I nearly choked laughing.
She paused for a second, her tone softening. “I’m about to get up and head to this man’s office so we can talk about these embryos. And depending on how I feel after, I might get on the road. I need to come see my mom anyway.”
“Okay,” I said, pulling into a parking spot. “Just let me know.”
“Love you.”
“Love you more,” I said, ending the call as I grabbed my purse and headed inside the art store.
There was something calming about aisles filled with blank canvases and colors waiting to be turned into something meaningful. Painting had become this unexpected form of therapy for me.
I walked to the back wall where the larger canvases were displayed, already picturing the series I wanted to do for Senae. She’d been talking about filling the walls atCrowned & Coveredwith more pieces from Black artists. That’s when I saw the trend on Pinterest: Black women with different hairstyles and textures.The painting showed the beauty of afros, coils, silk presses, box braids, bantu knots, locs. A celebration of our versatility and power.
I grabbed a few new brushes, a six-pack of acrylics, and two fresh canvases before heading to checkout. As I walked toward the checkout counter, I felt my phone ringing from deep in my purse. I paused halfway, sighing as I dug for it, assuming it was either Kairo or Kennedi. But when I finally fished it out and glanced at the screen, it was an unknown number.
“Ugh,” I mumbled under my breath.
My first thought was that my daddy had given my personal number out to another one of his friends or potential clients, despite me asking him repeatedly to send them to my office line instead.
I rolled my shoulders back, switched into attorney mode, and answered with practiced professionalism.
“Khloe Givelle speaking.”
A laugh echoed through the speaker. I froze and looked at the phone, squinting at the number before it clicked.
Damn. I never saved his number.
I put the phone back to my ear just in time to hear him say, “Good morning, Khloe. I see there’s a high possibility that my number hasn’t been saved.”
I winced and laughed, embarrassed. “I’m sorry about that. I thought you were someone calling about a client,” I said, stepping up to the counter and setting my basket of paintbrushes and canvases down.
“Nah, you’re fine. I just wanted to check in. How’s your morning?”
“Uhh…” I handed my card to the cashier. “It’s a new day, so that’s always a plus.”
“Yeah, I hear that. I’ve been up all morning.”
“Working, huh? I’m sure you’re on the phone and computer a lot since you trade.”
“Yeah,” he said with a grin in his voice, “but I’m actually taking a break right now.”
“Oh, look at that—balance,” I teased.
He laughed. “We all need balance. That’s one thing that’s really important to me... What about you? What are you doing?”
“Just leaving a store. I needed some supplies for a little art project.”
“That sounds dope. Listen…” He cleared his throat. “You hungry?”
I blinked, taken off guard. “Uh…”
“I know this spot that’s pretty ducked off. The owner’s a friend of mine, so we can have a little private corner. It won’t be in the open.”
I smiled before I could stop myself. “Are you trying to make sure I don’t get caught up in the wrong lens?”
He chuckled. “Just trying to be considerate. But if you don’t mind being seen…”
I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see me. “Not at all. I meet with people all the time. Perks of my profession.”
