Eight
EIGHT
Noble
D inner with Ms. Elsie and Holland last night was the boost I needed. Holland’s playfulness was refreshing. Her laughter—weightless. Her smile—pretty. And her body—curvaceous. Ty had reminded me that I needed to learn how to have fun again. Laughing with Holland reminded me how good it felt. I still had a smile on my face when I finally laid my head on my pillow. But that all changed when I woke this morning to remnants of the news about me leaving Push. New headlines had pushed my story down a few notches, but not far enough to be forgotten.
Being in the press never bothered me until now. Phrases like “Successful Young CEO” were much more affirming than the speculation around me being ousted. Now I knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of unfavorable press. In a word—horrible. I hadn’t expected it could bring me down so much, but I can’t remember another time in my life where my confidence had been so tested. This didn’t feel good at all.
I wanted to stay in bed. A new day was another reminder of what I no longer had—my company. Social media taunted me as much as my favorite news channels. Every negative comment was like a hot dagger shot point-blank toward my self-esteem.
Tim told me to ignore the media. That seemed impossible. He also said that Push didn’t define me. I begged to differ. I was Push. Push was me. Everything I had was because of Push, including my father’s respect—finally.
Before my company took off, I was a broke student on a scholarship with a mother working two jobs to make sure my greedy ass had money for books and food to eat when the cafeteria closed. Cynthia Washington couldn’t have her baby starving. Push rendered the grad degree I’d pursued unnecessary. Wasn’t that why people got MBAs? So they could be successful in business? Did that. Push was what I had to show for my hard work.
No MBA. No wife. No kids. Now, no Push.
I slid the covers back but didn’t get out of bed. Instead, I stared at the ceiling. I thought about calling my father. I’m sure he knew I was avoiding him. I wasn’t ready to talk. His military background had stripped him of empathy. His extended absences stripped us of a relationship. Still, I was part him and part my mom. He’d act. She’d feel. I did both. Right now, I needed to feel. I knew well enough to give heartbreak room to breathe.
I had the urge to get out of the house. I jumped up and got ready for a late-morning run. Adrenaline and endorphins always made me feel better. When I opened my front door, I caught sight of Holland getting out of an Uber with two large bags of groceries. Suddenly, my morning didn’t suck as much. She was the perfect distraction.
“Good morning,” I said, jogging down my stoop. “Let me help you with that.”
We reached the front of her brownstone at the same time.
“Oh. You don’t have to.” When she smiled, the sun got jealous and shined brighter.
“It would be my pleasure,” I said.
Following her up the steps, I noticed how her gray leggings hugged her frame. She wasn’t slim. She wasn’t chunky. Holland was just right. Her black sweatshirt hung low on one side, revealing the smooth caramel skin of her shoulder. I wondered if it felt as silky as it looked.
“Here we go,” she said when the locks finally clicked. The door groaned as she pushed it open.
“These older wooden doors get tricky on hot days. Mine does that,” I said.
“It’s such a beautiful door. All these front doors are gorgeous.” She looked up and down the block. “Ours don’t look like this in South Carolina.”
I carried her heavy bags over the threshold and followed Holland inside. “That’s the accent I detected,” I said. “Reminds me of my grandmother.”
“Was she from South Carolina?” Holland put down her keys and plopped the large tote onto the couch.
“Columbia,” I said.
“Oh! I know Columbia.” She took the suitcase from me and rolled it toward the staircase. “That means we’re probably not related.”
I laughed. “I remember going down south in the summers to see Grams as a kid. It seemed the whole town was our family. Whenever we went somewhere, Grams would point at people and say, ‘You know that’s your cousin?’ One day I asked, ‘Who isn’t my cousin?’ Grams said, ‘That’s a good question.’”
“Ha! It’s like that in Florence too, but not as bad as the smaller surrounding towns. We always joke about knowing who you’re dating so you don’t end up marrying a cousin. Were you born in Columbia?”
“Me? Nah. Just Grams and my mom. My mother moved to Brooklyn in the seventies. I was born here.”
“Is your mother in Brooklyn?”
I waited a beat while a blast of grief spread in my chest, piercing my heart like shrapnel. It always took me a moment to say she had passed. It’s like I had to fix the words in my mouth before pushing them out. “My mother died years ago, but sometimes it still feels like she just left me last week.”
Pity flashed in Holland’s pretty brown eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
I nodded.
Holland walked to the kitchen. Flicked on the light.
“Uh! I would offer you something, but I’m still getting settled,” she said after a few thick moments of silence.
“Ah!” I waved away her concern. “I got plenty. I should be offering you something. Did you eat?”
“No. Don’t worry about me.”
“I’ve got skills in the kitchen. I haven’t had breakfast yet either.”
Holland shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to impose,” she said.
I wanted her to say yes. That way, I wouldn’t have to be alone with my thoughts.
“You do eat, right?” I raised a brow. Hit her with my patented The Rock look.
“Ha! Of course. Do I look like I miss meals?” Her laugh was sharp.
She looked like every morsel she’d ever eaten settled in all the right places. I couldn’t say that, so instead I said, “You look great to me.”
“Aw, thanks.”
Silence.
“How about French toast?”
“I love French toast,” she said.
“Consider it done.”
I scanned the house. Dim blades of light passed through the windows, casting dull shadows around the furniture. It had been a year since I’d been inside regularly. Gone was the airy atmosphere that popped of light and life when Ms. Goldie was there. Always a sweet scent emanating from one of those old Glade air fresheners or something delicious baking in the oven, unless she was traveling. Ms. Elsie and she had been like the mother and grandmother I’d lost.
“Your aunt looked out for me. Always made sure I had a meal. Taught me a few things too. She was like another grandmother.”
“You must miss her too.” Holland’s voice was as soft as her gaze.
I did. Instead of answering, I cleared my throat, maneuvering the emotion congealing in there. Watching her slowly diminish from a bold, charismatic, loving woman to a withered shell of her former self was brutal. I visited weekly, even after she retreated into her mind and barely knew who I was.
She and Ms. Elsie had praised and fed me—shared wisdom that guided my decisions and even asked when I would get married and give them some kids to spoil. I clung to those women.
I didn’t say any of this to Holland. What could I say to the woman who had Goldie’s blood running through her veins? If she was anything like me, she probably wished she’d had a connection with her aunt the way I wished I had had one with my father. Yes, I missed Ms. Goldie. More than I could admit.
I clapped, bringing my thoughts out of the past. “Let’s go eat.”
With eyes squinted, Holland angled her head at me, knowing I’d wandered off in my thoughts. For a moment, I thought she would ask more questions. Instead, she dragged in a breath and said, “Okay. Give me a little bit. I want to freshen up.”
“Cool.” My emotions were quicksand lately—threatening to pull me under. I needed to climb out and get back on solid ground. “Feeding Goldie’s pretty niece is the least I can do.” I felt the smile slide across my face.
“You flirting again?” Holland gave me a side-eye.
“Maybe.” I winked. “See you in a few.”
Mischief sparkled in her eyes and she shook her head. Her laugh followed me to the door. Making a swift departure, I jogged down the stoop. I hadn’t known her long, but I knew I liked being around her. If she was anything like her aunt, she was good people. More than that, she was beautiful and I could ogle her all day. Leaving was better than being weird.
Several pairs of shoes and sneakers lay haphazardly at the door in the same spot where I’d stepped out of them, and the floor needed sweeping. Skipping my run, I headed back inside to clean up the mess I had let accumulate over the past few days. After tidying up, I sprayed an air freshener and opened the window to allow fresh air to flow in with the warm breeze. Pausing, I wondered when I last had a woman in my house.
I headed for the kitchen, cranked up a playlist, and pulled out the ingredients for my gourmet French toast. I’d been in a bad mood all week. These moments with Holland lifted my spirits.
By the time I laid the French toast in the frying pan, the trill from my security camera floated through the house. I wiped the egg off my hand and grabbed the door.
“Welcome!” With a sweep of my arm, I waved her in as if I were announcing her royal presence.
I felt the corner of my lips curl up at the sparkle in her eyes and the sound of her giggle. I liked the sound. Liked that I caused it. Liked how her breasts filled the blue T-shirt and how her hips packed the jean shorts she’d changed into.
Holland gasped. “Wow!”
“What?” I said, concerned.
Awestruck, she spun slowly, taking in the entirety of the first floor. “Your home is…beautiful. It’s so different from my aunt’s. So…modern.”
“Thanks!” My chest puffed. I felt it. I was proud of my home, but more excited about impressing Holland.
“Come on back to the kitchen.” I pushed the door closed. Holland followed my lead toward the kitchen, savoring every inch of the open-floor plan from the dark wood floors to the stark white walls filled with art.
“It’s like an art gallery had a baby with HGTV.” She giggled. “It’s gorgeous.” Leaving her to admire the decor, I headed into the kitchen. “My goodness.” She studied a painting I’d commissioned, hovering in front of it as if she were compelled by an unseen force. “This canvas is as tall as me! It’s breathtaking.”
“Oh yeah. That’s a Foster Blake piece. He’s one of my favorites. I can introduce you to him if you’d like. He has a show coming up in downtown Brooklyn.”
“You know him?”
“Yeah. I’ve got several of his paintings.”
I turned my attention back to the banana I was cutting while she continued taking in the art.
“May I?” She finally made her way to the kitchen. I nodded, and she ran her hand across the granite on top of the island. “Did you decorate this place yourself?”
“Me?” I reared my head back. “Nah. A friend did it for me. I can refer her to you.”
She hopped up on one of the stools on the opposite side of the island from where my ingredients were laid out.
“No. That won’t be necessary. I’m cleaning up and selling as is. She’d probably be too expensive anyway.”
I held my sigh. Didn’t want to show my disappointment.
“You don’t want to keep the house?”
She did that shoulder thing again. “I just got a new place in Charleston. I’m kind of starting over.”
“Starting over?” Was her reason for a reset anything like mine? “What makes you want to start over?”
Holland hesitated. “It’s time.” She shrugged, lowered her eyes to the counter and fingered the veins of the granite. “I’ve lived in a pretty small town all my life and I’m ready for something different.”
“You didn’t like it there?” I wanted to know as much about her as possible.
“I do.” She didn’t sound convincing. “But…” Holland twisted her lips and looked toward the ceiling. Seems like she was deciding how much she wanted to reveal. “I’d always wanted to know what it was like to live somewhere else. As a kid, I used to imagine living in places I’d seen on TV. This past year, I decided it was time to explore. Home will always be home, right?”
“True.”
“My aunt’s house is amazing, but updating it would be a lot of work and a lot of money.” She fingered the granite again. “And a move to New York…that’s a huge change. I don’t know anyone here. I’d have to find work.” Holland rattled off all the reasons she had against staying, but never said no.
“You know me and Ms. Elsie.”
She smiled sheepishly. “Well, yes, I do.”
Again I tried not to let my disappointment show. “When are you thinking about putting it on the market?” I asked, flipping the French toast.
“I’m hoping to get as much done as possible while I’m here this time. Maybe before I leave.”
“How long are you staying?”
“Almost four weeks. That should be enough time to get everything done. Then I’ll head back to my new life in Charleston. I can’t wait.” Holland put her elbows on the counter and rested her chin in her hands.
“Oh.” That at least gave me a little time to get to know her better. Anything could happen in four weeks.
I let the music fill the silence while I plated the French toast, spooned the banana compote on top, sprinkled on confectioners’ sugar, and drizzled raspberry sauce across as a finisher. Then I poured two glasses of orange juice and heated up a cup of maple syrup.
“Wow!” Holland looked down at her plate. “Fancy. Where’d you learn all this?”
“My mom.” I pulled up a stool and sat next to her at the island.
“She taught you how to cook?”
“She insisted I learn to cook. Said it was a life skill. She didn’t want me to be the kind of husband that sucked the life out of my wife, lest she send me back home to her.”
“Ha! Seriously?” Holland chuckled.
“Her words!” I laughed. “Hope you like it.”
I dug into the French toast with the side of my fork. Holland gently stopped me, placing her hand over mine.
“You mind?” Holland bowed her head and closed her eyes. I followed her lead.
Holland opened one eye to make sure I obliged. We laughed. Then she shut her eyes again, said a quick grace, and smiled before removing her hand from mine. I missed her touch immediately.
“Thanks,” she said.
“I’m cool with it. Me and the Big Dude talk sometimes.”
She chuckled. I swear it sounded like music.
Holland poured syrup over her mound of French toast and bananas. I watched her cut into it and bring a forkful to her mouth. Her eyes fluttered closed as she moaned. I liked the sound of her pleasure and thought about other ways I could coax those sounds from her. Bliss washed across her pretty face. Smooth caramel skin glowed in the light bouncing off the white granite countertop. I watched her as she chewed, jealous of the sweetened bread, wishing I could know how she tasted.
Holland dropped her head back. Her twists bounced against her neck in all its honey-colored glory.
“This is sooo good.” Eyes still closed, she groaned over the mouthful. The long line of her neck teased me. My fingers itched to trace her skin from there to the center of her chest. Heat spread across my groin.
This woman had no idea how her delight affected me. Shaking her head, she slowly opened her eyes. Caught me staring and froze. In that moment our eyes locked. Sultry music wrapped around us. Her neck bobbed as she swallowed. My gaze followed the movement and I suddenly felt the urge to kiss her neck.
Blinking, Holland broke the searing gaze binding us and cleared her throat. “This might be the best French toast I’ve ever tasted,” she said, pointing the fork at her plate.
My chest swelled with pride. “Of course it is.” I exaggerated my response to cover any sensual overtones.
Holland covered her full mouth with her free hand and giggled. She looked at me, playfully rolled her eyes, and shook her head. Damn, this girl was beautiful.
“Just kidding. I’m glad you like it.”
“What else are you good at?” she asked.
I put my fork down and looked at her with a wry smile. “You’re making this too easy.”
“Ha! You’re so bad. I’m talking about cooking, silly.”
“Everything. You?”
“I’m pretty good around a stove myself. I’ll return the favor and cook something for you one day. What do you like?”
“It’s probably easier to ask what I don’t like.”
“Okay. I’ll surprise you.”
“Sounds like an invitation to me.” I was here for it. I took in a bit of toast, thought of something, and hurried to wipe my mouth. “We could do a cook-off. Show off our best dishes.”
“Now that sounds like fun,” she said, pointing her fork toward me.
Holland’s cell phone rang. She looked at the display, muted the ring, and returned to her food. I wondered who’d called her. Why didn’t she answer? Was it a man? Did she have a man? I didn’t see a ring or a tan line, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t spoken for.
The conversation started to flow easily between us. We fell into a comfortable rhythm as she asked more questions about her aunt.
And as I answered, Holland closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and settled into the peaceful smile on her face. She stayed like that for several moments. I watched, not wanting to disturb her moment. Instead, I concentrated on her beauty. Flawless skin, gorgeous hair—natural, coiled, and perfectly unruly. Plump, heart-shaped, kissable lips with a hit of gloss. I could imagine what those plump lips felt like against mine.
She exhaled. Her eyes fluttered open, glistening. Seeing me watching her, she tilted her head. “Thank you for that,” she said in a soft whisper. “I wish I was able to get to know her for myself.” Holland folded a napkin and dabbed her eyes.
I smiled back, keeping my eyes locked with hers. I studied the pain in them. Knew how palpable a loss like that felt. The feeling of having just missed something. All the what-if moments you played over in your head, wishing things were different. What if I had gotten to Mom’s house a few hours earlier? I didn’t know her what-ifs, but I knew she had them.
I kept my eyes locked on hers. Tried to let her know her feelings were safe with me. No matter how much she wiped, tears pooled in her beautiful hazel eyes. I felt privileged that she was comfortable enough with me not to hide her emotions. I touched her arm. She looked down at the counter. Cleared her throat.
“This…breakfast was amazing. Thank you. I better get back.” She slid off the stool. Holland cleared the remnants of food from her plate into the garbage and went to wash the dish in the sink.
I held my hand up. “I got that.” I stood and met her at the sink. “Listen. I’m around most of the day. I can help you get your house in order.”
“Oh no, no!” She held both palms up and shook her head. “You’ve done more than enough. I really appreciate it.”
“Okay. Call me if you need anything.” I pulled out my cell phone and thumbed through the icons to pull up my contacts. I handed Holland the phone so she could add her information. She did.
Holland went to hand the phone back to me but pulled back. “Wait.” She called herself from my phone. “This way, I’ll have your number too.”
“Yeah. That’s cool.” My lips quivered, trying to hold back the big smile threatening to spread across my face. Yeah, boy! You got her number now.
“Thanks again, Noble.”
I followed her to the door, said my goodbyes, and watched her leave. Breathing in slowly, I savored the sweet floral scent that lingered. I needed to figure out when I could see her again.