Chapter Fifteen
Fifteen
Rashad didn’t agree to a meetup right away.
Allowed a few days to pass before he texted with the message that he’d see her on Friday, that he’d come down to Side Chic’k after closing and hear her out.
During that time, he clicked onto the dating site he’d used a couple days ago.
His phone had been blowing up with notifications.
Ninety percent were from Dee-Lite, his latest swipe-right choice.
Probably still after money. Or his body. Damn.
A slight chill passed through him as he remembered other women who wanted more from him than he could give.
He’d dodged his share of drama-laced bullets, one of the reasons he’d welcomed relocating from LA.
The last thing he needed was a repeat of those situations now.
He quickly blocked her profile, changed his to private, and breathed a sigh of relief.
Once done, he’d gone back in Leon’s house and vented about Jamilah again. Leon had intervened, a voice of reason.
“She was dead wrong to talk about you. No one is disputing that,” he’d said, the moment serious enough for him to put down his console.
“But I’ve known Jamilah almost as long as I’ve known Blair, and I can tell you there isn’t an intentionally cruel bone in her body.
I know her father, James, too. He’s military, obstinate, sees the world in black-and-white.
But he’s not all bad either. She gave you a chance.
Don’t you think you should give her one? ”
Still not sure he’d meet with her even after Leon’s sound advice, Rashad had gone home, gotten online, and scrolled ads seeking a cook.
There were plenty of them. He had choices.
One place wanted someone who specialized in Cajun and Creole cooking.
Another was upscale, perhaps above his pay grade.
He was also almost certain they’d do a background check.
Rashad wasn’t sure he could handle past mistakes preventing present opportunities again.
A bunch of eateries needed prep and line cooks, dishwashers, and servers.
There was an assisted-living facility wanting someone to cook their breakfast and lunch meals.
He’d taken a few screenshots, then heard Anna and went upstairs for a second opinion.
“I can’t stand people like that,” she admitted after Rashad shared what he’d overheard and learning he’d quit because of it. “I’m surprised, though. She doesn’t come off as that type of person. And I know for a fact she’s attracted to you. It wasn’t just your food that had her ringing your phone.”
“Even if she were interested, her dad would shut it down, and she’d let him. I can’t deal with a woman like that. Not sure I’d even want to work with one.”
“Don’t focus on her. Focus on you and your goals. It’s only one conversation, Rashad. What do you have to lose?”
“I want my own place but need help to get it started. There’s an empty space next to Side Chic’k that would be perfect. Maybe you and Charles could come on as investors or silent partners.”
“Rashad, you know we’d do anything to help you. But our money is so quiet right now we can’t find it.”
Friday night, as he pulled into a parking space behind Side Chic’k, the back door opened.
An older man with a bald head, big gut, and stained apron stepped outside.
He leaned heavily on a cane and then on the wall.
While lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag, he eyed Rashad with mild interest, like someone used to scoping out his surroundings.
Rashad didn’t want to come off looking suspicious.
He gave the older man a head nod before stepping out of the car.
“Closed yet?” he asked.
“No, but customers enter around front.”
“I’m here to speak with Jamilah.”
“Oh, you’re the brothah who quit on her.”
“Yeah,” Rashad said, reaching for the door handle, wondering yet again if coming here had been the right thing to do. “I’m that brothah.”
He eased down the familiar hallway, his mind going back to the words he’d heard that night as he neared the kitchen. This time the only sound was water running, people laughing, and dishes being stacked in the dishwasher.
Before entering the kitchen, he glanced out at the dining room and identified the source of laughter.
Jamilah stood at a table socializing with two couples clearly having a good time.
He took in the easy interaction, and her.
She wore a pair of black jeans that emphasized the curves he’d first admired, with a white baby doll T-shirt boasting the restaurant’s name across the chest. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, emphasizing high cheekbones and nicely shaped lips.
She really was a pretty woman, definitely the kind of attractive he liked.
What went on inside that beautiful head? Not so much.
She must have felt his eyes on her. She turned. The humor drained from her eyes and was replaced by something he couldn’t quite identify. She said something to the foursome, put a slip on the table and walked toward him.
“Hello, Rashad.”
“Sup.”
He wished his body could stay as neutral as his expression. It had only been a few days, but seeing Jamilah was like water to a thirsty man.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet me. I was hoping you wouldn’t change your mind.”
“My word is bond.”
Jamilah looked around the nearly empty dining room. “Can we sit on the stools over by the window? It’s more private.”
Without waiting for an answer, she led the way. Rashad tried and failed to not watch the sexy swaying ass, further deflating the anger he’d built up against her and weakening his resolve to maintain the second impression she gave him, the one that completely obliterated the first.
“Have you eaten? Do you want anything, something to drink?”
“No, I’m good.”
He watched Jamilah twist a ring she wore on the middle finger of her right hand and then adjust a grouping of bangles on her arm. She was nervous, Rashad knew, but when she began speaking, she looked at him directly.
“Rashad, I’m sorry. For everything. What you overheard my dad say, my reaction to what he said, everything.”
“You’ve said that already, so I’ll ask again. Are you sorry because you didn’t mean what you said or only sorry because I overheard it?”
Jamilah put her chin in the palm of her hand, looked out on a quiet street, empty except for the cars of the two couples still inside. She dropped her head, then looked up. Her vulnerability was like kryptonite. He forced his attention back to why he was here, which shored up his resolve.
“The truth?”
“They say that is what will set you free.”
“Both. You didn’t hear the whole conversation. My father—”
“He’s a cop, right?” Rashad’s tone was sharper than intended.
“A detective.”
“Well, now it all makes sense.”
“He’s always been a detective, Rashad, when it comes to me. It was wrong for him to judge you, but it wasn’t personal.”
“That’s a damn lie.” His voice was low and calm. His eyes, fire.
Ed walked up. “We’re done in the kitchen. The last customers just left. Do you need me to stick around?”
His question was to Jamilah, while his eyes never left Rashad’s face.
Rashad stared back.
“No, Ed. I’m fine. Did you meet Rashad?”
“Yeah, we met,” Rashad said, still eyeing Ed while sending a telepathic message.
I don’t want any trouble here. Don’t start none, won’t be none.
Ed caught the vibe that Rashad threw out. “All right, then,” he said with a curt nod to Rashad before turning to his niece. “I’ll see you in the morning?”
“Please, and thank you.” Jamilah brought her hands together as if in prayer.
They both waited until Ed was gone. Rashad continued as if there had been no interruption.
“What you said was about me as a person. About the crimes I committed as a person, involving other people. You and your old man’s judgmental opinions affect my life as a person. So don’t give me that spiritual, hocus-pocus, Four Agreements bullshit about not taking it personally.”
Jamilah’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Oh, you’re surprised I’m familiar with a spiritual guru?
A lot of what I know would surprise you.
I’m very well read, with a diverse palate.
When you do time, you have time, know what I’m saying?
If you’re smart, you take advantage of the opportunity and work the system rather than letting the system work you.
“Now, do I get what the author meant, that opinions are formed from an individual’s experience and perspective, and at the end of the day have nothing to do with who I really am?
Of course. But to say it ain’t personal is just po-TAY-to, po-TAH-to, to-MAY-to, to-MAH-to, you feel me?
If it involves a person, it’s personal. That’s another perspective, from Guru Rashad. ”
“I don’t necessarily agree, but I get your point.” Jamilah eyed him intently, flickers of warmth, and something else, shining in her eyes. Rashad didn’t look away. The heat intensified.
“Did you do all of what’s on your record, what my dad pulled up of your criminal history?”
“No,” Rashad stated emphatically. “About ninety percent, though.”
He smiled. She didn’t.
“Why?” Spoken barely above a whisper.
“Different reasons for different situations. Consequences of a very long, meandering story. You probably don’t have that type of interest, and I don’t have that kind of time.”
“I am interested. I want to know and have time to listen.”
“Okay.”
“Excuse me for a moment.”
Rashad watched Jamilah disappear into the kitchen. Her seemingly genuine interest moved something deep within him. The easy way they’d worked together and how she’d begun to see him as a peer, not an ex-offender, was the sexiest encounter he’d had since being released.
She returned with two glasses, a couple bottles of sparkling water, and a bottle of wine.
“Wine or water?”
“Water.”
She set a bottle of water in front of him and slid over a glass before unscrewing the cap on the wine bottle and pouring herself a liberal portion. She sat down and held up her glass.
“To a better understanding?”
“Hold up, Michelle Obama, we’re not quite at kumbaya.”
“Fair enough.” Jamilah sat back, took a small sip of wine, set down her glass, and waited.
“I lost my dad at ten years old. Murder. Rocked my world. There was a lot of speculation, but we never got a clear reason why.”
Rashad drank the water in his glass and refilled it. “After my father was killed, I didn’t care about living either. I lost all boundaries. I had no fear. It was grief, but I didn’t have a therapist to help me process that anger. The streets are enticing. And the money is good.”
“Did you sell drugs?”
“I moved around a little marijuana. A lot of us did. In neighborhoods like mine, it’s one of the few economies being offered. People have to eat. It’s all good, though. No losses, only lessons. My past is the stepping-stone into the gift of my present and the door to my future.”
“Spoken like a true guru.” Finally, she smiled.
“Say less.”
Rashad rested against the back of the chair, temporarily soaking up Jamilah, the one who crept into his thoughts at night, that made him want to step up as a man. But when he spoke, it was to the woman who’d betrayed him.
“What about you? Is growing up in a sheltered environment with a cop for a father what made you so quick to not only judge me but also easy to toss me out of your kitchen like trash?”