Page 4 of Zimyra

Regardless of my stance, this man’s cologne has me mesmerized. Everything about him does. His eyes had me the moment he walked into the lobby, but his chestnut-brown skin deserves an honorable mention. It’s smooth and moisturized with just enough hair on them to make you want to reach out and touch a brother. His stature, smile, white teeth and close-cut fade and beard – somebody hand me a fan because it just got ten degrees warmer out here. Axel Jennings is tall, tempting and hydrated with his dark-wash Levi’s, black T-shirt and black shoes.

My goodness.

I clear my throat and tell myself to shake out of this infatuation with a complete stranger and say, “This is the building. And, you should know that all of our buildings are locked twenty-four-seven for extra security, so you will have to use a key to get inside. The residents love the extra security.”

I unlock the door and open it for him so he can proceed inside like I do all of my new potential tenants, but he says, “No, after you.”

“It’s okay. I’m the representative for Atlantic Properties. I must be professional and hold the door open for you to welcome you to our facilities. It’s my job.”

He looks highly uncomfortable doing so, but he proceeds inside and then asks, “Are there elevators?”

“Yes, there are elevators in all of our buildings. That’s something that sets us apart from other complexes in the area. You’d be hard-pressed to find one with elevators, and that’s something tenants usually complain about. Even the apartment complex where I live doesn’t have an elevator, but it’s cool because it’s only two levels. It’s just not all that convenient when I need to buy groceries and things.”

“You’re on the second floor?”

“Yep. My brothers insisted I get a second-floor unit for extra security.”

I press the button for the elevator and it opens almost immediately. I gesture for him to go ahead of me. He hesitates but proceeds to go.

I step on behind him and push the button for the third floor. So this short ride isn’t so awkward with us being in a confined space, I ask, “So, are you new to the area?”

“I am.”

“From up North?”

“Yes. How’d you know?”

“The accent.”

He grins. “Sometimes I forget I have one.”

“Yeah, I can detect the cityness. Is that a word?”

“Don’t think so, but I get it.”

“Before you even mention it, I know I have an accent. I hear it from people all the time, especially the out-of-towners, or when I’m on the phone handling business. People always ask me where I’m from.”

“You’re originally from South Carolina?”

“Yep. Born and raised right here in Columbia.”

“Nice. I heard y’all put a lot of sugar in your tea.”

I chuckle and say, “There’s no other way to have it.”

I smile, thinking that this has to be the longest elevator ride in history. Is this thing moving that slow, or is it just me?

“Where are you from?” I ask him.

“Bridgeport.”

“Connecticut?”

“That’s the one.”

“Oh, that’s cool. The parent company of Atlantic Properties is headquartered in Stamford.”

He grins as the elevator doors open.

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