Page 8 of Taming a Menace
“So I’m sure you get it. That’s why I said it’s not on you to apologize.”
“The only reason I hate it is because I’m sure he didn’t deserve you anyway. If I had my shit together, I wouldn’t hesitate to ask you out. Hell, I don’t think I could live with myself if I don’t at least ask for your number. I’m not even trying to have sex with you or nothing like that. Not that I’m opposed to it by any means. I just want to get to know you a little better if you know what I mean.”
“I think I do. I’m just not in a good place right now,” I mumbled.
He got up and cleared our plates as he stood.
“I get that. You got room for dessert?” he quizzed, pausing to look at me as he emptied the scraps into the garbage disposal.
“I want to say no, but I’m afraid to miss it.”
That got a hearty chuckle out of him. “How about I keep it light while you continue to talk about my new favorite subject?”
“Is it true crime?” I asked with a playful grin.
He narrowed his eyes but never dropped his smile. “I’m sure you know it’s you, but I’ll tell you for confirmation. It’s you.”
“See, I don’t know why you came over here making me giggle and blush like this. I was supposed to have a nice, quiet dinner alone to distract me from wallowing in self-pity.”
“I’m trying to eliminate the self-pity and replace it with whatever puts that gorgeous smile on your face permanently.”
“You’re doing a good job of bullshitting me. I’ll give you that.”
“Never been a bullshitter, beautiful. That’s one of my biggest problems.”
“I bet.”
“So yes or no to dessert?” he asked.
“If it’s something light, I’ll indulge.”
“I can do light,” he said, nodding as he moved over to the big trunk he’d brought along with him.
I watched in awe as he whipped, mixed, and blended a concoction that looked like pancake batter. I thought he was making a cake until I saw the consistency of it.
“What does your name mean?” he asked, catching me off guard.
“Believe it or not, I get that question a lot.”
“I can believe it.”
“In some languages, it means moonlight; in others, it’s island. I don’t know what my parents were thinking because when I used to ask them what my name meant neither of them even knew.” I laughed.
“Well it’s beautiful. That’s probably all they were thinking. Women are like the moon,” he noted.
“How so?” I asked, drawing my brows together as I finished my third drink.
I was really feeling a buzz, but that didn’t stop me from filling my glass again. I liked the way my inhibitions fell away and allowed me to entertain the handsome, alluring stranger in my kitchen. It was the best conversation I’d had in months. Whatever I needed to do to keep the same energy, I would do.
“The moon has a twenty-eight-day cycle just like the fairer sex. Woman is nurturing, intuitive, cyclical in the way she ebbs and flows with her emotions. And another thing, y’all are always cold as hell.”
“Like the moon, huh?” I asked, intrigued by his logic.
He turned to the stove but kept talking. “Absolutely. Like the moon, sometimes she’s dark. Sometimes she’s light. She’s a reflection of her sun.”
“So I take it that man is her sun.” I observed.
His head bobbed slowly as he answered. “Now you get me. It’s all about balance.”
