90’s, Nostalgia & Moscow Mules #2
She shrugs without a hint of shame. “Yes? But why does that matter if they also serve the best oxtail plates in town and play live music?”
The moment she decided to be completely honest about it being the only Black establishment she knew—and that she was taking me there because I’m Black—is when I decide to give her a chance.
At least she’s self-aware. And honest.
It’s not fair to keep her at arm’s length just because of this crazy, tangled-up situation I’ve landed in. I’m a professional. I would never do anything to risk my job, and truth be told, I could use a friend.
Besides, anyone who can point me toward the best oxtail in town has to be good people.
“Touché, girl,” I say laughing. “But let’s be clear—outside of work? I’m Blackity Black. Work Eslin doesn’t come out until Monday morning. Is that clear?”
She grins wide. “I don’t know what that means, but I’m game!”
***
The live music is everything Marlow promised.
Smooth vocals, a three-piece band—keyboard, drums, guitar—playing like they’ve been doing this together for decades.
The kind of vibe that wraps around you like warm velvet, sinking into your skin and making you forget any problems waiting outside those doors.
Sanctuary is giving full Love Jones energy. Rich, intimate, and dripping in Black excellence from every corner of the lounge. The low lighting, the steady hum of laughter, the clink of glasses—it’s like stepping into a space designed to celebrate us, by us.
I’ve got to give it to Marlow—she did good. Real good.
We’re tucked off to the side, but I can still feel the pulse of the room—like the bass line is synced to my heartbeat. It’s cozy, intimate, and exactly the kind of space my soul didn’t know it needed tonight.
We’re two cocktails in when Marlow spins toward me, her eyes dancing with curiosity and that tipsy glow that makes her just bold enough to start prying.
“So, tell me everything! Where you grew up? How many siblings you have? Do you have a boyfriend?” she fires off like an over-caffeinated FBI agent.
I take another sip of my drink, while Marlow waves down the server for her third cocktail. Oh, this girl is thirsty.
“There’s really not much to tell. I grew up in New York City. I’m an only child. And I definitely do not have a boyfriend. In fact, I’m pretty sure God and Cupid have conspired to keep me single and celibate.”
“Wow,” she says, frowning like I just told her I lost my puppy.
“What?” I shoot back.
“You’re pretty boring.”
I grab a french fry and launch it at her. “Shut up! I had a weird upbringing, so I’m a weird person.”
The foster care stuff can wait for another day. It’s never a great icebreaker, and it damn sure doesn’t pair well with 90’s R&B and Moscow Mules.
The waiter drops off her next drink while I down my glass of water and request a refill.
I flip the conversation back to Marlow. “What about you? You dating anyone?”
I skip the other small talk because let’s be real—I already know way too much about her from internet-stalking her father.
She laughs—but it’s shaky. That kind of nervous, unsteady laugh that carries more weight than humor. And then, she full-on breaks. Tears. Full meltdown.
“Dating someone? How about married to a man named Declan that I met once and then ghosted because I had a wedding to get to but was so hungover that I forgot his last name, room number, and hotel he was staying at so I couldn’t go find him?
And now he’s back in Italy probably sleeping with some hot girl named Francesca or something and I need a divorce? ”
I take a long sip—scratch that, a gulp—of my Moscow Mule. “Okay...so, you’re not dating anyone. Got it.” I grin, trying to lighten the mood.
She sniffles and then laughs. “Oh God, do I have snot on my nose?”
“Yes.”
We both laugh and she grabs a napkin, frantically wiping her face.
“I can’t believe I just told you all that!”
You and me both.
Then my mind flashes back to Luca’s confession earlier today.
“Don’t tell me…The night we—” I pause, catching myself before I admit way too much. “You did that stupid SightUnseen reality show thing?” The same night I was trying to get in your daddy’s pants!
She gasps. “How did you know?”
“I’ve seen the guy in Vegas before. He tries to recruit people all the time.”
She drops her head in her hands. “I can’t believe I did that. My boyfriend cheated on me and then I got drunk and—”
“Yeah. Seems like you’ve been doing that a lot lately. Getting drunk.”
She nods miserably. “Eslin, I’m the good girl. The one who does everything right. The one who never missed curfew. The girlfriend who sucks dick from the back!”
“Wait, what? You can do that?”
She nods vigorously, eyes wide and whispering like she’s sharing a trade secret. “Hand to God. And the boys love it!”
At this point, I nearly spit out my drink. Lord. What have I gotten myself into?
Eslin is cool, and I’ve instantly related to her.
I laugh at her wild, unexpected confession. “You are something else.”
“And completely not what you expected, huh?” she teases, flashing that mischievous smile.
I shake my head, still grinning. “Not at all! And girl, you’s a whole married woman!” I yell just as the band transitions into a smooth, live rendition of Poison by Bell Biv DeVoe.
“OMG!” I squeal. “This is my song!”
“I love this song!” she shrieks, full-on white girl wasted but living her best life.
“Come on, Mrs. Mills! Let’s go dance!” I say, pulling Marlow up as the beat drops, and we head to the dance floor.
And that’s how I became friends with my boss.
And my crush’s daughter.
We’ll deal with this whole marriage bombshell later.