Chapter 7
Monica
I Said I Wasn’t in Love. Then I Started Acting Like Somebody’s Wife.
When a man you are trying very hard not to love looks at you like you are the answer to a prayer he forgot he prayed, it does something to your spirit.
It also does something to your common sense.
Because there I was, standing on the rooftop of Loyalty with Eric beside me, Dre looking panicked, my phone buzzing like it owed somebody money, and the internet already trying to turn Eric’s grand opening into an episode of Messy People With Unlimited Data.
And instead of going home like a sensible woman with clients, bills, and a car named Greta fresh out the brake hospital, I looked at Eric and said, “Tell me what you need.”
The words came out before fear could stop them.
Eric stared at me.
Not in shock exactly.
More like he was trying to figure out whether I had just stepped into his life or promised to stay there.
“Monica,” he said softly.
“No.” I held up a hand. “Don’t say my name in that voice. We got a business emergency and a public relations demon to fight.”
Dre nodded hard. “She right. The demon currently got fourteen shares.”
I turned to him. “Why are you counting shares like that helps?”
“Because panic needs numbers.”
Eric pulled out his phone and looked at the post. His jaw tightened, but his voice stayed calm.
I hated how much I respected that.
“Somebody took the picture this morning before the glass got cleaned,” he said. “Caption making it seem like we still got street problems.”
Dre pointed at the phone. “Comments already asking if the opening canceled.”
“It’s not canceled,” I said.
Both men looked at me.
I looked right back. “What? It’s not.”
Eric’s mouth twitched. “You in charge now?”
“Apparently. Y’all look emotionally unsupervised.”
Dre lifted both hands. “I receive that.”
Eric slid his phone into his pocket. “What you thinking?”
I took a breath.
The truth was, I didn’t know everything about running a lounge, but I knew events. I knew people. I knew image. I knew how one bad picture could make folks scared to show up, and I knew how one good moment could flip the whole conversation if you moved fast enough.
“We don’t hide it,” I said.
Dre blinked. “Hide what?”
“The vandalism.”
Eric frowned. “You want me to post about it?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Monica.”
“Eric.”
Dre looked between us. “I feel like I’m watching a tennis match with sexual tension.”
“Dre,” Eric warned.
“Sorry. Continue.”
I stepped closer to Eric. “Listen. If you ignore it, people will fill in the blanks with whatever sounds juiciest. If you address it, you control the tone. Not defensive. Not scary. Not hood drama. Business owner. Community. Resilience. Grown man with a plan.”
Eric stared at me for a second.
Then he said, “Keep going.”
My heart did something ridiculous.
I ignored it.
“You post a picture of the cleaned glass. You say something like, ‘We had a setback this morning, but nothing is stopping us from bringing something positive to the block.’ Then invite people to the grand opening. Make it about community support.”
Dre slowly pointed at me. “That’s good.”
“I know.”
Eric’s eyes stayed on mine. “And Latrice?”
My stomach tightened, but I kept my face together. “You do not post about Latrice.”
Dre gasped. “But I had captions.”
“No.”
“But one said, ‘Some people want a table at a place they tried to burn down.’”
I paused.
“That’s actually not bad.”
Eric gave me a look.
I cleared my throat. “Still no.”
Dre snapped his fingers. “I knew it was good.”
I turned back to Eric. “Latrice wants attention. Don’t feed her. Let the post about Loyalty be classy. Let the block see the business, not the mess.”
Eric nodded slowly.
“And then,” I continued, “we make sure the opening looks so good that people feel dumb for doubting it.”
Dre clapped once. “Yes, First Lady.”
I froze.
Eric froze.
Dre froze too, but too late.
I turned my head slowly. “What did you call me?”
Dre swallowed. “Friend Lady?”
“Dre.”
“Community consultant?”
Eric closed his eyes.
I pointed toward the rooftop door. “Go downstairs.”
“I’m an owner.”
“You are about to be a missing person.”
He left.
Fast.
Eric looked like he wanted to laugh and apologize at the same time.
“Don’t,” I said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
“My face is grateful.”
“That’s worse.”
“It’s true.”
I looked away, because gratitude coming from Eric felt too close to affection, and affection was already sitting in my chest with shoes on.
He stepped closer, but not enough to crowd me.
“You don’t have to take this on,” he said.
“I know.”
“You got enough going on.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
I looked over the edge of the rooftop at the block below.
Cars moved slowly. A few people stood outside Big Ray’s. The corner store lights glowed. Somewhere, music played from somebody’s car, bass low and steady.
This block was loud. Messy. Funny. Tired. Alive.
Kind of like me.
“Because I know what it feels like to have people judge you off one ugly picture,” I said. “And I know you’re trying to build something good. I don’t want them to make it ugly before it gets a chance.”
Eric didn’t speak for a second.
When I looked at him, his eyes had softened in that way that made me want to run and melt at the same time.
“You see me,” he said.
I swallowed.
“Don’t make it weird.”
“It is weird.”
“No, it’s not.”
“It is when a woman I met a few days ago understands what I’m trying to do better than people I’ve known for years.”
Oh.
That was not fair.
That was emotional entrapment with a beard.
I crossed my arms. “Well, maybe you should get better people.”
“I’m trying.”
The words were quiet.
The meaning was not.
I looked down at my sneakers.
This man was going to be the end of me.
“Post the glass,” I said, because I needed to stop feeling before my feelings unionized.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And don’t call me ma’am in that voice.”
“What voice?”
“The one that makes it sound like we have furniture together.”
He smiled then.
Full.
Beautiful.
Dangerous.
I turned toward the door. “I need to go downstairs before I make poor choices.”
He followed me, laughing low behind me like he knew he was already one of them.
By nine that night, Loyalty had become a war room.
Not a real war.
A hood business emergency war.
Which meant there were takeout containers on the bar, three people arguing over flyers, somebody testing the sound system too loud, and Mrs. Pearl sitting in a booth with reading glasses on, proofreading captions like she worked for the newspaper.
Tameka showed up because she claimed she was worried about me.
That was a lie.
She came because Dre texted her.
I knew this because she walked in saying, “Where is the crisis and is there food?”
Behind her came Kee-Kee, my older cousin who was really more like my auntie-sister-mama depending on the day. Kee-Kee had helped raise me when my mama got sick, and she could pray over you, cuss you out, and make banana pudding in the same hour.
She stepped inside Loyalty wearing a denim jacket, big earrings, and the expression of a woman who had already decided everybody needed supervision.
“So this the man?” she asked.
I closed my eyes. “Hello to you too.”
Eric walked over, all manners and broad shoulders. “Eric Miller. Nice to meet you.”
Kee-Kee looked him up and down. Not thirsty. Evaluating.
“Mmm-hmm.”
Eric didn’t flinch.
Good.
Kee-Kee turned to me. “He taller than I expected.”
“Expected from what?”
“Your tone when you said his name.”
Tameka cackled.
I pointed at both of them. “We are here to help a business, not analyze my tone.”
Mrs. Pearl raised her hand from the booth. “I’m doing both.”
Dre came from behind the bar with a tray of waters. “Welcome, family.”
Tameka stared at him. “Why are you acting like staff?”
“Because Monica scares me.”
“Good.”
Eric watched all of this with quiet amusement, and I could feel his eyes on me every time I moved.
I ignored him.
Mostly.
We got to work.
Eric posted the cleaned-glass photo with the caption I helped him write.
Setbacks happen. But we’re still here, still building, and still opening our doors with love for the community. Loyalty Grand Opening is still on. Come celebrate something positive on 23rd Block.
Simple.
Strong.
No mess.
Within fifteen minutes, people started sharing it.
Ray commented first.
Big Ray’s supports Loyalty. Y’all come out and act like you got home training.
Mrs. Pearl read it aloud and nodded. “That man got range.”
Tameka shared it to the salon page. Kee-Kee sent it to her church group chat, which meant half the city’s aunties knew within minutes and at least three were asking if there would be seating.
Dre wanted to go live.
I told him no.
He wanted to post a dramatic black-and-white photo of the window before cleaning.
I told him absolutely not.
He wanted to make a reel with the caption They tried to break us but we got Windex and God.
I stared until he deleted the draft.
By ten-thirty, we had a plan.
Grand opening would move forward with a stronger community angle.
Eric would do a quick welcome speech. The first hour would have discounted appetizers.
The VIP area would be reserved for family, close friends, and community elders.
I would handle the decor refresh, because apparently I had lost my mind and agreed to that too.
Tameka leaned beside me at the bar while I made a list on my phone.
“You know what this look like, right?” she whispered.
I didn’t look up. “Business support.”
“No. It look like you building with a man.”
“I am helping with balloons.”
“Balloons be gateway wife behavior.”
I glanced at her. “Please be quiet.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“You like him.”
“That has been established.”
“No.” Her voice softened. “You more than like him.”
I stopped typing.