9. Nolani #3
“Then talk.”
I smiled despite myself. “Nyla tracked twelve customers from Self Springs who’ve asked about us in the last six months.”
“That sounds useful.”
“And the festival would let us test demand without committing to anything bigger.”
“Also useful.”
“I don’t know if I want to expand.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
I looked toward the festival website still open on my laptop. “A pop-up is different, though.”
“How?”
“It’s information. A limited menu. A different market. We can bring Scoops & Stories with us without pretending one successful Saturday means we need a lease.”
“That sounds like you already know what part interests you.”
I exhaled. “Maybe.”
“Then look at that part.”
“You make things sound simple.”
“I ain’t saying expansion simple. I’m saying a pop-up ain’t a marriage proposal.”
I laughed. “Very romantic comparison.”
“Accurate, though.”
I turned the laptop toward me. “Demand can make you feel like you’re supposed to do something.”
“Demand gives you information. It don’t get a vote.” That made me pause. Landon continued. “You don’t expand because people want access to you, Hershey. You expand if the vision feels like yours.”
I looked toward the dark window.
“And if I wanted to explore Self Springs?”
“I’d support you.”
“That’s vague.”
“It’s supposed to be.”
“Convenient.”
“Nah. Depends what you ask for. You need information, I give you information. You need introductions, I know people. You need boxes carried at the festival, I got shoulders.”
“You’d stay out of the way?”
“Don’t disrespect a sincere offer with impossible standards.”
I laughed.
Then his voice settled.
“I can hold the flashlight, baby. You decide where we looking.”
My fingers stopped on the laptop.
“You really don’t understand how attractive that is.”
A short pause.
“What part?”
“You wanting me closer and still refusing to make the decision about you.”
“Of course I want you closer.” The ease of the admission reached me. “If Crème & Chill opened ten minutes from me, I’d become a lunch-hour problem immediately. But I ain’t about to have you build something you don’t want because it makes my commute convenient.”
I smiled.
“That would be selfish.”
“Extremely.”
“And you’re never selfish?”
“Let’s maintain reasonable expectations.”
I laughed again.
“I think I want to apply.”
“Then apply.”
“I said think.”
“Then think.”
“You’re irritating.”
“You’re welcome.”
I opened the festival application.
For tonight, that was enough.
By Thursday evening, I had spent enough time pretending not to anticipate seven thirty that even Nyla had stopped respecting the performance.
She caught me checking the clock twice before six, then hummed somebody got a date through most of closing until I threatened to revoke her auxiliary-cord privileges.
Wednesday afternoon, after one final review of staffing and transport, we had submitted the Black Excellence Community Festival application together.
Then I had refused to obsess over it.
Mostly.
I stopped for sushi after work, made it home before seven, showered, moisturized, and spent several unnecessary minutes considering clothes no one outside my living room would see.
Landon’s shirt won.
I paired it with fitted shorts, arranged dinner on the coffee table, and positioned my phone on its stand with exactly one minute to spare.
At seven twenty-nine, the screen lit.
Big Lando.
I answered.
His face appeared beneath locs pulled away from his forehead, a dark T-shirt stretched across shoulders the man had never once attempted to apologize for possessing. His eyes found my face, then dropped.
Then stayed there long enough to become disrespectful.
“Good evening to you too.”
“You wearing my shirt on our date?”
“It was clean.”
“That ain’t an answer.”
“It’s the one available.”
Landon leaned back and looked again, absolutely shameless. “Aight, Hershey. Keep dressing like home and expecting me to respect geography.”
Heat climbed beneath my skin.
“You’ve seen me in this shirt.”
“Yeah. Last time I could put my hands on you. Current circumstances are hostile.”
“You’ll survive.”
“I got faith.”
“In God?”
“Always. Highway still under review.”
I laughed and started unpacking dinner. “Did you order everything?”
Landon turned his phone toward the table. “Rainbow roll, shrimp tempura, spicy salmon, edamame, miso soup, and that ginger situation you threatened to judge me about.”
“You called pickled ginger palate construction material.”
“I’ve grown.”
“That was Tuesday.”
“Growth can be rapid when properly motivated.”
“What motivated you?”
“You threatening judgment.”
“Healthy fear.”
“Relational accountability.”
“Of course.”
His grin widened. “You ready?”
“For sushi?”
“For our date.”
The distinction softened me immediately.
“Yes.”
“Aight.” He lifted his glass toward the camera. “To our first official long-distance dinner and the woman who stole my shirt.”
I raised mine. “To the man who surrendered clothing voluntarily and has rewritten history ever since.”
“Cheers, baby.”
“Cheers.”
We tapped glasses against screens and laughed at how ridiculous it looked.
Dinner carried us easily after that. We compared restaurants, argued about spicy mayo, and discovered Landon’s chopstick technique was technically functional but overconfident enough to make failure inevitable.
A piece of spicy salmon fell from his chopsticks.
He stared at it.
I lifted one eyebrow. “Elite motor skills.”
“That fish moved.”
“The deceased salmon attacked you?”
“Hostile conditions.”
“You dropped it.”
“It escaped containment.”
I laughed hard enough to set my chopsticks down.
“Big Lando defeated by sushi.”
“You real bold from Self Ridge.”
“What happens if I get bold in Self Springs?”
His expression changed.
Slowly.
“Come find out.”
I picked up another roll. “That sounded threatening.”
“Invitation.”
“Dangerous distinction.”
“Depends how much you like being kissed.”
“Moderately.”
“Liar.”
“You cannot prove otherwise.”
“Hershey, I have firsthand evidence and favorable outcomes.”
“Limited sample size.”
“I support continued research.”
I pressed my lips together.
He noticed.
Of course.
“Eat your dinner.”
“Trying.”
“You’ve been holding that shrimp thirty seconds.”
“Damn, love. Let me look at you.”
“You’re looking aggressively.”
“I miss you aggressively.”
That one caught me.
“I miss you too.”
“How much?”
I glanced down at his shirt.
Then back at him.
“Enough to wear this.”
Landon stopped moving.
The delight that crossed his face was so immediate I laughed.
“Say that again.”
“No.”
“Hershey.”
“You heard me.”
“I did. I’m enjoying the aftereffects.”
“You are painfully easy to please.”
“With you? Absolutely.”
I shook my head. “That should concern you.”
“Nah. I like you knowing where you stand with me.”
Before I could answer, my laptop chimed from the coffee table.
I looked over.
Landon noticed. “You expecting something?”
“Maybe.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Nyla and I submitted the festival application yesterday.”
His whole face brightened. “You did?”
“I decided I wanted information.”
“That sound like your decision.”
“It was.”
“Then I’m proud of you.”
No claim.
No implication that I’d done it because of him.
Just pride.
Another notification appeared.
The sender made my stomach jump.
Black Excellence Community Festival Vendor Selection
“It’s them.”
“The festival?”
I nodded and opened the email.
My eyes moved through the first paragraph too quickly to understand it. I started over.
“Well?”
“Hold on.”
“Hershey, you reading like they changed English.”
“Be quiet.”
He laughed.
I read it again.