"Nice place." I looked around as I untied my shoes to set them aside.
"Thank you. I'm only renting, but I think I may take the plunge to purchase it within the next year or two."
She locked the door and started toward the kitchen, gesturing for me to follow.
Colorful, abstract pieces of art, and a few pictures of her family, covered the wall above the couch and I studied them in the few seconds I had as I passed by.
"Buying my house was probably the best investment I ever made," I added, continuing on with our conversation.
Brynn's eyes came my way again as she glanced at me from over her shoulder. The look was quick, but it was long enough for me to read it-what I said had shocked her. That didn't surprise me; I was used to people thinking I was too rough around the edges to own … well … anything. My look didn't scream ‘business-minded', but I didn't let that bother me. In my line of work, you get used to people making all kinds of assumptions about who you are and what you're capable of. I'm living proof that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover.
Too often people let these tattoos and gym shoes fool them. In truth, I'd been taking care of myself, and my family, for a long time.
"How long ago did you buy?" Brynn asked next.
I took a breath, trying to remember as I caught myself staring at her again when we crossed the threshold to the kitchen. "Three? Four years ago?"
"Hmm, well, if you don't mind, I may have questions for you when and if I decide to go for it."
"Nah, I don't mind. Just say when."
The corner of her mouth lifted into a smile as she stopped beside the counter to place the flowers in an empty vase she had there. I took another step closer when the abrupt pause caught me off guard, almost running into her, but she didn't seem to notice. That hint of cinnamon I detected on her before, the sweet smell she seemed to have all the time, was strong even with the aroma of the breakfast she prepared lingering in the air.
A silver-polished fingernail pointed toward the barstools. Her other hand went to her hip and I forced my eyes not to follow it.
"You can sit here while I get some water for these and fix your plate."
"Thank you," I replied, glancing at her glossed lips for a moment before taking the seat she offered me. Turning toward the sink, Brynn filled a glass rim-high and then emptied it into the vase she'd just placed her flowers inside. Next, she went to the cabinet to remove a single blue plate and started filling it with food-eggs, sausage, and pancakes. I watched, waiting for her to do the same for herself, but she never did.
When she placed the dish in front of me, I questioned her with my eyes first before asking, "You're not eating?"
She looked like the mere thought of it grossed her out as she shook her head. "Not until around one. That seems to be the threshold."
I accepted the fork she handed me next and thanked her before asking what she meant.
"I still can't seem to keep anything solid down in the morning," she explained, flashing a shy smile as she poured us both a glass of orange juice.
I knew nothing about what was supposed to happen during this process, so I wasn't sure if that was normal or not. Even seeing my baby sister, Marcela, go through it six years ago when she was pregnant with my niece, Isobel, hadn't given me much insight. All I remembered was her complaining all the time.
All. The. Time.
Hopefully, Brynn wouldn't be like that.
I tasted the eggs first, feeling Brynn's eyes on me as she took the stool across the counter from me.
"I wasn't sure if you liked cheese or peppers or anything in them. I guess I could've called and asked, but … I just made them plain," she rambled.
"They're perfect just like they are," I assured her once my mouth wasn't full anymore.
"Good," she said quietly.
There were several seconds of silence that passed, but then Brynn struck up conversation again.
"Your tattoos … they're really nice. Very elaborate," she added. When I glanced up, she was studying my left arm.
"I've had that one for a few years now," I explained, deciding to tell her more about the one she had her eyes on. "Marcela, my baby sister, had the bright idea that all four of us should get matching tattoos on her eighteenth birthday-Puerto Rican flags. You know; to represent. They had me design these dainty-looking tatts for them and then we went down to the shop on a Sunday when we were closed and I hooked them up. Lucia got hers on her wrist," I went on, "Lorna wanted hers on her ankle and Marcela wanted hers behind her ear. I finished them up and then my boy Rob came in to do mine, but obviously none of that damn … cutesy stuff my sisters wanted."
Brynn smiled. "Ah, so that's what you do for a living."
Apparently, she'd been wondering about my job.
I smiled back at her. "Yeah, I'm an artist, but I own the shop now; the one I worked out of back in the day. I also-" was as far as I got before catching myself. I almost told her more, almost told her what else I did for a living, but … maybe some other time. "I also have a couple houses I rent out, too," I amended, deciding that she might not be ready to hear about Indecent Exposure. Or maybe I just wasn't ready to tell her.
Knowing that I worked at the club tended to make people see me differently, but not in a good way. It would've defeated the whole purpose of me coming to her place today; I was here trying to make amends for the first impression I left on her. So, telling her everything might not be best. I'd fit that detail in once things smoothed out between us.
Brynn perked up, likely surprised again at the mention of how hard I work. The way I saw it, I didn't have much choice but to grind. My income supported a lot of dreams; mine and my family's. With my oldest niece getting ready to leave for college, my youngest niece in private school, and Marcela finishing up her nursing degree, I couldn't afford to pass on opportunities to put more cash in my wallet.
"Wow … you've gotta be one busy man," she said with a smile.
I shrugged my shoulders casually and sipped from my glass. "What about you? What do you do for a living?"
"I teach at a parochial school. First grade," she added.
From what I gathered of who Brynn seemed to be-a no nonsense kind of woman, kinda sweet, relatively patient-teaching probably suited her perfectly.
"That's what's up."
"And did I hear you say you have three sisters?" she asked, shifting the conversation again.
I nodded and wiped my mouth. "Yup. Not one brother out of the deal."
She laughed and sipped more orange juice.
"What about you? Brothers? Sisters?"
The question brought her eyes to mine again. "A brother, Cedric. No sisters, but his wife, Mona, is like a sister to me. She and I are best friends."
I wasn't sure if it was nerves or what, but she chewed the side of her bottom lip when she finished speaking and with each passing second it became harder not to stare at them, her lips-pouty, soft from what I could tell.
"I envy the quiet childhood you must've had," I replied, trying to keep myself distracted. "My sisters were, and still are, the loudest human beings on the planet."
"Do you get to see them a lot?" Brynn asked through a smile. "They live here in Houston?"
"See ‘em every Sunday," I answered. "My mother makes a big dinner every week and insists we all show up. In fact, that's where I'll be headed when I leave here. It's my turn to help her cook so I'm going early. Usually takes a while."
A mass of dark hair shifted and fell away from her shoulder when Brynn tilted her head to the side. I clocked her every move. "You don't cook," she teased, narrowing her eyes a bit.
Pretending to be offended, I looked her up and down. "Nah, don't get it twisted. I know my way around a kitchen."
She laughed again, flashing white teeth that had to have cost her parents a fortune when she was a kid.
"Well, that's nice that you all get together regularly. My brother and I used to meet for dinner once a month before he moved to Atlanta. We talk all the time, though." She pushed her hair behind her ears. "We've always been pretty close. Our parents adopted us late in life, so they made sure Cedric and I knew we would be all the other had one day."
I glanced up, wondering if being adopted had been a positive or negative experience for her, until she went on, adding, "I couldn't have been taken in by more amazing people."
"They passed away?" I asked, picking up on the clues.
Brynn nodded with distant emotion in her eyes, leading me to believe it'd been a while. "Yeah, years ago-both while I was in college."
"I'm sorry to hear that," I replied. "I'm sure you miss them."
"Every day," she said with a faint smile. "They were pretty far up in age when it happened-both in their early eighties-so they lived a full, happy life."