Chapter 3
Malcolm
I sat in my truck in the parking lot behind the restaurant while I waited on Ginger. Turning up the radio, I rested my head against the black leather headrest and started jamming along to Jason Derulo’s “Talk Dirty to Me.” A few minutes later I heard a tapping on my window. I looked over to see Ginger’s smiling face. She stepped back as I opened the door.
“Having a dance party?”
“Nope. Practicing up for my career as a rapper,” I responded, and leaned down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Well, don’t quit your day job just yet,” she replied, smoothing down the back of her hair.
I reached out to touch one of the shortened strands. I remembered the shock I’d had the first time I saw her after she’d hacked it all off. The cut she wore now looked cute on her, but I liked it longer.
“Are you ever going to let it grow out?”
She shrugged and took a step back. “This is really easy to care for. Why? You don’t like it?” She ran her fingers down the back of her head again.
I grabbed her hand and kissed the palm. “I like it just fine. Come on, I’m starving.”
I held her hand while we walked the short distance to the front entrance. Luckily, we’d missed the morning rush, which meant we got seated without having to wait. The windows were open, allowing for a cross breeze to flow through. The lively sounds of Piedmont Ave. drifted in, drowning out the music playing from the speakers.
Ginger twirled the ring around her finger while she looked over the menu. She’d moved it to the right hand, but at least she still wore it. That fact alone made me happy. The waiter came and brought two glasses of water.
“What?” she asked when she saw me staring.
“Nothing.”
“Then what’s with the goofy grin?”
“This face does sexy, handsome, irresistible, and several other looks, but never goofy.”
She hid behind her hands and started laughing. “You’re such a weirdo,” she said, reaching for her water glass.
I leaned forward and took ahold of her hands. “Yeah, but I’m your weirdo.”
The smile dropped from her face, and she eased free from my grasp.
She picked up her menu and used it like a shield. “I think I want the organic pancakes.”
After we placed our orders, I noticed Ginger kept her hands in her lap, and out of my reach. Just like last night, I wanted to say something but didn’t.
“So, how long will your parents keep Lil man?” I asked.
She shrugged. “They’re never in any rush to give him back, but I’m gonna pick him up after we tour your house.”
“It’s not my house. Not yet, and I was serious yesterday when I said I want you to love it. I want it to be for us.”
“Mal, I told you I need time. Last night you wanted me to spend the night with you. Now you’re talking about us living together. I feel like life has been thrown into fast forward, and I’m not there yet.”
Our server returned, bringing our drinks. Ginger gave him a quiet thank you then took a long drink of her mimosa, nearly emptying the glass before the guy left our table.
“That’s because you’re stuck on pause,” I countered once he’d left. “I’m not dense, Calida. You barely want me to touch you, so I’m not expecting you to move in with me right away. But that doesn’t stop me from planning for the future, our future. And you make it sound like I was trying to get you in bed. I was concerned about you.”
Ginger played with the placement of her silverware, focusing her attention on those three pieces. “I’m not on pause.” She leaned forward and let out a huff of air. “If it was up to you and our families, we’d have been on the next plane to Vegas for a quickie wedding. You’re busy making plans for a future without bothering to ask me if it’s what I want.” Her words were accompanied with angry pointing in my direction. She spoke low, but that did little to soften the bite behind them.
“What the hell does that mean?” The positive feelings I’d had were making quick retreat.
“Nothing, Mal.” She sat back and finished off the remains of her drink, doing her best not to look directly at me. I could almost hear the click of the steel doors as they locked in place around her. “What time are we meeting your agent?”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Shut down on me.”
Our server returned with our food and a refill for Ginger without her ordering another. She put her focus on her plate, leaving our conversation hanging. I followed her lead, and we ate in silence. Well, I ate. She mostly picked at her food.
“I don’t want to fight with you,” she said.
“Then don’t,” I replied. “Just talk to me. We’ve known each other for years. We’re friends above all else. All you have to do is talk to me.”
She nodded but said nothing. This was not how I imagined the first days of our relationship going. Mostly because I’d thought once I laid it all out for her, things would be different, but they weren’t. I’d thought that once she knew, once she’d heard me say the words, that she’d truly see and understand everything I’d done for the last few years had been for her. That she’d see how deep my feelings ran for her. Only none of that happened. If anything, she now acted more reluctant and closed than before. She kept her head down, doing her best to avoid looking at me. It hurt.
“Are you finished?” I asked.
Instead of eating, Ginger worked to make the frayed threads of the ripped tablecloth straight. She’d barely finished half her food, but she’d drank three mimosas.
“Yeah.”
I paid the check then escorted Ginger to her car. I wanted to touch her, to hold her hand, but I didn’t. I walked with my arms folded across my chest, and with at least a foot of space between us. During the short drive to the house, I wondered if I made the right choice yesterday. I wanted to believe she was ready for this step, but now she had me second guessing that. There were pockets of time where she’d be like her old self; laughing, and even flirting some like before. Maybe I’d read too much into those moments.
I kept glancing at my rearview mirror, checking to see that Ginger was still behind me. The mood change over brunch made me nervous. Ginger was in flight mode, and part of me feared she’d veer off and go home instead of coming to view the house.
When we arrived, my agent Brenda was waiting for us.
“Malcolm, how nice to see you again,” the older woman said. “And this must be the lovely young lady you talk about so often.” She smiled in Ginger’s direction.
“Hey, Brenda, thanks again for letting me in yesterday. And yes, this is my girlfriend Calida.”
Brenda extended her hand toward Ginger. “Nice to meet you, dear. I’ve heard so many great things about you already.”
Ginger gave a tight smile in return while they shook hands.
“Okay,” Brenda said, walking toward the door. “Calida, I think you’ll love this place. The location can’t be beat. Malcolm says you have a young son.”
“I do. He’s a little over one.”
“Then, yes, this location is wonderful. The park is walking distance from here, plus the botanical gardens. Not to mention Fernbank. Perfect location for a growing family.”
Ginger gave Brenda a nod, but said nothing.
“The home has four bedrooms, four and a half baths, and sits on a fully finished basement,” Brenda said, starting in on her sales pitch. “These beautiful hardwoods are found throughout the home. I love the warm, rich color. I prefer the darker woods like these.”
“Yes, they are nice,” Ginger replied.
“Do you cook? Malcolm told me he only used the kitchen to hold take-out menus.”
Ginger glanced over at me and rolled her eyes with a small shake of her head. “That sounds like him. I cook some. I’ve gotten better than I used to be.”
“Then you will probably appreciate the professional line range and oversized refrigerator more than Malcolm did.”
We followed Brenda through the house, and Ginger looked around and nodded while Brenda rattled off all the finer points of the home. Ginger loved the double staircase and the oversized secondary bedrooms. My favorite room in the basement was the media room that even had the old-fashioned red velvet curtain operated by a remote. Both women made comments about me acting like a big kid over that feature. Once the tour was complete, Brenda led us back into the open-concept great room area.
“Tell me what you think?” Brenda asked, looking over at Ginger. “Malcolm keeps coming back to this house, so I know he really likes it, but wanted your opinion.”
Ginger turned toward me. She seemed a little shell shocked, but then she smiled before lacing her fingers with mine. It felt good to have her reach out for me.
“It’s a stunning home, Brenda. Even though there’s lots of space, it doesn’t feel…overwhelming.” She turned and looked at me. “I like it, Mal. I think you should put in an offer.”
“Well, I have the paperwork with me if you are ready to do it now,” Brenda said.