Chapter 12 Mehar
MEHAR
I wiped down the counter, checked the display cases, made sure the morning crew would have a clean start. Shayla and JoJo had already left for the night. Brooke was finishing up the register count in the back.
“You good to close out?” I called to her.
“Yeah, I got it. Go home, boss lady.”
Boss lady. I smiled at that. I wasn’t the boss of anything—just holding it down until Zainab came back. But it felt good to be trusted with something this important. Her dream. Her baby. I wasn’t gonna let her down.
However, one day I would be a boss bitch of something I called my own. I wasn’t sure what yet. I wished I could get paid for putting bullets in the heads of men who hurt women. I still felt a rush of energy whenever I thought about shooting Ahmad or that crazy high-speed car chase.
And once things settle down with Zainab and she gets out of prison, I’m going to train in martial arts and firearms training, but for now, I’m all about my sister’s zinnamon rolls. However, I have been working out at home and see myself getting stronger.
I grabbed my jacket and headed for the back office to get my purse. My phone buzzed.
Prime.
“Hey,” I answered.
“What’s good, Mehar. You at the shop?”
“Yeah, just closing up. How’s Yusef?”
“He’s good. We actually played some music together tonight. First time in a minute.”
I could hear something different in his voice. Lighter. Like maybe there was a crack in all that heaviness he’d been carrying.
“That’s amazing, Prime. He needed that.”
“Yeah. He did.” A pause. “You need anything? For the shop? For yourself?”
“Nah, I’m good. We’re holding it down over here. Sales have been steady. People keep coming through showing love.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Keep doing what you doing. Zainab’s gonna be proud when she gets home.”
When. Not if. I appreciated that.
“I got her,” I said. “Don’t worry about this end. Just focus on her and the baby.”
“Bet. I’ll check in tomorrow.”
“Okay. Tell Yusef I said hey.”
“I will.”
He hung up. I grabbed my purse, said goodnight to Brooke, and headed out the back door to my car.
The night air was cool. Fall was settling into DC, that crisp edge that made you want to wrap up in something warm. I fished my keys out of my bag, already thinking about the hot shower waiting for me at home.
“You always work this late?”
I jumped. Spun around.
Thad stepped out from around the corner of the building, hands in his pockets, that slow smile spreading across his face.
“What the fuck, Thad!” My heart was pounding. “You scared the shit out of me.” This is exactly why I need a gun, or at least a taser.
“My bad.” He didn’t look sorry at all. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“There you go with that stalking shit again.” I put my hand on my chest, trying to calm down. “What are you doing here?”
“I told you. When I see something I want, I go after it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, I’m not someTHING. I’m someONE. And it’s gonna take more than stalking me to get to know me.”
He laughed. That low, warm sound that made my stomach do something I didn’t want to acknowledge.
“You right. My fault.” He took a step closer. “So let me do this properly. Mehar, would you like to go to dinner with me? Right now?”
“Right now? It’s like 8 o’clock.”
“Perfect time for dinner.”
“I’m not exactly dressed for—”
“You look beautiful.”
I glanced down at myself. Jeans. A cropped sweater. A pair of ankle boots. My hair was in a messy bun from working all day. I probably smelled like cinnamon and sugar. Which wasn’t a bad scent.
“I’m serious,” he said. “You don’t need to change. Where we’re going, they don’t care about all that.”
“And where exactly are we going?”
“Omakase. It’s a chef’s tasting spot. Japanese. High-end, but lowkey. Trust me.”
I should’ve said no. Should’ve told him I was tired, that I had an early morning, that I barely knew him. But something about the way he was looking at me—like I was the only thing that mattered in his whole night—made me hesitate.
“Fine,” I heard myself say. “But I’m driving myself. And if it’s wack, I’m leaving.”
He grinned. “Fair enough. Follow me.”
The restaurant was hidden on a quiet street in Georgetown.
No sign out front. Just a black door with a small gold handle. If you didn’t know it was there, you’d walk right past it.
Inside, it was intimate. Maybe ten seats total, all at a long wooden counter facing the chef. The lighting was low and warm. Soft ambient music played from somewhere I couldn’t see. It smelled like the ocean and something smoky.
“Welcome to Kintsugi.” The hostess smiled warmly. “Do you have a reservation?”
“Banks. Party of two.”
She checked her list and nodded. “Right this way.”
She led us to two seats at the end of the counter. Thad pulled out my chair before I could do it myself.
“You’ve never been here before?” I asked, looking around.
“Nah. I heard about it though. Been wanting to try it.” He looked at me. “But I was waiting for the right person to bring.”
I tried not to smile. Failed.
“That line work on everybody?”
“I don’t know. You’re the first person I’ve used it on.”
“And you just knew that I would say yes, huh? You had the reservation already lined up before asking me.”
“If you said no, I would’ve just canceled and paid the $75 cancellation fee. But I would’ve gotten my payback later,” he winked as his hand grazed my thigh.
A surge of tingles ran up my thigh and up my spine. Why did his touch have this effect on me?
The chef introduced himself and explained the omakase—a multi-course tasting menu where he’d decide what we ate based on the freshest ingredients. All I had to do was trust him.
There was that word again. Trust.
“You good with fish?” Thad asked.
“I’m good with food. Period.”
He smiled. “That’s what I like to hear.”
The first course arrived. Yellowtail with truffle and a tiny dollop of something I couldn’t identify. It melted on my tongue.
“Oh my God,” I breathed.
“Told you.”
Course after course came. Salmon. Tuna. Sea urchin. Something called A5 Wagyu that was so tender I almost moaned out loud. Each dish was a work of art—tiny, perfect, delicious.
But it wasn’t just the food.
It was the conversation.
Thad asked me questions. Real questions. Not the surface shit men usually ask to fill the silence before trying to get in your pants.
“What do you want out of life?” he asked between courses. “Like, really want?”
I took a sip of sake. Thought about it.
“I want to go to college,” I said. “Get a degree in business. Maybe open my own spot one day. Something that’s mine.”
“Why haven’t you?”
I shrugged. “Life got in the way.”
“Life, or a person?”
I looked at him. Those dark eyes saw too much.
“A person,” I admitted. “Someone I was with for a long time. He didn’t want me to have anything that was just mine. No education. No career. No friends. He wanted me dependent on him.”
Thad’s jaw tightened. “What happened to him?”
“He’s gone. Out of my life.”
“Good.” The word was sharp. Final. “A man who holds you back isn’t a man. He’s a cage.”
Something shifted in my chest. Nobody had ever put it that way before. A cage. That’s exactly what Ahmad had been.
“What about you?” I asked, wanting to shift the focus. “What do you want out of life?”
He was quiet for a moment. Stared at his sake glass.
“I want to be different than my father.”
“What was he like?”
“A monster.” He said it simply, like he was stating a fact. “He hurt people. Hurt my mother. Hurt me. I grew up watching him destroy everything he touched.” He looked at me. “I swore I’d never be like him.”
“And are you? Different?”
“I’m trying to be.” His voice was soft. “Every day, I’m trying.”
I believed him. God help me, I believed him.
“I think you’re doing better than you give yourself credit for,” I said.
He reached across the counter. Took my hand.
“You’re easy to talk to,” he said. “I don’t usually… I don’t open up like this.”
“Me neither.”
We sat there for a moment. His thumb tracing circles on my skin. The chef working quietly in front of us. Music playing low.
It felt like the beginning of something.
We continued talking about any and everything under the sun.
He once lived in LA as a party promoter but decided to come back home and work with his cousins on their new business venture.
He was a good guy. Over the last few months, Prime, Quest and Justice had become the big brothers I’ve always needed.
After dinner, he walked me to my car.
The street was quiet. Empty. Just us and the glow of the streetlights.
“Thank you,” I said. “For tonight. It was… really nice.”
“Just nice?”
“Fine. It was amazing. Happy?”
He smiled. “Getting there.”
We stood by my car. That awkward moment where you don’t know if you should hug, kiss, or just wave goodbye.
He made the decision for me.
He stepped closer. Cupped my face in his hands. And kissed me.
Soft. Slow. Not demanding anything. Just tasting. Testing.
I kissed him back. Let myself sink into it for a moment before pulling away.
“I should go,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“This was only our second time hanging out. I’m not that easy.”
“I never thought you were.” He stepped back, giving me space. “When can I see you again?”
“Maybe I’ll let you stalk me again and find out.”
He laughed. “Bet.”
I got in my car. Started the engine. He stepped back onto the curb, hands in his pockets, watching me.
Before I pulled off, he leaned down to my window.
“Mehar.”
“Yeah?”
“I would never let anyone hurt you. You know that, right?”
My breath caught. After Ahmad. After everything I’d been through. To hear a man say that…
“Yeah,” I whispered. “I know.”
He tapped the roof of my car twice. Stepped back.
I drove away, watching him shrink in my rearview mirror.
My heart was racing. My lips were tingling. My whole body felt warm in a way I hadn’t felt in years.
Thad was different. I could feel it.
Maybe this was what healing felt like.