We placed our orders and as soon as the waiter left, I smiled. “I want to get to know you better,” I told Saint.
“I want to get to know you better as well.” He paused for a second, taking a sip of his water. “Who is Zola Patterson? The type of work you do is very open and every time I’ve talked to you, you seem open. But I can tell there’s a lot more to you. I can tell there’s parts of you that not everyone is privy to.”
I tilted my head to the side. “And you think you should be?”
“I know I should be.” He leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “What is something not everyone gets to know about the talented Ms. Zola Patterson?”
The first thought that came to mind was about my father and I shoved that thought back down. But the harder I strained my mind, the more forceful the images of my father’s face appeared.
“I uh…” I cleared my throat, shook off my real answer and smiled. “I’m a homebody. Not many people know that about me. While I love a good night on the town, I spend most of my time at home. I only allow certain people inside because I want to control the type of energy that’s there. I think of my home as my sanctuary. It’s the only place that I can let go of everything and just be.”
“You just moved to your place, right?” he asked.
I nodded. “Almost two months ago now.”
“How long does it take for a new place to feel like home to you?”
“A couple of days. Once it’s mine, I sage the place. I pray over it. I set up my bedroom and then it’s home.”
“Did you need your bedroom completed to sleep like you needed your office completed to work?”
“Yes, exactly!” I raised my eyebrows. “Very perceptive of you.”
“I’m very interested in the subject.”
I bit my bottom lip and studied his handsome face. Oh, he’s good.
“So, tell me, Mr. Anderson”—I sat back in my chair— “what are you scared of?”
“What am I scared of?” He rubbed his chin. “I guess I would have to say…” His voice trailed off as he held my gaze. “Failure.”
“How do you define failure?”
He took a sip of water. “Being broke.”
I nodded. “So that’s why you work two jobs?”
“That’s the main reason.”
Sitting up, I leaned my elbows onto the table. “And what’s the other part of it.”
“I don’t know any other way to be. My work ethic is to grind and provide. I saw my dad do it to take care of the family and now that he can’t—”
“Fajitas,” the waiter announced, placing the sizzling trays in front of us. He had someone with him who gave us the rest of the condiments and tortillas.
When the waiter left, we were both quiet. I cleaned my hands as I waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, I discarded my hand wipe.
“Is your dad…?” I started, carefully.
He was looking down, using his wet towelette to wipe his hands. His eyes returned to mine. “He’s been sick for the past few years. It’s not… He’s not getting any better.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Nodding slowly, his gaze intensified. “And I’m sorry for your loss.”
My heart slammed against my chest. My lips parted and the air left my lungs as I stared into his light brown eyes.
“How did you know?” I questioned quietly.
“You spoke about him in the past tense when you were telling me about your knowledge of tools,” he answered.
I didn’t realize he’d picked up on that.
My head moved up and down to acknowledge I’d heard him because I was unable to speak.
Picking up my water glass, I took a sip.
“Did everything come out okay?” the waiter asked, looking around our untouched plates.
“Everything looks good,” Saint replied, releasing me from the trance he’d held me in. When the waiter walked away, he gave me a small smile. “We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to talk about. I can tell it’s hard for you to talk about. I am sorry for your loss though.”
The stinging behind my eyes caused me to blink rapidly. Keep your shit together, I demanded of myself. I took a deep breath and rolled my shoulders back.
“I don’t ever talk about him. Except with my mom,” I admitted. Forcing myself to meet his gaze, I’d never felt so exposed. “It’s hard.” I exhaled shakily. “It’s still…Can we talk about something else, please?”
He nodded and after a few seconds, he smiled. “What dating advice would you give me?”
My brows furrowed and my lips turned upward. “What?”
“When I was at your place, you were asking me if I would take your advice.” He started putting the vegetables and chicken into his tortilla. “You’ve been on a date with me for a few hours now. What dating advice would you give me?”
“What can I say? You’ve done all the right things. You’ve said all the right things.” I started filling my tortilla. “You were right. You don’t need my help.”
“So, I’m good?”
“That you are.”
“So good that you’d want to go on a second date?”
A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth and I licked my lips to mask it. “So good that I’d consider a third.”
His heated gaze intensified as he stared from across the table. “So, in the middle of dinner on the first date, it’s not too soon for me to ask for the second date—in your professional opinion?”
“It’s not too soon if the woman in question is equally as interested in seeing you again,” I replied.
“I’m off tomorrow and Sunday. I’d like to spend more time with you.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “We haven’t even finished our food yet and you already know you want to spend the entire weekend with me?”
He licked his lips. “I knew when you walked me to the van with that bonnet on your head that I wanted to spend the entire weekend with you.”
I took a bite of my fajita and chewed as if I had to think about my answer. After swallowing, I nodded. “I think I can make myself available.”
Somehow the date just kept getting better.
The food was delicious. The conversation was riveting. And we laughed constantly. It was perfect.
When we left the restaurant, I was giddy. It was well after one o’clock in the morning and I felt like I was high off the connection we had. When we pulled up to my loft, I didn’t want the night to end.
“So, this has been a lot of fun,” I told him as he parked.
“It has,” he agreed, leaning back against the headrest. He turned to face me and smirked. “And not just because I won our bet.”
I laughed. “I’ve been letting some ideas roll around in my head.”
“Good.”
I let out a giddy sigh. “Well I know you’ve been up for almost twenty-four hours so I should let you get some sleep.”
He put his hand on mine. “No, I still have some energy to talk.”
“You’re sweet, but your eyes are red, and you look exhausted.”