Taming Mr. Charming (The Taming Series Book 2) Read online

  “Well, she’s a nurse.”

  Peyton slanted me a dubious look.

  I laughed, “Yes, I know it’s obvious. Okay, she’s also very kind and bubbly. She loves dogs; I know you love animals. She loves Tim Hardey. And look at how gorgeous she is. I don’t know how she stays so pale in this oven of a country but it works for her.”

  “Was that the main reason you chose her? Her skin tone?”

  “What? No. I told you, my spirit took to her.”

  “So the reason that you think she’s ‘the One’ had nothing to do with the fact that I’m white and she’s white and that’s supposedly the basis of any happy relationship.”

  “Peyton, why are you making a big deal about this?”

  “Because sometimes, Mia, you say and do things that …” he stopped, “Forget it.”

  “No, finish what you were going to say.”

  He pulled up in front of my store and parked, “I think it’s best if you go now. I have a meeting at work.”

  I felt the sting of his dismissal. Confused and hurt, I gathered my purse and jumped out of his car.

  And everyone thinks women are overdramatic? They’d probably never met Peyton.

  As I tended the store that afternoon I tried to understand where Peyton was coming from. As whacky as he was, he didn’t get upset over any little thing. I thought back to where I’d offended him. At first, he’d seemed amused even open to the idea of a date with Maggie. He knew that we’d had a deal and he reluctantly accepted that. But his spiel in the car about my choosing Maggie for him because she was white was unfounded and unfair. I am not prejudiced and I try not to stereotype. I’ve carried the burden of labels before and I wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on anyone else.

  But as I continued to reflect on our conversation, I began to doubt myself. Plenty of beautiful, successful, and intelligent women passed through the doors of Mia’s Designs everyday. Women of all shades ranging from the lightest tan to the darkest hue found their way into my world, and yet the only one that my mind could visualize with Peyton was a woman with the same melanin deficiency. Did that make me prejudiced?

  I pictured my best friend and her boyfriend in my mind. I hadn’t said anything negative about their pairing. Spencer was wonderful for Melody. Anyone with two eyes and half a brain could see that they loved each other. I couldn’t be prejudiced and support their relationship too. This realization did not salve my discontent. I hated that Peyton was mad at me and I hated that it was about something as controversial as race.

  That evening, Estefan walked me to the bus stop per usual but when I got off I went to the only place that brought clarity to my world.

  “Hi Mia,” Mr. Reyes greeted me with a fist bump and a wide smile. Mr. Reyes was always very sensitive about propriety when it came to young ladies. I remember the first time Mr. Reyes ever hugged me. It was at my high school graduation and I was so surprised, I didn’t even hug him back. Back then, my world was full of creeps and perverts and Mr. Reyes’ strong principles and respect not only toward strangers but to his wife and daughters, was like a breath of fresh air.

  “Hi Mr. Rey, is Mel home?”

  “Yes. Come in! We haven’t seen you in such a long time. How’s the boutique.”

  “It’s fine. Everything is fine.”

  “Glad to hear that. Melody!” Mr. Reyes yelled.

  Mel came bounding down the stairs dressed in an old gray T-shirt and jean shorts with her hair in a high pony tail. She looked really young today.

  “Hey girlie!” she greeted, “What’s up?”

  “Nothing much.” I followed her up the stairs to her room, “I just have to ask you something.”

  “You need a favor?” She asked. “Anything you want, just name it. I have to make up for how absent I’ve been lately.”

  I laughed at her dramatics and joined her on the bed tucking my toes under my knees as I faced her. “Nah, you don’t owe me anything. I’ve already told you to stop worrying about me.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried,” Mel winked, “Spencer tells me Peyton spends a lot of time at your apartment.”

  “It’s not what you think,” I popped her little Mia and Peyton bubble before she got any ideas, “but that’s kind of why I’m here. Peyton got really mad at me today.”

  “What did you do?” her eyes widened. In the history of our lifelong friendship, I’ve been known to lead Melody astray a time or two. Most of the more… illegal jaunts she’s experienced were directly linked to my influence. Melody was well aware of the trouble I could cause if I ever reverted back to my old ways.

  “Nothing bad,” I assured her, “I just… I set him up on a date.”

  “What? Why would you do that?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I’ve got time.”

  “I’ll tell you later. The story’s not the point. Peyton got upset because the woman I set him up with is white.”

  “Okay.” Mel drew out the word in a questioning phrase.

  “And I’m wondering if maybe the reason I set Peyton up with a white woman is because I am prejudiced.”

  “Whoa. Well if you are prejudiced, at least you’re acknowledging the problem.”

  I whopped her in the face with a pillow, “Be serious please. Peyton’s really mad at me.”

  “That’s cute. You care about Peyton’s feelings.”

  “I care about mine too, you goof. I’ve spent my life hating on the people who judged me based on the outside appearance. I don’t want to become what I hate.”

  Melody giggled.

  “Why are you laughing?”

  “That’s exactly what Paul said.”

  “Paul? Who the heck is Paul?”

  “This guy in the Manual.” Mel took out her phone and Googled the name before speaking,

  “Paul’s that sarcastic dude who started the whole idea of a ‘church’.”

  “Oh,”

  “Here it is. ‘I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do’. That’s in Romans.”

  “So how is that supposed to help me?”

  “How should I know?” Mel announced, “I’m as lost as you when it comes to things like prejudice and racism. My man is Asian. Well, maybe I’m prejudiced against clowns ‘cause they freak me out. But -”

  “Melody, you are not helping me!”

  She hopped up from the bed and stood in front of me, “You are a wonderful and kind person. And the fact that you care so deeply about this issue is telling me that you’re on the right track. So follow your heart. I can tell that something bigger is at hand.”

  I nodded solemnly and gave her a hug.

  “Now, let’s get some food. Mom made lasagna.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I arrived home that night to a long-winded Facebook message apology from Charles. His words were well-constructed enough to curb my irritation over his arrogance and narrow-mind and his compromise in agreeing to attend Holy Ghost Gym with me settled my doubts. He really was a good man, not a perfect one by any means.

  But does the Perfect Guy really exist?

  I spent five minutes thinking about Charles and spent the rest of the night wondering if I should apologize to Peyton. On Monday nights, we watched Family Feud together. Peyton got me hooked on it and even though I turned on the T.V. and laughed at all the funny faces Tim Hardey cracked, it didn’t feel the same without him.

  I hated to be the one to text first. I rotated my phone around and around in my palm, wondering if I should make the first move. Then I thought of the date I’d set up with Peyton and Maggie and realized that I needed to make things right so at the very least I could find out the details of that concert.

  MIA: HI

  PEYTON: HEY

  MIA: R U STILL MAD?

  PEYTON: NO

  MIA: U SOUND MAD.

  PEYTON: WHY?

  MIA: UR ANSWERING IN ONE WORD MESSAGES

  PEYTON: I’M JST TIRED.

  MIA: OKAY
, WELL GOODNIGHT

  PEYTON: GOODNIGHT

  I set down my phone and stared blankly at it. Peyton was definitely still holding a grudge about earlier today. What could I do? I couldn’t force him to talk to me. But as I got ready for bed and tried to quiet my brain and embrace sleep, my last thought was of making it up to him.

  Tuesday afternoon, I sat at the counter in front of the cash register and sketched. The lines were angry and branched outward in a display of unconventional symmetry. I grabbed my black crayon pencil and shaded in the garb as hard as I could. Peyton still hadn’t responded to the apology I’d humbled myself and sent this morning. That was rude. And now I totally regretted sending it.

  Stupid men.

  “Afternoon,” I heard a deep, velvety voice greet Estefan and looked up to see Charles stepping into the store. I admit I felt a bit disappointed that it wasn’t Peyton, but I rallied quickly. A smile spread across my face as Charles strode up to the counter with confidence and winked at me.

  “Hi baby,” he said, as he leaned in to kiss me on the cheek.

  “Hi, what are you doing here?”

  “If you’re not busy, I thought I’d take you to lunch. I know you normally take a break after 1:00 so I asked for a late lunch at work.”

  “That’s so sweet.” I enthused, feeling privileged to have met someone so romantic. “I’m not busy right now. Let’s go.”

  He grinned and his dimples undid me. He was just so darn handsome. I followed him as he led the way through the store, “I’m going,” I pantomimed to Estefan, “desayuno.”

  He nodded his understanding and I happily followed Charles to his car. I was so used to Peyton opening the door for me that I found myself standing like a dork outside of Charles’ car waiting for him to make the move. I only realized that I was kidding myself when he climbed into his seat and looked at me through the glass panes like I was delusional. Moving a bit woodenly, I got into the car.

  “So,” Charles stated as we cruised down the Belize City streets, “how’s your morning going so far.”

  “It’s going well.” I informed him shakily. Certain parts of the city boasted infamous pot holes and the up and down movement of the vehicle caused me to grip the door handle bar tightly.

  Charles cursed when we dipped into a rather notable crater and my eyes flitted quickly to him, waiting for an apology or a sheepish look of embarrassment. I’ve been known to let a four letter word fly once or twice since I was born into the Kingdom. Anyone who has struck a pinky toe or burned themselves on an iron is susceptible to a dirty word. I wasn’t saying it was right or accepted in the Kingdom, I’m just saying it happens. But this wasn’t the first time Charles swore in front of me. And I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I didn’t want our kids to grow up thinking swearing was okay. That was definitely something I’d have to think about.

  “Hey,” I asked when we cleared the road of hills and valleys, “how’s your mom doing?”

  “She’s okay.” He said, “I’m thinking of moving her to a nursing home.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because she’s getting old.” He replied, “And I don’t like knowing that she’s in that house all alone.”

  “Have you spoken to her about what she wants?”

  “She wants to stay in her house and be independent, but she’s not as sprite as she used to be.”

  “Maybe you should listen to her. She may be mature but she’s still your mama.” I laughed.

  “Well, I’m the one paying her electricity bills every week so I think I have a say in all this.”

  Whoa. Charles was turning into the Belizean version of Mr. Scrooge right about now. I knew that this was none of my business and I wanted to avoid a fight so I let the matter drop but I noted Charles’ little love affair with pride and control in my mental notepad.

  “We’re here.” Charles announced and parked in front of a beautiful old style colonial house in front of the sea.

  “Nice.” I said as I got out of the car.

  “Yeah, I used to come and eat here every weekend with my friends. They sell Spanish food. It’s delicious.”

  I admired the cute little benches that overlooked the intensely green Caribbean Sea and wondered what Peyton would think of the place. The shop was a little weathered and there was no formal bathroom when I checked, but for some reason, I knew my friend would love it.

  Not that I cared.

  Charles led me to a table and sat down. I sat in the bench across from him. Once more, he ordered for me, but the day was too sunny and the breeze was too gentle and the waves were too lulling for me to make a big deal about it. We enjoyed each other’s company for a little over an hour. We laughed about the man on the news who spoke so ignorantly that he had most of the country cracking up in their living rooms. We debated another just revealed facet of our government’s corruption. We flitted hesitantly over the concept of a future together, of children and marriage and of hypothetically having them together.

  When I returned to the store after lunch, I felt a lot more secure in my relationship with Charles and anticipated that the ‘L’ word was coming sooner rather than later. That was worth getting excited about. I’ve always believed that the word ‘love’ should mean something. It’s an antiquated view, I know, but it was one I held even in the depths of my promiscuity. Kind of like how the prostitute in “Pretty Woman” didn’t kiss her clients because it meant a whole lot more to her. As off as that mentality was since she was basically going so much further than kissing anyway, I could relate. I knew what I was doing in the BK days was just a distorted and disillusioned grasp at self-gratification and purpose. I’d listened to enough sermons to know that sex and love are not synonymous so I didn’t kid myself. But maybe now, maybe with Charles I could find the kind of love that I’d been missing.

  You told Peyton you loved him, my Brain reminded me.

  I groaned as I recalled the event. That slip of the tongue would haunt me forever. And anyway, the love I expressed for Peyton was phileo. Why wasn’t my sub-conscious letting up about that?

  You’re fooling yourself if you think your feelings for Peyton are just sisterly, Brain quipped.

  I scoffed. Whose side was he on anyway?

  I didn’t have more time to debate within myself for the afternoon shoppers soon occupied my head space. I focused on my work and keeping my customers happy. A little after seven, Estefan and I locked up the shop and after I set the alarm, he escorted me to the bus stop as usual. Belize has its share of crime and violence, but I had a feeling that Estefan’s presence dealt more with my personal safety than that of the shop. I wondered what kind of money Peyton was investing in me. What kind of selflessness and generosity did it take to invest in someone who could probably never pay you back? Estefan wasn’t talkative at all and beyond the language barrier separating us from a deeper friendship, he took his job too seriously to fraternize. His intensity made me feel like I was in some kind of witness protection program and not the owner of a small boutique that was just paddling its way into financial stability.

  “Gracias, Estefan,” I waved goodbye to him as I boarded the bus.

  After finding my seat, I looked around at the tired, wrinkled faces of the grandmothers taking their grandchildren home after a hard-day of work. I observed the hooded heads and headphone-stuffed ears of the young men who probably hadn’t been to work or school all day. I heard the excited chatter of children in their uniforms playing hand games and making up stories. And I smiled. My heart wasn’t as emotionally fine-tuned as Melody’s but the magic of the bus wasn’t lost on me. For one fifteen minute, thirty minute, forty-five minute ride, all these lives and all these stories intertwined. That was kind of cool to think about. I shook my head at my whimsical musings. My best friend was rubbing off on me. I envisioned her excitement as she recited how she’d playfully classed the types of people she met on her daily rides over in Los Angeles. Melody’s outlook on the world was so optimistic that she’d look at t
he wrinkles of the grandmothers on the bus as signs of strength and wisdom. She’d see the young man in the hoodie as the image of untapped potential. The children making noise and growing up way too fast would be, in Melody’s eyes, the hope of our world.

  I wish my eyes would see the world as so bright and hopeful. I wish I hadn’t known the depravity of selfishness and jealousy and pain. I wish I hadn’t smelled the stench of desperation and regret and betrayal. I was proud of who I was. I wore the scars as reminders of my frailty and of my progress. But sometimes, I saw snatches of the world from Mel’s eyes. Random rays of sunlight shining on the leaves of a coconut tree, waves snatching at my toes for the tiniest second before being drawn back into the dance of the sea, laughter, entwined hands of brown and white, they all drew back the heavy veil entrenched around me and reminded that hope and love and faith existed.

  The bus let me off near my apartment and I walked for a few minutes listening to the rap battle going on between two black birds. My apartment complex loomed closer and I stopped short. That Acura in the parking lot looked very similar to Peyton’s. I stepped my pace up and noted that it was Peyton’s. I drew abreast of the vehicle and knocked on the glass window. Peyton snatched his headphones from his ears and opened the door suddenly, whamming me on the shin.

  “Ouch!” I exclaimed, lifting the injured foot to my chest and hopping on one foot like an insane fitness instructor.

  “I’m so sorry,” Peyton rushed to my side and guided me to sit in his recently vacated car seat. He then stooped to look at my leg. “It’s not bleeding,” he observed after carefully pressing on the bruised area, “but it will hurt for a bit.”

  As the pain subsided, I realized that Peyton was stooping in the dirty lot caressing my thigh and I liked it. And I shouldn’t like it. Quickly, I shot up and forgetting that I was actually inside of a car, I subsequently knocked my head on the ceiling.

  “Sugar crap!” I exclaimed as the pain of that bump radiated through me.

  Peyton started laughing which totally made me even more miserable.