Chapter Three #2
He’d changed into something else too. The white Louis Vuitton, short sleeved monogram crewneck looked tailored to fit, the way it accentuated his muscles.
He coordinated it with some cream linen beach shorts and Louis Vuitton mules.
The only pieces of jewelry he rocked was a Van-Cleef bracelet and diamond studs.
Nearing me, his cologne permeated through my nostrils making me want to melt through the cobble stone.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckled. His heavy laughter bounced off the walls too.
“No, it’s fine,” I waved him off. “I guess that’s what I get for lurking around.
“C’mere,” he motioned with his hand. “Let me show you some.”
Without hesitation, I intertwined our fingers and followed wherever he wanted me to go.
It was another part of the cellar. It was a door camouflaged between everything else that you wouldn’t have noticed it.
When the door opened, he applied a little force and a light lit up the room when he inched further inside.
The room was beautiful, big enough to house a family of six.
There were mahogany shelves lined with hundreds of cigars in glass humidors, leather wingback chairs arranged around a low table, and soft amber lightning that cast everything in a luxurious glow.
The walls were paneled in dark wood, and there was a small bar in the corner with crystal decanters filled with amber liquid.
“This is beautiful,” I looked on in amazement as my eyes bounced off the walls, looking at the beauty in all of it. “I’ve seen these in movies, but I figured that’s where it stopped. I didn’t know—”
“Black men like cigars,” he cut me off to say.
“No,” I chuckled nervously. “I wasn’t going to say that. I didn’t think people collected them. Usually men like cars, shoes, liquor, maybe even whisky, but this is different to me. So, you smoke heavily?” I asked, turning to face him.
He looked so relaxed and at ease.
“I do but not heavily,” he said, moving past me to run his fingers along one of the humidors.
“I’ve been really into cigars for the past few years.
There’s something meditative about it, you know?
The ritual, the flavor, the experience.” His eyes lit up with genuine passion as he opened one of the glass cases.
“My grandfather smoked cigars. He was from Cuba originally, and when I was a kid, I remember the smell of them in his study. I hated it then. I thought that shit was gross.” He laughed softly, giving me a glimpse of the dimple peeking through his right cheek.
I hadn’t noticed it before. “But after he died, I found myself missing that smell…missing him. So, I tried one, and…I don’t know.
I guess it connected me to him somehow.”
I felt my chest tighten at the vulnerability in his voice. “That’s beautiful,” I muttered softly.
“He was a good man,” Syx continued, his fingers trailing over the cigars now.
“Taught me a lot about patience, about taking time to appreciate things. He used to say that Americans were always rushing…rushing to eat, rushing to work, rushing through life. He’d sit in his chair with a cigar for an hour, just thinking, and talking shit.
” He glanced over at me. “I think that’s what drew me to this work too, in a way.
Helping people slow down, pay attention to their bodies and really feel things instead of just going through the motions. ”
Every time I gazed into his eyes, they were intense and heavy like a burning fire. So, I looked away, feeling timid under his gaze.
“So, you’re Cuban?” I probed around in his business, keeping the subject neutral.
“Nah, at least I don’t consider myself Cuban. I’m Cuban descent, but I don’t consider myself Cuban-American.”
“When did your family move to the states?”
“I was born there. My mom wanted to pursue her career in criminal justice,” he informed me. “That’s where she met my father.”
I pursed my lips, with a slow head nod. “I hear a southern accent too.” I teased him.
He blushed just a tad, biting his lip in a sexy manner. “I’m from Memphis.”
My eyes grew wide in shock, followed by a low gasp. “That’s where I’m from too. Shit, that’s where I live.”
“I’m really from Olive Branch though, I just used to come to south Memphis to kick shit with my cousins.”
“Oh really, what part?”
“Orange Mound.”
I clicked my tongue against my teeth. “Orange Mound is not South Memphis,” I laughed.
He put his hands up in mock surrender. “Tell me somethin’ I’on know then.”
“Do you visit often?”
“My mom lives there, so of course, but it’s majority seasonal, and she ain’t been too happy ‘bout that,” he expressed.
“Is this your permanent home? I guess you could say the water is serene, so I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to stay. I’d never wanted to leave.”
“I don’t know,” he laughed, making me laugh too. There was a contagious flare in it. “It’s so damn peaceful and I own it, so it’s mine. I don’t have to worry about motherfucka’s disturbing my peace. I can go on and on.”
“I understand, believe me, I do. I definitely been going through the motions,” I admitted.
Syx nodded, understanding in his dark eyes. “Most people are. It’s easier than being present, especially when being present means feeling things that are uncomfortable or painful. It took me a while to learn that and when I did, I released so much dead weight.”
“Is that why you’re always here?” I asked. “On the island, I mean. To slow down?”
“Partially,” he answered. “I used to practice in Miami, had an office and saw clients there. But it was exhausting, the noise, constant stimulation. Then I realized telling people to be present and mindful while I was completely burnt out.” He selected a cigar, examining it thoughtfully.
“So, I bought this place five years ago. Now I only take a few clients a year, and I can give them my full attention.”
I nodded. “Quality over quantity.”
“You get it,” he nodded too.
“You ever thought about opening a cigar lounge?” I prompted, growing curious now.
“That’s my next dream,” Syx said, his face lightening up again. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about opening a cigar lounge real heavy, besides making it a hobby to collect them. I’ve been looking into land and a perfect spot to put it. It’s difficult than I thought because I’m picky as hell.”
“Are you going to open it here on the island?”
“No, I’ve been looking at locations in the Caribbean, maybe Barbados or Trinidad.
Cigar lounges in the states aren’t really a hot commodity anymore.
There’re too many regulations, changing attitudes about smoking, but here?
There’s still a market for it and a real appreciation for the craft.
Plus, the climate is perfect for storing cigars, and there’s a culture around it that’s been lost in the States.
Then y’all have an orange Sharpie skin, comb over, red neck motherfucker as a president, so you know never know what to expect over there. ”
I giggled. “That’s true. I’m with you when you’re right.”
With a slight smile, holding up a cigar he’d selected, he said, “You should try one. You might like it too.”
“I’ve never smoked before,” I admitted, feeling suddenly nervous. “I think the last time I smoked was in college.”
“C’mere,” he motioned his head. “I can teach you properly and you ain’t got to worry about having it as bad habit if that’s what you’re worried.” He gently grabbed my waist and pulled me closer to him. “This is a Connecticut shade wrapper. It’s very smooth and creamy.”
Then he led me to one of the soft and worn leather chairs to sit down on.
Much obliged, I was going to join in the next available chair, but he pulled me closer and guided me to sit on his lap.
“Sit on me, Nyne. You’ll have to get used to sitting between my legs, love.
” He spoke, sending shivers down my spine and causing butterflies to flutter in my stomach.
Our skin touched. There was a high slit in my dress, revealing my thighs. Showcasing intimacy, he caressed them before preparing the cigar with a small guillotine cutter.
“The key is not to inhale it like a cigarette,” he explained, his voice taking on that patient, instructive tone I was beginning to recognize. “You’re tasting it to savor it. The smoke never goes into your lungs, just your mouth and nasal passages.”
Syx lit the cigar carefully, rotating it to get an even burn, then handed it to me. “Take a slow pull, then release it gently. Don’t rush though.”
I brought the cigar to lips, trying to mimic what I’d seen in movies, but the moment the smoke hit my throat, I coughed violently. My eyes watered and my body rejected the foreign sensation.
“Easy. You got to take it easy, baby,” Syx spoke, with his hands immediately on my back, rubbing and soothing circles between my shoulder blades.
“You’re trying to pull to hard. You pulled it back like you were taking a breath.
Don’t pull the smoke into your lungs at all.
Just let it sit in your mouth for a moment, like you’re tasting wine, then exhale slowly through your nose. It’s about the flavor, not the depth.”
I nodded, after I gained my composure. Now I felt embarrassed by the way I reacted.
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t apologize,” Syx gently spoke. “Everyone does that the first time. Here, watch me.” He took the cigar from me and demonstrated, drawing the smoke into his mouth, holding it for a moment then releasing it in a slow steady steam through his nose.
“See? You gotta be gentle. You don’t need to use force. ”
I tried it again. This time more carefully, drawing just a small amount of smoke into my mouth and holding it there. The flavors bloomed across my tongue—earthy, slightly sweet, with hints of cedar and cream. Slowly, I exhaled and this time it was smoother, warmer and almost sensual.
“Better?” Syx asked, his voice low and encouraging but his hand never moved from resting lightly on my back.
“Yes,” I said, surprised by how relaxing it actually was.
The warmth of the smoke, it sort of felt like a ritual and the way Syx was watching me with such focused attention.
It was intimate in a way I hadn’t expected aside from what I signed up for.
Confidently, I took another pull and let the smoke roll through my mouth before exhaling. “I can see why you love this so much.”
He grinned. “You feelin’ it now?”
“I feel it now Syx,” I mumbled, barely above a whisper.
I looked down at him. The cigar smoke curled between us in an amber light, and I saw something in his expression that made my pulse quicken. It was a tenderness that went beyond mere instruction and a genuine care that made me feel seen in a way I hadn’t felt in years.