Page 2 of Love You Like That

I nodded. “Ezra.”

“Yavanni,” she said, drawing it out slowly like she wanted to see if I could handle it.

“Beautiful name.”

“I know.”

That made me laugh. “Confident, huh?”

She tilted her head. “Is that all you followed me out here for? My name?”

“Only followed you to make sure you didn’t miss ya blessin’.”

“Oh, is that what you are?” she asked, crossing her arms. The gold earrings glinted under the streetlight.

“That’s what I’m tryna figure out,” I said, stepping closer. “You been at the last three open mics. Front row energy from the back of the room.”

Her lip twitched. “Maybe I like poetry.”

“Or maybe you likeme.”

Her girls hooted behind her. One fake-fanned herself. “He fine, girl. I’d fold like a pretzel.”

Yavanni didn’t flinch. Just stared at me like she was trying to decode my face, my posture and my pain. “You always this forward, Ezra?” she asked.

“Only when I see somethin’ I like.”

She looked me up and down slowly, thoughtfully, maybe a little amused. Her eyes lingered and I could tell she noticed the way my left eye didn’t track movement like the right. Most people looked away but she didn't.

“You blind in one eye?”

I nodded once. “Yeah.”

She didn’t say sorry. Just replied, “Still fine.” That cracked something in me. “So,” she asked, biting the corner of her lip, “you just gonna stand there looking all mysterious or you gonna ask for my number?”

I grinned. “I was gon’ ask if you wanted to walk.”

She glanced at her girls, who immediately made “ooh” noises before waving her off and crossing the street. Alone now, Yavanni stepped beside me. Not too close, not too far but close enough like she was ready for something just not all at once.

“So what’s next, Ezra?” she asked as we started walking.

I looked over at her glowing skin, her slanted eyes, and her pouty mouth that looked like it held stories and secrets. “Next,” I said. “I walk wit’ you a lil’ bit. We talk a lil’ more. And if that goes right… maybe you let me write a poem 'bout the way ya laugh makes the moon jealous.”

She laughed. And just like that, I knew I was already in too deep.

E z r a.

That was his name. It fit him well, too. I knew his name already, though. I’d heard it during the first open mic I came to when I hadn’t even planned to stay that long. I was just tagging along with Dianna and Erin, trying to shake off a rough clinical rotation and a tighter-than-usual phone call with my parents. But thenhehit the mic and I couldn’t move.

Tonight, I’d felt Ezra's piece in my chest like he pressed his hand there and held me still. And now, there I was, walking the streetlights with him like I hadn’t just told my Mom I was going home after dinner with my girls. I was out being grown like Iwasn’t supposed to be reviewing med charts and getting to bed before midnight. Like I wasn’t a whole nursing student with too much on my plate and not enough hours in the day.

But Ezra had that kind of energy that felt dangerously intense in a good way. And fine? Please.

He was tall and muscular with shoulders that stretched the sleeves of his white tee just right. There were tattoos inked from his neck down both arms and his skin was smooth caramel, rich like the earth. And his right eye, the one that worked, held this heavy calm to it. The other was clouded, unmoving, and somehow it made him even finer. It made me want to learn the story while tracing it with my fingers.

“Still wit’ me?” he asked, voice deep and slightly amused.

I blinked and looked up at him. “Sorry. Was in my head.”

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