Page 24 of This: Blake & Emon

“91596,” she muttered, punching the numbers into the keypad. The lock clicked open smoothly, and immediately Jon B’s smooth vocals floated through the air. “They Don’t Know” had her swaying slightly as she stepped inside.

The smell of the Bath and Body Works candles she purchased for him guided her through the house. She followed the sound of pots moving and quiet singing until she found her man in the kitchen, focused on whatever was on the stove. He hadn’t noticed her yet, too caught up in his cooking and singing along, so she watched on, her heart expanding with each passing second. Had she possibly fallen for this man? She wasn’t sure yet. She still had to meet his mama, and you know how that went sometimes. They either loved you or hated you.

“I see you remembered the code,” he said without turning around, a smile in his voice.

“You did say it was your birthday,” she replied, dropping her bag and moving closer to him. “Something smells good.”

Emon finally turned to face her, and that smile she loved made her forget all about her earlier drama. “I had to show you I can do more than just order food.” His eyes caught hers, holding her gaze. “Are you good, though? You look like you have something on your mind.” He could always tell when something was off with her. She held her emotions in her eyes, and right now, she looked tired and conflicted.

“Why do you always do that?”

“Do what? You gotta be specific. Ain’t much a nigga won’t do for you.”

“That. That right there. You barely know me and you just... know. And do. And care.” She leaned against his counter, watching him stir whatever was in the pot. “Like it’s nothing.”

“Why are you always acting like you don’t deserve it?” He turned the heat down and faced her fully. “And what you mean ‘barely know you’? My face be in between your thighs on the regular. What’s up with you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I know you saved my life. I know you take your coffee with three sugars, heavy cream, and if it’s coffee at one of the artisan ass shops, it’s double this double that with an extra shot of expresso. I know you hum when you’re concentrating. I know you love new beginnings, so happy Monday, by the way,” he said, stepping closer, his hand finding her waist. “And I know I ain’t never felt about nobody the way I feel about you.”

“I guess.” She grinned.

“Everyone deserves something good in their life, and that includes you. Stop acting like that.”

Emon wasn’t having it. He couldn’t stand hearing doubt in her voice when she was everything. He’d watched her move through the world with grace, healing people, staying up late for her degree, carrying herself with quiet dignity. Literally, he would show up for her lunch break and she’d be too busy to stop because people needed her. Every day she showed him something new to admire: her intelligence, her compassion, the way she could switch from professional to playful to sophistaratchet in a heartbeat. He didn’t like that she couldn’t see what he saw.

“You’re too good for me. I don’t know how I got this lucky, truly.”

“Blake Bishop, you deserve the world, and I intend to give it to you, whether you believe it yet or not. Talk to me.”

He wasn’t sure if he’d gone too hard, made her feel a way, rushed, or what, but he knew this wasn’t what he had in mind when she made it in his presence.

Blake felt the truth of his words as his fingers tightened slightly on her waist. She knew the truth. She wasn’t a bad person. She wasn’t some bird or a gold digger. He was right, and she needed to remove herself from these borrowed feelings. All this doubt wasn’t even hers to begin with.

“I saw Brooks today,” she admitted. The day’s tension started melting away under his touch, and she was thankful for that. The night was about them.

“And that’s what got you looking stressed?” he asked with her chin between his fingers, looking into her eyes and then placing a soft kiss on her plump, glossed lips. It was that shit right there that had her gone big time. The eye contact. The gentle treatment. The princess treatment. All from a man who asked nothing of her. Didn’t wanna be in the streets or creeping. Just wanted to work and be her man. What a blessing. “He ain’t feeling me, huh?”

“He don’t know you to not feel you. I told him this was happening, and he needed to deal with it in whatever way he decided to deal with it,” she said, leaning into his touch. “Plus, I found out some other stuff that got me thinking.”

“About?”

“About how sometimes the people closest to you got whole lives and struggles you don’t know about.” She looked up at him. “Made me realize I want to know all of yours. No secrets.”

Emon’s eyes softened. “Ask me anything, love. I’m an open book for you.”

“What you cooking first?” She smiled, lightening the mood. “Because it’s either about to be fire or you ‘bout to have me calling for pizza.”

He laughed, pulling her closer. “Baby, I got you. You ain’t gotta worry about that...” He reached for his phone to check the time. “Want me to go see your brother?”

“I’m grown. We’re grown, Emon. What is this, 1925? I don’t need you going to ask for permission.” Even as the words left her mouth, Blake caught herself. Here she was, telling Emon she was grown, while still letting her brother’s opinion live rent-free in her head. Something had to give. Either she was grown enough to choose her own man, or she wasn’t.

“Good, because I wasn’t doing that shit, anyway, but I can ease his mind if that would ease yours. That’s my concern. Not him or his feelings. You,” he said, pointing at her.

Emon knew her brother would have a problem, but that was just too bad. Whatever he thought about him was just that, a thought. The smile on Blake’s face should’ve been enough to silence the doubts because not once had Brooks heard about Emon having multiple women, coming from a woman’s house, or that he had some funny shit going on. Niggas were haters, brothers included. That was clear. Most didn’t like him because he was self-made. He wasn’t out here linking like bitches and needing nigga’s handouts. What a lot of niggas wanted to be, he had to be.

At the end of the day, Brooks wasn’t stopping shit. He wanted his baby sister to be happy and at ease, that was it. And he’d see to it that this was dealt with before the end of the week.

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