Retta winced. Pushing down her embarrassment, she repeated her introduction at a normal volume. “I think one of your vehicles is blocking my car.”
“Oh, my bad.”
They walked out of the building together, and he moved the large truck out of the way.
“Thank you,” Retta said, as the man hopped out of the vehicle.
He gave her a nod and walked away.
“Oh, and welcome to the neighborhood.”
He barely stopped to acknowledge her statement.
“And just so you know, these three spots,” she pointed to the ones she referenced, “are assigned to me and my staff.”
He shrugged. “You’ll have to talk to Duncan or Anthony about that.”
“And they are?”
“The owners,” the young man said.
“Right. Well, thanks again.”
All the rushing ended up being for nothing because Retta arrived well before her date. When he eventually showed, she spent ninety minutes enduring his bad table manners and long-winded explanations about his business that sounded very much like an MLM.
It was, therefore, no surprise when, days later, she was parked in front of a coffee shop applying lip gloss before a date Kym had set up for her.
She took deep breaths and shook out her hands. There was something about not knowing what her date looked like that had her overthinking things. Would she be attracted to him? What if he didn’t eat gluten? Did her glasses magnify her wonky winged eyeliner?
Grabbing her purse and the latest issue ofDream Bigmagazine from the passenger seat, Retta exited her car.
The hissing and whirring of the barista coffee machines greeted her upon entering the shop. She pushed up her glasses on her nose and looked for a vacant table amongst the college-aged patrons. She was early, so when she spotted her date, Steve, her stomach did a little somersault.
He faced away from the entrance and wore the preplanned red jacket and had an identical copy of the magazine in her hand on the small round table in front of him.
She quickly joined the line at the front counter to order herself a drink, and when she turned around, she half-expected to find Steve no longer there. But he was, and she pushed her shoulders back and maneuvered through a sea of white, minimalist furniture to get to him.
Clearing her dry throat, she said, “Hey.” Her hand rose in a brief wave that didn’t go above her waist.
The man looked up from his phone, and the ice-breaking joke Retta had planned to say vanished from her mind.
Up until this moment, she’d sooner believe in time travel and theories on Tupac’s presence in Cuba, than the idea she’d ever be on a date with someone this attractive.
This man, with a jawline and cheekbones that threatened to pierce the russet-colored skin lying over it, was the most beautiful person she’d ever seen in real life.
One of his thick eyebrows raised. “Hi?”
Right, he didn’t know what she looked like either.
“Retta,” she said, lifting her copy of the business magazine. She laughed and quickly slid into the seat opposite of him, piling her purse and jacket on the empty third seat.
“It’s great to finally meet you. Kym’s told me so much about you.”
Steve frowned slightly.
“Notsomuch, just enough,” she quickly added, laughing again. This time it had a tinny quality she didn’t recognize. She ran her suddenly clammy palms down the front of her skirt and stockings.
Speak.
