Not even my move compares.

Not even that time I had a pony at my birthday party compares.

Not even the first time I felt my chest bulge with puberty compares.

Not even my first kiss with Anthony compares.

Not even the first entry I wrote in my now best-selling column, Adult-Somethings, compares.

My thoughts ran a mile a minute.

“You going to start walking, or are you going to just stand there looking like something fresh out of a Sunday morning dream?” Poetry chuckled.

“I–uh.” Sighing, I pushed out a shaky breath.

My fingers were trembling with uncertainty. My head was spinning with curiosity. And, my heart was thudding with passion.

Passion that reminded me of his name.

Poetry.

He deserved that name. He was as beautiful as the pieces I read in my spare time.

“You destroyed my sense of direction,” I responded, slowly.

Softly.

Utterly recognizable.

My voice resembled the low, comforting one I recalled when safety was the least of my concerns. It was frequent around my father. My grandfather. And, the rest of the men who shared the same blood as me.

But, Poetry didn’t. He was a total stranger.

Or maybe we’ve met in another lifetime, because some part of me knows him. I concluded.

“I’m your sense of direction, Fall. I thought we cleared all of that up.”

He waved his hand near his face, flashing a smile that made me forget hunger existed.

His joy was contagious. I felt my lips pull backward as my cheeks fluffed.

“Did we not?”

I nodded. “Maybe we did.”

“It seems to me like you might’ve missed that part.”

I shook my head.

“Good, then, come on.”

He didn’t wait for permission to take my hand into his. Neither did he wait to pull me in the direction I’d just come from.

The bright light that urged pedestrians to cross was glowing on the other side. We didn’t have the rightaway, but Poetry pushed forward, anyway. His steps were even. Calculated. Percise. He was in control.

Of himself.

Of me.

Of everything.

“Poetry,” I said, just above a whisper.

Time stopped. So did his feet. And, so did mine, involuntarily. I was repulsed by my lack of control.

“Yes?”

His eyebrows stood at attention, raising the hairs on the nape of my neck. My shoulders curled inward as I shrank and expanded simultaneously.

Scrrrrrrr.

He heard nothing. He saw nothing. But me.

This time, the wheels halted for something other than a lost woman with a map glued to her hands. This time, they stopped for him.

Not even the sound of screeching tires startled him. He didn’t flinch as his dark orbs burned holes into my face.

“Fall–”

Breathlessly, I swallowed my spit. He’d managed to create a pool underneath my tongue, unintentionally. Parts of me I didn’t want to consider were moist because of Poetry’s alluring presence. He was extracting my nature one body part at a time.

“I– the light. It’s green.”

“So are you,” he chuckled, tipping his head leftward.

Silence surrounded us. For a brief second, I thought we’d teleported to a new world.

Another universe.

Another planet.

But when he turned and continued toward the other end of the street, I realized we were still here. Still in Saint. Still in Huffington.

The whistling winds of the night cooled my overheated frame. I was grateful for the breeze. It tapped against my face, letting me know I hadn’t fallen asleep on the wooden floor of my new apartment, and Poetry wasn’t a mere collectible in the falsehood of my vivid dreams.

My New Balances collided with the sidewalk as the grip around my hand tightened. A block away from where we’d begun, our journey ended. As we approached 12th + Oak, one of the few restaurants on my list of possibilities for solo date nights, the line became more visible.

I gnawed on my bottom lip as my stomach knotted with desperation. My mother’s words lingered in silence. I was in no condition to wait for entry, seating, and food. My bones were tired. I needed a seat much sooner than later.

“Come on,” Poetry urged just as my legs slowed to a creep.

He picked up the pace again, weaving through the bystanders and making his way toward the door.

“What’s up, P?”

“What’s good?”

“Back so soon?”

“Duty calls,” Poetry responded to one of the three gentleman awaiting his acknowledgement of their presence.

“Understood,” the one closest to the door spat, “Enjoy your night.”

He doesn’t use more words than necessary. I scribbled the note in my mental journal, hoping I didn’t forget the vital piece of information before I made it back home.

Upon entry, Poetry stood at the hostess’ stand. The two young women with almost identical faces stopped shuffling through the paper in front of them to greet us.

“Good evening, Sir. Ma’am.”

“Table for two. Best in the house.”

“Right this way.”

There was no hesitation. One of the women rounded the podium and led us through the large wooden door, which opened after a single knock. Inside of 12th + Oak was magical.

Images hardly captured its beauty. Oak covered the floors, countertops, and tables. Greenery was plentiful. The space put me in the mind of an upscale, very luxurious treehouse. Birds gathered in a large display at the front of the restaurant for all the guests to see. Aside from a healthy amount of chatter, their chirping completed the ambiance.

“This way–” Poetry insisted.

I hadn’t noticed I’d stopped. Neither had I noticed my mouth was agape until I attempted to swallow the dryness that had overcome me. I rubbed my throat as my mouth pooled with saliva again.

We ended what felt like our first marathon at a table up a single flight of stairs. It overlooked the patrons on the bottom level and gave us a front-row seat to the show the birds performed naturally, night after night.

“Will this work, Fall?”

Finding my voice, I looked around, admiring our view.

“It’s perfect.”

“I’ll be back in a bit.”

Poetry’s bones never rested in the seat across from me once I was settled in mine. He pushed my chair closer to the table and headed back down the stairs. My eyes didn’t leave him until he disappeared.

He’s such a work of art.

Every few seconds, I discovered a new detail about his existence. I was swayed by the idea of learning everything possible about him before we parted ways tonight.

Ten minutes after he’d left, Poetry still hadn’t returned. Though I’d tried avoiding it, I retrieved my cell and checked my notifications. Aside from my mother and father, no one would be able to get through after six o’clock every day. I reserved those hours for my wind-down and time alone with my thoughts. Tonight had proved to be different, but I wasn’t opposed to change.

Not as long as a fine man like Poetry is involved and I am still centered.

“Your drink, ma’am.”

From thin air appeared a waitress with two cocktails on a platter. Beside them were two waters. I was pleasantly surprised when she sat both drinks in front of me.

“There’s someone sitting over there.”

“I know, but these are both for you.”

“I didn’t ord–”

“He did,” she informed me.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Can I get you anything else?”

“No. This is fine for now.”

“Alrighty, then. Enjoy.”

My wait continued. I opened one application after another, grossly engaging in screentime beyond my limitations. This wasn’t a solo date, but it was beginning to feel like it. I sipped from the first drink. It was decent. But, the second drink is what stole my heart.

Pomegranate mint martini. The menu in front of me helped me clarify what I was drinking.

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Twenty minutes passed before he reappeared. I’d grown weary with hunger as I waited. However, getting lost in my emails soothed the blow of his absence. I’d fought the urge to leave three times. It was the award-winning chef and staff that kept me seated.

I had yet to experience 12th + Oak, so I wasn’t quite ready to leave. It had little to do with Poetry at this point and everything to do with my personal desires. I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to get through those doors again.

“I apologize,” he rushed out.

He wasn’t empty-handed. He appeared with two small plates and a helping hand. From the tray the waitress was holding, he removed two more dishes before sitting down across from me.

He picked a shrimp from the plate closest to him and popped it into his mouth. Three fingers went into the air. His thumb and index finger connected.

“Perfect.”

“Oh, I see. The chef has favorites. You’re friends?”

Chuckling, Poetry shook his head.

“No, Momma. I am the chef.”

I stared, completely taken aback. It was his food that the entirety of Saint was raving about. He was the reason everyone wanted to step inside of 12th + Oak, but it was nearly impossible without reservations months in advance or a sweet prayer to the Lord that the bar had seating.

Twenty minutes made more sense now. Poetry wasn’t keeping me waiting in vain. He was in the kitchen. In his element. Possibly lost in his love for food.

“Wait– so–”

The multiple articles I’d read about the establishment never mentioned the name of the head chef, but noted that he didn’t desire recognition. They also made another thing clear.

“And the owner, yes. Now, try this,” he demanded, forcing a piece of crab cake and placing it near my lips.

Still flabbergasted, I opened and allowed him to stuff my mouth.

to be continued…

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I am Grey Huffington, Black Romance writer, emphasizing the slowness, softness, and stillness Black women desire and deserve. If you love the story you’re reading, I have a full catalog of books just like it. You can find them on Amazon or at greyhuffington.com. Sometimes my store is closed so that I can practice self-control when it comes to my artistry. If you bump into that issue, don’t worry. It’ll reopen when my impulsiveness is not so overwhelming.

Suggested Books to Start:

• Long + consuming: Luca

• Serial reading: Luca

• A feel-good novel: Jagged Edges

• An ode to women: Sensitivity

• Short + sweet: Temple

• Straight to the point: As we Learn (followed by As we Love)

• City-Romance: Syx + the City

For a full list of recommendations, visit greyhuffington.com. For the full catalog (in order), visit my Instagram feed.

Fall

One more.

“Just one– more,” I grunted as my bottom lip curled between my teeth.

My hands were in flames. My back was preparing to lock. And, my limbs were near the point of total collapse.

Just one more.

“Ugh!”

I landed both feet on the top floor of my building. The dated wood announced my presence. So did the wheels of the suitcases in front of me.

“My God.”

I pushed the three sets of wheels toward one of the only two doors on the tenth floor. Upon reaching the chipping paint of the hunter green doorframe, I patted the pocket of my oversized denim jacket.

There.

The key’s retrieval led to my entry. My heart hammered against my hand as it rested on my chest. With shallow, unpredictable breaths sporadically piercing the air, I stood motionless in the five-hundred square foot studio apartment.

Both fear and pride raced to my head. The ultimate prize was my thoughts. I quickly chose a winner before the race ended.

I’m proud of you, kid.

My father’s voice echoed in every corner of the apartment. Even at thirty, I was considered a kid in his eyes. His kid, nonetheless.

My dreams of being a resident of Saint, Huffington had finally come to fruition. Small-town girls didn’t find their way up here often, but I wasn’t like the others. I had never been. Though it took me some time to make the move, I’d done it. And, I’d done it just how I wanted to.

Alone and just about empty-handed.

Almost everything I owned was donated back in Perry. They didn’t belong in this new chapter with me. Neither did the energy they carried. I wasn’t the same person I was when I purchased them. I was better.

Bolder.

Wiser.

More sure of myself than I’d ever been.

“So this is love?” I finally spoke, allowing my eyelids to join.

My cheeks hiked, revealing my smile from the inside out.

Bzzzt.

Bzzzt.

The skin peeled back, and my eyes widened. I shoved my right hand into my back pocket, retrieving my cellphone. I swiped to answer and pressed the phone against my ear.

“Hello?”

“Fall–”

My mother’s voice dangled over my heart as I turned toward my suitcases, still in the hallway.

“Yes, Mom?”

“I’ve checked your location. You’ve made it safely.”

“I have.”

Bending over, I laid my hands on the luggage and began pushing it forward.

“Good. That’s so exciting. I wish we were there to help.”

“You’ll come… You and Dad. I just nee–”

“I know, baby. There’s no need to explain. I’m just being a mother. When you’re ready– on your time– and you’re absolutely sure it’s fine–” she paused, “then we’ll come.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

“Um hm. Now, you sound exhausted. Have you eaten?”

It wasn’t until the words were spoken that I realized I hadn’t. Suddenly, I felt faint. My stomach ached with hunger.

“You haven’t, have you?”

“I haven’t, but as soon as I get unpac–”

“Now, Fall. You know how you are. Once you’re unpacked, you’ll say you can just wait until the morning. If you don’t do anything else before you unpack those suitcases, put something on your stomach.”

I nodded with a sigh, knowing she was right.

“I will.”

The suitcases joined me in the middle of the floor.

“And, now that I think about it,” I sniggered, “There’s nowhere to put the stuff anyway.”

“Exactly. You’re starting from ground zero, baby.”

“A blanket and a pillow.”

“Those are the best beginnings. The most memorable ones.”

“Yeah. I think so too.”

Silently, I admired the details of the studio apartment that I’d be calling home for the next fifteen months. The images online and the video tour did it very little justice. The complex was built over a hundred years ago, and the new owners preserved the vintage charm as much as possible.

There was a fireplace, built-in bookcases, a breakfast nook that overlooked the city, a balcony that ran the length of the rear of the apartment, a fire escape, and original wood flooring.

I’m in love. I squealed inside. I was far too tired to display my excitement or the utter intrigue I was experiencing.

“Food,” my mother reminded me, breaking the silence. “Something light. It’s nearing eight.”

“Yes. Food.”

“Now, Fall.”

“Yes. Now.”

“Alright. I’ll call you later this week unless you’d rather have me wait for your call.”

“I’ll call you.”

“Okay. I love you, honey.”

“I love you back, baby,” I responded, gnawing on my bottom lip.

The move was bittersweet. My mother was my best friend. My soft landing. My safe space.

The call ended, and so did my enthusiasm. The realization of my decision hit me like a ton of bricks.

I’m alone.

In a new city.

A thousand miles from my tribe.

“I’m going to need some wine to face this music.”

Silence was on shuffle and would be until I settled into the idea of being completely alone.

In a new city.

A thousand miles away from my tribe.

I turned around, faced the door of my new space, and placed one foot in front of the other. My load was lighter, making my descent easier. The logistics behind choosing a ten-story walk-up had everything to do with girl math. I imagined I’d have no other choice but to get my ten thousand daily steps in running up and down the stairs.

Food was my greatest escape most days, and if I didn’t stay active, it would be my gateway to genetic obesity and diabetes. I watched my grandmother, aunts, and uncles suffer enough to know that I didn’t want frequent visits to the doctor’s office and a lifelong supply of meds.

They weren’t properly educated on the effects of the conditions by the people before them. It left them with health issues and unhealthy eating habits that spiraled with age. My mother had broken the cycle. I’d be foolish to restart it.

Portion control.

No eating after eight.

De-center food.

Dinner isn’t the only date option.

Get ten thousand steps in.

Walk to escape the madness.

Stay active.

My mother’s approach was simple, and I had adopted it as a teen.

“Almost there.”

I’d conquered six flights and had four more to go.

But where will I go?

What do I have a taste for?

As the thoughts circulated, my phone vibrated in my hand. The preview from my mother’s text let me know that she heard them all the way in Perry.

Rest your bones. Have a seat somewhere.

I didn’t open the message. I knew exactly what she meant and why she’d said it. I’d been moving nonstop for seven days. I deserved a seat at a fine table with linen before me and appetizers in front of me. Red wine would ease my nerves. The new environment would give me inspiration for my next piece.

I strutted through the lobby with the double doors in my view. The doorman pushed them open as I whisked past.

“Have a good evening, ma’am.”

“So do you, Samuel.”

I’d remembered his name. It had only taken a single encounter. My complex had no elevator, but all the other luxuries were present.

Concierge. A doorman. Laundry services. Dog walkers. A gym. And, the list went on.

I dug into the pocket that held the key to my place and carefully removed the folded sheet of large paper. Red circles were scattered all over the city’s map. I’d carefully researched every restaurant within a fifteen-mile radius because that was how far I was willing to go for a bite of food on any given day. For special occasions, travel wouldn’t be a concern.

“Okay.”

I peered up at the street signs as I neared the corner.

Jackson and Unis.

I was on Jackson. It connected to Unis and led to Center Street. Center led to anywhere and everywhere, almost, including the train station where I was likely headed.

HONK.

HONK!

My nervous system shattered as the sound of loud horns pushed my hair back on my face. My eyes threatened to blossom beyond their sockets. And, my limbs all froze at once.

Just as my body stilled, it began moving again. The New Balances I wore kissed the evening air. The map crumbled between my body and another.

One that wasn’t mine.

One firmer.

Harder.

Bigger.

Faster.

Far more in control.

As I was planted on the concrete, I noticed just how far we’d traveled. My eyes darted from the middle of the street, where I’d wandered, to the sidewalk where I’d landed.

And then to him.

Him.

Oh him.

Long, thick limbs went on for lifetimes. It took me a decade to reach his handsome face. It was marked with a sign of birth. The slightly lighter, kale-shaped patch covered most of the left side. It was accompanied by big eyes etched with concern.

“You can’t get yourself killed before I get the chance to know you.”

Again, I peered at the street he’d just rescued me from and then at him. He was wearing chocolate from his head to his toes. A chain dangled from his neck. It was gold and shiny and full of the clearest diamonds. His teeth were white and pretty, just like his face. A gold bar rested beneath them, covering only a centimeter or two of his pearly whites.

My body’s temperature suffered a tremendous increase. Flashes of warmth trailed from my skull to my ankles.

“Thank you.”

“This is going to land you in a hospital, Momma.”

He removed the map from my hand.

“That’s what we have these for.”

He signaled toward the phone in my hand.

“Well, my intention is to never become too dependent on them.”

“Understood.”

I swallowed the nothingness in my throat. He smelled like silk and sage and citrus and sandalwood.

“So, yeah. I should be going.”

“Where?”

His intrusiveness felt more like a privilege than it should’ve.

“To find food.”

“Not without me–” he stated as a matter of fact, “To make sure you make it back to your block in one piece or whatever.”

I remained silent. His presence was mesmerizing.

Words were difficult.

Thoughts were delayed.

Time didn’t exist.

Everything around us stopped.

Everyone around us vanished.

“I’m Poetry,” he informed me, extending his hand.

Yes. Yes, you are poetry.

So beautiful. So rare. So thoughtful.

With my breath swelling my chest, I nodded. Physically unable to grab hold of his long fingers and massive palm.

“Fa– Fall.”

He dropped his hand and used the other to shove the map in the trash can next to us.

“You won’t be needing that, Fall, not as long as you have me.”

to be continued…