“Are you messing with me?”
“No. I’m serious. An art café, actually. Galleries can feel so exclusive. I thought about creating a space where people could enjoy art, food, drinks—without pretense.”
“Casual but chic,” he says.
“Yes! Pieces from local artists, events to showcase new work, and even workshops. That kind of thing.”
He nods as if seeing it unfold. “An art-inspired menu. Claude Monet Cappuccino and Picasso Pastrami on Rye.”
I laugh. “I hadn’t thought of that, but yes.”
“It’s a great idea. You could still do it.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe.” My gaze drifts to the window where frost creates lace patterns on the glass. “I’m not sure I want that anymore. Still figuring it out.”
“You’ve got time,” he reminds me.
Less than three weeks. Not much time. “What about you?” I ask. “Do you still dream of a recording contract?”
He glances at the musical notes tattooed on his fingers and sighs. “Not anymore. That dream shifted a while ago. I like where I’m at—running the café and making music on my own terms.”
“You’re amazing at both.” I crunch into a chip. “No other dreams waiting in the wings?”
“It’s always good to keep dreaming.” His gaze lingers on mine, softly, intently.
I don’t press him to explain.
I’m not sure I’m ready to hear it.
After dinner, I light a fire and, while waiting for Lexie to join me, queue up “Black Panther” on the TV. The sound of hissing sap and the smell of birch fill the living room as she enters. She’s changed from that smoke show of a top that clung to her body into a navy hoodie. It has the same effect—instant lust.
“I come baring gifts.” She dangles a bag of Skittles from her fingers.
She remembered that, too. No one’s ever made the effort to give me a date filled with my favorite things. “Scoring big points tonight, Blue.”
“I’m aiming for a five-star rating,” she quips, tossing the bag on the coffee table as she sinks onto the cushion next to me. “Your favorite meal and movie—I can’t miss.”
I could sit with her watching paint dry, and she wouldn’t miss. But eyeing the inches between us, I try being clever. “Some of the scenes are scary.”
“I’ll be okay. I don’t usually get scared at movies.”
“I was talking about me.”
That earns me a withering look that says she’s not amused, but the twitch of her lips gives her away. The best, though, is that it works. Lexie slides over and tucks herself into my side, her legs curling beneath her. I kick my feet up onto the ottoman and slip my arm around her shoulders, pressing her closer. I breathe in her delicate scent; the faint mix of vanilla and lavender is like a refreshing breath of spring after a long, long winter.
“So this is the original?” she confirms when I aim the remote at the screen.
“Yep, the real deal.”
“What is it about this one?”
“Action, plot, character—it’s all there. Plus, it has some of the strongest female characters in any franchise. Okoye, Shuri, Nakia—they’re all badass in different ways. I think you’ll like them. And,” I add. “The cast is diverse. I dig some color in my heroes.”
“All great reasons.” She smiles. “Looking forward to it.”
I hit play, and the world of Wakanda bursts onto the screen in vibrant colors. I’ve seen it multiple times, so I’m most interested in Lexie’s reactions.
“Wow,” she gasps at the first waterfall fight. Illuminated by the glow of the television, the light catches the expressions in her eyes—riveted then startled as the scene unfolds.
