Page 4

H arlem

I pulled up in front of his shop a few minutes early and spent that entire time scrolling through my emails. I was about to call him when a call came through my phone. A call I should have expected at this time of night because knowing my mother, she had indeed tracked me before calling me. My mother had my location and I had hers while OA had both. It was a safety, “we’re all we got” type of thing when it came to us.

“Yes, Mama?” I stared ahead at the car garage in front of my car.

“Where the hell are you? Better question, why are you out at this time of night?”

“Getting something with my car taken care of. Why are you up?”

“Because I’m grown. I hope the same guy who duped you ain’t the same one you’re letting fix your car.”

“No ma’am, he’s not.” I laughed at her response that she was grown. Shit I am too.

“Then who? And why this time of ni?—”

“I don’t know, Mama. I guess that’s the only time he could fit me in. He’s the owner of the shop and he’s doing it for free.”

“Mhmm. Nothing is free, baby. And I mean absolutely nothing. I don—” She was about to hand over a nice ass lecture, but my other line began to beep. It was Kinga, his name flashed across my dashboard just as I saw the garage door on his shop rise.

“Mama, I have to call you back. I promise I’ll be safe. Any funny business and I’ll call OA.”

“You better. Love you, baby.”

“I love you too, Mama.”

When we finally hung up, I took my car out of park and pulled forward. When I pulled into the garage, he was standing there.

This man was fine, so fucking fine. Those long, perfectly proportioned locs were in a bun atop his head, adding to the dangerous appeal he gave. He wore a tank top and his shop suit, the top half tied at his waist, like he’d probably gotten hot wearing it. I surely wasn’t complaining, especially not when he opened my door for me to get out.

“Hello to your rude ass too, Harlem,” he greeted in a voice to hydrate the thirstiest.

My mouth I didn’t even realize was open popped close quickly. “Rude? How?”

“’Cause you brought your lil ass in here and didn’t speak.”

I chuckled. “Correction, I haven’t come in yet. I’m still in the car. But hello to you too, Kinga.”

He smirked, something I could tell was foreign to his handsome face. He seemed like he was always irritated, always ready to crash out. I just bet he was the strict kind.

“What you bring me to eat?” he asked, reminding me that he’d indeed required that I feed him tonight.

“Nachos but with French fries. Do you have a microwave so I can put it together? I brought the condiments because I didn’t know what you ate.” I reached toward the passenger side for the lunch bag I had not only packed for myself but him as well. I figured while he fixed I’d eat or we’d both eat at some point.

He nodded. “Yeah, come on.”

I grabbed the bag and got out of the car. Once he had the garage door secured, he led me into the actual shop. It was nothing like I expected. Shoot, I didn’t know what I expected, but this wasn’t it. It was clean and had order. Then we entered the kitchen and it was absolutely the cleanest men’s kitchen I had ever seen.

“It’s so clean here,” I complimented, setting the food on the counter.

“What you tryna say, Harlem?” He took a seat at the island, giving himself a good view.

I smiled. There was something about the way he said my name. He was so comfortable saying it, so familiar. “It was just a compliment.”

“Mhmm. Women don’t just compliment. They say shit with underlying meanings.”

I laughed. “Maybe the women you encounter do, but not me. No underlying meaning is necessary because I’m grown and I think we’ve established that I’ma say what’s on my mind.”

Again this big, sexy hunk of man meat smiled at me and it took everything in me not to smile back. It was never a good idea to smile at a man like him. Shit… next thing you knew, you were getting your core wrecked on an uncomfortable three seater sofa with fucking cuckabugs along the material.

“Maybe.” That was his only response before his phone began to ring. He answered it, putting it to his ear and leaving me to do what I needed.

Once my hands were clean, I moved around his kitchen like it was mine. First I unwrapped the condiments—sour cream, green onions, tomatoes, and a few other necessary options. Then I poured the golden steak fries into a pan and pushed them into the oven on air fry. After that I worked with the microwave to warm both my meat and cheese. Though my focus was on the tasks at hand, I could feel his eyes with every move while whomever on the phone had his attention.

“You cook on a regular basis?” he asked, making me turn around. His phone was no longer at his ear, but on the counter. His face was tight, much tighter than it was before he got on the phone.

“Yeah. I gotta eat.”

“Yeah, but most motherfuckers got those apps downloaded. They gotta eat too.”

I shook my head. “Can’t go out like that. Death by poisoning because she trusted somebody else’s kitchen, or worse, somebody she didn’t even know to deliver her meal. Nah. If I want it, I’ll cook it and if I don’t feel like it, I’ll go get it or call my mother to do it.”

He nodded. “So you can cook whatever?”

“Within reason. Not sweets though. I never mastered that baking skill.”

“Never? It ain’t that hard.” His response made me look at him.

“You know how to bake?” I found myself asking in complete and utter shock. Yep, I prejudged this fine hood ass man.

“Yeah. There you go.”

“There I go with what? I was just about to ask what you bake?” I definitely lied because hell yeah I was completely taken aback.

“Assuming shi?—”

“Nope, I haven’t assumed anything. Yes I am shocked you know how to bake, but can you blame me? You look like…that. And you’re that. Hell yeah I’m shocked that you can bake. Now what can you bake?”

He chortled like I had cracked a joke, which I didn’t.

“What’s funny, Kinga?”

“What do I look like? What’s that?” he asked, reminding me of my statement from a few seconds ago. The very statement that had me kicking myself in the ass, because yes I was outspoken but I was also easily embarrassed when I had to recall exactly what I said.

“Kinga.” I bit into my bottom lip, feeling heat rush my cheeks. “What do you want on your nachos?”

“Everything. Now what do I look like?”

I was quiet for a moment, putting the condiments on his food, and of course he patiently waited for an answer, sending straight fire down my spine.

I finally turned around and looked at him. “You look good, and you look like you don’t consume sweets like that. It’s giving my body is a temple type.” I had to throw a joke in there because hell naw I wasn’t about to just be out here showering this man who already knew he was fine in compliments.

He laughed.

“Nah, not that at all. I just bake for…patience.” It was like he paused but still finished his statement.

“For patience, huh? Do you have anger issues?”

He nodded and so did I.

“This good, real good,” he complimented.

“Did you think it wouldn’t be?”

“I don’t know. You're fine and all, but I ain’t na?ve enough to think off bat you can cook.”

I smirked, watching him dig into the food. “I’m fine and all?” I had to repeat that statement.

“Yeah, you look good, but you know that already. Now c’mon so you can keep me company while I fix your car.”

Before I knew it we were both in the garage and I was seated in my driver side seat while he had the passenger door open doing whatever down there.

“What made you get into dogs? You know, breeding them?”

“I love dogs. Always have, because one. They’re not dishonest. As a matter of fact they don’t have dishonest bones in their bodies. A dog cannot fix their mouth to lie to you, whereas humans can.” My response probably sounded crazy, but it was all I had.

He looked up at me, eyes housing questions. Not one, but a few.

“You've been lied to before?”

“Who hasn’t? I asked, showcasing the pessimism living beneath my smile. “It’s the one part of life I wish could be bypassed.”

He nodded. “I feel you.”

“I just wish people brought their full and whole selves to situations rather than showcasing parts of themselves they can’t keep up with and lying.”

“You're right, but you know lying is a part of life. Motherfuckers do it eve?—”

“You lie?”

He lifted his head, serious eyes landing directly on me. “Nah. I don’t have a reason to.”

“What about people’s feelings? Their emot—” I started, but he interrupted.

“None of that is my problem.”

“And your girlfriend’s feelings?”

“Don’t got one of those.”

Him saying he didn’t have a girlfriend shouldn’t have sent a jolt down my spine, but it did. Why did I care when I had surely written men off for the foreseeable future, plus this man was my mechanic, nothing more.

“You telling me you care about everybody’s feelings, so you lie to them?” he then asked.

“No. I show people who I am from the beginning, so I never have to lie and they never have to wonder what side of me they’re getting.”

“Respect. Do me a favor and go sit in that oldie over there, ma. I’m about to have to weld some shit and the last thing I need is your fine ass going blind on my watch.”

I did as he asked, taking my phone with me. For the remainder of the time, he fixed my car and we made small talk, allowing me small glimpses into his personality with responses to any question I asked.

* * *

“W here are you headed after this?” he asked, eyes trained on me as he leaned against the side of my truck.

I glanced at my watch, noticing it was way into the evening. “Probably take it in.”

He looked at me for a minute, then he spoke again, “Come eat with me.”

My whole body panicked. Why was this fine ass man asking me to eat with him at eleven o’clock at night? The only thing open at this time of night was legs. Shit I didn't mind if it was mine, but that wasn’t the point. “What’s open at this time of night?”

“A lot of shit. You're just thinking uppity, ma.”

“Oh really? Like what?”

“Mama’s or Billions?” I watched as he pushed the work suit down his frame, showcasing a pair of gray sweats he’d been wearing underneath.

When he said Mama's, a big ass smile filled my face. “A rib platter from Mama’s with the homemade potato wedges on the side sounds like a plan.”

He smiled. “What do you know about that?”

“Enough. Do you want me to meet you there?”

“Hell nah. While the metal dries, we’ll leave your car here. You're riding with me. I mean, unless that’s a problem for you.” He had a coy smirk on his face.

“Why would it be a problem for me?”

“I’on know. You tell me.”

I waved him off, then went around my car to grab my purse. Once I had it across my shoulder, I met him at the front of the garage where he was busy tapping away on his phone.

I was shocked when he opened the passenger side door for me to get into his truck. Shit, even more shocked when he waited for me to get in and closed it. He was impressive in a “damn I didn’t expect that” type of way.

Once we were settled and I was seat belted, he pulled out of the garage. I thought he was about to blast some of that YN-remixed R&B. He struck me as the type. He didn’t though, instead he let whatever was on the radio play.

“You ’ont got a nigga somewhere tracking your moves, do you?” he asked out of the blue, making me look in his direction while he stared ahead at the road. God this man was fine.

“No,” I responded simply. I’d heard of guys tracking their women, but that was overboard for me. If a man wasn’t married to me, then what did he need my location for?

“Why not?” he asked, as if it was a simple question. That it was not. I also wasn’t expecting him to ask me so coolly.

“Because he needed a break and I gave him that. Now he has a baby on the way and believes things are supposed to go back to normal.”

“You don’t think they can?”

“Nah, because if he needed a break from me then he didn’t need me.”

He nodded. “How’d you fare?”

“Ugly crying, Ben and Jerry’s, and a few weeks of overthinking. I’m good now though because I know how to be alone. What about you? Why isn’t there someone at home tracking your motion?” I had to get myself out of the habit of only answering his questions, instead asking some questions of my own.

“Because one, I’on like people and two, I told you I ain’t got no girl.”

“Hmph. You don’t seem that mean to me.”

“I didn’t say I was mean.”

I shook my head. “You didn’t have to. Why don’t you like people?”

“Because motherfuckers are irritating. Having people all in your space and talking too much. People want your attention too much for me. I’on really like being bothered too much.”

I nodded, with absolutely nothing in mind to say. So for the rest of the ride, music filled both of our eardrums. He was fine, so fucking fine , but it was obvious this man was irritable. It was like everything annoyed him. I could see it in his features.

When we pulled up to the restaurant, I felt his eyes before finally looking up from my phone. “You on the other hand… I’on mind your company at all. You seem like something to do.”

My expression went dark at what he meant. He picked up on it though, then threw his hands up in surrender. Of course his fine ass was smirking.

“Something to do? I don’t know what type of wom?—”

“Not like that, shit yeah like that, but that ain’t what I meant initially.”

“Mhmm.”

He exited the driver side of the car and came around to my door before I could get out. “Hood dude or not, my auntie would have my ass if she knew I didn’t open your door. Whenever you with me don’t touch no fucking door, Harlem.”

Whenever you with me don’t touch no fucking door, Harlem. Those words echoed a few times before completely dispersing.

The whole thirty-second walk through the crowded parking lot, people kept attempting to speak to him or spark up a conversation, but he either waved them off or threw his head in their direction. Some didn’t even get a response.

When we entered, he didn’t wait for us to be seated. The moment we crossed the threshold into one of the city’s oldest watering holes, he grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the back of the restaurant. There he seated us at a table in the corner of the restaurant. It was a round booth, overlooking the entire restaurant. Mama’s was a medium-size, dimly lit, hood function type of place. It was aged, seats with rips and old school stitching, colors different from the original material. The floor was tiled but chipped from years of poor upkeep and overuse. Some hood joints were hit or miss, but Mama’s was nowhere near. Mama’s hit every time and had you wanting to come back for more. The only problem was the plethora of niggas who loitered in the lot and out front. The spot was too hot.

Suddenly, I felt nervous under his gaze. He was looking at me like he wanted to get to know me for real. Honestly, that alone scared me.

“Why are you acting shy around me?” he asked, sitting back and stretching out those long ass legs.

“I don’t. I’m laid back most of the time. I mean, until I lean forward. Nobody wants that, because then I’ll end up showing my ass at people’s establishments.”

He grinned. “You mean like you did at my shit? Remind me to get you back for that. When I come to pick up my dog, I’m coming in that motherfucker yelling.”

“Pick up your dog? You haven’t even told me what type of dog you want. Do you even want a dog, Kinga?”

“You’re a fucked up salesman. You're supposed to be selling me, but instead you're asking me if I really want to buy it.”

I giggled.

“Now you laughing. Yo, you sure you in the right business?”

“I am. You’re just funny. If you’re really serious about buying a dog, come by the shop. There we can talk about what you’re looking for. I promise not to charge you for insulting my skills.”

“Damn that’s cold.”

“Very.”

He was about to say something else, but a waitress appeared at our table. When I looked up, her expression was tight, so tight I just knew it was over the man sitting across from me. It had to be because I had never seen her face a day in my life.

“Good evening, what can I get you?” Her attention was immediately on Kinga.

“What do you want, baby girl?” he asked, directing her attention to me.

I didn’t need a menu to reiterate my order to ol’ girl and neither did he, so she was only writing for less than a minute before she nodded and went in the opposite direction.

“That your type?” I found myself asking, knowing damn well it was none of my business.

“Nah. Too easy. I like ’em difficult and driven.”

I giggled, eyes locked in with him. His eyes said what his lips didn’t. Well at least that’s what I thought, until he spoke again.

“I think I like you, but I gotta get to know you more.”

I nodded, eyes living on his face. He was serious. How could he like me? Well how could he think he liked me when he didn’t know me? Well at least I wasn’t the only one. Dinner went well, we ate and got to know one another even more. I continued to challenge myself to ask him questions rather than just answering him. There I learned he was raised by his aunt and uncle along with his brothers. I also learned he was the middle of four, and even though he was the hot head, he was the most reliable. I learned a lot about him, so much that I felt like I had known the man for more than a few days or so.