Page 37 of Before I Say I Don't
Marcus checked his watch, grabbed his briefcase, and pushed his chair back.
“I gotta get to the courthouse, but man, I enjoyed this.”
“Likewise,” I agreed.
By the time we stepped outside, the air smelled like exhaust and ambition.
“Again, it was really good seeing you, man. Hopefully, I’ll get that call that you’re considering staying.”
I smirked. “We’ll see… but don’t hold your breath.”
Marcus chuckled.
“But hey—check in on Kam while you’re here.” His tone softened. “She’s getting married, you know.”
“So I’ve heard,” I answered, careful not to mention I’d already seen her up close.
“You happen to know that fiancé of hers?”
I let a breath drag through my chest. “Actually, I do.” I kept it brief. “You know something she should?”
He shook his head. “Not much. Just… is he the man for her? I don’t know.”
“Why you say that?” I asked, trying to sound casual even as my ears sharpened.
Marcus’s mouth tightened. “He just doesn’t seem like her type. It could be my instinct talking. But I’ll tell you what I do know—she’s been carrying that firm and planning that wedding damn near by herself. I heard that last part through the grapevine. Kam hides it well, but I see the cracks when she thinks nobody’s looking.”
I side-eyed him. “How closeareyou two?”
He laughed, holding up his hand. “Not that close. Relax. I’mhappilymarried.”
I nodded. “Congrats.”
“Preciate it. But nah, Kam’s like family. We went out with her and the fiancé once—me and wifey. Man didn’t give off a goodvibe. Nothing concrete, just…” Marcus searched for the word, then shook his head. “You ever been around somebody who looks the part but doesn’t fill it? That. I just want what’s best for her.”
I swallowed down the response sitting on my tongue.
Me too,I thought. But I kept it tucked.
“Well, look, I gotta go. See you around. And even if you don’t plan on staying, you’ve got my number. Hit me up before you leave, and maybe you, me, Kam, and some of the old crew can grab drinks.”
I nodded. “I’ll do that.”
Marcus clapped my shoulder once more, then stepped off the curb, whistling for a taxi. A yellow cab slid to a stop, and he disappeared inside.
After he departed, I made my way down the block to Yusef’s barbershop, my longtime refuge for haircuts. As I pushed open the door, the familiar jingle of the bell announced my arrival, but Yusef’s voice called out even louder.
“Roman… is that you?” he inquired, sliding his glasses down his nose with a twinkle of recognition in his eye. “
“Yes, sir,” I replied, a smile breaking across my face.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Aye, y’all, look who decided to be local,” Yusef bellowed to the other patrons lounging in the chairs, their focus shifting toward me.
A couple of heads swiveled, and a chorus of “man, what’s up” rose over the hum of clippers.
I grinned. “You able to get me right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Yusef said, patting the chair like it was waiting on me.
