shouldn’t have blocked you.”
“I understand why you did.”
“That wasn’t an apology.”
“I know.”
She rolled her eyes, but softly. “I’m sorry I blocked you.”
“I accept.”
“And I’m sorry I assumed.”
“You were hurt.”
“That don’t make it fair.”
“No. But it makes it human.”
She looked at me for a long moment.
Then pointed at the chair. “You look ridiculous sitting in that little chair.”
“I feel ridiculous.”
“It’s giving parent-teacher conference.”
I smiled. “Am I passing?”
“Barely.”
“I’ll take it.”
A knock sounded at the door.
Tameka opened it two inches. “Everything alive in here?”
Monica turned. “Tameka.”
“What? I heard falling and got concerned.”
“Nobody fell.”
Mrs. Pearl’s voice floated from behind her. “Not yet.”
I laughed despite myself.
Monica covered her face. “I cannot stand y’all.”
Tameka opened the door wider and looked at me. “You staying for lunch or leaving before I charge emotional rent?”
I looked at Monica.
Her eyes met mine.
The tension was still there, but it had changed.
Less sharp.
More tender.
“I’m leaving,” I said. “She has work.”
Monica looked surprised.
I didn’t want to overstay my forgiveness.
I wanted to earn the next conversation.
“I’ll call you later,” I said.
She lifted an eyebrow. “You can’t. You’re blocked.”
I pulled out my phone and held it up.
She sighed and walked over. “Give me that.”
I handed it to her.
She unblocked herself, then handed it back.
“There,” she said. “Don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t.”
“Bold promise.”
“Intentional promise.”
She shook her head, but she was smiling now.
Not big.
Not all the way.
But enough to make my whole damn day shift.
I left the lash room and walked through the salon with Tameka and Mrs. Pearl watching like I was the season finale.
Mrs. Pearl called out, “Eric.”
I turned. “Yes, ma’am?”
“You love loud, baby. Mess loves louder. Make sure your love got better speakers.”
I nodded once.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Outside, I got in my truck and sat for a minute before starting it.
My phone buzzed.
Monica.
MONICA: I’m still mad about the video.
I smiled.
ME: I know.
MONICA: But thank you for coming to explain.
ME: Always.
Three dots.
Gone.
Three dots again.
MONICA: And don’t tell people you’re falling for me. That sounds like a medical emergency.
I laughed.
ME: It kind of feels like one.
MONICA: Drink water.
ME: Yes ma’am.
MONICA: And Eric?
ME: Yeah?
MONICA: I’m scared too.
I stared at that message, and my smile faded into something softer.
ME: Then we’ll be scared honest.
She didn’t respond right away.
Then finally—
MONICA: I can do that.
I leaned my head back against the seat.
Progress.
Not fixed.
Not perfect.
But real.
And real was enough to build on.
For the rest of the day, I handled business. Met with the cleaning crew at Loyalty. Paid the contractor. Reamed out the electrician about the cameras until he promised they’d be installed before he went home. Sent Quan his new schedule for the shop, complete with start time and no room for debate.
He replied with a thumbs-up emoji.
I replied:
Use words.
He sent:
Yes.
Growth.
Small, irritated growth.
By seven that evening, Loyalty looked almost normal again. The faint stain on the window was gone. The cameras were up. The bar lights worked without threatening the ice machine. Dre was testing the sound system with old-school R&B and singing badly on purpose.
At least, I hoped it was on purpose.
I was checking inventory when my phone rang.
Monica.
I stepped into the back hallway and answered. “Hey.”
“Are you busy?”
“Never too busy for you.”
“Eric.”
“What?”
“Stop being smooth. I’m trying to ask a regular question.”
I smiled. “Ask.”
“How’s the lounge?”
“Better. Cameras are up.”
“Good.”
“Greta’s ready too.”
“My car?”
“Yeah. Brakes fixed.”
“How much do I owe?”
“We can talk about that.”
“Eric.”
“Monica.”
“I’m not playing.”
“Neither am I.”
She sighed into the phone. “Do you accept payment plans?”
“For you? I accept cheesecake.”
“That is not a payment method.”
“It is now.”
“I’m paying you back.”
“I know.”
“I mean money.”
“I know.”
“You are so annoying.”
“But safe.”
She went quiet.
Not a bad quiet.
A warm one.
Then she said, “How are you?”
I leaned against the wall.
There she went again.
Asking simple questions that didn’t feel simple.
“I’m tired,” I admitted.
“Did you eat?”
I smiled slowly. “Look at you.”
“Answer the question before I regret caring.”
“No. Not yet.”
“Eric.”
“I’m about to.”
“You sent food to a whole salon yesterday but can’t feed yourself?”
“I had a lot going on.”
“So do I. Didn’t stop you from sending me grilled chicken like somebody’s meal prep boyfriend.”
Meal prep boyfriend.
I laughed. “That’s what I am?”
“That’s your current position. Don’t get promoted in your head.”
“Too late.”
She made a sound, but I could hear the smile in it.
“I’m coming by,” she said.
I straightened. “Here?”
“Yes.”
“Monica.”
“What?”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
“The day been a lot.”
“I know.”
“And you have work tomorrow.”
“And you need to eat tonight.”
My chest warmed in a way I didn’t have defenses for.
“You bringing food?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“Whatever I pass that doesn’t look like it will poison us.”
“Romantic.”
“I’m a romantic woman.”
“You blocked me twelve hours ago.”
“And now I’m feeding you. Character development.”
I laughed. “Text me when you pull up.”
“I know, I know. Safe.”
“Exactly.”
Twenty minutes later, she walked into Loyalty carrying two bags from a soul food spot down the street.
Leggings. Oversized sweatshirt. Hair up. No makeup again.
Still fine.
Actually, worse.
Because dressed down Monica looked comfortable, and comfortable made me think about things I had no business thinking about while standing in a lounge with exposed receipts and Dre somewhere in the building.
She looked around. “Okay. The glass looks good.”
“Thanks to your leadership.”
“Bossy leadership.”
“Exactly.”
Dre appeared from the bar. “Is that food?”
Monica held up one finger. “This is for Eric.”
Dre clutched his chest. “Wow. After all we been through.”
“You scrubbed for twelve minutes and complained for eleven.”
“I was emotionally present.”
“You were in the way.”
Dre looked at me. “Your woman is mean.”
Monica froze.
The word hung there.
Your woman.
Dre’s eyes widened like he realized too late.
“I mean… your friend. Your associate. Your community safety partner.”
I stared at him.
Monica’s cheeks warmed, but she lifted her chin. “Go find something to organize.”
Dre pointed at me. “I’m leaving before y’all start breathing heavy.”
“Dre,” I warned.
He held up both hands and disappeared.
Monica set the food on the bar, pretending her face wasn’t still touched with color.
“I got smothered chicken, greens, mac, yams, and cornbread,” she said. “If you don’t eat pork, that’s between you and the ancestors. I didn’t ask enough questions.”
“I eat everything.”
“I figured. You’re built like somebody who doesn’t fear carbs.”
I smiled. “Sit with me.”
We took the food to one of the booths.
For a while, we ate and talked like the day had not tried to drag us through emotional traffic. She told me about a client who fell asleep and snored through a lash appointment. I told her about Quan’s first official day at the shop starting tomorrow.
“You think he’ll show?” she asked.
“He better.”
“That’s not a yes.”
“No. But it’s hope with consequences.”
She nodded. “That’s family.”
“Yeah.”
Her knee brushed mine under the table.
Neither of us moved.
The air shifted again.
Slow.
Heavy.
Full of everything we were trying to take our time with.
Monica looked down at her plate. “About earlier.”
I waited.
“I shouldn’t have let Latrice get in my head like that.”
“She knew where to aim.”
“I know, but still.” She looked up. “I want to trust myself too. Not just you.”
That made me pause.
Because that was deeper than jealousy.
That was the real wound.
Monica didn’t just doubt men.
She doubted the part of herself that still wanted love.
“You can,” I said.
“Can I?”
“Yeah.”
“How you know?”
“Because you came back.”
Her eyes softened.
“You got scared and you came back,” I said. “That counts.”
She blinked a few times, then grabbed her drink. “You just be saying stuff.”
“I be meaning it.”
“That’s worse.”
I smiled.
After we ate, I gave her a short tour of the lounge. The finished bar. The stage. The VIP area. The little office upstairs. The rooftop again.
When we stepped onto the roof, she went quiet.
The table from our date was gone, but the string lights were still there. The city stretched out around us. The night was warm, the sounds of the block rising up from below.
Monica walked to the railing.
I stayed a few steps behind her.
She looked back. “You scared to come closer?”
“No.”
“Then come here.”
I did.
Carefully.
She turned to face me. “I don’t want Latrice to ruin this spot for me.”
“She won’t.”
“I know. That’s why I came up here.”
I nodded.
She looked around. “It really is beautiful.”
“You helped make it feel that way again.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do not put that on me.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. I brought chicken, not emotional restoration.”
“You brought both.”
She shook her head, but a smile slipped through.
Then she stepped closer.
Not much.
Enough.
My hands stayed at my sides, even though everything in me wanted to touch her.
She noticed.
“You scared to touch me now?”
“I’m respecting the slow down.”
Her eyes dropped to my mouth. “I said slow down, not stop.”
I breathed out a quiet laugh. “Monica.”
“There you go saying my name again.”
“Because you keep testing me.”
“Maybe I like seeing if you study.”
I stepped closer then, one hand settling lightly at her waist.
She inhaled softly.
My thumb brushed over the fabric of her sweatshirt. “I study what matters.”
Her lips parted, and I saw the exact moment her attitude lost its balance.
I lowered my head slowly, giving her time.
She met me halfway.
The kiss was softer than last night at first, like both of us were checking for bruises. Then it deepened, and Monica’s hands slid up my chest to my shoulders.
There was nothing rushed about it.
Nothing careless.
Just heat and relief and the kind of want that made the air feel too small.
I pulled back first because if I didn’t, slow down was going to become a suggestion from the past.
She looked up at me, breathing unevenly.
“You always this controlled?” she asked.
“No.”
“Good.”
I laughed under my breath. “You trying to get me in trouble.”
“I brought dinner. I’m innocent.”
“You are not innocent.”
She smiled.
Then her phone buzzed.
She glanced down.
Her whole face changed.
“What?” I asked.
She turned the screen toward me.
A message from Tameka.
TAMEKA: Girl, Latrice is live talking about you without saying your name. I’m about to lose my salvation.
Monica’s jaw tightened.
I pulled out my phone.
Three missed messages from Dre.
DRE: Your favorite villain on live.DRE: She saying Monica chased you.DRE: I’m trying to be mature but my fingers itching.
Monica laughed once, sharp and humorless. “She really wants to do this.”
“Don’t respond.”
Her eyes snapped to mine. “Excuse me?”
“I mean—”
“No, say it again. Tell me not to respond while this woman keeps putting my name in the street without saying it.”
“I’m not saying let her disrespect you.”
“That sounded exactly like what you said.”
“I’m saying don’t let her drag you into public mess.”
Monica stepped back.
And just like that, the soft moment cracked.
“Easy for you to say,” she said. “Your name still respected. I’m the one looking like the dumb girl.”
“You’re not dumb.”
“But that’s how she’s trying to make me look.”
“I know.”
“No, Eric, you don’t. Men get rumors and still get respect. Women get rumors and get laughed at.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
She looked out over the railing, breathing hard.
“I’m tired of taking the high road while somebody throws trash at me from the sidewalk.”
I stepped beside her. “Then don’t take the high road.”
She looked at me.
“Take the honest one,” I said. “But don’t go live angry. Let me handle my part first.”
“What part?”
“She’s doing this because of me. So I need to be clear. Again.”
“You already were.”
“Not enough.”
Her eyes searched mine. “What are you going to do?”
“Publicly set the record straight. Without giving her a show.”
“And if she keeps going?”
“Then you can choose how you want to handle it.”
She stared at me for a second, then looked back at her phone.
The live notification glowed on the screen like bait.
For a moment, I thought she would click it.
Instead, she locked her phone.
“Fine,” she said. “Handle your part.”
I nodded.
But before I could say anything else, Dre burst through the rooftop door.
“Uh, we got another problem.”
I turned. “What now?”
He looked between us, face serious for once.
“Somebody just posted a picture of the vandalism from this morning and tagged Loyalty. Caption says, ‘Grand opening already got street drama.’ It’s starting to spread.”
Monica closed her eyes. “Lord have mercy.”
My phone started buzzing.
Dre looked at me.
“The opening’s in two days,” he said. “This could hurt us.”
I looked out over the block, then at Monica.
She was quiet, but her face had changed.
Not scared.
Focused.
The same look she had that morning when she took my keys and started giving orders.
She looked at me and said, “Tell me what you need.”
And that was the moment I knew I wasn’t falling anymore.
I had landed.