CHAPTER 4 #3
I let out a loud, embarrassed laugh, rolling over onto my stomach on the sectional.
“Well... he just seemed hella-familiar with me when we spoke earlier on the sidewalk, Momma. Like, for real. He’s been trying to chat me up every time he sees me outside.
He stood out on his porch tonight just tracking my movements like a hawk, and when I caught him looking through his blinds just now, he literally ducked down like a little kid. ”
Momma burst into a rich, full-bodied Southern laugh that rattled the speaker of my phone. “Really? Oh, that’s beautiful. That’s absolutely great, Ciara.”
“Momma, it ain't great, it’s wild!” I protested, blushing hard in the dark room. “C’mon now, I just got clean out of a whole relationship last month. My spirit is still trying to get its balance back.”
“Hello? Ciara, that was a whole month ago, child,” Momma said, her voice dropping into that serious, no-nonsense register that didn't allow for any self-pity. “Morgan was a boy. A lowdown, insecure boy who didn't know what to do with a real woman. It’s time to move on, baby girl. I bet a man like Dr. Willis knows exactly how to treat a queen like you. I’m certain he ain't got none of that wretch Morgan’s traits in his blood.”
“I guess you’re right about that,” I murmured, my eyes drifting back toward the front window of the house. “He definitely ain't like Morgan. He’s... different. But Momma, the funny thing is the way he watches me. It’s giving heavy stalker vibes sometimes. Like he’s studying me or something.”
“Nah, he don't look like no stalker to me,” Momma said, her tone softening with that old-school wisdom. “He just likes you, Ciara. A man like that—highly educated, serious, spent his whole life inside books—he probably don't know the first thing about how to approach a beautiful, vibrant black woman from the neighborhood. He’s intimidated, baby. He’s lurking behind them blinds because he’s trying to build up the courage to say something real. ”
I sat up straight on the couch, my eyebrows raising. “Intimidated? Him? Momma, the man is six-foot-eight and looks like a movie star.”
“Size don't mean nothing when it comes to the heart, child,” Momma stated firmly. “Now listen to me. Go over there tomorrow and properly welcome that man to the neighborhood. Bake him one of them rich chocolate cakes you love to make so much—the ones with the homemade fudge frosting. I’m sure a lonely man in a big house like that will appreciate the gesture. Better yet, like I’ve already told you, go see him at his office.
Walk right in there, book a real session, and let him help you sort through that breakup trauma. Kill two birds with one stone, baby.”
I let out a long, slow breath, a heavy mix of nervousness and excitement settling in my chest. “Aight, I’ll bite, Momma. I’ll see what this Joshua guy is really about. I’ll talk to you tomorrow after I get home from the gym. Love you.”
“Love you too, sweetie. Give that doctor a chance to see your light.”
The call ended with a soft click. I sat there in the quiet living room for a long minute, holding the silent phone against my collarbone, her words rolling around in my head like stones in a river. Give him a chance to see your light.
I stood up from the beige sectional, my legs feeling slightly stiff from the long jog and the hours of sitting.
I walked slowly over to the heavy drapes of the Fergusons' front window, my fingers reaching out to part the fabric by just an inch, peeking through the glass into the cool, dark exterior of Elm Street.
The neighborhood was completely dead now. The kids had long since been called inside, the jump ropes and bicycles cleared from the asphalt. The streetlamp directly outside cast a sharp, cone of yellow light down onto the pavement, illuminating the small moths that danced around the bulb.
I directed my gaze straight across the street at his house.
His blinds were still completely closed, the white wooden slats forming a solid, impenetrable wall against the outside world.
Not a single light was visible from the interior—not from the living room, not from the kitchen, not from the second-story bedroom where he had been standing earlier.
“I guess he’s gone to bed,” I thought to myself, a small, sudden wave of disappointment washing over my chest before I could catch it.
I drew back my hand, letting the heavy curtain drop back into place, sealing the living room back off from the street.
I walked back over to the television, clicking the remote to change the channel from the animated battles of Thundercats to a quiet, late-night documentary on National Geographic.
The screen filled with the deep, soothing blue of an underwater coral reef, a massive sea turtle gliding across the glass with a slow, ancient grace that matched the low tempo of my current state of mind.
I sat back down on the edge of the couch, my chin resting in the palm of my hand as I watched the screen.
There was absolutely no doubt about it—Joshua Willis was hot.
He was a spectacular specimen of a man. But as I sat there in the dim light, waiting for the Fergusons to arrive in the next twenty minutes, a deeper, heavier realization began to take shape in my soul.
I needed more than just surface-level shit this time.
I needed substance. I needed a man whose spirit had some real, unyielding spine to it.
Morgan had messed me up real bad. He had taken the trust I’d spent twenty-five years cultivating and had broken it into a thousand tiny, jagged pieces right there on my bedroom floor.
I was still healing from that fire. I was still trying to teach my heart that it was safe to open up without getting burned.
Hopefully, if I took Momma’s advice—if I showed up at his office or brought that chocolate cake across the driveway—Joshua would accept my advances with the respect I deserved.
I wondered for a brief second if he was actually single.
I mean, a fine, structured, successful man like that never truly is single for long.
There had to be a catch. There had to be some woman from his past, or some secret hidden behind those sealed white blinds.
But as the clock on the wall ticked closer to eleven, the excitement won the battle against the fear. I was twenty-five years old, my skin was glowing, my body was strong, and my future was completely unwritten.
“Let’s see what you got, Dr. Willis,” I whispered into the quiet room, a small, determined smile touching my lips as the distant sound of an approaching SUV signaled the end of my watch. The game was officially active, and I was ready to play my hand.