Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Graham
Ugh! Another time where my neurodivergency came back to haunt me.
More often than not, I had no filter, and I was always putting my foot in my mouth.
Damn, this ‘tism. I really, really, really should have googled her first. It would have saved me the minute of embarrassment.
Now I was going to find myself fixated at a random hour of the day asking myself why would I say that?
Most authors I met for bookings, I rarely found myself attracted to. Mostly because looks were fleeting, and while attraction did matter, for me, personality far outweighed appearance.
But this woman? She was a total knockout, and I had made the absolute worst first impression.
What started out as mild irritation quickly transformed into an admiration when I peeked into the conference room to see how sweet, encouraging, and interactive she was.
The lucky group of tween and teenage girls she spent her time with during the hour were super excited about reading her upcoming release.
I know it helped to see women who looked like them writing stories that mattered, including their presence in genres they tended to be excluded from.
That's one of the reasons why I wanted to compose music, because I never saw anyone from where I was from or how I looked composing full scores.
Either way, the smiles and laughter I fought back as I watched her peak with interest at their fancasts and artwork, begging her to be in the room with folks responsible for casting if she ever got a movie deal.
Looking over my watch, the event nearly ended a half hour ago, and yet she’d stayed graciously taking selfies and signing swag provided by her publisher until I stepped in and wrapped up the signing to get the conference room cleared out and cleaned up.
When we were finally alone again, I fought back the awkwardness, feeling the excessive need to apologize.
“Listen, I'd really like to apologize about earlier,” I started, her smoky lined eyes softening.
“What I said to you was highly unprofessional and doesn't reflect the reputation of this establishment.
It's perfectly fine to take it personal as I shouldn't have said it.
And I really want to thank you for staying a little later for the girls.
It's hard for us to get bigger debut offers to come to this area, and to lot of those young ladies, you authors are like their Beyoncé. I see a lot of them on a weekly basis, and you really made a lot of their days,” I smiled, surprised that she met mine with an even friendlier one and a wave of her wrist.
“Oh, don't worry about your faux pas earlier.
I should have been better with my time. Even though I'm originally from here, I just moved back after nearly a decade, so I'm still adjusting to how things have changed since I left.
Not that that's an excuse or anything. I should have left earlier,” she winced.
“Well,” I shrugged. “The city is lucky to have you back.
But really, I can't thank you or apologize enough. Besides, you know how it is. You get charmed by a pretty face and an amazing smile, and suddenly your diarrhea at the mouth.” Her features twisted into a silly smile, tucking her shoulder-length hair behind her ears in a dramatic fashion.
It was hard to describe her style since I was the opposite of stylish.
City maybe? Like that cooler older sister of your best mate that you fancied in secret.
She wore a grey oversized tee shirt over black fitted pants with ghostface socks peeking above her clunky combat boots, and because I was burdened with capturing every last detail, smoky makeup that made her dark eyes look lighter than her dark brown.
Not to mention the matching guitar picks she wore for earrings.
As a musician, that’s what drew me in first.
“Pretty face, huh? Boy, how old is you? Out here terrorizing us senior citizens with your shameless flattery,” she joked, which I hardly thought was funny at all considering how beautiful she was. My eyes narrowed.
“Why, does beauty have an expiration date or something?” She only looked about five years older, if that. Even if she wasn't, she was gorgeous. She rolled her eyes realizing her mistake, as she playfully rattled her head back and forth.
“You know what, you're right. I shouldn't have said that. I know I'm adorable,” she said in a funny voice that made me laugh.
“That you are. But if you're interested in me making it up to you by having a drink with me later tonight, I'll be happy to inform you, I'm twenty-eight,” I beamed, realizing it was likely a weird moment to shoot my shot, but seeing as how I may never see her again, I took a chance.
Her dark painted full lips pursed to the side, her manicured hands meeting her slim but curvy hips.
“Look, it's not like I'm not flattered or anything, and you're like, insanely handsome, but you might change your mind when you find out I'm forty-one,” she added, which only gave me the impression she was considering it.
“Okay? So, is that your way of saying you'd like to meet me there, or you'd prefer for me to pick you up at your place?” I flirted, her face again turning into a whimsical grimace.
“Okay, I gotta say, I wasn't prepared for your rebuttal,” she laughed, her fingertips touching her lips, revealing almond-shaped nails with cute little bats on them. “But I do like your confidence. They must build them different where you're from.” I shrugged.
“Maybe.” Her left brow cocked, curious and inquisitive.
“And where might that be? Australia?” My mouth widened in playful outrage. No one here ever guessed where I was from. Their first guess was usually London.
“You think I'm an Aussie?” I ridiculed, as she squinted, sensing she was wrong.
“Well, if I were being completely transparent, I thought from first glance that you might have been South American. Then you started talking more and yes, my first thought was Australia. Allow me take a second guess. The Cook Islands?” This time I was actually fascinated.
Most Americans didn't know that much about the Pacific Islands. That was a better guess than most.
“Easy now, flabber is gasted. It's not every day someone guesses one of the smaller islands. Close but not quite.” Tapping her fingers on her cheek, she took a final guess.
“Alright, just based on the way you stress the letters a and e, I'm gonna go with New Zealand. If not, I might have to phone a friend,” she teased in a mocking but impressive imitation of my accent, as I pressed my lips together keeping her in suspense.
“Yea, nah. There's no prize to win on a third guess, but as a constellation, I would like to take you to a place I take all my losing contestants. But in order to get started on that, I've got work to do to finish up,” I flirted, an awkward laugh passing her sultry painted lips.
“I gotta say, you are persistent. You know what, why not?” she shrugged. “You seem like a lot of fun.”
“Good. Well, let me take your number, and I'll ring you when I get out of here,” I said, pulling out my prehistoric TCL flip phone, expecting it to garner some confusion, or worse, laughter. Her eyes squinted.
“Wait, not you having a dumb phone? I have not seen a phone that old school since the early 2000s. Are you sure you're twenty-eight? Because it’s giving Gen-X. Hell my folks don’t even have a phone this ancient,” she teased, as I bit back the shame of my reason behind it.
I needed a phone. It took incoming and made outgoing calls; that was all I needed a phone for.
“Just save your number in it, and I'll ring you when I'm out to give you the details. But one more thing before tonight, are you more on the artsy side with an open mind? Or do you prefer the traditional pub scene?”
With a flip of her long bob, she coquettishly flirted.
“Mr. Librarian, sir. I write books about young Black and brown demon hunters who take their feminine rage out on the systems that wrong them.
What makes you think I'm anything but non-traditional?” she argued in a sort of news castor cadence that most would have found cringe, but I had finally found oddly charming.
I loved women who weren't afraid to be themselves.
“Artsy it is then. And just so you know what name to save under my number, it's Graham. Graham Walker.”