Page 27 of Rah
With her hand over her heart, she caught her breath. “H-Hi. You scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Are you stalking me?” she joked while rolling her eyes.
“Girl, this my spot. I eat here damn near every morning. Whatyoudoing here? You off work today?”
She sighed with a little smile. “I’ve always wanted to try this spot, and I had the time today since I got fired Friday.”
I raised a brow. “Fired? What happened?”
She sipped her mimosa while shaking her head like she still couldn’t believe it. “The bank manager said it was because of ‘procedural violations.’ But I know that’s BS. I’m Black and a little hood in their eyes, so I guess that makes me guilty by association or at least suspicious.”
“That’s some bullshit. But don’t trip, though. Maybe God is clearing space for something better. Sometimes the blessing comes wrapped in ugly paper, you feel me?”
Her lips curled into a smile. “I feel you. I hope that’s true.”
The bartender slid a menu in front of me, but I didn’t need one. I told her what I wanted, and she left to put my order in.
I noticed that Solae was trying her best not to look at me. She was suddenly fidgety and nervous.
I had always known that the attraction was mutual, but there was something more between us that I couldn’t shake and refused to acknowledge because of her man.
Now that I had a chance to finally talk to her like a real man, not just a customer making small talk across a bank counter, I leaned on the bar with my arm resting on the back of her chair. “So how old are you anyway? I don’t even think I ever asked.”
“Twenty-seven. You?”
“Thirty-two.”
She playfully smirked. “You’re an old man.”
I chuckled. “Just means I got a little more game than you.”
“I bet you do.” Then she asked, “Where you from?”
“South Side. Born and raised. You?”
“Same,” she said proudly, setting her glass down.
I sat back, surprised we’d never run into each other before she worked at the bank. “What high school did you go to?”
“Whitney Young.” She smiled like she knew that answer came with bragging rights.
I chuckled. “Okay, so you was smart-smart.”
“And you?” she asked.
“Simeon,” I said.
Her eyes lit up. “You played basketball?”
“Nah, I didn’t hoop. I was too busy making money.” She playfully rolled her eyes as I asked, “What about you?”
She blushed like she was embarrassed. “I was in the band.”
That threw me. “Word?” I looked her over, trying to picture her in one of those little uniforms.
She laughed at my expression. “Yep. I played alto clarinet and saxophone. All four years.”
