Chapter 24
Ari
Guilt weighs heavy on me as I finally disentangle myself from the sweet fan in that awful store and I’m able to lead Erica out the doors. “That store was horrible. How can they actually have places like that?”
She shrugs like she doesn’t care, but I saw the hurt in her eyes at the slogan plastered across the wall.
Pulling her to a gentle stop I say, “Hey. It’s okay to admit when things make you uncomfortable.
Just remember that those kinds of things don’t affect your worth or what you mean .
. . to me. You’re perfect, and the size of your clothing isn’t a deciding factor in the happiness you’re allowed. ”
Tears line her eyes and I think I’ve said the wrong thing until she lunges for me.
Her arms around my neck, pulling, and bringing our lips together in the middle of the cobbled street separating all the shops surrounding us.
When she pulls away, she thanks me and I kiss the tip of her nose before using my thumbs to wipe away the small tears that cling to her lower eyelashes, careful not to smear her makeup everywhere.
The beautiful moment is shattered by the sudden call of my name and shuttering of a camera.
I’d know that awful sound anywhere. I turn my back on the voice calling at Erica now, asking her for her name and trailing us while I try to lead her away from prying eyes now that the photographer has garnered the public’s attention.
Erica is laughing, but I don’t think it’s funny as I try to keep someone from trying to make money off of her information, or our private moments.
She gives me a wicked smile and picks up the pace, nearing a jog down the cobblestone street, dodging patrons as we zig and zag, trying to escape the rogue paparazzo.
People start coming out of the stores to see what the commotion is all about.
“Over here!” a new voice whisper-shouts, and I barely hear her above the blood rushing through my veins.
When I look over, I see a smiling woman at the door of a shop motioning for us to come inside.
Erica shifts her momentum before I’ve fully decided what we should do, and like I always will, I follow her blindly.
Just as we squeeze through the door, the woman slams it shut and locks it, sticking her tongue out with a smile as the man and his camera smash into the closed door.
Erica lets loose a wild laugh, with her hands on her knees, the adrenaline catching up with us.
“Thank you,” I say to the woman. She nods with a polite smile as I take in the shop that we happened upon.
By some kind of luck or magic, we’ve ended up in what looks like a small business.
“LocTique” says the neon sign across the front of the cashier’s counter at the center of the long wall to our right.
As Erica straightens and lifts her new sunglasses back onto her head, her eyes scan the store around us. A blinding smile breaks across her face.
In all the stores we could have darted into in this entire shopping center, we landed in one that specializes in the care and accessorizing of locs and natural hairs of all textures and ethnicities.