Chapter 15
Olivia
Now
It’s Tuesday night and as soon as Vanessa Thompson sees me inside her shop, she shifts her gaze to the man counting the register and says, “See what I was trying to tell you, Lex? Wedding planning is getting to your head. I told you to flip the closed sign and lock the door.”
“Oops,” he says. “But the wedding planning isn’t the reason, Vanessa. I just forgot.”
“Yeah, because you’re too busy being a bridezilla,” Vanessa mutters, then turns to me.
She looks exactly how she does in videos and pictures.
Striking, wearing a light pink pants suit with her graying hair in a slick ponytail.
Her face card is immaculate. Smooth brown skin that is well cared for.
She’s exactly the type of person I’d want advice from about how to take care of mine.
And that’s why I’m inside of her shop…apparently after hours.
When I first saw videos of Wildly Green circulating on the internet last year, I was desperate to visit, only to find out they were in Providence.
What they offer here is a unique experience where they work with you to create natural products in-store for your skin and hair.
When I left Celia’s earlier, I could smell my hair as soon as the wind blew.
It desperately needs to be washed. I’ve been in Providence for over a week but came unprepared.
My therapist would tell me my ADHD is showing again, the way I didn’t prepare for much of anything besides seeing if there were still sparks with Carmello.
Now the man’s probably getting serious with someone else, and I can’t go another night neglecting this raggedy hair.
But I might have to just hit the drugstore.
I walk backward toward the door. “This is on me. I should’ve checked the store hours.”
“Honey,” the woman says, “let’s not take the blame for a man’s mistake. Okay?”
Lex grumbles some words from across the room, and I try not to laugh.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll come back tomorrow. Maybe you can help me find some products for this hair. Perhaps create a few.”
Vanessa raises a perfectly crisp drawn-in eyebrow. “It looks pretty healthy to me. Especially for all the chemicals you must put in it to get it that color.”
This time, I do laugh.
“I try to keep it strong because I like to blow out my curly hair sometimes too.”
“I can see that,” Vanessa says, examining my straightened hair. “But don’t worry, I’m not too much of a natural hair snob, despite what people think coming in here. We’ve got the products for people who do both, so they’re going to spend money regardless.”
“I’ve heard, which is why I came here,” I say. “But I need some tough truths to keep the curls healthy while I’m frying and dyeing it.”
Lex snorts and calls out, “If you put it like that, she’ll start acting like a snob.”
“You hush, boy,” Vanessa says, and I can’t believe how comfortable I am inside of a store that’s already closed.
She goes behind the counter. Pulls something from under a shelf.
“Here’s a bag of samples. Looks to me like you’re in need of a wash.
” I’m sure she can smell the grease and food on me from the kitchen because she wrinkles her nose.
But at least she doesn’t read me for filth out loud.
“Try those for now until you make an appointment with my daughter for the Experience. Laniah’s not here right now, but she usually does the evaluating.
Lex will let you know what we have available this week. ”
“Are you sure?” I say. “It’s late. I feel bad enough already.”
“I got the schedule pulled up,” Lex says, and even though I’m pretty sure he just doesn’t want to hear Vanessa’s mouth, I appreciate his warm smile.
***
Carmello calls while I’m throwing a pepperoni and cheese Hot Pocket in the microwave.
After cooking all day, it was between this and a PB&J.
I glance at the time, my heart vibrating while his name dances on my screen.
Yesterday when he came back to the restaurant after being gone a couple of hours, he was visibly happier than before he left.
I wondered if that was from spending time with his son, or because his woman visited him at work.
Then today, I kept catching him looking at me like he had something to say.
“Hello, Carmello,” I say. “Are you calling to chew me out for how I made the longsilog? All I did was add extra garlic.”
“No. Everything you cooked today was great,” he says. “I called because I…uh…”
When Carmello Rodriguez trails off nervously, my brain lightning speeds a scenario in which he wants to spend time with me. That absurd thought stuns me into silence so that I’m just on the line waiting for him to say something entirely different that would make more sense.
Finally, he says, “That email my mom sent you to brainstorm ideas. That was something she and I talked about before she…well, because we uh…wanted to do something different with the restaurant, so I thought maybe you and I could talk about it instead. If you want to.”
I respect how hard it must have been for him to ask me and don’t want to leave him waiting so I say, “Of course, Carmello. I’d love to help in any way that I can.” I sit on one of the stools and look up at the ceiling, silently asking Celia if this is my real sign. “I’m free now.”
“All right,” Carmello says, then he fills me in on the changes he’s noticed in Providence while mentioning the places Zeke has been asked to DJ at lately.
He tells me about Black Sheep: how at 10 p.m. sharp the bouncers start clearing the tables and moving them to the back in order to make room for a dance floor.
They know how to seamlessly transition from a place to chill and eat to a place to party, and I imagine the adrenaline rush.
They know their target audience, customers looking to eat in a cool place and move straight into a fun night out.
Now I’m going to help Carmello find his.
Because he’s right, restaurants are evolving and Celia’s Place has some room to grow.
I feel a sense of relief now that I know what his mom wanted to talk about, and I realize how much it’s haunted me to have to speculate since she’s been gone.
When we’re done with the housekeeping, I have an idea. “Thanks for trusting me with this, Mello. Let’s go to the food truck event Zeke’s DJing at tonight before it ends.”
“Why would we do that?” Carmello asks. “It’s an outdoor thing and…”
“And nothing,” I say. “Don’t question my methods. I want to see this new Providence vibe you’re talking about for myself. And if we happen to have to switch up the menu with this social night idea, it’ll be good to see just how creative people are getting out here, won’t it?”
“But…”
“It’s called recon, Carmello,” I say. “And before you further protest, may I throw in the fact that it’ll be a show of support for Zeke?” I glance at the microwave, wondering if I’ll have to reheat my Hot Pocket. “Plus, I’m kinda hungry.”
He’s silent for a second. Then he sighs.
I smile, feeling accomplished, and send him a text.
“That’s the address of my Airbnb,” I say.
“I know the parking situation downtown is probably going to suck for this. Pick me up in an hour?” Carmello could refuse me altogether, say yes but tell me to take an Uber or to find parking on my own.
But it’ll be dark by the time we go, and I bet he’s a gentleman, just like I remember.
He grumbles out, “Fine,” and hangs up without a goodbye.
I head to the shower to shave my legs and wash my hair with the products from Wildly Green. But then I turn back around to grab my Hot Pocket, because even though the thought of eating different things at food trucks makes me want to drool, I refuse to abandon it.
***
I know a battle for dominance when I see one.
Carmello shows up half an hour late without an apology, and I slide into his car with an unbothered smile.
His eyes catch on me, the movements quick but visible as they sweep from my sideswept curly hair to my low neckline, lingering on the skirt sitting high on my bare thighs, which are pressed into his leather seat.
He audibly releases a breath and shifts his gaze.
My skin is several degrees warmer from it, but I try to remember that this man may already have another woman.
When he puts the car into reverse, he extends his arm to the back of my seat.
The scent of his cologne is intoxicating.
Rich with citrus notes and cardamom. Suits him so well.
The tattoo on his neck is clear for me to study.
Light breaking through clouds. His mom’s name scrawled there.
I tell myself I might not be able to touch it, but I can admire it while he’s this close.
Just like I’m admiring his clean all-black attire and the concentration in his jaw while he drives.
He glances over at me. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say. “You just…smell nice.”
“So do you, Olivia,” he says, and there’s a hint of a smile on his mouth.
***
Carmello circles Fountain and surrounding streets twice before he asks if I want to get dropped at the entrance while he finds parking. “I don’t mind a good walk,” I insist, and he circles again until we finally find a spot several streets up College Hill.
When we get out of his car, he glances down at my feet, which are in six-inch stilettos. Eying them in a way that makes me wonder if he likes my French-manicured toes.
He meets my gaze, says, “The heels won’t be a problem?”
“Why would they be?” I ask.
“I’ll never forget what you said on our first date.”
My belly feels like pan-melted butter. A warm ninety-seven degrees. “And what was that?” I ask.
“You loved how they looked with your outfit, but they were the devil’s work,” he says.
I laugh at the memory. “Well, I’m a woman now,” I say.
“That doesn’t automatically mean you like how it feels to wear heels,” he says.
“It doesn’t,” I say, then speed walk to get in front of him like his words are a challenge.
“But, contrary to your beliefs,” I call over my shoulder, “I’m not the girl you used to know.
” He catches up to me, crosses over so he’s the one walking street-side.
Any decent man should do this, but I still find it sexy.
I should check my calendar to see if I’m ovulating because this level of desire feels too far out of my control.
Our eyes lock again. “Are you the same boy? Still scared of swimming in the ocean?”
“I was never scared of swimming in the ocean. I just…didn’t like it,” he says and I arch a brow. “All right. I was a little scared,” he admits. “But I swim all the time now. Went to Newport every chance I got last summer.”
“With Rachael?”
The question fell from my lips, and now my face burns because Carmello is staring as we wait at a crosswalk for the light to turn green.
I start to apologize for the intrusive question, but he shakes his head.
“Word gets around Celia’s fast,” he says.
“Rachael is a girl I was seeing, but I’m not seeing her anymore.
” While he holds eye contact, I hope my body language seems unaffected by the news, but I feel like he can see everything I won’t say.
I feel like if he looks long enough my face will ask the questions I can’t bring my mouth to.
Did you stop seeing her because I showed up?
Now that I’m here, do you feel the connection crackling between us like a live wire?
Are you thinking about what my lips feel like as we stand under the streetlights?
“I hope you’re okay with that,” I say because I can’t find other words.
I’m not surprised when he doesn’t respond. He’s never been an open book, and I doubt he’d admit to me about being hurt over a failed connection, but I am surprised when he tells me: “I learned how to swim so that I can teach my son. That’s who I go with.”
The confession fills me with dozens of questions but a single image: Carmello holding a little boy’s hand as they enter the water. I’m curious about the relationship they have. What else do they do together for fun? Is Carmello teaching him to cook too?
It feels like an invitation to ask these things, but then he loops back around to what we were first talking about before I can. “Anyway. You might enjoy walking in heels now, but that doesn’t mean it’s not painful to do it on concrete for a quarter of a mile downhill.”
“It’s not comfortable, I’ll tell you that,” I say. “But I’m determined to be fine. Just like I was on our first date. Though, I’m surprised you remember what I said that day.”
A delicious hit of dopamine runs the length of my spine with the way he’s looking at me. And then he says: “I remember everything about my time with you, Olivia Jones.”