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I imagine Yaya laughing with Henry, smiling at him, having their own inside jokes. I imagine him wiggling his way closer and closer into her life.
The text has to go.
I never considered myself to be an immature, impulsive man. Haven’t been that way even as a teenager. But the love I feel for Yaya has warped my own moral code.
I tap ‘delete’.
The ‘are you sure you want to delete this’box pops up.
I snap back to myself and cancel the request. Shame is quick and slimy, and the sensation crawls over me like goo. I quickly offer the phone back to Yaya, my eyes slightly dipped.
“Are you okay?” She reaches out and wipes the side of my mouth. Her thumb comes back with a lipstick smear. “You seem nervous.”
I shake my head, glad that we’ve arrived at the restaurant and she has to pocket her phone rather than investigate further.
José drives off and we’re absorbed into the classy café with exposed brick, tinted glass tables and an outdoor platform with women sipping mimosas under giant red umbrellas.
I greet the hostess with a smile. “Hello, I—”
Her answering smile is a tad too wide when she interrupts me. “Table for one?”
I do a quick glance at Yaya who is right beside me, so close her arm is brushing mine. Am I the only one seeing her? Or does the host have some kind of visibility impediment? Since meeting Yaya, I’ve found myself being a lot more sympathetic to everyone.
The woman blinks and keeps smiling.
Huh. I don’t think she’s blind. So shemeantto ask me that?
My brain trips over itself because the question makes no sense. Can’t she see the gorgeous woman beside me? Why does the hostess assume I’m alone?
Before I can correct her, Yaya wraps her hands around my arm.
I look down, attentive.
She puckers her lips. One dark finger taps her mouth exactly once, a silent, flirtatious instruction.
I grin and lean down to press a long, satisfying kiss against her mouth. Nuzzling her nose with my own before I pull back, I face the hostess again. The woman’s cheeks are red and she’s looking at anything but us.
“Table for two,” I say firmly. Normally, I’d throw in a ‘please’. Dad taught me the importance of respecting women and being polite.
But mom taught me that respect is earned.
I go with my mom on this one.
Yaya slips her hand naturally into mine and holds on while the hostess shows us to the table. After, the woman runs off like we’re radioactive. Smart move. I would have asked for another waitress to take our orders anyway.
I keep Yaya’s hand in mine, and it feels so natural to both of us that we don’t realize we’re still connected until I make a move to sign. We laugh together and I kiss her knuckles lightly before I release her.
“Did you read that woman’s lips?” I sign.
She shakes her head.
“Why did you kiss me in front of her?”
“She was looking at you like you were meat on a stick.”
Warmth fills me. “You were jealous.”
“Nope.”