Chapter 3 #2
“Put on the gold hoops too.”
“Goodbye.”
“Not the big ones. The medium ones. Big hoops say you might fight. Medium hoops say you might forgive.”
I hung up.
Then put on the green dress.
Not because she told me to.
Because it looked good.
It hugged where it needed to and flowed where I wanted grace. I wore gold sandals, medium hoops—unfortunately—and soft curls with my hair pinned on one side. My makeup was glowy but not desperate. My gloss was clear because colored gloss felt like an announcement.
At 6:58, I was pretending not to look out the window.
At 6:59, a black SUV pulled up outside the salon.
Clean. Shiny. Expensive but not loud.
My stomach flipped.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
“Get it together,” I whispered. “You are a woman with bills. Stand up.”
My phone buzzed.
ERIC: I’m outside.
I took a breath, grabbed my purse, and walked downstairs.
Of course, Tameka was waiting.
Of course, Mrs. Pearl was waiting too.
Of course, they had positioned themselves near the front window like two unpaid ushers at my romantic funeral.
Tameka’s eyes widened when she saw me. “Okay, green dress.”
Mrs. Pearl nodded. “Baby, that dress got testimony.”
“Please don’t embarrass me,” I said.
Tameka placed a hand on her chest. “I would never.”
Mrs. Pearl said, “I might.”
Before I could threaten either one of them, Eric walked in.
And the salon got quiet.
Not because it was full. It was just Tameka, Mrs. Pearl, and one stylist in the back sweeping hair. But even the broom seemed to pause.
Eric wore black slacks, a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and that same gold chain. His beard was lined. His watch was clean. He smelled like soap, amber, and minding business with money.
His eyes found me immediately.
They traveled from my hair to my face to the dress and back up. Slow, but respectful.
Somehow that made it worse.
“Monica,” he said.
Just my name.
But whew.
I lifted my chin. “Eric.”
Tameka made a choking sound.
I shot her a look.
Eric smiled like he had already figured out the entire room. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“No joke?”
“I’m saving them.”
“For later?”
“Depends how you act.”
“I’ll behave.”
Mrs. Pearl muttered, “Don’t behave too much.”
“Mrs. Pearl,” I snapped.
Eric looked amused. “You must be Mrs. Pearl.”
“And you must be the man making Monica put on perfume before seven.”
“I always wear perfume,” I said.
Tameka coughed. “Lies.”
Eric stepped forward and extended his hand to Tameka. “Eric Miller.”
She shook his hand but held it a little too long, inspecting him like a mechanic looking under a hood.
“Tameka,” she said. “Her cousin.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“She got allergies,” Tameka said.
I froze. “Tameka.”
Eric’s eyebrow lifted.
“To foolishness,” Tameka continued. “She break out in attitude when exposed.”
Eric smiled. “I’ll be careful.”
Mrs. Pearl pointed at him. “Bring her back with that smile still on her face.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And don’t drive fast.”
“No, ma’am.”
“And don’t be cheap.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Tameka nodded slowly. “Okay. He answers elders right.”
I grabbed Eric’s arm. “We’re leaving.”
He opened the door for me.
I tried not to swoon because women in 2026 were supposed to be used to doors being opened.
I was not.
Outside, he walked me to the SUV and opened that door too. The inside was spotless, smelling faintly like leather and cologne. When I climbed in, he waited until I was settled before closing it.
I watched him walk around the front of the truck.
Tall. Calm. Too fine.
I looked toward the salon window.
Tameka and Mrs. Pearl were both giving me thumbs up.
I mouthed, “Go away.”
They did not.
Eric got in and started the truck. Soft music played low. Not too romantic. Not too loud. Some old-school R&B that made the night feel smoother than it had any business being.
“You good?” he asked.
“You ask that a lot.”
“You avoid answering a lot.”
I looked at him.
He pulled away from the curb with one hand on the wheel, relaxed but focused.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“You’ll see.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“You don’t like bad surprises.”
“There are other kinds?”
“Yes.”
“Name one.”
He glanced at me. “Me.”
I turned my head toward the window so he would not see my smile.
“Corny,” I said.
“But effective.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I hated when men listened with their eyes.
We drove through the city, past rows of brick buildings, corner stores, beauty shops, churches with signs that said things like God Is Able even though the parking lot was full of potholes. The sky had turned deep blue, and the streetlights made everything glow gold.
I realized we were heading toward 23rd Block.
My stomach tightened. “Are we going back to Big Ray’s?”
“Not exactly.”
“Eric.”
“Trust me a little, remember?”
“I remember saying I didn’t know you enough for that.”
“And I said trust that I’m trying to know you right.”
I looked at him.
There was no smirk this time. No teasing.
Just him.
Serious. Steady.
That made me look away first.
We pulled up behind Loyalty, the lounge he owned. From the outside, it looked sleek but still in progress. A black sign with gold lettering. Tinted windows. Fresh paint. A few workers’ trucks parked near the side.
Eric got out and opened my door before I could touch the handle.
“Thank you,” I said.
He offered his hand.
I stared at it.
Not because I didn’t want to take it.
Because I did.
Too much.
Still, I put my hand in his.
His palm was warm, strong, and gentle around mine.
I knew right then I was in danger.
Not the kind you run from.
The kind you lean into if you’re not careful.
He led me through a side entrance and up a narrow staircase. The smell changed from paint and wood to candles and food.
When we reached the rooftop, I stopped.
“Oh.”
The rooftop had been transformed.
Not overdone. Not cheesy. Just thoughtful.
A small table sat near the edge, covered in black linen with gold plates, candles in glass holders, and a little vase of white flowers.
String lights hung overhead, casting everything in a warm glow.
There was a speaker playing soft music. The city skyline shimmered in the distance, and down below, 23rd Block moved like a living thing.
On the table were covered dishes.
Eric watched my face. “Too much?”
I swallowed.
It was absolutely too much.
And also exactly enough.
“You did all this since last night?”
“I made some calls.”
“To who? Romance Incorporated?”
He laughed softly. “You said you were getting wings, not a husband.”
I looked at him fast.
He held up his hands. “Tameka told me before we left.”
“I’m going to block her.”
“So I figured I’d start with wings.”
He lifted one of the covers.
Lemon pepper wings. Fries. Extra ranch.
But plated fancy.
There was parsley.
I stared at the plate. “Is that garnish on Big Ray’s wings?”
“Ray said he felt disrespected too.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it.
Not a cute laugh either. A real one.
Eric looked pleased. “There it is.”
“What?”
“That laugh.”
“You planned all this for one laugh?”
“Nah. But I hoped for it.”
My chest softened.
I sat down before my knees started believing in love.
Eric sat across from me, not too close, but close enough that the candlelight touched his face. For a moment, neither one of us said anything.
That was rare for me.
Silence usually made me uncomfortable, so I filled it with jokes. But this silence didn’t feel empty.
It felt like a breath.
He poured sparkling water into my glass.
“No alcohol?” I asked.
“Not unless you want it. I didn’t know if you drank.”
I stared at him again.
Details.
This man was dangerous with details.
“I drink sometimes,” I said.
“Then next time I’ll ask first.”
“Next time?”
He leaned back. “That’s the plan.”
“You very confident.”
“I’m hopeful.”
I picked up a wing because I needed something to do other than fall into his face.
We ate and talked.
At first, it was light.
I told him about Tameka accusing me of stealing hot combs even though I did lashes. He told me about Dre thinking he was the lounge’s emotional co-owner. I told him Mrs. Pearl met her second husband at a tire shop. He laughed and said that sounded like Mrs. Pearl.
Then the conversation shifted.
Not heavy.
Just real.
“So lashes and events?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“How’d you get into that?”
I wiped my fingers and shrugged. “I always liked making people feel pretty. And I like turning regular stuff into something special. My mama used to decorate for everything. Birthdays, holidays, Friday if she had enough balloons.”
“She still around?”
My smile faded a little. “Yeah. She’s in a care facility now. Health issues.”
His expression softened. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“You see her often?”
“As much as I can. Some days she knows me right away. Some days she thinks I’m still sixteen and need to get ready for school.”
Eric didn’t rush to say something motivational.
He just listened.
That almost made it worse.
“I joke a lot,” I said, looking down at my plate. “It’s easier than being sad in front of people.”
“I get that.”
I looked up. “You do?”
“Yeah. I get quiet. Same reason.”
For a second, I saw something in him. Something behind all that calm. A shadow.
“Your father?” I asked, remembering the tattoo on his wrist.
He glanced down at it. “Yeah. Passed when I was twenty-one.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He was a good man. Hard, but good. Taught me a lot without talking much.”
“Sounds like you got that from him.”
“The hard part or the not talking?”
“Both.”
He smiled faintly. “Probably.”
“What about your mom?”
“She’s still here. Lives about twenty minutes away. Calls me every Sunday after church to ask if I’m eating and if I found a woman with sense.”
I nearly choked on my water. “Not sense.”
“She says beauty fades, but sense keeps the lights on.”
“Your mama is not wrong.”
“No, she’s not.”
His eyes stayed on me.
I felt the heat of that look all the way down to my toes.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I said.