Page 4 of Surrender to Love

“Do I know you?” I ask.

“Don’t tell me you forgot me? Really? I think I’m pretty unforgettable,” she says.

“My bad but I don’t remember you. That’s a good thing too because you work here now and I don’t do shit with anyone who works for me.”

“Oh,” she says and her smile drops fast as fuck.

“Yeah, I’m serious. Business, auto repairs, and cars. That’s all we will have in common here. If you can’t fuck with that, you can pack up yo’ stuff and go now. I’ll pay you for today and tomorrow if you do.”

“Damn…I mean, wow. It’s like that?”

“Absolutely like that. I don’t play when it comes to my business. So what you gon’ do?” I ask and she sighs loud as hell, almost disappointedly, like she really thought something would happen with us. I quickly ask, “Did you know this was my shop?”

“No. No. How would I know that? I didn’t even know your last name,” she rushes out but I don’t know if I believe her. Diamond Falls is small as shit and damn near everybody knows the Bako brothers. The five of us stand out. “I need this job,” she adds in an almost whisper and damn, I feel a little bad.

“If you can dead any thoughts of what we may have done, you can stay,” I say and she nods. I get straight to business. “We open at seven, so you need to be here at six-thirty to start the coffee, both big pots. The guys are going to drink half of it though, so be prepared to make more as soon as the pots are empty. We are busy on Saturdays, so it’ll be nonstop. Wear some jeans and kicks; this is an auto shop,” I say and she nods as I speak.

“I’ll be here at six-fifteen.”

“Six-thirty is straight,” I tell her then head back out to the bays. I’m not trying to spend any more time with her than needed.

Since it’s Friday and Kyrah spends Friday nights with her homegirls, I typically either work a little later on Fridays or stop by Deuce’s. With ol’ girl here, I’m going to just dip tonight and chill at Deuce’s. After checking the open tickets, I leave my coveralls on the hook behind our office door, say bye to Tre, and leave. Black will close tonight since I’m not staying.

As soon as I hop into my Silverado, I fire up and smoke my blunt during my ride. The shop is right in the heart of the city and my townhouse is fifteen minutes away in the Brunswick Meadows neighborhood. But since I haven’t eaten since breakfast and I’m hungry as fuck, I don’t drive straight to my place. I make a detour toward my childhood home to see if Shuga cooked.

Not only did she cook but she threw down. As soon as I walk into the house, I smell the Maafe and fried chicken. She likes to cook the peanut stew during winter and fall. It was one of our favorite Nigerian stews growing up. She just remixed it and always serves it with rice and fried chicken for us. Although Asali is Nigerian born, Shuga is African American and cooks dishes that honor both cultures, more now that she’s divorced Asali.

“Did you wash your hands?” she asks as soon as I lift the lid on the pot.

“Damn, Shuga. I’m just looking.”

“Keep your dirty hands off my pots. I got it,” she says from behind me before slapping my arm. “Wash your hands and I’ll fix you a plate. I have just enough left for you.”

“Who emptied that big ass pot?” I ask as I step toward the sink.

“Your brother, Deuce, earlier for lunch and he took some with him. Then Black when he brought my truck.”

“That’s what took that nigga so long? He was in here grubbing?”

“Leave Black alone. I don’t mind feeding him. I always cook too much anyway. I swear I still cook like I have five growing boys in the house. You want some cornbread with yours?”

“I want whatever you cooked,” I admit.

“Well, where’s Kyrah? Oh wait. I forgot it’s Friday night. She’s with Mireya and the girls,” she says with a smirk.

“Yeah. She’s over there.”

After placing a heaping plate of food in front of me at the island, she asks, “When are you two going to stop playing around and get serious? It’s been too damn long.”

“It ain’t me,” I admit. It damn sure ain’t me.

“Then handle your business, son,” she says, then grins.

“If you stay out of it, I will,” I tease.

“You think my cooking is free? Well, it’s not. Each plate is served with love and advice.”

“I’ll pay then, so you can keep yo’ advice.”