Chapter 42
Carmello
Now
“It’s too big to fit there,” Olivia groans.
“It feels good right here to me, babe,” I tease. “Stop fussing.”
We’re outside of Celia’s Place on the patio, and she shoots me a look before pushing herself off the chaise and trying to move it to the left with me still on it.
In the past week, we’ve worked tirelessly with Debra’s and Bobby’s help to get the patio ready.
I cleared trash and clutter from the area and let Bobby handle the bugs.
He’s from down south and declared himself an expert on getting them gone.
I had the pavement patched up and polished, the weeds ripped out.
We draped string lights over the tables and hung lanterns on the black birch tree.
Debra made centerpieces with floating candles and Olivia thought of lush white curtains for the canopy to create a romantic ambience.
And yes, among the comfortable furniture we thrifted for out here, there’s a chaise that Olivia’s been struggling to find a place for.
I stand up to move it for her two more times, and finally, she looks satisfied. She kisses my cheek and says, “Sorry, I’m just nervous.”
I am too. We’ve blown the last of my mom’s emergency fund pulling all of this together, and I’m trying not to worry about no longer having that safety net.
Our first official Table for Twos-Day is in a couple of weeks and the ten slots are already filled with high demand for the following one.
Other than the vibe, Olivia and I have added both Cape Verdean (from her side) and Dominican (from my side) foods to the small bites menu.
For entertainment purposes, the women at Celia’s came up with wild names for the card categories that go along with the foods like: “Small Bites: Getting to know you,” and “Sweet Treats: Turn up the romance.” Zeke spread the word around the city, shouting out what new things we were bringing to the restaurant when he was on stage as the head DJ for a Boston music festival.
Olivia’s friends helped get the word out too: Laniah telling customers at Wildly Green about the “perfect date” with her husband, and Kat gossiping about the shitty one that saved her from future mistakes (her words, not mine).
Men with money to spare have started calling to request the space for a private date night.
When I asked Issac if it was he who spread the word to his “rich folk friends,” he denied it.
But he did give me the number to his therapist and told her to slot me in first on her wait list.
“Don’t be sorry. I understand why you’re nervous, O.” I reach for her left hand and kiss her palm. “This idea truly seems like it’s going to take us far, but it’s going to be a lot of work and mental stress, especially because we already have a reputation to uphold.”
She smiles and tilts her head, a twinkle in her eye, calmed by my words. “May I have this dance?”
It’s not even a slow song, but we start that way. She puts her cheek against my chest, and I move us to the music, whispering soft reassurances to her while she looks around. You see how beautiful this is? It’s exactly right. Can’t you feel what you did here? Trust your instincts, O.
And once her body relaxes to match mine, I spin her in circles around the patio.
We’re out of breath, laughing when we crash on the couch to cuddle.
We haven’t had much time to sit still with each other, but there have been stolen moments like this.
Her fingers in my hair. My lips against her temple.
Tired nights together too. I’ll bring my clothes and One Piece to her apartment and help her adjust her heating pad when the pain hits hard, distracting her with kisses and conversation.
She hasn’t had a single bad dream about the fire, and we both like to think that’s because I’m sleeping over most nights.
In the mornings while I go for a run, she cooks something for One Piece and for me too.
It’s inexplicable the way we fit and it feels like no time has passed. Like she carved out a place at my side and all she needed to do was come back to claim it.
She reaches to brush her fingers along my jaw. “You haven’t told me how your first appointment went with Issac’s therapist this morning.”
I’ve been working to keep my worries from her, refusing to hold our past so close to my chest that I can’t focus on our present, but I did tell her about Teddy possibly having OCD the other night. We kept the conversation brief, and I’ve wondered if it’s been on her mind.
“It was good,” I say, wanting to keep it simple. “She seems great. Easy to talk to.”
Olivia nods. “A good therapist can be a lifesaver. I’m glad you’re seeing someone. Over the years, I’ve had times when I felt so lost, directionless, and it’s really helped me to have someone to talk to. And I’m not a therapist, but if you ever want to talk to me too, you can.”
“I know,” I say, but I can’t imagine sharing some of my intrusive thoughts with her, knowing how graphic they can get. I exhale and then change the subject. “I have one more idea for date night, but be honest if you think it’s corny.”
She searches my face like she is expecting me to tell her something, then shrugs and says, “If you and I worried about what’s corny or cheesy, we might not have a date night at all.”
I smile and pull a pack of markers from my pocket.
“Might not be as cool as the bouquet-making station,” I say, referring to the stand she and Teddy set up where we’ll have fresh flowers for couples to put together during their date if they want to.
It warmed my heart to see her engaging one of Teddy’s interests, and pulling in something my mom loved too.
“But they’re for temporary tattoos. I thought maybe we could put them in a jar with a sign just in case people want to imprint on each other before they leave.
” I wait for her to say something and, fuck, I’m nervous, because most times it’s easy to read her expressions, but harder for me to know how the feelings hit her.
“I don’t know…maybe…the idea is too us to share with anyone else? ”
She’s quiet for a moment, then she says, “Come here, Carmello.”
Her hands find my face, and she gives me the sweetest kiss, pulls back and presses her forehead to mine.
“Everything about this place means we’re sharing little pieces of ourselves,” she says.
“And I think that’s kind of beautiful. I love that we’re sharing the fake tattoos, but I’ll for sure claim it was solely your idea if anyone calls it corny. ”
I laugh. “How magnanimous.”
She runs her fingernails along the back of my neck. The feeling of them scraping my skin shoots down my center. She smirks like she knows the power she has over my body. That a simple touch like this can send me over the edge. That I’m hers.
“Now let me tattoo my name on your neck,” she says.
“Wherever you want,” I breathe.
She arches an eyebrow. “You ain’t about that life.”
I point to the free spot at the center of my throat. “Right here.”
Her eyes catch a spark and then we’re kissing and a contented sigh slips from her lips. One of my favorite ways to tell she’s happy.