Page 63 of Happy Is On Hiatus
She put some space between them, going over to look out one of the narrow windows in his bedroom. The street he lived on was one-way, and at this time of morning it was pretty quiet. Her car was parked right behind his like they were really a couple. The thought sent a chill down her spine, and she turned back to face him. “It’s just my thing. I’m focused on other stuff.”
He leaned back against the wall, hands behind him. “Considering taking the lieutenant’s exam? Or maybe coming off the force and doing some private security work?”
“Not really, but work is a priority.”
“And you can’t possibly date and work at the same time. I mean, ’cause you’ve been coming here kind of regular for the past two weeks. I thought we were getting into a groove.”
“A physical one,” she clarified. “If that’s a problem, say so now, and it’ll stop.”
“That’s what you want me to say. Then you’ll be justified in walking out because I’m being unreasonable. Right?”
Wrong.She wanted to scream but felt like that would be playing right into his hands. “I know what I want, and this ... It was never meant to even get this far. I didn’t even like you at first, bringing me that unwanted news.”
Her chest clenched at the thought of the ashes she’d tucked back into her closet and the upcoming anniversary of her mother’s death.
He walked to her then, but before he could get too close, she stepped back, her fists clenching at her sides. She hadn’t realized her breathing had quickened, and she must have had a strange look on her face, because Desmond stopped a breath away from her and folded his arms over his chest.
“Not all men hit,” he said softly. “They all don’t mentally berate women or tear them down in whatever way they can.”
She willed herself to calm down. “I didn’t say they did.”
“You didn’t have to,” he told her and then reached down to ease her fingers apart. “Everything you do is a message that screams loud and clear. You’re protecting yourself, and now that I know what happened between your parents, I can see why.”
“How do you know?”
He arched a brow. “You think I didn’t check up on the charges against Sanford that got him life in prison? I read his entire criminal file. I know what he did to your mother, and I’m really sorry you had to go through that.”
She looked away from him. “I don’t need your sympathy.”
He laced his fingers through hers. “I know. But I’m offering it anyway. Just like I’m offering to take things slow with you.”
“I don’t want ...”
Putting one finger to her lips, he silenced her. “I’m not telling you what you should want. I’m telling you what I’m going to do.”
Turning her face slowly away from his finger, she cleared her throat. “If you think you can wear me down or change my mind, it’s not going to work.”
He nodded. “That’s cool. But what I’m really thinking about now is the food your family’s probably gonna have tomorrow and how hungry I’m gonna be just sitting in this house alone.”
Her lips pursed as she stared at him, watching as a smile slowly crept across his face. “You think you’re so slick. I’m not inviting you to my cousin’s house as a date, Desmond. We’re not even going there.”
He released her other hand and turned so that he was beside her. Draping an arm over her shoulder, he walked her to the door. “I’m not coming as your man. I’m coming as a guy whose stomach is surely going to be growling all day until ... What time should I be there?”
They’d made it out to the hallway when she glanced over at him. “Four, and erase that triumphant smirk from your face. I’m not looking for a man.”
He turned her then, cupping her face in his hands and easing her closer to his. “Sometimes good things find you, Sharae. Shhhh,” he continued when she would’ve replied. “Just relax and see what happens. You might like it.”
“I won’t,” she’d whispered seconds before he kissed her.
“Girl, give me that knife. We don’t want no blood or fingers in our food!”
Rita’s words and the way she plucked the knife out of Sharae’s hand snapped Sharae out of her reverie, and she cursed. Looking down at the cucumbers she was supposed to be cutting, she breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t done serious bodily harm.
“You over there deep in thought,” Jemel said. “What’s going on? And don’t even think about sayingnothin’.”
Sharae turned around and leaned against the counter. The three of them were in Rita’s kitchen, and it was barely ten o’clock on Sunday morning. Jemel was at the island cutting strawberries and watermelon—her favorite fruit—for the fruit salad. She wore sage-colored sweatpantsthat hung low on her waist and a white T-shirt she had tied in a knot at her back. Rita hadn’t only taken the knife from Sharae, but she’d also taken the rest of the onion, vinegar, and dill that needed to go in the cucumber salad too. She had on old, faded jean shorts and a gray tank top. They were all going to change into better outfits this afternoon, but while they cooked, it didn’t matter how they looked. Which was why Sharae had pulled on yoga pants and a wrinkled Morgan State T-shirt when she’d rolled out of bed after barely getting any sleep this morning.
“Nope, this I definitely need to talk about because it’s new territory for me,” she said. Thoughts of Desmond rolled nonstop through her mind as she’d lain in her bed after arriving at her apartment in the early-morning hours. And considering how she’d just been so distracted by the same thoughts, she figured it was best to simply get it all out.
