“No,” I answered, but didn’t offer anything else, which made Tristan’s smile even broader.
“You’re really committed to this mysterious shit, huh?”
I returned his grin as I carefully fixed my shirt, taking pains not to disrupt the plastic covering my tattoo. “Yep. How do I settle up my bill? With you, or at the desk?”
“The desk,” he answered, tipping his head in that direction. “Pri will get you squared away, and give you a kit with some aftercare information, products, all that.”
“Nice. Well… thank you, again, for making the time. And for swooping in the other night, although I could’ve definitely handle it myself.”
He shrugged. “You shouldn’t have to handle it yourself. Shouldn’t have been shit to handle, really, but… such is life, right?” he asked, carefully peeling his gloves off to dispose. “In any case, I was doing my job. On both counts.”
“Too many people don’t do their jobs for that to go unappreciated, so again… thank you.”
This time, he nodded. “You’re welcome, swee—Tempest,” he remembered, grinning. “Will you at least tell me if I’ll see you around?”
Instead of a direct answer, I hiked my shoulders as I moved toward the open doorframe, knowing now that it was definitely time to move on.
“Maybe.”
Rain messed up my people watching.
Instead of congregating on the sidewalks and restaurant patios, everybody was driven inside, traveling in cars or under umbrellas, protecting themselves from the late spring downpour.
For three damn days.
Finally, sheer boredom drove me downstairs to the abandoned candle shop I’d been largely ignoring, mostly because it confused me.
What was the point of a whole shop for candles?
It struck me as kinda creepy, honestly.
From the front-facing store portion with all the half empty shelves and dust-covered merchandise wallowing in what seemed to be signature black jars, to the deserted workshop in the back.
There were boxes and boxes of the same jars from the front – empty, of course. Dozens of cartons filled with soy wax that was probably expired, fragrance oils well past the “use by” dates printed on the bottoms.
But, even in all its abandoned eeriness… it was kinda intriguing, too.
I opened all the scent oils, breathing them in and almost knocking myself out with the stench of several that had gone putrid. Looked in all the wax cartons, noting how the color of the wax seemed to correlate with expiration dates long passed. I examined the jars of different sizes and shapes, wrestled with spools of candle wick molded together with age. Wondered over what all the different accessories and tools and knick-knacks actually did.
So much shit to make something so simple.
Venturing to the front, I started pulling the cork tops off the already-made candles, curious about the scents chosen for each blend. The labels were all rudimentary, with mostly-faded names that offered no clues about what went in, and without even a proper store name.
Just, the candle shop.
“I guess you were really that bitch back then,” I said aloud… to the store, I guess. And then, “You are really fucking losing it,” to myself.
Because I was.
I needed to get my ass outta here.
Instead of doing that, I kept opening and smelling candles, until I was satisfied I’d taken in every scent.
There was one that was a clear favorite, and for the briefest of moments I thought about curing my boredom by trying to replicate it.
Then I decided I was probably hungry.
Little by very little, I’d been branching more and more into the neighborhood, familiarizing myself with what was available.
There was a lot.
Today’s interest lied in the restaurant at the fringes of my purview from the window – a spot frequented by locals and visitors alike, who all looked happy and full when they left.
Pot Liquor.
They had food, and I liked food, so… seemed like a match made in heaven.
I went back upstairs for my wristlet and keys, grabbing my umbrella on the way out. It was a wet walk, but in less than ten minutes I was walking through the doors of Pot Liquor, having my senses instantly assaulted by… warmth.
From all directions.
The rainstorm had brought a distinct chill with it, but the inside of the restaurant was nice and cozy.
And homey.
And bright.
It felt like stepping into a completely different reality from the gloominess outside, and the delicious aromas wafting from the kitchen felt indulgent at this point.
“Hey pretty girl, what can I get for you?” a woman called, from behind the front counter. I stopped my observation of the space to zero in on her – a beautiful woman a few shades lighter than me, with thick short-cropped curls.
More warmth.
“Um… this is my first time here, actually. So I’m not sure,” I told her, not fighting the urge to draw closer.
“That’s no problem – I’ve got recommendations, starting with the mac&cheese unless you’re lactose intolerant or vegan or something. I made it today, so you picked a good one for your first visit,” she told me, lowering her voice for the last part like she was telling me a secret.
Before I could offer any response, a male voice bellowed, “She lyin’!” from… somewhere. A moment later, a tall, fine ass man came bursting through the swinging doors of the kitchen, scowling at the woman behind the counter. “You think I can’t hear you, woman?”
“I think you need to mind your business before you scare off this customer,” she countered, the smile in her eyes and on her lips contradicting his glare.
“She ain’t scared. You ain’t scared, are you?” he asked me, wrapping a big arm around the woman to drag her against his side as she giggled. “Ay, you’ve gotta come through tomorrow if you want the good mac&cheese.”
“Mixing it up will be your only reminder of a certain sound for a while if you don’t go somewhere,” she said, pinching him, hard, under the arm.
“You so mean,” he yelped, jumping away from her as he rubbed the tender spot. “Hey,” he said, addressing me again. “Remember what I told you.”
“Nixon.”
“Okay bye!” he called, disappearing back through the kitchen door as she aimed a swat at him.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said, her face flushed with happiness as she turned back to me. “I’m supposed to be recommending a plate for you, not playing around with my foolish husband.”
I shook my head, returning her smile. “No, it’s fine. Y’all are sweet,” I assured her, not bothered in the least by their display. If anything, it was a bright spot in this gloomy ass day, seeing their natural chemistry.
The kind of love I’d feigned for the purposes of a mission, but never actually experienced before.
That whole interaction could’ve been pulled right from a training video.
“Did you want to try the mac?” she asked, taking us back to the matter at hand. “If you eat meat, we can put some fried chicken with it, some greens, some yams…”
“Yeah that sounds amazing, sign me up.”
She grinned. “I gotcha sis.”