Page 18 of Hold Him Like Gravity

“A couple months ago,” I told him. “Pretty soon after I started working at the meat shop,” I told him. “Ah… want some coffee?” I asked, having nothing else to offer him.

“Sure,” he said, surprising me. I figured he would walk me to my door, then rush off. He clearly had friends or family waiting for him back at the shop. “You said you worked in the Bronx before this?” he asked, still petting Evander as I put the fresh grounds into the filter.

“Yeah. I grew up in the Bronx,” I said.

“What had you moving here?” he asked.

It was a casual question. It seemed like most people who lived in the city tended to pick their area and stay loyal to it. Not only the boroughs, but even the little micro neighborhoods. It was weird to make such a ‘big’ move for a lifelong city-dweller.

“I just wanted something new,” I said, only giving him part of the truth. “And Brooklyn was a lot more affordable than Manhattan,” I added. “Did you grow up here?”

“Yep,” he said as I got down mugs for the both of us.

“Were those your friends back at the shop?” I asked.

He gave me this long, probing look that I didn’t understand before answering. “Family,” he said.

“That’s nice.”

“You don’t have family?”

“I don’t have anyone,” I said before I could think better of the phrasing. It wasn’t his business. Even if it was the truth. I was all I had.

“Well, I have Evander,” I said, shooting small eyes at the cat. “Even if he would clearly leave me for you, given the chance.”

“That’d be a downgrade, man,” he told the cat.

It was a throwaway comment, but try telling that to my system that had been fantasizing about this guy for months now.

“Thanks,” he said when I passed him a cup of coffee.

“So, how long do you want me to stay home?” I asked.

He’d given me enough money to stay away from work for months. With nothing to do but fret about what I’d seen in the office at the meat shop.

“That bruise is getting darker by the minute,” he said. “Take off as long as it takes for it to go away.”

“They sell makeup, you know,” I said. At his blank look, I waved at my cheek, “I can cover it.”

“Let it heal. Lip too. Then come back.”

“My job will still be there?” I asked, dubious. That just wasn’t how business worked.

“Your job ain’t going anywhere. Doesn’t matter how long it takes to heal. Look,” he said when I still wasn’t convinced, “know you don’t know me. But when I give my word, I keep it. Comeback in a week, three weeks, whenever. But come back all healed up,” he said, gesturing toward his face.

So maybe it was, I don’t know, an aesthetics thing.

Objectively, everyone working at the meat shop was pretty good-looking in their own ways. And, being the only woman there, maybe that standard went double for me. I had to, quite literally, put my best face forward.

“Okay,” I said, nodding. Even if the idea of having, potentially, a few weeks with nothing to do kind of filled me with dread.

Well, not nothing to do.

Because, now, it seemed like I needed to drag my ass all the way back to the Bronx to sort some shit out.

As we sipped our coffee, he asked me some questions about the robbery, but seemed to be going easy on me, not pressing me for more details.

“It’s okay,” I said when I caught him checking his phone a few moments later. “You can head back. I’m fine. Thanks for walking me home.”

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