Bitch-ass nigga,Demi thought.
Stassi scrolled through the comments on the popular blog, and she couldn’t help but be in her feelings. Receipts of Day and Kiara Da’vi’s “budding romance,” as Black social mediawas dubbing it, made her feel foolish. One of the cars he had purchased had been gifted to the singer, and pictures of them were circulating online. She clicked out of the phone and put it face down on the countertop. “Fuck him,” she said aloud. The timer on her oven went off, and she looked around the kitchen in satisfaction. The aroma of the homemade meal filled the air. She thanked God that she knew how to cook. She didn’t do it often, but when she did it, she did it well. Years of helping her mama cater to different men before she finally married Charlie’s dad, gave her some know-how around a kitchen. She could burn a little bit. The fresh flowers on the table and the formal place settings were appropriate to feed a man. One thing her mama taught her was not to feed a man off of a paper plate, so Stassi pulled out the real dishes for Grayson. She would regret it later when she fucked up her manicure washing them. She didn’t want to set the wrong vibe for the night, so she opted out of a candle on the table. She would keep it casual. The doorbell rang, and she took off her apron and stopped in front of the mirror by her front door to make sure she hadn’t spilled anything on her dress. She looked cute, but not too cute. A taupe sweater dress gave off the impression that she was comfortable in her own home and that she hadn’t tried too hard, even though she had spent an hour trying hard as hell to pick the shit out. Her makeup was subtle. Her hair curled and swept up lazily in a clip. She left out just enough of a side bang to sweep behind her ear occasionally. Stassi liked Grayson. Surprisingly, she liked him a lot. She didn’t realize how much until she found herself overthinking all day to prepare for this evening.
She opened the door and smiled as she took Grayson in. Handsome-ass, traditional-ass man. He was clad in denim and a sweater with a nice Chelsea boot. She wondered if he had changed three times like she did or if this was effortless. He held a plant in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.
“Most men choose flowers. I’d like to linger in your thoughts a little longer than that, give you something that grows. I don’t know if that’s corny or not, but my grandmama told me to always choose plants instead of flowers,” he explained.
“Not corny at all,” she quipped as she took it from his hands. “Thank you.” She stepped aside. “Come on in.”
He stepped inside, and she closed the door, turning the lock before placing the plant on her living room table.
“Nice place,” he complimented, looking around. “And the food smells amazing. My stomach literally just growled.”
She laughed. “Good because one thing I haven’t mastered is how to make small portions, so I hope you brought a big appetite.”
“Yes, ma’am, I brought that,” he chuckled.
It was the small things like his manners that charmed her. Her experience with hood niggas had lacked that. This felt so normal, but it wasn’t the norm at all. Where Day almost love-bombed her with extravagance and over-the-top gifts, it almost felt like he thought she was for sale. His money could easily influence her will—or so he thought. Something as simple as a plant felt valuable because it took some thought to execute. A cheap plant measured up against the car, in her mind.
She motioned for the table, and Grayson walked to one of the chairs and pulled it out for her.
See. Mannerable as fuck,she thought.
She sat, and then he took his seat. He surprised her and sat at the chair beside her instead of rounding the table to sit across from her.
She wasn’t surprised when he lowered his head for a quick beat to say a silent blessing of the food. She took note and did the same. It was a step she normally skipped, but she liked that he didn’t.
He rubbed his hands together and said, “Okay, I don’t know where to start.”
“Let me,” she said. She fixed his plate and then fixed her own. “Now, don’t get used to this.”
“I’ll consider it a privilege every time, miss lady,” he responded.
“Good, because this took me hours.” She laughed.
She picked up his fork and cut it through the roast. She had to use her free hand to catch the drippings as she lifted it to his mouth for a taste. He took it in, and instantly, his face melted into satisfaction as he nodded his head.
“Aww man, that’s good,” he complimented. She smiled in satisfaction.
“Yeah?” she asked.
“Nah, like for real, for real. It’s good as hell,” he confirmed.
She beamed. It felt like the nigga had given her a gold star.
She handed him the fork. “Well, dig in,” she invited.
Grayson ate her food like he hadn’t eaten all day, and she felt pride in watching him enjoy the meal. She had always hated to cook, but watching someone be so appreciative after slaving over the stove, really did feel purposeful. She kind of understood why some women loved to do it.
“Did you save any lives today?” she asked playfully.
“We had a fire on the Eastside. Somebody thought it would be fun to set an abandoned building on fire. The building is known to have homeless people inside this time of year. Pulled out one of the neighborhood winos. The shit people do never surprise me. Just destroy their own neighborhoods for nothing,” he said.
“Oh, wow. I was joking, but you really did save a life today,” she said.
He chuckled. “It’s not like that every day. Yesterday I did a dry run to an old lady’s house who calls 911 every time she gets lonely. Makes up a different emergency every time. Said shesmelled gas. When we got there, nothing was wrong. We stuck around for a few hours. Fixed her sink, changed the light bulbs, and shit. She just likes to talk.”
Stassi swooned. “That’s kind of superhero shit, too, Grayson,” she said, chuckling. “Might not be exciting, but I’m sure that old lady really appreciates it. She probably doesn’t have anyone else to call that she knows will come.”
