The Fine Art of Loving

Suave graphic designer Rashad Brown has always held out for what he wants. He likes his women polished and accommodating because he values his freedom above all else. Then he meets a woman far from his idea of perfect—she has an ex, she has a kid, she defies his expectations. And he can’t get enough of her.

From the moment she meets Rashad in art class, advertising student Michelle Johns knows she is in trouble. She came to Washington only seeking peace for herself and her young son, Andre. Oh-so-sexy Rashad threatens her newfound serenity. His skillful hands ignite dormant passions; his discerning eyes see her as her ex never did. And his kind attention dares her to do the most dangerous thing of all: hope. But there’s a fine line between optimism and regret. Will her amorous artist truly be able to accept her past so that they can build a dazzling tomorrow…together?

Rashad took her hand as they maneuvered through the groups touring the street.

She was leading, and he didn’t want to lose her, but it felt good to have her hand for other reasons, too. She looked back at him and smiled, plunging them along through the crowd.

“Does this place ever quiet down?” he asked once they made it to the restaurant.

“I’ve been at Regina’s shop until midnight, and there were still people in the streets,” Michelle said.

“That’s right. Did we pass it?”

“Yes, but I can point it out on the way back, when we have more time.”

The restaurant was still open, and they were seated right away.

Rashad took Michelle’s hands in his while they waited for their late-night meal. He saw her get still and quiet, but she didn’t take her hand away. Instead, she smiled at him.

“I like the feel of your hands,” she said. “They’re strong.”

“Yours are soft. I like that, too.”

YASMIN SULLIVAN

grew up in upstate New York and St. Thomas, Virgin Islands, from which her family hails. She moved to Washington, D.C., to attend college and has earned degrees from Howard University and Yale University. As an academic writer, she has published on works by Frederick Douglass, Harriet Jacobs, James Baldwin, Maya Angelou and Ed Bullins, as well as the writing of the Negritude Movement and historical fiction treating emancipation in the Danish West Indies/United States Virgin Islands. She currently lives in Washington, D.C., where she teaches with a focus on African-American and Caribbean literatures. When she is not teaching, she also does creative writing and works on mosaics.

In His Arms

Yasmin Sullivan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

In Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God, Tea Cake, Janie’s third husband, reminds her to be young and enjoy life. Tea Cake’s sentiments should inspire us to embrace laughter in our lives and to capture life before it is gone.

This novel is the story of Michelle Johns and Rashad Brown, who can find laughter and life only if they both let go of the past—either its heartaches or expectations.

I am so glad that you have decided to share their love story with me. I am already at work on my next romance project, but for now, I would love to hear your thoughts on this book. Please write me at yasminhu@aol.com.

Warm wishes,

Yasmin

For my mother, father, brother and grandmother,

who have given me the richness of the human heart;

for Jennie and Tanya,

who have been my sister-friends;

for Madeline, Freddie and William,

who have shaped my vision of love;

and for Vionette and Lois,

who have inspired the romantic in me.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 1

Michelle Johns sat at her dining table with her schoolwork in front of her and her son in the chair next to her. Her little one had been quiet for a while. Michelle tipped her head, glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and smiled.

For the past hour, he had been turning pages in his storybook as she turned pages in her communications law book. Andre was just beginning to learn how to read simple words, and the book he had was one that she read to him at bedtime—one with lots of words to go with the pictures.

Nevertheless, he was intent on their task and peered at the pages before him.

Andre was just beginning to grow out of his baby fat and acquire the spindly limbs of childhood, but he still had full brown eyes with thick lashes and big round cheeks that puffed up when he smiled. His features still held the amazement of a child and the vulnerability of youth. Right now, his eyebrows were furrowed in inquiry, and the serious expression on his face ended in a little pucker on his lips that pulled at Michelle’s heart.

Michelle turned to her son, wrapped her arms around him and proceeded to tickle him until they were both laughing. When they were done, she ruffled his hair and pulled him up from his chair and into her arms for a tight squeeze.

“Reading is hard work, huh?”

Andre nodded his head. “Is it time for a snack yet?”

Michelle laughed. “A snack? You just had dinner. It’s time to get ready to go to the sitter so that I can get to my art class. You can have your snack over there.”

“What do I get?”

“What would you like?”

Andre shrugged.

Michelle closed her book and pushed it farther onto the dining table. “You go find a couple of movies and put some of your toys and games in your knapsack, and I’ll make you something for later.”

Michelle put Andre’s evening snack in a brown paper bag and checked on him to help pick out two movies and some toys. Then she went into her room to get clothes out for work the next day and pack her book bag for her classes tomorrow. She would be getting home a bit late, so there might not be time later on.

“Come, little one. No, first to the bathroom.”

“I don’t have to go now.”

“Go anyway. And, actually, so should I.”

When they were ready, Michelle helped Andre get his knapsack on, handed him the paper bag with his snack, grabbed the things for her art class, hustled them out the front door and walked Andre down two doors to Mrs. Miller, their neighbor and sitter.

Her class was at the Art League School in Virginia. She had given herself some extra time to figure out a new Metro route, but since it was rush hour, she didn’t wait long for the bus, and it was actually a straight shot on the yellow line from Greenbelt to King Street, where she got on the free King Street Trolley.

With her destination in sight, Michelle hopped off the trolley and strode through the crowded streets of Old Town Alexandria toward the Torpedo Factory Art Center. She couldn’t suppress her excitement over the class she was starting and hurried through the milling people with her purse slung over her shoulder, her portfolio under one arm and a satchel with the required art supplies in her other hand.

She already had a lot on her plate, and this would add more, but this was her passion. It would give her the edge she knew she needed so that she could build a real future for herself and her son. She hated being away from Andre during the evenings, but it was one night a week, and it was part of their combined future. She was raising a son, getting a college degree, working full-time and now this. But she was determined to make it all work.

Michelle shook her head to clear her thoughts. It never paid off when she tried to think of everything at once; this just overwhelmed her. And she was too excited about her class to let that happen.

As she crossed North Union Street to enter the Torpedo Factory, she could see the waterfront in the background with groups of pedestrians walking the promenade. She envied their leisure, but only for a second.

A man crossed the street toward her and winked at her. Michelle put her free hand on her hip and gave him a forbidding expression. Then she winked back and laughed. He turned his head back to look at her, probably doubting her sanity, but Michelle didn’t care.

She glanced at her watch and hurried inside to find her classroom.

Other students were already getting situated, and Michelle picked her way through the rows of drafting tables to find an empty one. She found one in the center of the room, propped her portfolio on the slanted desktop and began unpacking her supplies.

“First class here at the Art League?”

It was a smooth, masculine voice coming from the chair next to hers, and it seemed directed at her. She answered as she was hooking her purse on the back of her chair. “Yes. Can you tell?” She chuckled at herself for being so obvious.

When Michelle finally turned toward the voice, she found a pair of dark brown eyes gazing at her intently. They were set in an inquisitive expression on a handsome ebony face. The angular jawline held a mouth with full, soft lips, and it was smiling.

“No, you seem ready to go. It’s my first class here, as well. I’m Rashad.”

He offered his hand.

Michelle didn’t realize that she was holding her breath until she opened her mouth to talk. She let go of a deep breath and laughed at herself.

“Hi.”

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing. I just amused myself.” She waved her hand to dispel the thought.

“I’m glad to see another African American face in the class.”

“Hmm.” Michelle glanced about. There were a couple of others, but not many. “I hadn’t noticed before. So am I.”

“Can I ask your name?”

“I’m Michelle.”

She took his outstretched hand, and a shiver ran up her arm and down her spine.

“Nice to meet you,” he said.

“Same here.”

Now that her supplies were unpacked, Michelle could give her full attention to the captivating figure sitting next to her. He had on a simple white dress shirt and black slacks, but she recognized the quality of the garments; they weren’t cheap. The shirt, creased from a day of being worn, didn’t hide the broad shoulders and muscled arms beneath it. And though he was leaning back in his chair at ease, his slacks didn’t fully hide the sculpted thighs they covered. Michelle took a breath and hoped he hadn’t caught her checking him out.

“Are you an artist already?” he asked.

“Not yet, but I—”

A voice interrupted her from the front of the room. The teacher for the class had just come in. “Welcome to Composition and Design Fundamentals.”

Rashad nodded at Michelle, and both turned their attention to the instructor.

For the first half hour, they got an overview of what they would be learning and doing that term. Then, after brief introductions, they were given their first set of vocabulary words and their first lesson in controlling movement within a picture. They then had an hour to create their own examples before they went on to the second lesson. Though the class was three and a half hours, the amount of information packed in it and the variety of exercises they did made the time sprint by.

Still, Michelle couldn’t help noticing her new acquaintance in the neighboring seat. Rashad took the class seriously, jotting down notes just as she did and concentrating on the abstract exercises that they were given. Periodically, he looked toward her and found her glancing his way. Each time she felt she had been caught in the act of ogling him, but each time he just smiled—the sweetest smile she’d ever seen—and went back to his task. It made Michelle smile, too.

For the last half hour, they got their final lesson and their homework. Then they were dismissed. People started to rustle, and some went up to the instructor with questions.

“Wow,” Rashad said. “That class went by like lightning.”

“I know,” Michelle responded. “And it was intense all the way through.”

“I know I’m going to get more than I expected out of this, which is great, considering the price.”

“I know. We have nine sessions of this, and it was under two hundred dollars.”

“Except for the supplies.”

Michelle had closed her portfolio and was packing her supplies in her satchel. When she finished, she riffled through her purse for her Metro card, which slipped from her hand when she moved to put it into her pocket.

Before Michelle could stoop to retrieve her pass, Rashad stepped around his chair, scooped it up and held it up for her.

“Thank you,” Michelle said.

“Hey, are you taking the Metro? I can give you a ride home.”

“Oh, I’m not nearby. I live in Greenbelt.”

“That’s okay. I’m on New Hampshire Avenue near East West Highway.”

Michelle gave him a puzzled look, and Rashad laughed.

“You have no idea what I’m talking about.”

“None. I know that Metro map, and that’s it.”

Both of them laughed.

“I’m in Maryland, too,” he said. “Right between Takoma Park and Silver Spring.”

“Hey. I got that!”

“So let me give you a ride home.”

Michelle wasn’t used to taking rides from strangers and gave Rashad a hard look.

“The trolley stops at ten,” he said. “So you’ve missed it and will have to walk to the Metro.”

Michelle looked down at her shoes; they were comfortable flats, so she could do the walk.

“You’re on the way for me.”

Michelle finally let her guard down and smiled. “Okay. That’s really, really nice of you. And,” she added, “I need to get home to my son.”

That usually put a halt to any interest a guy showed in her, just in case Rashad was showing interest. And she did need to get home to her son.

Actually, she said it more for herself than for him. She needed to put the possibility out of her mind because he had the most sensuous eyes she’d ever seen and looked as good as all get-out. But he didn’t seem to be hitting on her, so she might as well put the possibility out of reach. And she did want to know someone else in the class.

Chapter 2

Rashad Brown slipped the extra portfolio under his arm and followed Michelle to the elevator. He would have offered to take anyone home, but he was intrigued by this woman and wanted to know more about her. There was something about how easily she smiled and how open she was that let him know he would enjoy spending time with her. He couldn’t help being a little disappointed that she was taken already; son generally meant husband, as well. But she could still be a friend.

Now that class was over, he could actually look at her. She was tall, only a few inches shorter than he was, and her hair was long and loose, with a slight curl at the end. She had on a powder-blue top with lace around the neck, down the front, at the bottom of the sleeves and at the hem. It gave her a feminine quality that matched her smile. She also had on blue leggings that fit her curves in all the right places—at least as far as he could see. There was nothing fancy, but it all made her look beautiful.

When she turned around in the back of the elevator, he could see her face again. Her full cheeks gave her face the impression of always being on the verge of a smile. Her eyes were light brown, almost translucent, as if he could look right through them and they could do the same to him. Her lips were soft and plump, and they smiled now as she looked toward him in the crowded elevator and nodded. Now that he was facing her, he could see that her curves were filled out in every direction—supple, full, inviting.

Rashad glanced at the floor number when the elevator bell rang, frustrated that he couldn’t continue his perusal but mindful that it was probably for the best.

Their conversation erupted again—and as easily as it had before—as soon as they got to his car, which was in the parking garage right across the street from the Torpedo Factory.

“Can we park here?” Michelle asked. “I’ll be driving again by next week. My car’s only in the shop for a couple of days.”

Rashad hid his disappointment and explained the terms of the lot.

“There were other lots listed,” she said. “I’ll check those, too.”

“Before class started, you were saying that you aren’t an artist as yet.”

Michelle laughed. “I would love to say yes. But no. I love to draw and paint and want to learn how to really do it. I’m a student in the Department of Journalism in the School of Communication at Howard—”

“I went to Howard, as well, up through the MFA in design. Go Bisons!”

“Uh. Yeah. Go Bisons,” Michelle echoed halfheartedly.

Both of them laughed.

“I do support my home team,” Michelle clarified.

“But you don’t follow sports.”

Michelle shook her head as they were getting into the car.

“I’m an advertising student, and I want to be able to do original artwork for my advertising. We have to have a portfolio before we graduate, so now’s the time to learn. What about you? Why are you in the class?”

“I finished a few years ago, and I work as a graphic designer for a web design firm in downtown D.C.”

“Really?” Michelle said. “That sounds impressive. Congratulations.”

Rashad took his eyes off the road for a couple seconds and glanced over to see if she was serious. She seemed sincere, and that felt good.

“It’s not that impressive, but thank you. Anyway, I like being able to do my own thing rather than cutting and pasting all the time. I figure the more I know about drawing and the better I am at it, the more I can do and the better my work will be. My goal is to do more computer-based drawing, but you have to start with the fundamentals.”

“They have all of that at the Corcoran College of Art and Design. I wanted to take Digital Design I, but their prices are incredible, even to audit.”

The excitement in Michelle’s voice seemed to light up the car with energy. Rashad liked that.

“I checked there, too,” Rashad said. “It’s only more expensive because they offer regular college courses at regular college prices. The Art League offers some range, as well. We’ll have to see what’s listed for next semester. Why aren’t you taking this at Howard? It could be part of your regular tuition.”

Michelle sighed heavily. “I wish I could. I might be able to take a class or two later on, but now I can’t. I just started back at school, and they only took some of my credits. So to get out in the time I want, I have a full part-time load. I’ll see as I go on.”

“Hey, do you know where we are?”

“I have no idea.”

Both of them laughed again.

“I might have to meet you before our next class so you can follow me in.”

Michelle held her hand up. “No need. I have a zillion D.C. area street maps. I can’t thank you enough for the ride home. Not everyone would have offered.”

“It’s no problem, really. I’m not that far from you, and it’s my pleasure.”

“Still, thank you.”

Rashad heard the earnestness in Michelle’s voice and acquiesced.

“You’re welcome.”

Then he had a thought. “If you ever need a ride again, or if you ever want to carpool and save on gas, let me know.” It would be great to ride with her on a regular basis, get to know her better. He had to stop and remind himself that she was married.

“Okay, I will. But for now, I just want my car back. I’m lost without it, and I didn’t want to miss our first class, so I’m learning even more about the Metro.”

“And you already know that pretty well.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I take it you haven’t been in D.C. long. Did you come for school? How long have you been here?”

“You know,” she said, “you don’t have to make small talk. I’d appreciate the ride home regardless.”

“I want to know. You seem very nice, and it’s good to know someone in our class—just in case I need to get a homework assignment or something.”

That wasn’t all that Rashad was thinking, but it was all that he could say without the risk of offending her. He couldn’t let on that he was taken with her smile and her laughter and... What was he doing? The woman was married.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her peering at him, trying to determine whether he was actually interested or just chatting.

“Okay,” she finally said. “I’ve been in the D.C. area for two years.”

The laughter started low in Rashad’s throat and bubbled up to the surface, getting louder along the way until it finally broke free.

She gave his shoulder a light swat, but she was laughing, as well.

“I’m sorry. Two years, and you only know the Metro?”

“Well, I didn’t have a car the whole time. And I have work and—”

“You mean you haven’t gotten out very much.”

“Okay, no. I haven’t.”

Rashad wanted to say that he would make sure she got out more, but he didn’t know how to say that without implying what he really meant—that he wanted to take her out. He shook his head, pondering it.

“Street maps, I told you. I have street maps.”

Both chuckled again.

“And I do know where we are now.”

“That’s because we’re in Greenbelt now—we’re almost at your door.”

“Well, yes.”

She smiled, and he loved her smile.

“What’s your address?”

When she said the number and street, Rashad realized that they really were almost at her door. He got a rather let-down feeling. Strange.

He drove through the maze of buildings in the apartment complex until he found hers; then he pulled up to the walk to let her out.

“Again,” Michelle said, “I can’t thank you enough. Really.”

“De nada. I’ll see you in class next week—homework in hand.”

“Yes, you will. It was nice meeting you, and I’m glad to know someone else in the class. Let me grab my portfolio from the backseat so I can go get to my son.”

“Sweet dreams.”

He shouldn’t have said that; he should have simply said goodbye. But somehow this woman made him think of just that—sweet dreams. Now he had to figure out why.

“Good night,” she said.

On the way home, Rashad was aware of the quiet in the car, the absence of the energy that Michelle had brought to it. He pulled into his garage, turned off the engine and followed the walkway to his front door, still wondering what kind of spell had come over him.

He picked up his mail from behind the mail slot in the door and turned on the living room light. He looked around the room with new eyes and saw that he would be pleased to have her in it. His Ralph Lauren leather living room set had a high shine, and the Amish wood pieces matched it perfectly. Nothing in the room was frilly or feminine, but that was to be expected.

Unfortunately, nothing in the room was child-friendly, either. For the first time, he noticed the beveled edges of the glass coffee table, the sharp corners of the end tables and the points protruding from the wrought iron magazine rack. Ouch. There were also breakable things everywhere—the sculpture on one of the end tables, the glass he’d left on the coffee table that morning, the picture frames on the other end table.

But how old was Michelle’s son? She barely seemed old enough to be married with a child, so he couldn’t be that old.

Rashad whistled, and Shaka Zulu, his Yorkshire terrier, came bounding in from the kitchen.

“Hey, fella. Were you eating this late? Why didn’t you come when I got home? You mad at me for being out so late?” He scratched the dog under the chin. “You’re a child-friendly little one, aren’t you? Okay, I’m talking to the dog now.” What was it about that woman?

Actually, she seemed about his age, mid-twenties. Maybe early twenties. According to his brothers, that was more than old enough to be married with responsibilities, but Rashad put his brothers and their ribbing out of his mind.

Shaka followed him upstairs to his bedroom, where Rashad began changing from the long day. He loved that art class, but Wednesdays would be hell from here on—at least for eight more weeks. It also meant that he couldn’t stay at work late on hump day anymore.

Actually, he’d be glad to start leaving work on time if he could show Michelle some of the city. And there she was again—on his mind.

Rashad had dated during and after college, but not seriously. He was used to meeting women, going out, having a good time. He wasn’t used to liking a woman so much immediately, especially one who was off the market anyway.

And this one wasn’t really his type. It stumped him. But maybe that meant they were destined to be friends. He could live with that—or so he thought. But as he climbed into bed, he thought of Michelle’s ample curves and sighed.

Chapter 3

Michelle pulled her satchel from under her chair and starting dropping in her supplies.

“I’m glad to see that you made it here all right,” Rashad said from the seat next to her.

“Yes, I did. Thank you very much. Hey,” Michelle said to Rashad. They were both packing up after their second class at the Art League.

“Yep?”

“Is it okay if we exchange numbers? Only in case we ever have to miss a class or need a ride or something like that. I wouldn’t pester you.”

“You could never pester me,” Rashad said. He wrote his numbers on Michelle’s page of notes. “That one’s my cell phone. This is my landline. Call me for anything. And this is my email. I check it all the time. Put yours here—if you’re sure it’s okay.” He held out his notes.

“Yes, it’s fine. I trust you not to go crazy with my number, but if I catch you putting it on a restroom wall, we’ll fight.”

He chuckled. “No, I wouldn’t.”

Rashad turned back to his portfolio and opened to a page. “Look at this. With all the design classes I’ve taken, I’ve never learned this trick.”

Michelle looked at the abstract of an apple running.

“That’s wonderful. You’re already an artist.”

“Not yet, love. Let’s just say I’m working in my field. Let’s see one of yours.”

Michelle was hesitant but opened her portfolio to one of their assignments. It was a cubist form of a female nude against a brick wall.

“Wow. You’re already an artist, too.”

“Not yet, but I’m trying. I think this one will look good with color. I’m going to paint it over the weekend and see if I can link it to a women’s organization or something. Maybe they’ll want it, and that way I might be able to put it in my portfolio.”

“I’m sure they will want it. It’s beautiful, and I can already see it with color.”

“I want to use various shades on the body—like a representation of multicultural women uniting or something like that. And— Never mind. I’m just yammering on.”

“No, don’t stop. I like it when you’re excited about something,” Rashad said. “I want to hear more, but everyone’s leaving. Hey, do you have half an hour? We can stow supplies in my car and walk along the waterfront so that we can talk a little more. If not, I understand. Your son’s waiting.”

“No, I can stay for a while. Let me just check on the little one and update them that I’ll be running late. I’ll be back here in two minutes.”

Michelle headed to the restroom to make her phone call and found that she was as excited about the prospect of walking along the waterfront with Rashad as she was about finishing her piece and, she hoped, getting it accepted somewhere.

“Hey, honey. It’s Mommy....I know. I’ll be on my way soon....You let Mrs. Miller put you to sleep now, and I’ll carry you home when I get there. And brush your teeth well, young man....Let me talk to Mrs. Miller.”

Mrs. Miller was fine keeping Andre for an extra half hour, so the night was set. Michelle found herself checking her hair in the mirror and applying more lipstick. Yes, she was excited about being out somewhere—and out with him. But that wouldn’t do, would it? He hadn’t actually shown any interest, at least not that kind of interest. She took a breath and went back to the classroom to collect her things.

“Do you know whether we have to turn in our portfolios at any point?” Rashad asked.

“Yes, we do. Three times. That’s why we’re supposed to number the assignments.”

“You’re right. I remember that now from last week. That didn’t make it into my notes. How’s the little one? Do you have time now, or do you need to get home?”

Rashad’s voice dropped on the last question, as though he’d be disappointed if she had to leave. It was just a hint, but it made Michelle smile.

“I have time,” she said, gathering her things. They started toward the elevators. “I bought an extra half hour, which is actually an extra hour, as I already gave myself half an hour of leeway—just in case.”

“Excellent. My car is in the lot across the street again, and you can follow me to Greenbelt instead of using a street map, so you’ll get home quickly.”

Rashad chuckled after he said it, and so did Michelle, but she also rapped his arm with the back of her hand.

“No teasing the directionally challenged art student.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. But I can lead you home.”

“You don’t have to, but it would be nice of you. My car’s in this lot, too. I’m the used Ford Fiesta over there. I’ll be right back.”

While Rashad went over to his Kompressor, a Mercedes-Benz, Michelle headed to her Fiesta. It reminded her of the differences between them. Their ages were close, but he was finished with school and obviously doing well. She had gotten off track and was just starting over. He was where she wanted to be. No, he was where she would be one day—her and her son.

After storing their supplies, they recrossed the street and joined the groups sauntering along the Potomac. Michelle looked down at herself. She had on her usual bargain casual clothes—this time it was a green chiffon tank top with a green sweater, jeans and her usual flats. If she’d known they were going to hang out, she’d have dressed up a bit.

It was late September and a bit cool, so Rashad had put on his blazer when he’d dropped things off at his car. His tie was probably still in the car, but even without it, she could tell from the cut of his suit that he wore good quality to work. His black wing tip dress shoes gleamed. Again—the differences between them.

“What are you thinking?”

Rashad stirred her from thoughts she didn’t want to express, but she didn’t know what else to say.

She took a breath. “I was thinking that you’ve made it, and I haven’t as yet—as yet being the operative words. I wanted to be finished with school by now, to be in my career. I guess I’m a little jealous.”

“Don’t be. You’ll get there soon. And you have something to show for your time that I don’t. A son, a family.”

“That’s true. And that’s part of the reason I’m not finished as yet. But I’ll get there. I have to.”

It was just after ten and had gotten dark. The lights from the promenade were reflected on the water, and boats moored along the harbor bobbed slightly in the flow of the Potomac. There were fewer families out now and more couples. Michelle and Rashad walked close together in the quiet that had sprung up between them.

Rashad broke their silent interlude. “What were you saying before about the piece that you’re going to paint this weekend?”

“I was thinking that I’d check with a few women’s shelters and places like that—Women’s Space, Agatha’s House, that kind of thing.”

“I think it would fit perfectly. It will be in your real portfolio sooner than you know.”

“Thank you for the confidence.”

“Don’t forget I’ve seen it. Hey, I can help with the graphics if you need it.”

“No.” Michelle chuckled. “I wouldn’t be able to add it to my portfolio then, could I?”

“I see your point. Do you know how to import photographs and stuff like that?”

“Enough to do a project, and I have some classmates to call when I need help with directions for things like that.”

“Count me in, as well.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

They had passed several boats anchored along the waterfront and had now gotten to the Chart House, which was still open, at least for the next twenty minutes, so they decided to get a seat on the upper terrace overlooking the Potomac and have virgin daiquiris, as both were driving.

“How old is your son?”

The thought of her son made Michelle smile. “Andre is four. He’s my whole heart.”

“Aw. But four? You seem too young to have a four-year-old son.”

“I’ve just gone back to school, but I’m twenty-five.”

“I thought women weren’t supposed to tell their ages and that men weren’t supposed to ask.”

“I know, but I never understood why. How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-seven,” Rashad answered. “So this is your second time in school?”

“Yes, I started, but then came Andre, and there was just too much going on in my life.”

“Andre’s father?”

Michelle felt herself tense up, but she forced her shoulders to relax.

“I married right out of high school. Andre came a few years later.”

“Wow. Right out of high school? I don’t think I was mature enough to even think about marriage then.”

“Well, I might not have been, either, but I did. I was a little wild in my younger days.”

“Were you? I couldn’t tell that from knowing you now.”

“Hmm.” Michelle thought briefly about her marriage and the toll it had taken on her. Maybe she had lost a bit of her spark, but she had spent the past two years trying to get some of it back. “I was. I partied. I went for the bad boy. I did whatever my parents said not to do. But I don’t like to talk about the past. I want to focus on the future.”

“And you guys have been in D.C. for two years?”

“Don’t start with me now.”

“I wasn’t starting. I was just asking.”

“Yes, we’ve been here for two years. I manage a coffeehouse downtown—Dupont Circle. I started out as a regular employee just after I came here. It’s actually worked out. They let me do early morning and weekend hours, so that I can work full-time, go to school and be with my son in the evenings.”

“So you’re working your way through school and raising a son. That’s a lot.”

“I have good support. My cousin Nigel lives here, and his wife is a godsend.”

“Where are you all from originally?”

“Charleston, South Carolina.”

“Aha. I thought I caught a slight Southern drawl here and there.”

Michelle swatted at Rashad playfully, but he caught her hand before it hit and held it for a moment—a long moment.

When he released her hand, Michelle had to shake her head to clear the questions in her mind and release the flutter from her stomach.

“We Charlestonians are proud of our Southern heritage. I do still have the accent, but I can turn it on and off now that I’ve been in D.C. for so long. You should hear me when I go home.” Michelle then checked her watch. “Actually, we need to finish our drinks. They’ll be closing soon.”

“Oh, you’re right,” Rashad said, glancing around. “I think they’ve closed the doors already. They’re just waiting for us stragglers. Hey, if you can stay a little late next week, we should walk along King Street. They stay open later, and they have bunches of shops and galleries—art, jewelry—”

“I know. My cousin’s wife—her name is Regina—she co-owns a mosaic and beadwork studio and gallery not far up King Street.” Michelle stood as Rashad paid their tab. “That’s how I first found out about the Torpedo Factory. What about you? Are you from D.C. originally?”

“No, but my family is from Baltimore, and we’d come down every so often.” Rashad also rose, and they headed back to the promenade. “Then I came to D.C. to go to Howard, and then I stayed here to work. I’ve been here awhile. I don’t know where everything is, but I know most stuff.”

“Between work and home, I don’t get out a lot.”

“Now I know why you haven’t seen much of the D.C. area. I’d like to show some of it to you if you’ll let me.” His tone was soft, but then he straightened, and in a matter-of-fact voice, he added, “If that’s all right.”

“Maybe after the semester is over. I can do more over the winter break and over the summer.”

They were retracing their steps along the waterfront, taking their time back to their cars.

“Tell me about being a graphic designer. What attracted you to that?”

“I love art, and I love working on the computer.”

“Ugh. That’s where we differ. I like paper and pencil or paint. I don’t know what I’ll do when we can’t read books, actual books, anymore.”

“I like that, too, but I like the computer, as well. And mind you, the day is not far off when everything you read will be on a computer tablet of some kind.”

“No, no. I don’t want to hear it.” Michelle covered her ears with her hands. “La, la, la—” She interrupted herself laughing, and Rashad started laughing, as well.

“Okay. I’m past my rage against the future. You may go on.”

“I’m not sure I should. I work for a web design firm, so everything we do is for the computer. But there are graphic designers in a variety of fields. I took to web design because I had to learn how to do one for a project, and I got hooked. It’s great bringing an organization to life on the screen. I guess I like what I do.”

“You’re very lucky.”

“And you?” Rashad asked. “Why advertising?”

“I love the artistic side of it,” Michelle said. “I don’t know much about the business side of it as yet. I don’t like the idea of fooling people or luring people with false promises. I want to produce art, and advertising is what I want to do because it’s art that everybody sees. It’s art without the hundred-dollar ticket price for the orchestra seat.”

“So you’re a Marxist revolutionary about art—art for the masses!”

“In a way. And don’t knock Marxism. From what I’ve read, Marx was quite brilliant. That’s my way of saying he’s dense as hell.”

Both laughed.

“He was damn near incomprehensible sometimes,” Rashad agreed. “I’ve dabbled, as well.”

“Kudos to us for trying,” Michelle said. “High five.”

Michelle raised her hand, and Rashad met it.

“Are you sure you’re not a sports fan?”

“Absolutely sure.”

They were at Michelle’s car now and had paused. Rashad seemed as reluctant as she was about the end of the evening. It had felt like being on vacation to Michelle. Adult conversation with a handsome man, an hour in which she didn’t have to be anywhere, talking with someone who seemed to be genuinely interested in what she was saying, what she was thinking. It was like paradise.

Michelle unlocked her door, and Rashad leaned toward her and reached around her to open the door. But they still stood there.

Rashad leaned toward her in the dim light of the garage, and, for a moment, Michelle thought that he was going to kiss her. She held her breath and felt her heart begin to pound in her chest.

But just as quickly as it happened, the moment was over. Rashad straightened, and Michelle wondered if she had misread his body movements. She felt her face flush with embarrassment, wondering if he could tell that she’d thought he was about to—

“Follow behind me. I won’t run any yellow lights or anything like that. But honk if you start to fall behind.”

Rashad had turned and had taken several steps toward his car, but he turned back.

“How long have you been married?”

“Married?”

“Your husband is a lucky man. And you were married right out of high school, so that’s about...six years?”

“I’m not married anymore.”

“Huh? I thought...”

Michelle saw the confusion in Rashad’s crinkled brow.

“I was divorced a little while before I moved to D.C. That was one of the reasons I moved—to leave that past behind, so to speak.”

“But before I asked how long you guys had been here.”

“I thought you meant me and my son. We’ve been here two years. I didn’t know that you thought—”

“Wow. I guess I just assumed that you were married—still married.”

“I guess I wasn’t clear.”

There was a pause in which each seemed to be recalculating—tracing their conversations to detect the flaw that had led to the misunderstanding and reassessing what had just happened in light of the clarification.

Still, Michelle wasn’t sure what to think, and it was she who broke the silence.

“I had better get going. I have to get my son from the sitter.”

Her words seemed to awaken Rashad from a reverie, and he refocused his eyes on her. He stared at her a moment before he spoke. “Okay. Yes. Just follow behind me.”

He took a couple of steps toward his car and then turned back again.

“Next Wednesday let’s have dinner in Old Town Alexandria after class and window-shop along King Street—if you can get home late again.”

“Okay,” Michelle answered. “I’ll check and email you if the sitter doesn’t mind.”

“Don’t forget.”

“I won’t.”

Michelle followed Rashad as far as Beltway Plaza on Greenbelt Road, wondering all the while what had just happened.

When he turned off Beltway Road to the street leading to her apartment complex, Rashad stopped and waved her past him.

There was no traffic, so she pulled up alongside him.

“Can you get home from here?” he teased.

“Don’t you play with me when I can’t reach you to strangle you. The real question,” she said, “is whether or not I can find my way from class again.”

“Can you?”

“No.”

They cracked up.

Michelle waved, passed him and continued on as he made a U-turn and headed back to Beltway Road.

She picked up a sleeping little Andre from two doors down and carried him home to put him in his own bed. Once that was done, she started to change. She had to get to bed right away because she had to be at the coffeehouse early the next morning. She would get Andre ready and drop him off with Mrs. Miller, who would walk him to school.

She cherished Mrs. Miller. It mattered more than anything having people around whom she could trust, especially with her child. She paid Mrs. Miller, of course, but what Mrs. Miller did for her couldn’t be counted in money. She took Mrs. Miller grocery shopping and had her over for Sunday supper sometimes and did whatever else she could, but it didn’t seem like enough. Mrs. Miller and her cousin Nigel and his wife, Regina, and her boss at the coffeehouse allowed her to do the things she hoped would get her life back on track after that fiasco of a marriage.

She had even spent a night out after her art class with almost no notice. And that was what was really on Michelle’s mind, keeping her awake.

She kept replaying the moment when it had seemed that Rashad wanted to kiss her, and she kept wondering about his reaction when she’d told him that she wasn’t married. It was clearly news to him, but he hadn’t come back to kiss her. Perhaps he didn’t want her if she was actually within reach. Or maybe he hadn’t been about to kiss her and was just being polite to let her get over her embarrassment. But then he had asked her out the next week, or was that only to continue their friendship from class?

Deep down, she wanted him to be interested, and that’s what scared her.

It was funny to think that after being divorced for two and a half years, the prospect of a date would perplex her, but it did. Was next week a date?

Michelle fell asleep wondering what the following Wednesday would bring but determined to let it be whatever it turned out to be. In her mind, life was looking up. She could at least imagine having a date, and she was finally getting her life in order after the merry-go-round marriage she’d had.

Don’t forget to check with Mrs. Miller and email Rashad. That was her last coherent thought before she nodded off, and her dreams were tinged with possibility.

Chapter 4

Rashad sank into the leather sectional that lined the back of his brother Marcus’s law office. Rashad was the youngest of four brothers, and all were now gathered in Marcus’s office because they had planned—before Rashad knew about his class dates—to go to a Washington Redskins game. He had called to bow out, but he came to see his brothers off. Now all of the brothers—Derrick, Marcus, Keith, and Rashad himself—had arrived.

“I’m just explaining,” Rashad said. “Why I can’t go tonight. I have a class, and I’m having dinner with a classmate afterwards.”

“Is this dinner with a man or a woman?” Derrick, the oldest brother, asked.

Rashad rolled his eyes.

“It’s a woman,” Keith said. He was sitting next to Rashad and nudged Rashad’s shoulder.

“What does that prove—whether it’s a man or woman?” Marcus said.

“Just because you’re gay doesn’t make the rest of us gay,” Keith said. “We love you, bro. But this is a different story.”

“If it was just dinner,” Rashad explained, “I would reschedule, but I can’t change the date and time of my class.”

“Forget the class,” Keith said. “We want to know about the date.”

“Are you still playing,” Derrick asked, “or are you getting serious?”

Rashad was the only one of his brothers not married, including Marcus, the gay one, and it was never long before they started their ribbing and tried to get him to find the right one and “settle down.” Rashad let his head fall back and then shook it, looking at the ceiling. It was starting.

“Rashad hasn’t been serious about anyone his whole life,” Derrick said.

“Hey, I’ve always been up front about not wanting to get serious.”

“That’s to your credit,” Marcus said. “But what about getting serious for a change?”

“I’ll know when it’s time to get serious,” Rashad answered. “I’ll know when I find the right one.”

“I don’t know,” Keith said, already trying to control his laughter. “I’ve seen you out with a couple of, how shall I say, not-so-comely women.”

This exaggeration was designed to get Rashad’s gall up. They all knew that he dated lookers.

“Okay. Let me alone.” He panned his index fingers, pointing at all his brothers. “I can whip all of your behinds individually. Remember that.”

Rashad was the youngest but also by far the tallest of the four at six feet and two inches. And his brothers’ ribbing did get his gall up. He had dated only casually partly because he had in mind a model prototype of the woman he would marry, and he had not met her yet, so he had never really been serious. Actually, he resented the pressure his brothers put on him to conform, but he found that it subsided more quickly if he ignored them and didn’t let on that they were getting on his last nerve.

“It’s not that it isn’t fun to play,” Derrick said. “But there comes a time to settle down.”

Those were the words he hated. Rashad raised his palms in desperation, then let them slam down on his thighs.

“Here we go again.”

“Just trying to school you the right way, baby brother,” Marcus said, backing up Derrick.

“What we mean—”

Rashad cut off Keith. He was the last one married and the least serious of the bunch about everything except his marriage.

“No, we’re not going there today. And you, brother of mine, are the last one who should be talking about being serious.”

His other brothers cracked up, which was not quite what Rashad had intended.

“We’re not on me today,” Keith said, almost pouting. He added, “Thank heavens.”

Rashad stood as Trevor, Marcus’s partner, opened the door and came inside.

“I have to get on it,” Rashad said. “I have to make it to Old Town Alexandria from here in rush hour traffic. Hey, Trevor.” He greeted the other man with a brief hug. “You taking my place tonight?”

“Apparently so.”

Marcus got up from behind his desk and came over to them, first hugging his partner hello then clapping Rashad on the back and pulling him in for a similar hug goodbye. Derrick got up from his chair and Keith from the sectional, and both also came over to hug Rashad.

“I’m sorry I can’t make it tonight, you guys. We don’t get together enough.”

“Hey,” Derrick said, “Thanksgiving is next month, and I think the next game is before that.”

Rashad and Keith did their thing, a brief hug and then a smacking of closed fists.

“I’ll see you all then,” Rashad said. “If not before.”

He left his brother’s firm and made it to his meter before it expired.

His brothers had riled him, but they also had him thinking. Tonight was actually something of a date (though he would never say that to his brothers), and he didn’t know if he needed to say something to Michelle about not getting too serious. It was generally the first thing out of his mouth—just so they couldn’t point fingers later—but it hadn’t even occurred to him to say anything to Michelle. But then he’d thought she was married. Now that he knew she wasn’t, he still didn’t want to say anything. He didn’t want to chance chasing her away.

Something about her just set him at ease with himself. Yet she wasn’t what he thought his ideal would be. He imagined a sleek, sexy, manicured professional type—a corporate lawyer in a tight-fitting skirt done up to the nines, assertive and in control but his (and only his) playmate. He’d had that fantasy since he was a teenager, hence the model types that he’d dated. But none of them had shared his interests or even his thoughts.

Michelle, on the other hand, sparked something inside him. He thought about her, waited for her email saying that she could stay late after class—which had finally come two days ago. It was the way her energy filled his car on the ride home, or the way he fantasized about her curves. She was beautiful, but not in a sleek, manufactured way. There was some fire to her, but there was also a sweetness about her, an unassuming quality.

He reached the Torpedo Factory Art Center without coming to any resolution and smiled when he saw her beat-up Ford Fiesta in the lot as he pulled in. Yes, there was something about this woman.

He didn’t know quite what it was or what to do about it, and he didn’t have time to figure it out right then, so he would let come what might.

He found her already there when he entered the classroom, and took his usual seat next to her.

“Did you still need a map to get here?”

“Don’t start with me,” she said, but then she chuckled and nodded her head. “Did you finish your homework?”

“Of course. And here I am with it, even though I’m missing a Redskins game with my brothers.”

“Redskins?”

Rashad couldn’t suppress his laughter, and other students in the class turned to look. He wanted to let them in on it, but he couldn’t stop the laughter, so he just waved them away. When he could catch his breath, he turned back to Michelle.

“You don’t know who the Redskins are?”

“I told you I don’t follow sports. But has anybody thought about this name?”

Rashad chuckled more, but he could control the volume this time.

“I’m glad I amuse you,” Michelle said. Then she put her hand on her hip and moved her head back and forth, getting real. “But this laughter at my expense has got to end.”

“I’m sorry. I am. And, yes, I’m sure that the name has been a subject of debate.”

Rashad was laughing again before he finished. After a firm look in his direction, Michelle joined in.

“Are we still on for tonight, or do you need to leave early to catch what you can of the game on television or something?”

“No, my brother-in-law got my ticket, and the game will show in reruns, so we’re on. I guess that’s the upside of missing the game. I don’t have to miss tonight with you.”

Michelle looked at him closely, perhaps judging his sincerity, but she didn’t reply. She shrugged her shoulders and mouthed the word okay.

That was enough—that and the way she looked tonight. Though she was sitting down, he could see that she didn’t have on her usual leggings or jeans. She had dressed a bit for tonight. Over what looked like a brown satin camisole, she had on a brown lace cover-up that fit close to her body and that went down to her thighs. She also had on brown palazzo pants that widened at the ankle, flaring out like a dress, and she had on low black heels. Instead of her usual sweater, a long, brown African mudcloth wrap hung on the back of her chair with her purse.

Her long hair had fresh curls at the ends, and a piece of material that matched her cover-up circled her head from her nape to her crown, ending in a neat knot above her left ear. If he was right, her face had a little extra makeup, as well, just enough so that he could see the extra care she’d taken.

It was enough to make Rashad look twice and value what he saw—a beautiful woman. He looked down at his standard white shirt and slacks and wished he’d done something else. At least he could grab his coat and tie from the car when they dropped off their portfolios.

“You look great tonight,” he whispered as the teacher walked in.

She smiled and turned to the front of the class, which was all on composition and started with a slide show. For their first drawing exercise, they had to create an arrangement with twenty abstract and unrelated objects. This focused his attention on the task at hand, even if part of his mind was waiting for it to be over.

At the end of the class, they turned in the assignments from their portfolios, and he finally got a look at Michelle standing. In low heels, she was only a couple of inches shorter than he was.

“You must be something like five-eleven, right?”

“What?”

“Five feet eleven inches tall.”

Her brow wrinkled, but she confirmed it. “Yes, how did you know?”

“I have about three inches on you, but not when you have on heels. You look great tonight.”

“You said that before.”

“I mean it again.”

“Thank you.”

Michelle had gathered up her things and turned to him. “Where to now?”

“What do you feel like eating?”

She made a guttural sound and slumped. “I hate that question. Anything. I feel like eating anything.”

“I checked, and there’s a little bit of just about everything around King Street.”

Michelle held up her hand and waved for him to follow her. “Let’s walk and talk before it gets too late.”

“There’s a burger place off King Street. Oh, there’s a Southern place called King Street Blues. I think we can walk there from here. How about that?”

“Yes. There. Quick. Decisive. No pondering.” Michelle chuckled. “I hate that question, but thank you for asking rather than just deciding. And, yes, Southern will be fine, but not fried. I can’t gain another pound or my clothes won’t fit, and I don’t have wardrobe bucks until I pick up some extra hours at the coffeehouse over the summer.”

Rashad knew Michelle well enough to let that go. But he filed the reference under possible things to get her for Christmas.

After they stored their portfolios and supplies, they decided to head straight for the restaurant rather than linger along King Street and chance having it close on them. Michelle had on her mudcloth wrap and looked like an African queen. Rashad took her hand as they maneuvered through the groups touring the street. She was leading, and he didn’t want to lose her, but it felt good to have her hand for other reasons, too. She looked back at him and smiled, plunging them along through the crowd.

“Does this place ever quiet down?” he asked once they made it to the restaurant.

“I’ve been at Regina’s shop until midnight, and there were still people in the streets,” Michelle said.

“That’s right. I’d almost forgotten. Did we pass it?”

“Yes, but I can point it out on the way back, when we have more time.”

The restaurant was still open, and they were seated right away.

Rashad took Michelle’s hands in his while they waited for their late-night meal. He saw her get still and quiet, but she didn’t take her hands away. Instead, she smiled at him.

“I like the feel of your hands,” she said. “They’re strong.”

“Yours are soft. I like that, too.”

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before their dinner arrived, and Rashad had to let Michelle’s hands go for what they’d ordered. The ribs were tender, the cornbread was moist, the greens were well peppered and the cobbler was juicy. It was a real Southern meal.

“Does it compare to what you get down home?” he asked.

“Yes, it does, but no one can top my uncle’s ribs or my mother’s cornbread and cobbler. This is like home when you’re on vacation.”

“Good. I’m glad you like it.”

“What about your family traditions? How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

“I have three brothers, no sisters.”

“But you said your brother-in-law got your Redskins ticket.”

“One of my brothers is gay. His partner is my brother-in-law.”

“Good for them.”

“I’m glad you’re cool with that. Thank you.”

“No thanks needed. Was your family okay when he came out?”

“Long story short—no.” Rashad chuckled. “At least not my father. But he got over it, I think. I hope so for my brother. What about you? Any siblings?”

“Nope, just me.”

“Michelle the bad girl.”

“Well, I did grow up.”

Rashad could tell there was more to that, but seeing that Michelle didn’t go on, he let it go. They talked about art for the rest of their meal. When they turned to the cobbler, the conversation changed. With the main course gone, he regained her hand, and when he caressed her fingers, hers caressed his back.

“I know it’s soon, but I really, really like you,” Rashad heard himself say. “I—I don’t know what else I planned to say. Just that, I guess.”

“I like you a great deal, too.”

“Do you date much—since your divorce, I mean?”

Michelle got quiet and still again; even the fingers that had been caressing his ceased to move.

“No, I haven’t dated at all. I’ve just been trying to re-create my life—to arrange things so that I could go back to school, work, raise my son. It doesn’t leave time for a whole lot, and I haven’t really been interested in more than that for a while.”

“Would you be interested in dating now?”

She shrugged. “It’s hard to balance everything. I’m not sure if there are enough hours in a day—or a week.”

She hadn’t gotten his real question.

“What about me? Could you see yourself dating me?”

“I think so,” she answered.

Rashad’s chest swelled, but he tried not to show it.

“What about you?” Michelle asked. “What have your relationships been like?”

Now it was Rashad’s turn to get quiet; he had to admit what he didn’t want to admit to this particular woman.

“I’ve dated a lot but nothing serious. I’ve been waiting for the right person.”

Michelle squinted her eyes and did a double take. “Nothing serious? What does that mean?”

“My relationships,” Rashad said, “have all been mutually superficial. I hate to say that, but it’s true.”

Michelle took a deep breath and looked Rashad straight in the eyes with those translucent brown pools of hers. When she finally spoke, it was slow, and he could read the disappointment in her tone.

“My life is a bit too complicated right now to have a mutually superficial relationship, Rashad. I can’t do that.”

They had finished their dessert, and she started to get up.

She turned back, looking around the restaurant. “We need the check.”

“I’ll get that, but wait.”

She had started to leave again.

“Wait. Don’t go. I’m not asking you to do that. I don’t want that with you.” This much, at least, was true. Now that he knew she wasn’t married, he was even more interested in her. He could allow himself to be interested in her.

“What do you want with me, Rashad?”

That he didn’t know.

“I don’t know. I only know that I almost kissed a married woman when I thought you were married, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I met you, and I’ve never talked to anyone the way I can talk to you. That’s all I know. What do you want with me?”

He had gotten hold of her hand, and he drew her back to the table.

“I don’t know,” she finally said. “I guess I just know that I like spending time with you.”

Rashad couldn’t help but smile.

“But I don’t want a casual thing.”

“Deal. Let’s see where this can go, and no casual thing. Either we become friends and nothing else, or we become something real. No in-between.”

“Deal.”

They both took deep breaths as the rough patch between them fell away. Now they could relax.

He paid the tab, and, as they left the restaurant, he put his hand on the small of her back. She looked up at him and smiled.

“I like it when you touch me that way.”

“I want to touch you more,” Rashad said softly.

“Let’s not rush into things,” Michelle responded. “Let’s figure out what we want first.”

Still, he saw a shudder move through her shoulders and could tell that she was responding to his touch, his voice.

“Okay.”

They walked slowly back toward North Union Street, window-shopping along the way and stepping inside some of the stores that were still open. They paused in front of the art galleries and a couple of advertisements to talk about the pieces using their newly acquired knowledge from class.

Rashad had taken Michelle’s hand, and she took his arm as they strolled. She pointed out the mosaic and beadwork studio that belonged to her cousin’s wife, and Rashad wanted to go in—mainly to meet some of her family but also because the pieces were fabulous. Unfortunately, it was late enough that the studio was closed. They would have to come back another day.

This time, when they got to Michelle’s Ford Fiesta, Rashad took her in his arms and pressed her body against his. He expected her to hesitate after their conversation, but she lifted her arms to his neck, smiling, and tipped upward on her toes to meet his lips.

The soft pressure of her lips and the floral aroma of her perfume filled his senses, and the way her curves pressed against him made his body rigid. When they broke from the most sensual kiss he had ever had, Rashad teetered back, drunk on the moment.

“Was that as good as kissing a married woman?” Michelle asked.

“That was infinitely better,” he said and let out a long, shaky breath, his body wanting more.

Michelle gasped and looked at her watch.

“Oh, no. I’m going to be late getting my son.”

“How long do you have?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Let’s go. You’ll be late five minutes, at most. Honk if I get too far ahead of you.”

Rashad turned toward his car, turned back to give Michelle one more brief kiss and they were off.

Chapter 5

Michelle stuck her hand inside the vase she had finished painting and handed it to Regina to go in the kiln.

“The flowers are done on this one.”

“They’re beautiful. Are you sure you don’t want to be an artist?”

“I’m sure I do want to be an artist, and I want to apply it to advertising.”

“I stand corrected. You’ll do wonderfully.”

“Thank you for the support. I need it.”

“No, you don’t. You’re doing great.”

Michelle painted in her spare time and sometimes did ceramics with her cousin Nigel’s wife, Regina. It even brought in a bit of change for her now and then. But she did it because she loved it and because it was great to practice on something real, something that would be used.

She had this Saturday off from the coffeehouse, so she spent the morning doing homework and the rest of the day at Regina’s, where Andre got to paint a piece of his own. He would be staying the night with Nigel and Regina because Michelle had a date—a real Saturday date—with Rashad. She had only been about five minutes late the Wednesday before last, when she had stayed after class to have dinner, but she didn’t want to risk being late after class anymore, and a Saturday gave them real time to spend together. Still, she hesitated.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay with Andre tonight? You have little Sharon, as well, and she’s only twelve months.”

“Yes, Michelle. We’ve had him overnight before. He’ll be fine with us. Go out for a change.”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s been over two years since your divorce, and you haven’t seen anyone. Don’t go from a wildflower to a weed. It’s okay to have a life.” Regina got close to her, ignoring her hesitation. “Is he cute?”

Michelle couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. Regina gasped.

“He is! Tell me.”

“Well, actually, he’s a bit like Nigel. Not in looks, but in character. He’s always doing something nice, and he’s sweet and he’s talkative.”

And he has no idea what a wild girl I used to be or how horrible my marriage was. Michelle thought those things, but she didn’t say them. It would have been admitting her flaws, and she didn’t want to say them out loud, not even to her supportive cousin-in-law. Oh, and he’s only dated casually. But we have that cleared up, I think.

“And he’s as handsome as all get-out. It should be illegal to look as good as he does.”

“Uh-huh. Sing it, sister. That never hurt,” Regina said and chuckled.

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. You go on and have a good time. It’s been a while, so take it slowly, but it’s time to get out there again. Don’t wait until college is over and then until your career is off the ground and then until Andre is grown and then until whatever it is. It will never be finished until you’re finished. Nigel and I can watch Andre more, especially now that Sharon is here. And you watch Sharon for us more than enough. Let us do a little for you, too.”

“You both do...so much for me. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You just did, and you always do. Now go on. Get made up and hit the town.”

“It’s just dinner and a movie.”

But Michelle smiled nevertheless. She was excited to go out with Rashad—for real.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. He says I haven’t seen D.C. in the two years I’ve been here, and he wants me to see some of it. But we’re starting with the basics.”

Michelle had washed her hands and was gathering up her purse.

“I’m going to pop upstairs and see Andre before I go.”

“Sure,” Regina said, shooing her toward the door. “But don’t take long.”

“I won’t.”

After checking on Andre, Michelle hopped in her car and went home to get ready for the evening. She didn’t have anything fancy, but it was only a movie, so something nice would do.

She was ready when Rashad buzzed her doorbell at six.

“Come in. The downstairs door is open, and I’m upstairs on the right.”

In moments he appeared at her open door.

“Is that safe—for the downstairs door to be unlocked?”

“I don’t know, but it always has been.”

“You should mention that to whoever manages the building.”

“Actually, I have. No change.”

“We’ll have to see about that.”

Rashad had on a brightly colored shirt for a change, and he wore it with black slacks. He also had a heavy lamb’s wool cardigan over one arm and a bag in the other hand.

“Is it cold out?”

“Not yet, but it will be tonight and at the movie. I should have left this in the car, but I took it off on the way up.”

Michelle grabbed her sweater and purse, but Rashad was still looking around. “Where’s Andre? I thought I would meet him. I brought him these.”

He handed Michelle a bag of toys.

“He’s at my cousin’s. You didn’t buy these, did you? Toys are expensive, and he has toys. You can’t buy his approval, you know.”

“I know, but I thought I’d try.” Rashad chuckled. “Actually, most of these are my nephew’s. He’s too old for them now, so I thought I would pass them along. These are new.”

Rashad pointed to games and learning programs that went with a computerized tablet.

“Trying to get him hooked on the computer early, I see. We do have one.”

“I know. Or I figured—you being a student. But these are his very own, and all the new programs are for his age-group.”

“Rashad, you didn’t have to. This is too much.”

“No, like I said, my nephew outgrew most of this. Here, this is for you.”

He pulled a DVD from the bottom of the bag.

“I didn’t know about flowers or chocolate.”

Michelle took a serious step back. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know about chocolate,” she said, her eyes sparkling with humor.

“Well, I guess I know now. But what kind? See. Too many options.”

“Anything with nuts—peanuts, almonds, pecans.”

Rashad laughed at the passion in her voice. Then she stepped back to him and took the DVD he was holding out. It was The Color Purple.

“Aw. I love this movie. And I don’t have it.”

“I’m glad. I thought you might like it. You think in color. Look at your place.”

Michelle followed Rashad’s gaze to her living room. The furniture was worn but colorful, and her walls were full of art, what she could afford, which was her own and her son’s. It did make for a rather gaudy presentation. She laughed at the thought.

“What?” Rashad asked.

“It’s actually quite gaudy. I hadn’t noticed before.”

“It’s not gaudy. It’s bright. And it fills in for what you don’t have or can’t afford right now.”

“That it does. Thank you, Rashad, for the movie and the toys for Andre. You didn’t have to, really.”

Michelle didn’t know how to truly express her thanks. It was all more than she could have imagined and just like Rashad, as she was coming to see.

“I wanted to. Don’t give it another thought. Are you ready to go?”

“Yes. Where are we off to?”

“Have you been to Gallery Place, Chinatown, in northwest D.C.?”

“I’ve driven through it a couple of times.”

“Good. I thought we could go to Clyde’s for an early dinner—they have just about everything. And the movie theater there has fourteen cinemas, so there should be something that we like. Does that sound okay?”

“It sounds great. Oh, can we find parking down there, or should we take the train in?”

“Parking is a block over. If your shoes are comfortable, we’ll be fine.”

“They are,” Michelle said. “Let’s go.” Then she paused. “Wait. Who’s driving?”

“I figure I am—only because I know where we’re going.”

“Okay. As long as you’re not still poking fun.”

Rashad pursed his lips in the cutest little pout. “Would I do that?”

Michelle flicked her finger against his arm. “Yes,” she said. “You would.” But she was still taken by his childlike pucker and smiled.

Clyde’s was packed, and when she got to see the atmosphere, she understood why. It was lively, but it was quiet enough to talk, and they did have just about everything.

Michelle rolled her shoulders and stretched her head to either side after they sat down.

“I’m so glad I didn’t have to work today. I got so much done.”

“Tired?”

“No, I just needed a stretch.”

“How do you manage on what you make at the coffeehouse, even as a manager? Is that too personal to ask? You don’t have to answer.”

“No, that’s fine. I would wonder if I wasn’t me. I get some child support and alimony from my ex-husband, and between that and work, I can pay for things around the house. For school I take out student loans, and my cousin Nigel helps a little with that. He’s...wonderful, and he’s like you—giving. I can only imagine what I’ll need to pay him back.”

Rashad took her hand, and Michelle felt a tingle move up her spine.

“He wants you to pay him back?”

“No, but I will. I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t. He tells me that we’re family, and that if anything, I should ‘pay it forward,’ like the movie, where you help someone else. But I will pay him back.”

“I can tell you will. What are your plans for your career?”

“I don’t know in detail. Right now I’m just working on finishing my degree and making myself as marketable as possible. That’s why I want a good portfolio for school. I’m hoping that I can get a good entry-level job and keep moving upward.”

“Do you save for Andre’s education?”

“Actually, I do, out of child support. I couldn’t before, but I do now. It means sticking to a tight budget, but I’m used to that.”

Michelle saw the question in Rashad’s eyes, but she didn’t want to say more about the past and was glad that he let it go.

“Are there plans for your career?” she asked.

Rashad started caressing her fingers, and Michelle felt herself shudder. It was so sensual, like it had been on their other dinner date. Michelle couldn’t keep from caressing back. She couldn’t stop the heat from rising in the pit of her stomach.

“I make a decent living now, but I think I’ll want more when I have a family, and I want to do more artistic work. Right now my goal is to keep doing good work and expanding my credentials so that I can get those pay increases and maybe open my own design firm one day.”

“That’s a good plan once you’ve gotten as far as you have.”

Michelle felt another twinge of jealousy, but she let it go. She would be okay one day. She didn’t expect Rashad’s next line of inquiry.

“What’s it like raising a son? What is Andre like?”

“Andre is a sweet pea, as much as he’s been through.”

She’d said too much again, dang it. She had to stop opening the door to things she wanted to forget. She hoped that Rashad had missed it or would let it pass, but he didn’t.

“What has he been through, Michelle?”

She wanted to say something that would close the door on that question, but she didn’t know what.

“He... My marriage was difficult, and it ended badly. That’s not the example I wanted to set for my child, but he’s just a sweet kid—in spite of all that.”

Rashad nodded and let the question pass, and Michelle was grateful.

“But raising a child is wonderful. It’s so much responsibility. His whole life right now is up to me. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“I think I know what you mean.”

“And the love of a child is totally unconditional. It’s...a blessing. I guess I’m not really religious, but I don’t know any other word.”

To show his understanding, Rashad rubbed her hand. When he was finished, Michelle went back to caressing his fingers. She liked that better. She saw the look in his eyes when she did it, and he seemed to like it better, as well.

Their dinner arrived, and Michelle shook her head to get out of her thoughts. She and Rashad let go of each other’s hands and pulled them from the table to get ready to eat. She had ordered catfish, and Rashad had gotten steak.

“One day we have to come back here for their burgers,” he said. “I’ve heard they’re great, but there’s so much to choose from that all the times I’ve been here, I’ve gotten something else.”

“Have you been here often?”

“Sometimes my brothers and I come here before or after a game or if we get together on a weekend.”

“You and your brothers sound close.”

“I guess we are, as much as they rib me.”

“I wish I had a sister. Or a brother. Any sibling. I guess my cousin and his wife are as close as I come to that.”

“Then I’m glad you have them. I want to meet them sometime.”

“I hope you will. They’re great people. Without Nigel, I wouldn’t be in D.C. He was here first and helped me make the move. He drove me home to get more of my things. He helped me out financially until I had an income. He helped me get used to a more northern, more urban landscape. He encouraged me to go to Howard. He continues to help me with paying for it. He’s been a godsend.”

“One day,” Rashad said, “I hope you’ll feel close enough to me to let me help you.”

“One day, I hope I won’t need you—or anyone else—to help me.”

“That day is coming.”

“I know,” Michelle said. “And I guess I know all that I’ve actually done on my own, as well.”

“Exactly. You made the move. You’re taking the classes and working and raising a son. You’re my hero.”

Michelle was touched by Rashad’s words.

“I just have to remember to celebrate all that while I strive for more.”

“Amen.”

They ate quietly for a while, and the peace between them wasn’t interrupted until their waiter came to offer them dessert.

“Let’s split something,” Michelle suggested.

“What? I could go for apple pie.”

“I don’t think so. Not when there’s something called Chocolate Blackout Cake on the menu.”

“I should have known about the chocolate,” Rashad said, shaking his head.

Michelle laughed. “Yes indeed.” She turned to the waiter. “We’ll split the chocolate cake and ice cream.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Michelle ate most of the cake, and Rashad had most of the ice cream. After that, they headed to the movie theater, selected the new version of Les Misérables and found a relatively unoccupied row in the back of the theater to watch it.

Rashad had brought his sweater, and Michelle was already wearing hers, but it was still chilly. Not long after the film started, she slipped her hands into Rashad’s open cardigan to warm them. His chest heaved under her touch, and he glanced toward her.

“Sorry,” she said. “I just wanted to warm my hands.”

“No need for apologies. I don’t mind if you do that again.”

Michelle felt mischievous and raked her fingers along Rashad’s chest. It heaved again, and he shifted in his seat.

“Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have said you could do that again.”

Michelle smiled and let her hands come to a rest. Rashad wrapped his arm around her, drawing her close to his warmth. She could feel the heat from his body as she rested her head on his shoulder, and his arm was like a blanket around her.

Without thinking about it, she ran her fingers over his chest again. Rashad turned toward her with a passionate look on his face that made her catch her breath, and before Michelle could react, he had drawn his hand inside her sweater and over her chest.

His touch filled her with desire, and her nipples tightened under his fingers. And he didn’t stop. He caressed the taut peaks that his fingers had just made until she was shivering with each flicker, until a low murmur escaped her throat.

They teased each other like that on and off throughout the film, stopping when one had had too much or to hear a touching or rousing song. But one or the other would start up again after the interlude. Occasionally, Rashad dipped his head to kiss her forehead or her ear. It made Michelle shiver, but he couldn’t really know what it did to her, the way it set her moisture flowing.

They sat up as the credits rolled and looked at one another. Her face felt flushed, and she was sure that the passion he saw there matched the passion in his own eyes.

“I have to get you home to Andre, don’t I?” Rashad said.

“No, he’s staying with Nigel and Regina and their little girl tonight.”

Rashad looked into her eyes and spoke in a soft, deep voice that sent quivers into the pit of Michelle’s stomach. “Come home with me,” he said. “Let me make love to you.”