Page 3 of This: Blake & Emon
The morning crowd at EJ’s Car Wash was steady as usual. Emon moved through the property like he was born to run it, nodding at regulars and checking on his workers. Every few minutes, someone called out, “Morning, Mr. Dowlen!” and he’d return their energy. The respect hit different when it was earned clean.
“Aye, boss, that McLaren pulling up again,” Lavar called out. His manager was good people. Been with him since the beginning, when they were washing cars with just buckets in a parking lot.
“I got it.” Emon grabbed his inspection pad. Some customers required the owner’s touch, and he never forgot that customer service built this empire. Plus, he enjoyed the work. There was something therapeutic about turning something dirty into something spotless.
“Emoney,” Fat J said, stepping out of his car with a smile on his face. “Always good to see you handling business.”
“You know I love this place,” Emon replied to his friend and mentor. Fat J had been his biggest supporter, and when he wanted to go legit, he knew who to see. Fat J told him how to get the buildings, how to get the capital, what to invest in, and what not to invest in. First rule was never invest in a woman unless she was willing to invest in him. His mind flickered to Blake—what would she think seeing him like this? Professional, respected, building something real. A far cry from the bleeding man in her living room.
“Your reputation precedes you now.” Fat J nodded, admiring how the business had grown. “That’s why folks driveforty minutes to get here. You took what I taught you and elevated it.”
Emon’s phone buzzed.
Shawn: Checked around about ya nurse. She single single. No kids. You may have to worry about a hating ass brother tho. Last relationship ended a year ago with some finance dude. You welcome.
Emon shook his head, trying to fight the smile forming. He hadn’t asked anybody to look into her, but his people knew him. He wasn’t the type to sit on shit for too long. Still, this wasn’t how he wanted to learn about her. He wanted to hear it from her lips, know her story the right way.
“Yo, Mr. Dowlen,” one of his younger workers called out. “The donation truck for Be Fed just pulled up at the pantry. They need you to sign off.”
“Lavar, finish this for me.”
Emon headed toward his Charger, keys already in hand. This was his life now, moving between businesses, building something lasting, trying to make up for past mistakes through present rights. The hustle was still there, just pointed in a better direction. Fat J had shown him the blueprint, but he’d built something uniquely his own.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, Blake Bishop’s smile kept playing on repeat. Yeah, he definitely needed to figure out how to see her again because he said he would, and he was a man that kept his word. But first, he had a community to feed.
Chapter 3
Two weeks had gone by, and Blake was ashamed to admit how many times she had purposely left her door unlocked, hoping her latest patient, Emon would return. She didn’t know what for, and she didn’t know enough about him to care that he hadn’t. But she did. After stopping the bleeding and cleaning him up, she let the man sleep on her couch for a few hours. Crazy, and she knew it, but for some reason, she didn’t feel in danger with him. It didn’t matter now because when she woke up from her own nap, he was gone, and so was her damn couch and rug, but he’d left a note.
‘Preciate that, love. Until we meet again! – Emon
She was now wondering when, because she had thought about him every day for two weeks straight, and her yearning for more of his time wasn’t fleeing. She knew it was crazy, but it was what it was. Blake hoped she had been on his mind as well.
It was Saturday, and the spring weather had her cousin Paige, who was also one of her closest friends, at her place waiting to get her hair done in something light and fresh. Blake did hair on the side for a select few people when she had free time.
“Sis, tell me again what happened to your couch?”
Blake had told her cousin that she’d spilled wine and couldn’t get the stain out, so she trashed it, but Paige was a bullshit detector, and her radar was going off.
“I told you already. I spilled wine and girl, you ain’t gon’ keep asking me over and over.” Blake laughed. On the other hand, she wanted to tell her cousin. She needed to tell someone because she was looking for his ass with a flashlight and couldn’t understand it.
“It’s giving bold face lie and I know it.” Blake took a deep breath as her cousin plopped down in the chair. Blakes’s apartment served as a home, hair salon, and now a hospital, she guessed. She laughed at herself and decided she had to share the truth.
“Wine?” she asked, needing to set the mood, because this appointment would turn into a girl’s night quickly.
“Like the wine that stained your couch? Yeah, I’ll take some.”
“Bitch, I’m sick of you. I’m about to tell you, but you ain’t gon’ believe it.”
“Well, let me be the judge of that. Spill the tea.”
“So, you know I typically do my errands and stuff the first of the month. Well, this time it was a normal day until this fine ass man stumbled up in my house with a gunshot wound needing my help.” She paused, pouring the wine, and now her cousin was on her feet with her head tilted. Blake had her brows up to her hairline, giving the ‘exactly’ expression. They’d been having a conversation silently for about five minutes until she handed Paige her glass of wine.
“Wait, what?” Her cousin didn’t know if she needed to address the fine ass man part or the gunshot wound first. So Blake continued, ready to stop the suspense.
“And I did. I cleaned him up, patched him up, and let him rest on my couch like a fool that had a death wish.” She shruggedwhen she finished. There wasn’t anything she could do about it now.
“And you said he was fine?”
