9. Harlem #2
“If you could take pictures today of everything going on, including everyone pitching in, that would be great. I know that they’re still putting the front of the shop back together, but grab those pics too.”
Nodding, I was catching on to the idea and loving it. “How about you guys in the kitchen? Can I get in on that action?”
“Sure. Just be careful what you post. I don’t want to give away any secret recipes.”
“I gotcha, girl. Do you trust me to upload them for you, or do you want to handle that yourself?”
She stared into my eyes and paused for a minute. “Is it crazy that I trust you with stuff like that already? I mean, we haven’t known each other long, but—”
“There’s a connection, a bond that we’ve shared.” I finished her sentence for her.
“Exactly.”
“Maybe it’s the macchiato.”
“Or maybe it was last night,” she whispered.
I cupped the back of her head and slowly brought my lips down to hers. I took my time kissing her, wanting her to feel my intentions, my reassurance, and my desire for her. “Whatever it is, I feel it too.”
Biting her bottom lip and looking at me with soft eyes, she replied, “Yeah, I trust you. I’ll text you that information.”
We had previously exchanged phone numbers, so she pulled her phone out and texted me her social media handles and passwords.
“I’ll post some things on mine, too, and I’ll tag your shop in them. That way, my followers will see it, and I’ll encourage them to follow you too,” I professed.
“How many followers do you have?”
“One oh four.”
“One hundred four followers? I already have more than that, and I haven’t even opened yet. How good are you on social media, Harlem?” She scrunched her face up in the cutest frown.
I had slowly peeled my gaze from my phone to look at her, but my fingers still hovered over my phone. “One hundred four thousand, Baby.”
“Oh. Wow.”
I chuckled. “Get in there and get to baking and let me get to doing what I do best.”
“Okay.”
I watched her walk away and back into the bakery as Elijah Timmons, my best friend, walked out of the bakery. He had been one of the first people who showed up to help with the cleanup efforts. He walked up to me with a smile on his face.
“What the hell are you smirking for, Eli?” I asked.
“You got it bad, my nigga.”
“Nah, not really. She’s just a good girl.”
“I’ve seen you with some good girls in the past, and you weren’t all in like this.”
“She’s different, man. I can’t put my finger on it, and I know this shit sounds premature and crazy, but I feel like she is my soulmate.”
“They say that when it’s your one, you know from day one. I ain’t mad at ya. I wish you all the best, just tread lightly.”
We dapped each other up, I explained what I had to do, and he moved on to go help somewhere else. I thought about his advice throughout the day, and I realized that I didn’t know how to tread lightly where Tegan was concerned.
I spent the next couple of hours taking pictures and videos of inside the bakery and the activity of Tegan and her staff, pictures of the outside activity, and I did short video interviews of Tegan and her staff on their journey to today, their thoughts about the storm, and their expectations for tomorrow and the future.
After I finished recording all the videos and taking photos, I spent the next two hours editing and curating which photos and videos would go on her social media sites versus mine. Then I spent another hour posting them along with the perfect caption for each.
The videos on my site immediately got thousands of hits within the first half hour, along with comments of people saying they would follow her.
They wanted to know when the official opening was because although tomorrow would be the launch party, it was for select guests.
She had sent out invitations to the people she wanted there, mostly community people from the apartments and houses around the area.
The official grand opening of the bakery would be one week later. I replied to as many comments as possible before I moved back to the kitchen where she was.
Most of her staff had left already, but Warren and Thérèse were cleaning up their stations.
I moved beside her as music flowed from the speakers.
Thérèse was dancing and Warren was singing.
An old Anita Baker song “Mystery” flowed from the speaker, giving an air of nostalgia to times past when living was more vibrant, and loving was more earnest.
I stood back capturing the moment of the three of them in their element. The two staff people cleaning, singing, and dancing, and Tegan measuring, sifting, leveling, sifting some more, and pouring.
When the song ended, I stopped recording and tucked my phone away. She hadn’t been paying attention to me. When the music transitioned to Sir Mix-a-Lot’s “Baby Got Back,” we all became animated, except for Tegan, who rolled her eyes and stifled a smile.
When I switched the lyrics to “Baby got buns and I cannot lie. I can smell them baking inside,” they all laughed out loud, and Tegan shook her head.
“Boy, I swear you’re so corny.”
I chuckled, happy to see that her mood had drastically improved from the hopeless despair she had been steeped in almost twenty-four hours ago.
“Instead of Sir Mix-a-Lot, I’ma call ya tiny ass Madam Bake-A-Lot.”
That caused Thérèse and Warren to hoot loudly over that one, and Tegan laughed so hard that tears fell from her eyes. When they finally calmed down, she thanked them for their hard work, told them to be safe getting home, and that she would see them tomorrow.
After she walked them out, she locked the door, and I sat on the edge of a table.
“Careful. If Evan saw you, he’d fail us in a second,” she teased, referring to his visit earlier in the day.
He walked in trying to throw his weight around and pointing out issues, until I appeared from behind the wall that I’d been behind last time. If it wasn’t so pathetic, it would have been funny the way he stumbled over his words.
Everyone he’d been trying to front for immediately recognized the source of his discombobulation. I had crossed my arms over my chest, narrowed my gaze, and asked, “What the fuck was you saying?”
The only thing he could say to that was, “Good luck, Ms. Ingram, on your launch party tomorrow.”
He scooted out of there fast after that.
Now that the evening was winding down, I wanted her to get the rest that she needed.
“Hey, I heard Thérèse tell you that you have more than enough for tomorrow. Let’s wrap it up.”
“What if I don’t?”
“You’ve been doing this for too long to second-guess or question yourself that way. Do you have more than enough?”
She sighed and nodded.
“All right, let’s wrap it up. Everything else is clean. I’ll clean your area, and then I want you to go home and rest. It’s been a stressful twenty-four hours for you, and I want to see you at your best tomorrow.”
She stopped, dropped her hands by her side, and sighed. “You’re such a breath of fresh air. How can I ever repay you?”
“Just keep being you, beautiful.”
I pulled her against me with her flour-covered apron, hands, and nose, and I kissed her slow and deep. She was everything that I needed and wanted, and I wasn’t sure how to make her see that, but I would.