“Probably.” Her lips parted, welcoming the forkful of eggs she was now about to inhale. “How does a non-Chicagoan find out about a gem like this… unless another Chicagoan introduced the non?—”
“Ask what you wanna ask me, baby.”
She squirmed at me calling her baby and I smirked.
“I did. I asked how you found out about this place.”
“And I asked if it mattered, to which you replied probably. Why does it matter, Caya-baby?”
“Because, don’t be bringing me somewhere one of your hoes brought you.”
The expression her face housed had me wanting to laugh so fucking bad, the moment was too serious. Had she been any other girl I would’ve checked that shit in the door, but with her I didn’t. I couldn’t.I fucking avoided it.
“Nah. My sister brought me here, but I’ll be glad to tell her about the food.” I winked.
“Oh.” She sorta pouted with those lips I wanted to kiss so fucking bad.Shit.
“So, you like doing hair and shit?”
Her face lit up. “Always have. Even when I was a kid, I used to braid all my Barbies’ hair. It was always my favorite part. One day I wanna own a shop.”
I nodded. “What’s stopping you?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I kinda just got complacent with the studio. It pays the bills, takes care of my baby, and I have a good, steady clientele. I lost sight of the dream and got lost in survival mode.”
“You sure you ain’t just scary?”
She laughed. “Maybe some of that too, because I can’t afford to fail.”
“Are you good at what you do?” I asked, grabbing the bacon from her plate. She’d asked for turkey but they brought pork by mistake. The server corrected it, but they never took the pork back.
“Damn good.”
“Then you got this shit.”
A small smile filled her features. “How do you know that?”
“Because I do. You can’t be out here doubting yourself. That’s wicked work, mama.”
She laughed. “What about you? What made you open a strip club and pastry shop in one?”
“The fact that it’s never been done before. I’on much like to be doubted, ’cause now more than ever I’m determined to make some shit shake.”
“And that you did. I hear Donuts is one of the city’s hidden gems for nightlife. Something about poles and pastries makes the world go wild.”
I laughed because I had seen those exact words in an article recently. I didn’t know who came up with it.
“Is it everything you’ve dreamt of?”
“What?” I asked, confused.
“Being a business owner.”
I shrugged. “I never dreamt of it, Cay. I just knew I needed a change of direction and the only thing I could do was make sure I never worked for anybody, ’cause that’s not my shit. I’on take orders well.”
She smirked. “You don’t say. What’s your sign?”
“For what?” I was momentarily confused.
