Page 4 of The Noisemaker

“You do,” I reiterated. “And after the research, I got really excited about us doing all these things. We don’t have to go out to celebrate the new year. Being together is enough.”

“Well…” He brought the back of my hand to his lips. “Maybe we can do both.”

I bit my bottom lip. “What do you have in mind?”

He sat back in his chair and stared at me. “Everything on your list and then…the Black Hollywood Masquerade Ball at the Tully Museum of Art.”

My jaw dropped. “What?” He stabbed at his plate and then put a forkful of omelette in his mouth. “Desmond! What are you even talking about?” My excitement built as he chewed. “It’s been sold out since Thanksgiving. There’s no way.”

He swallowed. “There’s no way unless your frat brother is dating one of the organizers and was able to pull some strings.”

My eyes felt like they were going to bulge out of my head. “So, you’re serious?!”

He nodded. “I’m serious.”

“Oh my God!” I squealed, no longer hungry. “This is going to be so much fun! We haven’t been out, and I’ve been dying to wear the shoes you got me for my birthday. And I—” My sentence stopped abruptly, and my hand flew to my mouth. I mentally went through my closet.

I don’t have anything to wear.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing in the closet is formal enough for it.”

I knew in my heart that if I didn’t have anything that I felt comfortable in, I wasn’t going to the masquerade ball. I didn’t know if he had planned to take me shopping at some point during the day, but he knew me well enough to know I wasn’t going anywhere that I didn’t feel comfortable. And there was no way in hell that I’d show up at the biggest, hottest, sexiest, exclusive event of the year in just anything.

But I trusted him.

I believed him.

Loading his fork with more omelette, he winked at me. “I got you.”

“But—”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yeah…”

“So, you trust that when I tell you I got you, I got you?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Okay then. The only thing you need to worry about is how we’re going to finish the list.” He picked up the paper and waved it. Catching a glimpse of the back, he turned it over and frowned. “What does hop John’s pork for lunch mean? Because I know it ain’t what I think it is.”

I burst out laughing. “On the back of the paper I wrote down some stuff that we needed to order or get throughout the day to complete the tasks.”

He shook his head. “You’re mine, you understand me? Mine! I’m not letting you get next to any dude named John.”

“It’s abbreviated about the first thing on the list—which is eat Hoppin’ John.” My body shook with laughter as I turned the paper over and pointed. “We’re starting with Black traditions and Hoppin’ John is like a garlicky, black-eyed peas dish,” I explained. “It has rice and bacon. It sounds like it could be good.”

“Now I’ve heard of eating black-eyed peas for the new year, but I’ve never heard about Hoppin’ John.” He made a face. “And the way you have it written sounds suspect.” With a straight face and amusement in his eyes, he flipped the paper back over and jabbed his finger at the first note. “‘Hoppin’ John, need pork’ sounds like you fucking somebody name John at lunch today.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Over my dead body.”

I cackled loudly. “Why are you like this?”

CHAPTER2

Desmond cleaned the dishes and straightened the kitchen up while I cleaned collard greens. I put the pots on the stove to prepare our lunch and kick off our New Year’s Eve celebration.

“I’m going to need to lay down,” Desmond yawned as he finished wiping down the table. “When do you want to start on the list?”

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