Page 3 of Truce Of The Matter

Chapter 2

“It really isn’t a bother. I don’t know how to cook small portions. There’s plenty for you and Aryel to join us,” Sheena, one of the moms, says, flirting as always. And as always, I turn her down as politely as I can.

“We have our schedule on Wednesdays. Joining you would throw us off but thanks,” I tell her and the big ass smile on her face drops.

Thankfully my little angel runs over before Sheena can try and shoot her shot again. Some of these moms are persistent as fuck. Being the only dad at these practices makes me a target for single moms. Hell, even for a few of the married ones too. Women say that men can be persistent but I know firsthand that some women are beasts. They say and do some wild shit to get my attention during these practices and competitions.

“Daddy, did you see my spread eagle? I got it,” my baby girl says excitedly, smiling, showing her two missing teeth.

“I saw you, baby, and I took pictures. I’m so proud of you.”

“You did really great, Aryel. Maybe you can come help Kiana with hers. We are having tacos. You two can come to dinner,” Sheena says and I swear the vein in my neck throbs.

“As I said, our schedule is packed,” I grit, displaying the anger on my face and not in my tone.

“And I’m having spaghetti tonight. Right, Daddy?”

“That’s right, baby girl. Go tell Coach Kris goodnight so we can go,” I tell her and pat her back gently. As soon as she takes off, I step closer to Sheena. I’m finally closer to her but not like she wants. “When I say something, that’s it. Don’t ever approach my daughter like that again.”

“I’m sor—” she begins but I walk off before she can finish her damn sentence.

After grabbing Aryel’s bag and lunchbox, I meet her in the corner with her coach. They hug then Aryel rushes to me. Our schedule is tight, especially on practice nights, Mondays and Wednesdays. I pick her up from school at three forty-five. We head straight here for practice then we usually have dinner at Redmond’s before going home. I can’t cook for shit so Redmond’s saves my life. It’s not fast food; it’s down-home cooking and it’s delicious. She loves the spaghetti and they only have it on Wednesdays and Fridays. If I miss a Wednesday, she will remind me on that Friday.

“Miss Sheena wants to be your girlfriend,” Aryel says as soon as we are in my Denali.

“Well, she’s not gonna be. And what do you know about girlfriends anyway?” I question. “You’re seven.”

“But I know about boyfriends and girlfriends, Daddy,” she says, giggling. “Miss Chantel is Uncle Dax’s girlfriend.”

“Right because he loves her and they are getting married. The only girl I love is you. Now, buckle up so I can drive. I’m hungry.”

“Me too.”

We fasten our seatbelts and I pull off. Both Redmond’s and the sports complex are here on the southside so we make it to the restaurant in fifteen minutes. My city is filled with many five-star restaurants, but in my opinion, not one of them can touch Redmond’s and the filled parking lot and line inside proves it.

As we wait, I study the menu I probably have committed to memory. Aryel’s meal is set, a kid’s spaghetti with corn and a garlic roll, but I’m too hungry to decide on just one thing. We were super busy today at the store and I didn’t have time to eat lunch. I found myself on the showcase floor more than I was in my office. Many call income tax time paper tag season but I honestly think more furniture is sold than cars when the refunds hit. My first quarter profits are typically three times more than other quarters.

“Hey, pretty girl,” the girl at the register says. She’s leaning on the counter to face Aryel. “You want the spaghetti tonight?”

“Yes, ma’am. With corn and garlic bread. Oh, and some lemonade, please.”

“You got it. What about you, Mr. Goode?” she asks and my eyebrows furrow. While we do come here a lot, I’m not on a name basis with too many of the employees. I guess she reads my face because she quickly adds while tapping on her shirt, “Your nametag.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot to take that off.” The nametag is a requirement at my furniture store. When people are spending nice sums of money at a business, they feel more comfortable if the transaction feels personal. They hesitate to give over their hard earned money to strangers. “I’ll have the smothered chicken, mixed.”

“And which two sides?”

Because I cannot choose, I ask, “What’s good tonight?”

The swinging door behind the cashier opens and she walks out, Truce Redmond, my first draw to this restaurant. Four years ago, when I found myself back in Crescent Falls, I came to Redmond’s looking for the pretty teenage girl who changed my life years ago one day then disappeared the next. What Ifound was the gorgeous, more mature, and definitely thicker adult version of the girl. Truce had aged beautifully. Her dark chocolate skin looked smoother, her eyes more mysterious, and her full lips more kissable. Somehow perfection had gotten even more perfect.

“Everything here is good,” Truce says in her silky yet sultry voice and parts of me react to her that shouldn’t in front of my daughter.

“I believe it is but I meant the sides,” I say and she smiles wider.

The cashier actually mumbles, “Okay!” but I hear her. So does Truce.

“His order,” Truce says, refocusing the cashier. Then she looks at me. “Like I said, everything is delicious, but I recommend the cabbage and yams.”

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