Chapter 5 Harmoni
It was a Saturday morning, and Rowdy had been texting me since nine o’clock talking about be ready by eleven.
I didn’t even know where we were going, and he wouldn’t tell me no matter how many times I asked.
All he said was dress nice but comfortable and stop asking questions.
I laughed at my phone and got up to get myself together.
We were really working towards getting to know one another although I had my appreciations.
I owed it to myself to at least see what time the nigga was on.
I took a long hot shower, trying to wash my anxiety away since I was about to be in the presence of this fine ass chocolate man.
When I got out to get dressed, I kept it simple — some wide leg linen pants, a fitted crop tank, and my white Nike runners.
I pulled my hair up, let a few pieces fall around my face, and kept my jewelry light.
I was finishing my edges when I heard three knocks at my door.
Not a doorbell, not a text saying he was outside — three actual knocks like he had some sense.
I remember times when Jakari would blow his damn horn for me to come out.
I took one last look in the mirror, grabbed my bag, and went to answer it.
When I opened the door, Rowdy was standing there holding a single stem rose, wearing a white tee that fit him right, some distressed designer jeans, and fresh all white Forces.
A Cuban link sat on his neck and his watch caught the morning light.
The nigga looked like money without being overly flashy.
He wasn’t dressed up, but he was clean, and the way he looked at me when that door swung open made me glad I took my time getting ready.
He held the rose out without saying a word at first. Just looked at me like I had done something to him by simply opening my door to him.
“You gon’ take it or you gon’ make me stand here looking stupid?” he finally said.
I laughed and took it from him. “You could never look stupid.”
“You know what I mean,” he said, and that little smirk he had told me he was dead serious.
I put the rose in some water real quick and grabbed my things.
When I came back to the door, he was still standing on the porch, and when I stepped out and pulled it shut behind me, he reached past me and checked the knob to make sure it was locked.
I looked up at him and he shrugged like it was nothing.
“Habit,” he said. “You’d always rather be safe than sorry.”
We walked to his all black Benz parked at the curb, and before I could even reach for the handle, he was already there opening it.
He held it open and waited until I was fully seated before he closed it.
He didn’t slam it at all, he closed it easy, like he was being careful with something that mattered to him.
Shit, okay then Rowdy. He was winning all my cool points.
I watched him through the windshield as he walked around to the driver’s side, and I had to check myself because I was already smiling and we hadn’t even left my block yet. It was just something about being near this mysterious, fine ass man.
He took me to this little soul food brunch spot downtown that I had never been to — tucked on a side street with maybe twelve tables inside and a line already forming at the door.
It smelled like butter, syrup, and garlic all at once, the kind of place you only find out about because it’s an old family tradition to eat here.
I asked him how he knew about it, and he said his grandmama used to bring him here when he was little and would come to town to visit.
The way he said it, low and easy, told me that memory still lived somewhere soft in him.
“You still talk to her?” I asked. I said it that way because I didn’t know the proper way to ask if she was still living or not.
“Every Sunday,” he said. “She don’t play about that. It’s crazy that I’m here now, and she’s in Mississippi. It’s like we switched places. A nigga never thought I’d relocate to here.”
I smiled at my menu. Although he couldn’t believe it, I was glad that he did relocate.
There was something about a man who still answered to his grandmother on Sundays that made me feel like he wasn’t a bad guy at all.
The waitress came over and smiled at him like she recognized him, and he was respectful with her — not flirty, not dismissive, just decent.
He had a southern charm about him that was growing on me for real.
I noticed that. The way a man treats people who can’t do anything for him tells you everything that you need to know about him.
We ate good. Shrimp and grits, chicken and waffles, fresh squeezed juice.
He ate like a man with nothing to prove, and I liked that.
The conversation moved easy between us. Nothing was forced and it felt good as hell.
We talked about my shop, his childhood, music, what we both wanted out of life when all the noise died down.
He was direct without being aggressive about it.
He didn’t try to run game, didn’t oversell himself.
He just talked to me straight, like he already decided I was worth being honest with and wasn’t going back on that.
At one point I mentioned my ex casually, nothing detailed, just enough for him to understand that I wasn’t coming into this on no rushing the process type shit.
I was really still healing. He didn’t pry.
He set his fork down, looked at me, and said, “Whatever that was you had with the next nigga, it don’t get to follow you in here.
Not while you’re with me. I’m not him, I’m built different and I hope you understand that,”
I blinked at him.
He picked his fork back up and kept eating like he hadn’t just said something that shifted both our moods.
I took a sip of my juice and looked out the window so I could get myself together.
As much as I wanted to pretend Jakari ain’t hurt me, he did.
Days like this was a reminder. As much as I wanted to forget him, it was damn near impossible.
After we finished, he paid the bill before I even reached for my bag, and when I told him I could cover mine, he looked at me like I had said something in a foreign language.
“Put your card away before we have a problem, Harmoni.”
The way he said my name was starting to be a problem.
He drove us to the park not far from downtown.
It was warm but there was enough breeze to keep it from being heavy, and the trees were full and green.
He got out first and came around to open my door, and when I stepped out, he put his hand out for me to hold.
His hand was big and warm and rough in all the places that told a story, and he held mine just long enough to make sure I was steady before he let go.
We walked the trail with no real rush behind us.
He stayed on the outside of the sidewalk the whole time, as a man should.
When a group of people came through going the other direction, he put his arm out across me and stepped slightly forward until they passed, then dropped it and let me fall back in step beside him like nothing happened.
He was caring and attentive. I liked that shit.
“You always like this?” I asked.
“Like what?”
“You know what,” I said.
He glanced over at me with that same smirk. “You asking me to stop?”
I didn’t answer him and he laughed, low and easy, and I felt it in my stomach.
We ended up on a bench near the water. He had his elbows resting on his knees, watching some kids chase ducks along the bank, and I sat beside him just taking all of it in.
Out here, he didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders like he did at home, with his business and everything else. He was just Rowdy — present, unbothered, unhurried.
“What made you want to do all this?” I asked. “The rose, the spot your grandmama took you to, all of it. You didn’t have to put in this much. We getting to know each other, right?
He turned and looked at me for a long moment before he answered. “Because you seem like somebody who’s been getting the bare minimum from muthafuckas who wanted to make you think it was enough. I don’t move like that. When I want something, I’m gone go hard for it.”
I felt that land somewhere deep inside my damn chest and I looked out at the water so he wouldn’t see what it did to my face.
He didn’t try to hold my hand after that. Didn’t push for anything I hadn’t offered. He just sat in there with me like he was exactly where he wanted to be, and that unbothered patience he carried did more damage to my guard than anything else he could have tried.
By the time he pulled back up in front of my house, I had been fighting with myself the entire ride. He got out and walked me to my door without me having to ask, and when I turned around at the top of my porch steps, he was right there, close enough that I had to look up at him.
He reached out and tucked one of those loose pieces of hair back behind my ear. He had the nerve to be a romantic hood nigga.
“I had a real good time with you today. I’m enjoying seeing the real you.” he said.
“Me too,” I told him, and every wall I had been stacking since my last heartbreak leaned a little to the left when I said it.
He nodded once, kissed me on my forehead, then stepped back and walked to his car.
He didn’t look back, but I stood on that porch and watched him pull off anyway.
When I finally went inside and closed the door, I stood in my entryway with that rose still sitting in its glass on the counter and my hand pressed flat against my chest. This shit felt too good.
This man was going to be a problem. And the part of me didn’t give a damn. I wanted to see what he was all about at this point.