Imani #3
The store is beautiful. Plush chairs and a round velvet sofa create a comfortable yet aesthetically pleasing lounge area for customers.
The walls are filled with sunken displays of clothes, shoes, handbag, scarfs, and accessories.
There’s no checkout location; shoppers assist the customers and settle the bills with handhelds.
“Welcome to Passion. I’m Tia. How can I assist you?” a sista with butter smooth cinnamon skin asks when she approaches.
“Hey. I think I have a piece of luggage here to pick up,” I tell her.
“Are you Miss Imani?” she asks.
“I am.”
“Perfect. Yes. You have two items waiting for you actually. Have a seat. I’ll be right back,” she says. “But would you like a drink while you wait?”
“I might,” I admit with a smile.
“We have a variety but I think you might be in a celebratory mode. How about a mimosa or glass of champagne?”
“I think you’re right. I’ll take a mimosa.”
“Traditional or with cranberry or pineapple?”
“Ooo, pineapple please.”
“Of course,” she says while typing something in her hand held.
She walks off and I journey over to the round sofa and sit.
A few minutes later, another beautiful sista walks over to me with a cocktail napkin and a flute filled with my mimosa.
I thank her then take a sip. As I drink it, I scan the walls again and spot a few cute items. I’m not really a heel type of girl but a few of these are sexy as hell.
Just when I decide to stand and walk over to a pair, Tia returns with a large black designer duffle bag and two extra large shopping bags. She places all three bags on the sofa next to me.
“This is all you. I hope we have your correct sizes. Eight in shoes and mediums and size eleven in clothing?” she questions and I nod, amazed.
How the hell did Daymir know my sizes!
“Perfect. Then, you’re all set but if you need to try anything on, I’ll be glad to take you back to the private dressing room.”
She walks off and I stare at the bags, still in awe.
I grab the duffle to move it to the size and notice that it has weight.
I erroneously assumed it was empty. It isn’t so, I open it first. Inside, there are two pairs of jeans, denim and black, two shirts, and a cotton and lace sleep romper.
He’s really taking me somewhere and he thought of everything.
Impressed and still in awe, I check the shopping bags and my awe immediately morphs into pure elation and astonishment.
In the first one, there are shoes, a pair of Black Gucci boots with wool lining, and a pair of NASCAR slides.
The second one has a vintage, satin, NASCAR jacket.
Tears fill my eyes as I process and piece it all together.
The black and white checkered envelops.
The words on the clues, start your engine and race.
And now this…He’s taking me to a NASCAR race!
I can’t stop the tears from falling from my eyes.
NASCAR means the world to me. It’s one of the main things that Imari and I loved together.
We watched all the major ones and planned to always attend a race in person but we never got around to going.
This…what Daymir did for me…is every-freaking-thing. Everything.
I guess Tia notices my tears because she walks over with a small box of tissues. I graciously accept it and take a few to wipe my eyes and cheeks.
“Thank you.”
“Of course, and I have one more thing for you. I don’t know if you’re going to need the tissues for this one, so I’ll leave the box,” she says with a wink. She then hands me a black and white checkered envelop. “I’m told this is your last clue. Whoever this man is to you, he’s a keeper.”
“Don’t I know it,” I say, still overwhelmed with emotion.
When she leaves, I wipe my eyes again then grab my bags.
I walk out of Passion and head back to valet.
Once I’m in my baby, I open the envelop and read my last clue.
“You’re almost at the finish line. Have you figured this out in your mind?
No worries this is your final clue, your man has the answers and he’s waiting for you. Go to the private hangers at CFA.”
After inhaling and exhaling to draw in my tears, I start my baby and speed to the airport.
My heart rate accelerates as I spot the signs for the private hangers.
I practically hyperventilate when I turn in and see him standing in front of a hanger waving a white flag, which in races indicates one lap remains. The plane ride must be our last lap.
He waves me over to the parking spaces and I park next to his Yukon. He walks over and opens my door. I jump into his arms and kiss him with all the passion and love I have in me. I love this man and I didn’t think it was possible to love him more until this very moment.
“So, you figured it out?” he says with a smirk when I finally end our kiss. Then, he notices my eyes and tears. After thumbing my tears, his smirk drops then he pecks my lips. “I hope those are happy tears,” he says.
“They are happy, enamored, appreciative tears. This is everything,” I admit.
“You don’t even know our final, final destination yet.”
“I’m a NASCAR girl baby. It’s the end of October. It has to be the Xfinity 500 in Virginia.”
“Well, damn. I forget you are truly a lady driver. You ready?”
“Hell yes! I’m more than ready,” I gush.