Page 6 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis
“Of course.”
“Most men in your position enjoy the power dynamic, knowing women want their money, their connections, their status. But not you?”
“I’m not most men.”
“No,” she said quietly. “That much is apparent.”
Our food arrived. It was perfectly prepared pasta with a complex sauce. Naomi took a bite and closed her eyes on a moan.
“This is incredible,” she said.
“The best things usually are the ones you don’t expect.”
She gave me a look that told me she understood my innuendo. We ate in silence for a while, listening to the jazz trio play slow and intimate tunes. Even the quietness between us was comfortable instead of boring and awkward like it was with others.
“Tell me something I wouldn’t guess about you,” I said.
She twirled pasta around her fork, pondering. “I wanted to be a teacher when I was little. Elementary school. I used to line up my dolls and teach them math.”
“What changed?”
“Life. Circumstances I suppose. When you grow up, you understand how things work in the real world. A teacher’s salary, unfortunately, wouldn’t be enough to take care of the ones I love.”
“That’s understandable. So what you do now, does?”
Her eyes lit up. “Yes.”
I nodded. “What about you?” she asked. “What did little Christian want to be?”
“A chef. I spent every Sunday in my aunt’s kitchen, learning family recipes and dreaming about opening a restaurant.”
“What changed?”
“My father. He thought cooking was for the women. He said it all the time,“Leave that up to the women! You need to use your brain for something more substantial”,”I said, mimicking his voice.
“Do you regret it?”
“Nah… not the career. I love what I do. But I regret letting someone else decide what was worthy of my passion. To be fair, however, my aunts own Soulful, and I believe he felt we had enough cooks in the family.”
“That delicious soul food restaurant on the corner of Delmar and Union?” she asked, her eyes growing wide.
A smile ushered up my face. “Yes, you’ve eaten there?”
“Of course. Who hasn’t?”
“Hmmm, it’s a wonder I hadn’t run into you sooner.”
“Well, we were meant to meet in other ways, Mr. Valentine.”
“Christian. And maybe you’re right.”
“I am.”
We stared at each other, and I bit my bottom lip.
The jazz trio transitioned to a softer melody, and other patrons began to filter out. But neither Naomi nor I made any move to leave.
“This has been...” she started, then stopped.
