I chuckled. “I was wrong?”
“Yeah,” she said with a grin.
“So, am I forgiven?”
“I forgive you. But don’t keep stuff from me because it’s what you think is best, Kaynaan. It really does feel deceptive . . . and sneaky. Tell me what I need to know and give me the opportunity to handle it.”
“You’re right.” I nodded. “What men think of as protection comes off as dishonesty to women. Got it. It won’t happen again.” I waited a beat before asking, “Did we just have our first fight?”
She waved me off. “Shut up.” She laughed. “Now, what else is on the agenda for this weekend, and am I meeting your mother at any point during this homecoming situation?”
“First of all, no. My mother won’t be at homecoming. She has work. Besides the golf tournament on Friday, there’s the parade and the game on Saturday morning. Saturday night, there’s the concert. The game and the concert are optional.”
She looked at me with surprise in her expression. “What? It’s homecoming. The game and the concert are most certainly notoptional.”
I playfully bit my lower lip. “Shit, I like a woman who takes charge.”
“Shut up, Kaynaan.” She laughed at me.
Early the next morning, Wyndi and I connected in the kitchen of the house that I owned in my hometown. It was a modest home—three bedrooms, three baths, with a little under two thousand square feet. I had offered Wyndi the option of getting a hotel room near the university if she didn’t feel comfortable staying at my place. She opted to stay with me.
I’d taken the guess work out of the “what are we gonna eat” equation, by hiring a chef for the weekend. It served two purposes. The first was that Wyndi and I wouldn’t have to worry about getting into restaurants that were filled with Londynville University alumni. Secondly, even though I planned to enjoy homecoming, I was well aware that I was in the middle of my season. I couldn’t get too crazy, particularly with food. A personal chef would make sure that my meals were nutritionally sound and would appropriately meet my dietary needs.
“Good morning,” she said when she spotted me.
I quickly crossed the space toward her and pulled her into a quick hug. “Good morning. You sleep all right?”
She glanced up at me. “That mattress doesn’t owe me anything. I slept like a baby.”
I took in her clothing choice. It was a classic ensemble—a pink plaid pleated skort, and a matching pink cropped polo top. It was the fact that Wyndi had mad curves that made the outfit look way more . . . alluring than it had any business looking. “You look good.”
She took me in. “You do, too.”
“Thanks.” I wore loose-fitting green golf pants, and a matching green polo. I checked my watch. “Let’s eat right quick. My dad is a stickler for time. I’m not trying to hear his mouth.”
Wyndi and I sat down to eggs scrambled with spinach and bell peppers, and turkey sausage. I had what I knew was a protein packed smoothie on the side. She had a yogurt and fruit parfait. After breakfast, the two of us jumped in my truck and headed to the municipal golf course. There were quite a few private golf courses in Londynville, but the university always opted out of those venues. As an HBCU, Londynville University was mindful of the fact that for many years, blacks were only allowed on those greens as caddies and “do-boys.” They weren’t allowed to purchase memberships. I appreciated the stance that the university took in not supporting those golf courses financially.
As I pulled into a parking spot, I saw my father and younger sister, Shiloh, exiting his truck. I tapped the horn lightly, catching their attention. They waited as I parked, helped Wyndi out of the truck, and then got both of our golf bags from the trunk.
My father greeted me with a one-armed hug, before I greeted my sister, pulling her into a full embrace. “What’s good, family?” I asked, releasing my sister. I pulled Wyndi up beside me. “Dad, Shi, this is my friend, Wyndi. Wyndi, this is my dad, Jericho Israel, and my sister, Shiloh Israel-Mumford.”
“Hello.” She offered her hand to my father, who shook it. She then offered her hand to Shi. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” my father told her. “Are you an alum of L.U.?”
She smiled. “Actually, I went to Walker University in Indianapolis. But I couldn’t turn down an HBCU homecoming, even if it wasn’t my own. And once Kaynaan told me that he’s the grand marshal of the parade, I just knew a time would be had.”
My sister laughed aloud, while my father chuckled.
“You’ve got that right,” he told her. “If there’s one thing we know how to do at the LU, it’s have a good time.”
“Wow. You guys call Londynville University the LU? I love that.”
“Girl, we call Londynville University a lot of things,” Shiloh joked.
“I heard that,” our father assured her. “Let’s go get registered and head to the practice range. I want to make some noise at this event. You know Grand Aviation sponsored a hole?”
I nodded. “Yeah, you always sponsor a hole. I sponsored one, too.”
