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“No problem.”
“Text me the address of the shop.”
“Okay, I will. As soon as we hang up.”
“Cavs up by two!” Melvin yelled from the other room. “Lane, get your ass in here!”
Whitney giggled. “Sounds like you need to go.”
“Sounds like I do.”
“Thank you again,” said Whitney.
“No problem. Have a good night,” said Lane. “And I’ll text the information right away.”
“Great.”
She hung up.
He sat there on the edge of the bed for a moment, a subtle smile in the corner of his mouth. He typed the address to Melvin’s shop into a text message, hit the send key and then made his way back to the game.
Chapter 3 (#u29af3668-a5d8-5f91-9a55-3d455d286bb4)
Whitney glanced at the text message. She was grateful for the gesture, Lane arranging to have her car repaired. She shut her phone case and walked over to the baby grand piano that rested in her living room. She loved her piano, though it crowded her space, which was another reason she was having a house built. She needed the extra space for her baby.
She’d played the piano since the age of twelve and had mastered it. Music was her lifeline. She was from a musical family—her grandfather and father were both musicians. So her love for music made sense. In addition to playing, she wrote songs. She’d written a few pieces and sold them. Songwriting had brought about a nice supplement to her teaching income. She’d even entertained the thought that if she wrote full-time, she could probably make her current teaching salary or more. But the fear of not having a secure income always trumped her love for writing.
Whitney started a bubble bath and lit a candle. She’d gone to the gym, and a bath after a workout always soothed her aching muscles. She sipped on a glass of red wine to wash down the chicken breast and brown rice that she’d prepared for dinner. She peeled sweaty clothes from her body, pulled her hair up into a bun and stepped into the bathtub. She needed to steal a few moments to pamper herself before settling in for the night.
When she slipped into bed, sleep came quickly. She’d fallen asleep long before nine thirty and with the television blaring with Don Lemon’s commentary on CNN. It seemed that morning always came abruptly.
* * *
Whitney moseyed over to the door, opened it. The bell rang and fifteen kindergartners rushed from their chairs and headed toward the door.
“Excuse me!” exclaimed Whitney. “I don’t remember dismissing anyone.”
The children slowly made their way back to their respective seats, waited patiently for their teacher to give them permission to move.
“Now you may form a single-file line in front of me. Bus riders first.”
The children formed a line in front of the door, and Whitney escorted them out of the classroom, through the hallway of their elementary school, past the office and out the side door where the buses waited for them to get on board. She ushered all of the children to the correct school buses or to their parents’ cars. After seeing that all the children made it to their modes of transportation, Whitney made her way back to her classroom.
She sat at her desk and graded a few papers, turned on her laptop and checked her email. This was her quiet time. She loved her children but looked forward to those quiet moments when they all went home. After responding to emails from parents and shutting down her computer, she tidied the classroom a bit. Placed crayons and bottles of glue into cubbyholes and threw trash away.
She checked her watch. She had just enough time to make her appointment at the body shop. Lane’s friend Melvin had promised to make her car look like new. She looked forward to it and appreciated Lane for even suggesting it. She grabbed her purse from the locked bottom drawer of her desk, pulled her keys out. She shut off the lights in her classroom on her way out the door. Her cell phone buzzed. Kenya.
“Hey, girl,” she answered.
“I need a drink,” said Kenya. “Meet me at Duffy’s.”
“Can’t. I have an appointment.”
“Oh, Whit! Are you going to make me drink alone?” Kenya whined.
“Why do you need a drink so badly?”
“Will’s mother is in town. You know she gives me hives. I can’t do anything right with her!” said Kenya.
“Oh, no! Not his mama.”
“She’s already started. Now she’s trying to plan the wedding. I don’t mind her input, but damn, this is my wedding,” said Kenya. “She’s added like twenty extra people to the guest list.”
“No!”
“Twenty extra mouths to feed!”
“What does Will say?”
“That’s just my mom, babe.” Kenya’s voice was in a baritone as she mocked her fiancé. “You know how she is.”
Whitney laughed. “Sorry.”
“This is so not funny, Whit. I’m going crazy!” Kenya exhaled. “She wants to look for alternate choices for the rehearsal dinner, and now she’s asking why the bridesmaids’ dresses have to be so provocative.”
“Did she specifically say bridesmaids’ dresses, or did she mention my maid-of-honor dress, too?” Whitney laughed.
“Whit!”
“You do need a drink,” said Whitney. “Meet me at the body shop and we can find somewhere to go from there.”
“Thank you. Damn, girl.”
“I’ll text you the address.”
Whitney bid the custodian a good night with a nod. He gave her a wide grin, and had she not been on the phone, he’d have struck up a long conversation about his ailing mother. Once Whitney revealed to him that she was from the Bahamas islands, he always went on and on about his Caribbean roots. She walked out the door quickly and to her car.
* * *
She waited for Melvin to appear in the customer waiting area after the receptionist called for him. He was not at all what she’d expected, actually the opposite of the image she had in her head—he was clean shaven, tall and handsome. Not at all a body-shop type of guy. She shook his hand.
“Good to meet you,” she said.
“Pleasure’s mine.” His smile was handsome. “Let’s take a look at that dent.”
He followed her outside to her car.
“Here it is.” She pointed at her vehicle.
“Ouch,” he said. “But it’s not so bad. Won’t take me long to knock that out.”
“Good. I appreciate it.”
“No problem. Lane is my best friend,” he told her. “And he insisted that I take good care of you.”
“Did he, now?”
“Yes, but he didn’t mention that you were so beautiful and had a sexy accent. Where are you from?”
“Bahamas.”
“Nice,” said Melvin. “Now, if you’ll just have a seat in the customer waiting area, I’ll get you squared away.”
“Actually, my girlfriend just pulled up. We’re going to run out for a bit, and I’ll just come back in a little while.”
Melvin squinted to get a better look at Kenya as she pulled into the parking lot. “She look like you?” He smiled.
“She’s engaged.” Whitney smiled and began to walk out of the shop.
“Engaged, but not married, right?” he called as she walked away.
“They’re just about there.” Whitney laughed, giving Melvin a wave as she exited. She hopped into the passenger’s seat of Kenya’s sedan.
Kenya lowered the volume on the Rihanna song she was blasting. “Who’s the nosy guy?”
“Melvin.” Whitney wrapped the seat belt around her. “Lane’s friend.”
“Oh, Lane.” Kenya grinned. “Now you’re on a first-name basis.”
“What? His name is Lane. You want me to keep calling him the guy whose truck I plunged into?”
“I guess not.” Kenya gave her a side-eye. “Now, where around here can we go for that drink? I don’t know anything about this neighborhood.”
“Right,” said Whitney, pulling her cell phone out of her purse. “I’ll just check Yelp.”
“Okay.”
“It says there’s a bar just around the corner. They have great reviews and even have a happy hour,” said Whitney. “Make a left here at the corner.”
* * *
They stepped into the quaint bar, snagged a small table in the corner of the dimly lit room. Soulful music played casually, and some people swayed to it, while others engaged in loud conversations. Whitney ordered her signature rum and pineapple juice, while Kenya sipped on a glass of Merlot.
“Can we have an order of the hot wings, too?” Whitney asked the half-naked server.
“Sure,” said the young woman. “You want mild or hot?”
“What do you think?” she asked Kenya.
“I’m not eating any hot wings. Girl, I’ve got to fit all of this into that wedding dress in a few weeks.”
Kenya was always watching her weight. Always on some diet or taking a supplement for this or that. And since getting engaged, she’d been on a mission to maintain her weight at her current size because she was not buying another dress.
“I’ll take the hot ones,” said Whitney, and as soon as the server walked away, she leaned toward Kenya to talk over the music. “A few hot wings never hurt anybody.”
“I’m not like you, with your perfect figure that you never have to work for!”
“Oh, I work for it. But I cheat sometimes,” said Whitney. “I hit the gym, too.”
“When, Whit?” asked Kenya. “When was the last time you were committed to a workout?”
“Last night.”
“But before that, how long?”
“It had been...” Whitney thought for a moment, took a sip of her drink. “Okay, it had been a while. But I’m back now. I’m sore right now, but I’m back.”
“Why do you bother?” asked Kenya. “Look at you. You’ve got it in all the right places.”
Whitney’s five-foot-four physique was coveted by many. Her 152 pounds seemed to fall in all the right places. In her mind, though, she needed work. She needed her butt lifted and her stomach flatter.
“So do you. You just need to tone a bit,” said Whitney. She knew that weight had been a long-standing and touchy subject for Kenya, so she changed the subject. “I found the perfect shoes for my dress.”
“Really? Where?”
“DSW.” Whitney pulled her cell phone out, sorted through her photos and showed Kenya. “Look at these beauties.”
“Oh, they are beautiful!” Kenya grabbed the phone. “I need to send this to all of the bridesmaids.”
Whitney snatched her phone back. Her Bahamian accent was stronger at times. “No, honey. I’m the maid of honor. My dress and shoes will be different.”
“You’re right,” Kenya resolved. “It’s just that these women are dragging their feet. I don’t even think that Tasha has gone to get fitted for her dress!”
“She will.” Whitney laughed. “You know she’s late for everything. She’ll be late for her own funeral.”
“Why can’t she ever be on time?” Kenya took a sip of her wine and made room on the table for the piping-hot wings that the server placed on the table. “Thanks, honey. Can we get some extra napkins, please?”
The server walked away, but not before rolling her eyes at Kenya.
“Did she just roll her damn eyes at me?” Kenya asked.
Whitney chuckled. “I think she did.”
“See, that’s why I don’t come over here.”
“It’s okay.” Whitney was already tearing into a hot wing and licking sauce from her fingertips. “Some of the best places have the worst customer service. Try these wings, girl. You’ll forget all about what’s-her-name.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t see it.” Kenya grabbed a wing, her pinkie finger in the air.
