By the time I was done, I had two full bags, and I wasn’t even close to finished.
I looked around and saw Amai sitting in one of the chairs near the dressing rooms, his legs stretched out in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest.
Watching me.
Not on his phone. Not distracted.
Just watching.
I walked over to him, my bags in hand, my heart still racing.
“You good?” he asked.
“I’m great,” I said. “But I’m not done.”
“I didn’t think you were.”
I grinned. “You sure about this?”
“I don’t say shit I don’t mean.”
I believed him.
So, I kept going.
I bought myself a dress—something I’d never wear to Magnolia Gardens but might wear to… wherever Amai was taking me next.
I bought new shoes. A new purse. Some makeup I didn’t need but wanted anyway.
I bought a jacket that made me feel like somebody who had her shit together.
By the time I was done, I had six bags and Amai’s Black card had been swiped so many times I’d lost count.
The associate—a woman named Monica who treated me like I was Beyoncé—helped me carry everything to the register.
Amai stood and walked over, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.
Monica rang everything up.
The total flashed on the screen.
$3,847.62.
I looked at Amai.
He didn’t even blink.
I handed Monica the card.
She swiped it.
Approved.
Monica handed him the receipt and smiled. “Thank you so much, Mr. Landry. It’s always a pleasure.”
“Appreciate you,” Amai said.
Then he looked at me. “You done?”
