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“Where ya people at, Mommas?” he asked as I stepped back, drying my eyes.
“I lost my parents in a car crash. My grandmother suffers from dementia. None of the family lived here other than us. Everyone else lives in Clarke and Roosevelt. A few in Channing.”
As the words left my mouth, I made my way to the truck. The door that he’d opened, I climbed through and sat in the passenger seat, resting my head against the softness behind me. I wasn’t sure how long it would last, but somehow, relief soothed the pain of it all for the first time today.
“You ate today?” he inquired, leaning into the vehicle.
His body stretched across mine, leaving me buried beneath him while he grabbed the seatbelt and pulled it downward. Once it locked in place, he stood off to the side with the frame of the door supporting his arm.
“No. Not really, but my eyes are swollen and my head is aching. Maybe something simple will suffice. I’m craving my bed more than anything right now.”
Solitude was the solution to every issue I’d faced since the death of my parents.
“Bet. I’ll feed you and then get you home.”
He closed the door behind me and made his way around to the driver’s side. The smell of freshly burned marijuana stuffed my nose, but it didn’t quite conceal the softer smell of live greenery. In search of the source, I turned to find the backseat filled with bouquets of red roses.
Upon recognizing the gesture and coming to the realization that it wasn’t in my favor, I faced the windshield with promises to mind my own business. Lucky girl. The thought rushed through my head while a sigh was released from my mouth. The relief I felt seconds prior was ripped from me as sadness set in.
“They’re yours,” he informed me.
“What’s your name?” I asked, feeling as if I needed to know a bit more about the man who had been in charge of damage control for the last four and a half hours of my life.
“Makai.”
“Thank you, Makai. They’re beautiful.”
“Don’t sweat it.”
“Where’d you get them? There are so many.”
“The nigga selling them in the lobby. I bought everything he had off ’em.”
“Everything?”
“Every one of them bouquets, plus the ones his partna had on him.”
“Filling the entire backseat?”
“Ain’t that the shit y’all read about and want to happen to you one day?”
Chuckling, I nodded. “It is. From a spouse.”
“Spouse, stranger, same fucking difference.” He shrugged.
Brushing invisible strands of hair out of my face, I nodded.
“Maybe you have a point there.”
“You ain’t have to tell me that. Now, let my strange ass get you some food. I hear ya stomach growling and sh—”
I leaned forward and hiked the volume on the stereo, drowning out the last of his statement. Embarrassment left me with flushed cheeks and crinkled brows. This man was seeing me at my absolute worst.
There was no way I’d ever recover if I got the chance to see him again. That was why I was hoping I didn’t. At least until I was back on my feet and could offer him something other than a bucket of tears and the shameful smile plastered on my face.
With a shake of his head, he matched my energy. Chuckling, exposing those beautiful teeth with gold enhancements across a few. His complexion was breathtaking. He was infused with more melanin than the average person. Black like licorice, he made the gold jewelry that rested against his skin glisten without effort.
My God, he’s beautiful, I concluded, unable to take my eyes off him for more than a few seconds at a time. He paid me no mind, busy rapping to the lyrics of the song playing on the stereo. Dramatically, he moved his arms and hands, patting his chest and the steering wheel every once in a while.
