Chapter 2 #3
I diced red onions, green peppers, shallots, garlic, jalapeno peppers, and tomatoes as my ground beef browned in my cherry red Le Creuset pot.
As the self-proclaimed queen of spice, I added generous helpings of smoked paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, kosher salt, black pepper, and my secret ingredients, cumin and cinnamon.
As I always did when I cooked, I pumped my favorite local radio station in my speakers.
When a medley of Usher songs dropped, I wound my hips like I was at the club.
For a brief moment, I was the star of a Las Vegas show, holding my wooden spoon like a hot mic as my fans applauded my stellar voice.
When the song ended, I grabbed the front of my housecoat and bent over at the waist to catch my breath.
“Heffa, you clowning Nick, but your ass needed to run some laps around the kiddie playground too. Damn.” I spoke the words in between breaths and set the spoon down before wiping my damp forehead with a couple of pieces of paper towel.
As my breathing slowly returned to normal, reality hit me that Cyrus’s crusty behind was probably going to see Usher for real in Vegas while I was tongue-kissing a doggone spoon. Why the hell was my life so different from what I planned?
I opened a bottle of chilled lime-flavored Perrier water and allowed the cool liquid to burn my throat before pulling out my phone.
There, I clipped several electronic coupons in my Kroger app as I waited for the chili to finish cooking.
Within twenty minutes, my kitchen smelled heavenly as my chili simmered.
My eyes landed on the paned window above my sink into the setting sun. As far as I could see, the vast snow-covered land of my ancestors met my eyes. I said a silent prayer of thanks for their investment in the sacred grounds where they tolled, celebrated, and eventually died. This was my legacy.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
At first, I thought I had imagined the pounding on my front door. When the thumping intensified, I turned down the volume on my radio and stepped toward the noise.
Who could that be when all the action was in town? I lived too far out in the country for this to be an accidental visit.
I wrapped my housecoat around my body, then placed the bowl I’d retrieved from my cabinet on the kitchen counter.
“Who is it?” I shouted my question through the door since I didn’t have a peephole.
“Amari Snowden.”
Why was he here? My first thought was about his daughter, Aspen, so I opened the door quickly. When his dark, shiny eyes met mine without concern, I released a big breath.
“Mr. Snowden, is everything okay?” I poked my head out to look out onto the empty porch.
“Yes, Ms. Starks.”
A tingle ran down my spine as he spoke in an authoritative tone. I wondered if all he had to do was breathe and blink to shift important decisions around him.
I was transported to the first day of the school year.
I met his ex-wife and him when they dropped Aspen off in my class.
As Mr. Snowden’s steady gaze landed on me, I smiled.
He shook my hand with a combined firmness and gentleness that made me take a second look at him.
Although I didn’t want to stare, I couldn’t help but notice how perfect his posture was.
Today, he was ruggedly handsome and classy, carrying himself like a man of purpose.
When he stepped closer with a presence that hovered like the thick blanket of snow falling across my yard, I reached for the locket on my necklace to settle my wandering thoughts.
I rubbed the thin gold chain back and forth between my fingers until the chilly air surrounding us knocked me out of my trance.
“Is this still a good time? I thought you might be at the parade, but I took a chance to drop by anyway. Sorry I didn’t call first.” Mr. Snowden eyed my housecoat, then looked back at my face.
When his breath hit the cold air, it lingered a little, drawing my attention to his soft, moisturized lips. I looked down, and for the first time, I noticed a big toolbox and workbag by his feet on the porch.
“Um, . . . yes, Mr. Snowden. Forgive me. I got caught up with the last day of school and forgot to write your appointment on my calendar.” I stepped further onto the porch and looked up into the hazy sky and onto the driveway where Amari’s Chevy Silverado was parked.
At least two inches of snow rested around his tires.
I rubbed my temples as I remembered the impromptu appointment I made with Mr. Snowden at the grocery store last week, to fix up several things around my house. That day, I felt an unspoken connection between us. He was so charming I could barely speak to him without turning away.
He stayed on my mind even after I cooked dinner and finished my hygiene routine before bed that night.
I pulled out the business card he gave me months ago when he dropped Aspen off at school.
That night, I prayed for him and continued to pray for the success of his business, especially as my colleagues gossiped about his nasty divorce and speculated that he had more money than he could spend after his wealthy grandfather left him as the sole heir of his dairy farm in South Carolina.
No matter what was really happening in his life, Mr. Snowden was kind and polite to everyone, as if he had a superpower to draw the best out of people. His strong character was the primary reason I hired him to repair my home. At least that was what I told myself.
“I can come back.” He pointed to his truck.
“No. It’s okay. You came all this way, and I didn’t cancel in enough time for you to do another job.”
“Okay, Ms. Starks.”
“You’re not one of my students. Please, call me Ruby.” I fiddled with my cool necklace again.
Mr. Snowden rubbed his hands together and smiled.
“Okay, Ruby. Then call me Amari.”
Warmth overtook me like the spiked hot chocolate I drank earlier.
“Amari.” I repeated his name as if it were a thick, sweet treat that pleased me.
When his eyes crinkled in amusement, I felt as if he could see through me and my housecoat.
His look wasn’t creepy, just intense. I tried to close my robe tighter at my chest, but the low V of the neckline couldn’t be raised.
I’d have to be okay with Amari possibly catching peeks of my cleavage and bra as he stood over me.
We stared at each other for several more seconds before I remembered my manners and stepped inside, gesturing to the area behind me.
“Please, come in. The meteorologist said the storm might be coming sooner than expected, so if you’re okay working on the most pressing things, I’d appreciate it.”
Amari nodded and took another quick peek at my body. That pleased the part of me that missed male attention.
“No problem. I’ll hook you up.”
Before Amari entered, he wiped his heavy work boots on the sturdy outdoor rug.
Once he was inside, I closed the door and leaned against it to support my body, which shivered from a combination of the weather and Amari’s overwhelming presence.
As he bent his tall body and untied his brown snow boots, I caught a whiff of a musky scent that had me wanting to lift his shirt to my nose and hold it there.
After he placed his boots neatly on the mat next to the door, he wiggled his toes through his thick wool socks, which covered his big feet.
“I’ll take your coat and scarf.”
He removed his outerwear and gave it to me. As I hung them on two big hangers by the door, his intoxicating scent entered my nostrils again.
Dang. What is he? A pheromone?
Instead of watching me, Amari scanned my home and rubbed his hands together rapidly to warm them up.
“It feels good in here.”
“Thank you.”
He smiled behind slightly guarded eyes that gently awakened my emotions and hinted of an unspoken story I wanted to hear.
I wasn’t used to being exposed by anyone, yet Amari Snowden hovered over me like a gentle giant with a magnetic smile and athletic build. Everything about him reminded me how much of a great workout physical labor was.
I related to him even more now, seeing his commitment to following through on a job to fix my home in bad weather. Maybe a divine power sent him to speak a word that would “fix” some element of me, much like the broken items on my repair list.
Amari’s eyes roamed across my home and landed in the kitchen.
“It smells good in here too. Did I interrupt dinner?”
I walked toward my stove and waved him back.
“I was just about to eat some chili. Are you hungry?”
He licked his lips and rubbed his stomach.
“I could eat.”
“Great. Take a seat and let me fix you a bowl. Do you like cornbread?”
“Sweet or salty?”
“I like mine sweet.”
“Me too.”
When I entered the kitchen, I changed the radio station. A song asking about what the lonely did for Christmas rang through the speakers.
How appropriate.
“There’s something about those depressing songs that gets you every time.” Amari walked his bowlegged self toward me, reminding me of a cowboy ready to mount his horse.
I quickly lowered my eyes to the sink and washed my hands. Amari’s arm touched mine as he stood next to me and lifted his arms to wash his hands on the other side of my sink. When I looked at the spot that he brushed and back into his eyes, he grinned.
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine. My kitchen’s a little tight.”
“It’s cozy.”
Amari’s voice drew me in as much as the melodious notes in the song.
I nodded, then moved to the stove with our bowls in hand, scooping chili in each one and setting them on the round woven placements on my table.
He leaned against the counter.
“It’s hard being single at Christmas,” he said in a quiet voice.
“What’s that?”
He pointed to the radio. “That song. It’s hard being single at Christmas.”
“Oh, right, yeah.” I stumbled over my words, not quite sure what to say in response.
I picked up a piece of cornbread on a small plate for Amari.
“Dinner’s ready.”
We sat at my humble kitchen table that seated two people. Amari reached for my hand so we could pray, taking me to those nightly prayers I lifted up for him.
“Lord, bless this food and fellowship. Please show us what we need from each other to have a Merry Christmas. Amen.”
“Amen.” I spoke the word slowly as countless questions flooded my mind.
What did he mean by such a specific prayer?
I broke off a piece of cornbread and scooped it onto my plate, munching and taking in the fullness of the only man who’d been in this house since my philandering ex messed over my life over five Christmases ago.