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Besides… I probably already seemed pressed enough.
“Put something on so you can come lock the door,” he insisted, so I did, following him down the stairs to the candle shop. “Hey – I meant to ask you yesterday – why the wood wicks for the candles?” he asked, gesturing around us at the empty shelves, even though the ones we’d made were still in the workroom.
I shrugged. “It was really something I wanted to try. When you burn the candle, it makes a sound.”
“Asound?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Why was my first thought of a candle screaming when you light it.”
“Definitely notthat,” I laughed. “It’s like…”
“Spoken word or something? Candles spitting bars?”
“Shut up,” I giggled. “It’s like a crackling sound, like a fireplace, fool.Whywould you even think about candles reciting poetry?”
“I was trying to figure it out,” he shrugged. “I’m thinking through the marketing plan. You said a sound, so shit, put those things up on open mic night, let’s sell some candles.”
“Ireallydon’t like you,” I mused, grinning, as the thought of one of those damn candles, on a stool, behind a mic on stage played in my head. “Because now you’ve got me thinking of like… full on patchouli scent, making a candle that… smells like poetry. Which doesn’t even make sense.”
“It makes as much sense as you say it makes,” Tristan countered. “Smell and taste are interconnected, so…”
“Don’t encourage this. Cause now, I’m like… what if I makeallthe scents… poetic? The brand could beWax Poetic.Or is that too corny?”
A little grin spread over his face. “MaybeI’mcorny, cause… I actually kinda like it. But it also doesn’t matter. Doyoulike it?”
“I… do,” I admitted, wrinkling my nose as a wave of excitement rushed over me. It must’ve been really obvious on my face, because Tristan laughed, wrapping his arms around me in a hug.
“Congratulations baby,” he said, planting a kiss on my forehead.
“Baby?” I lifted an eyebrow, looking him the face. “You get some pussy and I’m not T, or Temp, I’mbabynow?”
He bit his lip. “I mean… unless you’d rather menot—”
“No, it’s fine,” I assured him. “I… likethattoo.”
We said our goodbyes, and I let him go on his way while I tried my best not to fucking combust with happiness. Once the door was locked, I grabbed the mail that had been pushed through the slot, thumbing through it to make sure nothing of consequence was in there.
It was all junk, except for a copy ofSugar & Spicemagazine.
The cover caught my attention because I recognized the couple – Kingston and Asha Whitfield, in a poker themed shoot. It was clear that Asha – the poker star – was the focus, since she was at the forefront, but Kingston sitting in the background, with their beautiful son in his lap, was not to be overlooked.
They were a beautiful family.
Alicia’sfamily.
I knew her story well, of having been liberated from theGardenand brought toVegasto work in a security role for the Whitfield family. It had taken time – and therapy, she said – but eventually she’d come to a place where she could settle into normalcy, whatever that meant for her.
Itreallygave me hope that the same thing was in my reach too.
As if I’d thought her up, Alicia’s name and face came onto my screen as I headed back up the stairs to my apartment. I answered the call as I stepped through my door, headed straight for my favorite spot by the window.
“So he finally put you through the headboard like you wanted, huh?” Alicia asked, as soon as the call was connected and she could see me.
My mouth dropped open. “What?!”
She laughed. “You answered this phone smiling, hair all over your head, all kinds of hickeys on your neck and collarbone…”
“Yeah, he must’ve given her the business,” Dacia said, only the top half of her head coming into view as she peeked at the screen.
They both looked at me, expectantly, waiting for an answer I had no intention of giving… only I couldn’t actually help the big ass grin that spread over my face before I nodded, and they burst out laughing.
