She disappeared down the hallway, and I went and sat on the couch alone with my thoughts and smoking my blunt.
Realizing for the first time in a lil’ minute that my phone wasn’t dinging, I wasn’t on the hunt for a nigga, and instead of my girl worrying, she was in our room sliding into something I was gonna take off her later.
My phone dinged beside me, taking me out of my thoughts.
Again, it was Keith with work shit, what we were low on. He was typing at the same time I was. I had to tell that nigga to hold all that shit off until I was back in the office. This night was for Islah, then I put my phone on DND.
A few more minutes passed, and I heard heels clicking against the hardwood.
I stood up, turned around, and she was standing there, looking like the love of my life.
I bought her a short red dress that hugged every curve she had. I loved her in gold. She had on lil’ gold earrings, her engagement band was gold, and the necklace I made for her sat on her chest nicely.
“Did you just make this one?” She already knew how to peep out my work.
I smiled, walking over to her. “Yes, I did…just for you.”
I took her hand and spun her around. The heels matched the fit right. Her hair was wavy, all the way down to the crack of her ass. My baby looked too good.
“Well?” she asked as I stood back, staring at her.
All I could do was lick my lips. And she laughed at me.
“Love? Baby, say something.”
“You so damn fine, I almost don’t want to take you anywhere.”
Her smile got wider.
“You are ridiculous.”
“Nah, baby, I am serious.”
I reached out my hand. She took it, and I led her to the door.
The ride downtown was smooth. We listened to the radio, and I listened to her sing her heart out to Ella Mai.
I love that shit. I love that she was opening up more and more. I love that I brought her peace.
Every now and then I’d glance over at her.
Every time she caught me staring, she’d smile.
Every time she smiled, I caught myself doing the same shit on some first love type shit.
The restaurant sat tucked away near the water.
Private, quiet. The type of place where money walked without screaming. I hopped out the car with my folder in one hand, and holding Islah’s with the other.
She looked at it, but didn’t question me.
The hostess recognized me as the jewelry designer when we walked in and walked us past the main dining room toward a private section overlooking the city.
Candles flickered, soft music played, the view was crazy. Atlanta stretched out beneath us like somebody poured diamonds across black velvet.
Islah sat and looked around.
“Oh my God, Love.”
