Someone Like Me Page 5

  “I like to take photos of people with nature as a part of the action, but I’m still working on lighting.”

  “I can’t tell, especially in this one of an older couple kissing on a bridge. It’s probably my favorite.”

  “Mine, too. I call it Love Endures.”

  I place the photos back into the envelope and hold it out to him. “I can tell photography is your passion. Those were beautiful.”

  “Thank you. I’d love to get a few shots of you. I have my camera in the trunk. It would only take a few minutes.”

  “You don’t want to photograph me.”

  “Why not? I love to see beauty through the lens of my camera. Besides, look up. The night sky is just coming in. Perfect timing.”

  I look up, and I have to agree—the sky is perfect. I know Jack would tell me to just go for it. Have some fun, he would say to me right now. “Okay.”

  “Great.” He quickly grabs his camera bag out of the trunk and lays the envelope down inside. “I promise I’ll just take a few shots.”

  “Why don’t I believe that?”

  “Because you’re a smart woman.”

  I look around the parking lot to see if anyone is watching us.

  “Don’t worry; everyone is inside,” he says as he checks to ensure the camera is ready.

  The moment I hear him click the camera a few times to advance the film, my nerves get the best of me.

  “This is silly.”

  “That’s what makes it so unique—taking photos is all about capturing the unexpected.”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Just move. The camera and I will do the rest.”

  I lean against his car and look up to see the sun leaving us. I can hear the clicking of his camera, but the more I watch the way deeper hues of blue begin to take over the sky, the less I care. Every now and then, I glance at Michael. It’s interesting to see how focused he is. I can feel his eyes following my every move. I feel like he’s capturing my thoughts and for a second, that scares me because my thoughts are about him right now.

  The way he makes me feel. The way his eyes seem to sink deep into mine. The way my knees tremble when he touches my skin. I have to keep reminding myself that this is only our first date.

  But still…

  “I think I got it,” he finally says. “Let me just run through a few of these to be sure.”

  “Can I see?”

  “As soon as I develop them, I’ll show them to you. Deal?”

  “Deal. I have to admit that it was fun. So do you develop them yourself, or do you take them somewhere?”

  “I do them myself. To me, that’s the best part. You get to see the light coming out of the darkness.”

  “Maybe you should do spoken word.”

  “I couldn’t write if my life depended on it. I’ll leave the writing and the journaling to you.”

  I laugh. “I didn’t think I would like journaling. I’m still new at it, but I try to write a little something each night. It helps me relax.”

  “That’s the same feeling I get when I go into my darkroom and develop the photos I’ve shot. I guess we have that in common, too.”

  “I guess we do.”

  He places his camera bag in the trunk and then pulls out a small plastic bag. “This is for you,” he says, tossing the bag to me.

  “What’s this?” I ask, barely catching it.

  “Are you always this cautious? Open it and see.”

  I slowly open the plastic bag and smile when I pull out a small jar of Vaseline.

  “Something to help heal the bruises when you fall tonight.”

  We both can’t help but laugh as he grabs my hand and we make our way inside.

  Michael was right. The inside of the building was another world. As my eyes rove around the place, I take in a world filled with floral carpets and old hardwood floors. Bright, flashing lights and music engulfs me, makes me feel alive. I watch as people effortlessly skate around the floor. My heart skips a beat when a man does a full split, and then another does a backflip into the air.

  “You were right; this is art,” I say.

  “I told you.”

  “The energy here is amazing. I love the vibe.”

  “I’m glad you like it. Come on, let’s get our skates.”

  Out of the corner of my eyes, I catch a woman twirling in the center of the floor. “Wow,” I say. “She moves like an ice skater.”

  “Close your mouth.”

  “I can’t. I’ve never seen anything like this,” I say as he pays for our skates and then we head toward an empty bench to put them on.

  “I can’t believe you’ve never been skating. What kinds of things did you do for fun growing up?” he asks as we slide off our shoes.

  “My mother worked a lot of double shifts, but Sunday was always our day. We’d spend the whole day listening to music or playing spades.”

  “I haven’t played spades in years. What kind of music did the two of you listen to?”

  “We listened to anyone that sang jazz or blues, but my mama’s favorite singer was Nina Simone,” I say as I try standing in the skates.

  “I’ve got you,” he says as he stands up and wraps his arms around my waist. It’s a simple touch, but feeling the strength of his hands through my white blouse is something I know I could get used to.

  “I feel like I’m going to break every bone in my body with these skates on.”

  “If you do, I’ll patch you up myself,” he says, gently teasing me.

  “You better take me to a real doctor,” I say as I pull away from him and try to balance by myself.

  Michael stands back and watches me. “It looks like you’re getting the hang of this. Are you ready to go out there?”

  I look at the floor filled with experienced skaters and shake my head in fear.

  Michael laughs and grabs my hand. “Don’t worry; I’ll be right here with you. If you fall, we both fall.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “I won’t let you go until you tell me to. That’s a promise.”

  “Okay,” I say even as the fear of falling and embarrassing myself lingers in my gut.

  “You’re doing great,” Michael says as we make our way to the center of the rink.

  “I’m okay as long as I can hold on to you,” I say over the music.

  “I’m glad to see that my plan is already working,” he says, giving me a wink.

  “Just remember that if I fall, you’re going down with me.”

  “I’d fall for you any day.”

  I grin. I might already be falling for you. Is that normal?

  “Too cheesy?” he asks as we stand in the center, watching the other skaters float effortlessly by us.

  “Just a little,” I say as I watch their footwork. “I think I got it. I’m going to try to stand on my own. Don’t let me go too fast, now.”

  “I won’t.” He slowly removes his hand and watches as I test my balance. “That’s good. The key to skating is to walk like a duck.” When I glance over at him with a skeptical look on my face, he adds, “It’s true. I’m not making this up.”

  “How am I supposed to walk like a duck?”

  “It’s easy. Watch me. You move forward slowly—right foot, then left foot. Slightly squat as you move. Just like a duck.”

  “Like this?” I ask as I gingerly try to replicate his movements.

  “Yes! You’re a—”

  I hit the floor before he can finish his sentence.

  Michael hurries to help me up. “I was just about to say that you’re a natural.”

  “At falling? Yes, I think I have that covered very naturally.”

  “But at least you did it gracefully.”

  “Whatever. I don’t see you down here.”


  “That’s right.” He allows himself to fall to the floor. “As I said, you fall, I fall.”

  “You did say that,” I say as we enjoy a moment of laughter.

  “Ready to try again?” he asks.

  I glance around the skating rink, and when a five-year-old girl skates past me and laughs, I know that I need to get it together.

  “Let’s do this.”

  “That’s my girl,” Michael says as we stand up and then slowly move back out into the crowd.

  Wait, did he just call me his girl? Ring, please.

  Chapter Twelve

  “How’s the pizza?” Michael asks as he grabs himself a big slice of the thin crust pizza we’re sharing. The edges look like they have been brushed in butter.

  “It’s better than I would have expected from a skating rink. It tastes homemade, to be honest.”

  “The owner makes the crust himself. It’s probably his son doing it now, but it still tastes just as good. My mother would come here sometimes just to pick up a pie for us. Those were the best nights.”

  “So, you lived close to here?”

  “We lived in Lithonia, but that was just the kind of mother she was.”

  “My mother and I never ate out. We couldn’t afford it on her nurse’s salary, but she was a fabulous cook. We had dozens of cookbooks. One in just about every corner of our apartment.”

  “I didn’t realize your mother was a nurse.”

  “She was, and she loved it. She loved helping people.”

  “A good reason to become a nurse. Do you still cook?”

  “I work six days a week, so I don’t cook at all now, but I’d like to one day get back into it,” I say, taking another bite of pizza.

  “You sound like me, working that much. What was your favorite thing to cook?”

  “Every Sunday, Mama and I made spaghetti and meatballs. We would make the sauce from scratch. I’m talking fresh tomatoes. I used to love rolling up the meatballs in my hands. Mama would pour her a glass of wine—the cheap kind, of course—and we would make the garlic bread. The house would smell so good that the dogs outside would start to howl. Those were the days when even the walls would smile, and life just felt right. You know what I mean?”

  He reaches over the table and places his hands on mine. “I do. It’s why I came here tonight. I had forgotten the good things, and I wanted to remember them again with you.”

  “I thought you brought me here so you could see me fall on my face?”

  “That has been hilarious. But you’re getting better, and before long, you’re going to be a real pro.”

  “At falling, yes. I think I mentioned I have already mastered that.”

  “I hope you are enjoying this.”

  “I love it.”

  “That’s all a man can ask for. You want this last slice of pizza?” he asks.

  “No. I’m stuffed. Go for it.”

  “Thanks,” he says, placing the last slice on his plate. “Do you cook at work?”

  “Not at all. Jack does most of that, but we do have other cooks to pitch in, too. The restaurant has been in his family for years, and so have many of the recipes. People rave about his pancakes, and they should. Jack’s pancakes are the lightest and fluffiest pancakes I have ever tasted. He makes a mean omelet as well.”

  “Jack sounds like an extraordinary man.”

  “He is, and his wife Mary is just the sweetest. Every Sunday, I spend pretty much the whole day with them. Mary makes spaghetti and meatballs, but it’s not the same as what Mama and I used to make together. Nothing will ever taste like that again.”

  “It sounds like you and your mother were close, but it also sounds like Jack and Mary have an exceptional bond with you.”

  “They do, and I love them. After dinner, we either listen to music and dance, or if it’s baseball season we’ll watch the Atlanta Braves. Jack loves the Atlanta Braves.”

  “Well, I guess that means I won’t get to take you out to dinner tomorrow,” he says with a slight frown.

  “I’m sorry. Our Sunday dinners have become a tradition. They would be hurt if I didn’t come.”

  “I understand.”

  “Why don’t you come with me?”

  “You sure they wouldn’t mind?”

  “I’m positive.”

  “Great. I’ll bring my apron.”

  “You have an apron?”

  “My mother couldn’t cook, so I did most of it growing up. I make a mean macaroni and cheese.”

  “I’m having a hard time imagining that.”

  “I’ll have to make it for you one day.”

  “I’d like that,” I say as I stand up, holding on to the table to balance myself.

  “You leaving me already?”

  “I’m going to try and make it to the restroom without killing myself or breaking a bone. I don’t trust you to patch me up.”

  “That’s a shame,” he says with a flirtatious smile. “Use the wall to keep yourself upright.”

  “Good idea.”

  By the time I make my way back, the lights are dim, but I spot Michael standing at the entrance of the skating rink floor.

  “You ready to get back out there?” he asks as I carefully stop in front of him.

  “Sure.” I take his hand, and we move back onto the floor.

  “You are doing much better. I still believe that by the end of the night, you’ll be skating around here like a pro.”

  “A girl in the restroom had mercy on me and gave me a few pointers.”

  Just as we take our first turn, I hear Nina Simone singing “My Baby Just Cares for Me.”

  “I love this song.”

  “I was counting on that.”

  “You had them play this song for me?”

  “I had them play it for us.”

  Can this night get any better?

  He moves slowly in front of me and places his hands on my waist again. “I’m going to skate backward so you can stay skating forward. Just stay close to me. I won’t let you fall.”

  Yes, it can.

  I nod and wrap my arms around his neck, allowing him to guide me around the floor.

  So this is what a real man feels like?

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Relax,” Jack says as he watches me pace back and forth. “You’ve been a nervous wreck all day, kid.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have invited him.”

  Jack gets up from his gray cloth chair and grabs my hands. “Tonight will be great. Listen. Do you hear that? That’s Mary in the kitchen fixing her best pot of spaghetti and meatballs for your man.”

  “My man. That sounds so strange, Jack.”

  “But I bet it rolls off your tongue nicely,” he says. I smile as I glance down at my watch for the hundredth time. Jack squeezes my hands. “I’ve never seen you this excited; I like it.”

  I sink down onto their gray sofa and glance at my watch again as Jack takes a seat next to me.

  “What’s really wrong, kid?”

  “I’m going to have to tell him,” I say with a sigh. “About my past.”

  “Why would you do that? I mean, what’s left to tell him? He knows you lived on the streets, and you told him about how you dated a thirty-five-year-old man when you were only a kid, and he’s still coming tonight for dinner. I’d say he knows exactly what he needs to know.”

  “Jack.”

  I watch as his face softens into what I think of as a fatherly expression, and I know a lecture is coming.

  “You remember what I told you about a woman’s closet?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, now you have more clothes in your closet, that’s all. Let the past stay buried under them. Michael doesn’t need to know about the five years you were away. That part of your story is done. Even if M
ichael were to look you up, he wouldn’t find anything. I have your background check, so I know it’s clean. You’ve got nothing to worry about, so just enjoy this. Enjoy having a man fight for your heart.” Jack stands up. “You deserve this, kid.”

  Mary walks into the living room as the doorbell rings.

  “It’s him,” I say.

  “Well, go answer the door before the heat melts him,” Jack says with a grin.

  “How do I look?” I ask, adjusting my skirt as I make my way to the door.

  “You look like a beautiful woman about to open the front door,” Mary says with a quick nod of approval.

  I adjust my skirt once more and then take a deep breath. “Here goes,” I say as I open the door and see Michael standing there with an apron in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. My eyes take in his dark jeans, white collared shirt, and black sport coat. “You look handsome.”

  “Thank you. I’m ready to cook.”

  “I see. I thought you were kidding when you said you were going to bring your apron,” I say, staring at him like some giddy teenager rather than a grown woman of twenty-seven years.

  “For the record, you look great, too. And you smell good,” he says as he moves inside.

  “It’s not me that smells good—it’s the food.”

  Michael leans over and kisses me on the cheek. “Yes, the food smells good, but you smell even better,” he whispers as I lead him into the living room.

  “Hi, I’m Mary. It’s so good to meet Mýa’s boyfriend.” I try to hide how much I’m blushing, but Michael, of course, is all smiles as Mary takes the bottle of wine from him and adds, “Mýa wasn’t lying when she said how handsome you were.”

  Michael looks over at me, and I, of course, pretend like I have never said such a thing to her. Jack is quiet, but I see him giving Michael a good once-over, and even smiling as he takes notice of Michael’s hard-bottom shoes.

  “You must be Jack,” Michael says, extending his hand.

  “I am.”

  “Mýa speaks very highly of you and Mary.”

  “That’s always nice to hear,” Jack says, giving me a quick nod of approval.