“So this is your space, huh?” he asked, the wonderment on his face being taken over by a smile. “It’s… bright.”
I took a sip from the drink he’d brought – a mocha matcha madness – then raised an eyebrow. “Why do you seem so surprised by that?”
“It’s … not what I expected,” he said, stepping over to the window to look out. “I mean, you had me tattoo a storm on you, and you’re all on your mystery shit… I thought your space would be moody or something. This is … pretty.”
Once I’d pulled my shirt over my head, I looked around, trying to see what he saw. And… yeah, I guess I did. My chosen color palette involved lots of whites and delicate grays, with the occasional pale touch of teal. Lots of soft textures to break up the hard surfaces, no darkness.
I wanted a space that made me feel good, and… this did.
When I told him that, his lips spread into a full-blown smile. “Thank you for inviting me into your sanctuary.”
I shrugged. “Thank my mentor. She’s the one who encouraged me to be more trusting, and open, so…”
“A mentor? That’s dope,” Tristan nodded, following me back to the door now that I had on shoes and had grabbed my latte, keys, and everything for my little crossbody pouch. “It’s nice to have that guidance and all that.”
“Yeah. She um… used to be in the same industry as me, so she kinda understands all the… unique challenges of transitioning out of it. She’s really been a life saver for me.”
“Ay – you never did tell me what you used to do,” he spoke up, as we stepped out of the shop. “Did I tell you Kiara thinks you’re a spy?”
I smiled. “I thought it was an assassin. At least, that’s what she said to me.”
“It’s evolved to both,” he explained, chuckling. “I suppose I shouldn’t complain about the girl having an imagination, right?”
“Let her dream.” I took a sip from my drink, enjoying the kick of warmth against the cool spring morning – the sun wasn’t quite up yet, so my shorts and tee shirt weren’t quite doing the trick. “I’m not offended.”
“Hm… is that because you are a spy?”
“It’s because I understand that kids are kids, and should be free to make decisions, and have their own minds. She wasn’t timid, or afraid to say what she was thinking – which I think says a lot about you, as her parent. So… I guess… good job.”
Tristan grinned. “Well thank you… but you do realize you didn’t actually deny being a spy, right?” he laughed. “Why are you being so cagey about this job thing? You used to run drugs or something? Cause there’s plenty of folks like that around here, nothing to be embarrassed about. Hell, I introduced you to several felons that night I invited you to Urban Grind.”
My eyes went wide. “Duly noted. And I hear you, I get where you’re coming from, but… I really don’t want to talk about my job. Won’t talk about it. It was pretty traumatizing, and … something I want to move past, completely.” I stopped walking. “I get it, if you’re not willing to accept that. We can turn back now, and drop this here.”
He sucked his teeth, shifting the hand he was holding his cup with to grab mine, pulling me to get me walking again. “I thought I told you to stop playing with me?”
“What?”
“If there’s shit you don’t want to talk about, we don’t have to talk about it. But you’re loco if you think something like that is gonna scare me off easily. You can cross that one off your list of excuses – from now on, you’re the candle lady to me. Far as I’m concerned, making candles is the only thing you’ve ever done.”
“Only, I haven’t even made one candle. Ever,” I corrected him, information he met with a frown.
“I watched you get a whole shipment of shit last week, and you were looking around at it all like a kid in a candy store.”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “I was excited to get it, but now that it’s all here, I… I dunno. It’s kinda intimidating.”
Immediately, Tristan frowned, brushing off my words. “Man, whatever.”
“What?”
“I don’t believe for a second that you’re intimidated by… anything, honestly,” he said, stopping with me at an intersection. I met his gaze, thinking he had to be joking, because… seriously?
Every element of this whole reinvention thing was intimidating as fuck.
There was no way with as much as I felt it, he couldn’t see how confused and awkward I was. Especially with him.
“I’m glad you think so highly of me,” I told him as we crossed the street. “But I’m really feeling my way through the dark. I’m really not used to being able to make my own decisions, and just… living exactly how I want. Yes, I’ve lived, and all that, but now that it’s all just up to me… it’s so different. Everything is brand new, all over.”
“Damn,” Tristan nodded. “That’s… intense. I get it though. Well, kinda. I was deployed, you know? Kept getting sent back. And when you’re out in all these foreign places, enmeshed in real fucking combat, conflicts that “regular” people don’t even know about… it’s like, you come back to a whole different world. And it’s not that you can’t function, because you can, but it’s so damn… different.”
I thought he would say more – wanted him to say more – but instead, he trailed off. He was talking about his own, very separate experience, but everything he’d said, I’d absolutely been feeling.
He was right.
It wasn’t that you couldn’t function, it was so damn… different.
“It sounds like you’ve seen a lot,” I said, prompting him to break away from whatever was happening in his head that had him staring off in the distance, to nod.
“Yeah. Too much for my years.” He took a sip from his cup, then smirked at me. “I swear I’m not trying to pry about your last job that didn’t exist, but… I feel like you probably can relate to that.”
“To what? Having seen too much?”
He nodded.
“Oh,” I laughed. “You have no idea.”
“Yeah I thought so,” he replied. “Hey, how old are you?”
My eyes went wide. “How old am I?”
“Yes. As in, when is your birthday?”
“Oh. I… uh—”
I was saved from that question – one I had no real answer for – by a sudden blaring of music, which I quickly realized was coming from the pocket of Tristan’s basketball shorts.
“Boyz II Men?” I asked, wrinkling my nose. “Seriously?”
He offered an embarrassed grin as he shrugged, retrieving his phone. “It’s my mother. She picked it,” he explained, his thumb hovering over the screen. “Hold on,” he said to me, then tapped the screen and lifted it to his here. “Good morning beautiful,” he greeted, which made me have to bite back a smile. “I’m a little occupied right now, can I call you back? I – no, I do not think you’re one of the regular women out here,” he said, putting a hand to his face. “No, I never doubted you, I said I didn’t believe – I… okay. Okay. Okay. I’m sorry. I love you.”