Taming Mr. Charming (The Taming Series Book 2) Page 16

  “Shut up, you two.” I chastised grumpily.

  Spencer teased, “I’m guessing Charles is the reason Peyton came home with a shiner last week?”

  “He didn’t tell you?” I questioned as I sat down beside Melody.

  Spencer shook his head. He really was a handsome guy, sort of broody looking for my taste, but he definitely had the whole tall, dark, and handsome thing going for him. “He didn’t say much. He was moping around the house until recently.”

  “Bro!” Our heads turned to where Peyton stood at the beginning of the aisle, “Don’t sell me out.”

  A grin spread across my face as he slid in next to me and kissed my cheek. Saving face, he clarified, “It was manly moping.”

  Spencer laughed, “If you say so, dude.”

  Neither of my friends acted as though Peyton kissing my cheek in front of God and everybody was anything strange. That helped me to loosen up and be myself. A few minutes before the start of the service, Archie darted into our row to greet everyone. It had been a long time since I’d hung out with the tattooed lawyer and I gave him a long hug to make up for it.

  “We need to catch up.” I told him when I’d released him enough to breathe.

  “It’s not me that’s been busy,” he shot back with a grin, pointing his gaze to where Peyton stood just behind me.

  I smirked and shoved his shoulder in reply. Cackling like a child, Archie sent one last general wave to our row and then scurried up on the stage to strap on his guitar.

  “Mm,” I teased, my voice low enough that only Peyton could hear, “there’s something about a man with a guitar.”

  Peyton frowned playfully, “I was just thinking about taking guitar lessons…”

  I laughed at his craziness and stood when Pastor Stanley rose to open the service.

  Peyton is incredibly sharp. He’s intelligent and kind and committed to living by the Constitution of the Kingdom. But my man cannot dance. He’s well aware of this and restrains himself as much as he can when the worship team spits out sick reggae, soca, and dancehall beats. Unfortunately, even his weird bounce, step, clap sequence is pathetically unimpressive. Peyton’s nerdy rhythm was one of the things that endeared him to me. It was just too cute to see him trying to keep up with the inherent African bounce most Belizeans are born with. When they’d first started attending the Gym, both Peyton and Spencer clapped politely during the hype praise selections. If the songs weren’t Hillsong, Chris Tomlin, or MercyMe related, the guys stood stock still and half-heartedly mouthed the words. As the months progressed, however, Spencer tapped into his inner dance master and whallahed along with the best of them. I’m sure his untapped enthusiasm for praise caught Melody by surprise. Spencer was usually so chill and laid back. Peyton, on the other hand, had too many obstacles between him and his inner dancer, so that day still hasn’t arrived for him.

  As terrible as his dancing is, I can’t say anything about the freedom of his worship. Peyton raises his hands and belts out the lyrics projected on the white screens with the abandon of someone who has been in the Kingdom for centuries instead of less than a year. His surrender prompted me to disregard my fear of looking silly and to worship the King with my heart and soul. After worship and announcements, Pastor Stanley took to the pulpit and preached for forty-five minutes on the Kingdom concepts of prayer. I followed along on my Bible app, splitting the screen so that I could write notes and underline passages with my stylus. Peyton followed along on his Iphone, but his other hand was around my shoulders more than anywhere else. I didn’t mind. The Holy Ghost Gym probably had a few ignorant people in the mix, however, Melody and Spencer had already opened the most racist of minds to the idea of an interracial couple. I think most of the Gym had expected our union anyway.

  After the service, Peyton and I got into his car for the ride back to the Reyes house.

  “You okay, babe?” he asked. I was still trying to get used to Peyton’s use of pet names for me. He insisted that he had to try them all to find the perfect one. I thought his attempts were hilarious and creative. Today, however, his sweetness didn’t move me. I shifted in my seat so that I could look at him, which was hard to do while wearing a seatbelt. According to Peyton, not wearing your seatbelt was a huge deal in the States. He refused to break the habit when he drove here, even though I assured him that most Belizeans did not wear the things when they were driving.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted, “There’s something about my neighborhood that’s bothering me.”

  “Is it unsafe around there? Do you think someone is targeting you?”

  “Whoa, calm down, buster.”

  Peyton was very protective of me. If I ever complained about moving, I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to do something extravagant and unnecessary like buying a house and a car for me. He glanced quickly at me and then returned his gaze to the road,

  “You know you can call me if you ever feel unsafe, right?”

  I rolled my eyes. The man could be so dramatic. “I know, hun. Calm down.”

  “So what’s bothering you then?”

  “I was thinking today about the street where I grew up. In my old neighborhood, people didn’t have much but at least they knew each other’s names. I could cross the lane and play with the kids in the house next door and when one neighbor had a party everyone was invited.”

  Peyton made a left turn and commented, “So, you want to be invited to your neighbor’s parties.”

  I slanted him a disbelieving look. Ugh, sometimes the man was clueless.

  “No, it’s not that. I don’t know any of my neighbors, Peyton. I see them around sometimes, but I don’t know their names or their ages or their hobbies.”

  “Why do you need to know all of that?”

  “I’ve been studying love over the past few months.” He nodded and I knew I was heard as I continued, “the second most important rule in the Constitution is to love your neighbors, but how do I do that when I don’t even know their names?”

  “What do you want to do about it?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure yet.” I confessed, “But it’s bothering me. I know I want to do something.”

  “You know I’ll help you with whatever you need.” He promised, pulling up in front of the Reyes’ gorgeous split level home, “but could you do one thing for me? Please don’t go inside any apartments on your love quest. It’s not safe.”

  Leave it to Peyton to worry about things like that. “I won’t,” I agreed.

  He shut down the engine and leaned over to kiss me thoroughly.

  “What was that for,” I murmured when he released me.

  “Because I can’t help loving you, Mia Johnson.”

  With that, Peyton got out of the car and opened my door for me, escorting me inside the Reyes family home.

  The heavenly smell of baked chicken and rice and beans greeted my nose as Peyton and I stepped into the house.

  “Hey guys!” Mrs. Reyes and Melody called from the kitchen. I squeezed Peyton’s hand before letting go and making my way to the kitchen off the right side of the foyer. He’d find his way to where the men were hanging out on his own.

  “Afternoon!” I called, grabbing an apron and offering myself up to work. Mrs. Reyes knew better than to hand me anything that needed to be seasoned or cooked, but vegetable preparation was my forte. I could peel a potato and dice an onion like a pro.

  “What’s up?” Melody asked as she bent over the gravy bubbling on the stove.

  “Nothing much. Hey, I have a new design I want to show you.”

  “Cool. Is it a dress?”

  “Nah, it’s a blouse. I’ll bring it over next time I drop by.”

  Mrs. Reyes pointed to the onions, cilantro, tomato, and basil leaves on the cutting board. “Do your thing,” she encouraged as she finished lining the pie pan with dough for the lemon meringue pie.

  I washed my hands and wreaked havoc on the vegetables. Melody turned to me, “So, Spencer and I were talking about renting a bo
at next weekend. You want to come along?”

  “You mean for the long holiday?”

  “Mom said she wouldn’t mind watching the store for the afternoon so you can go.”

  I glanced at Mrs. Reyes, “No way. I couldn’t ask that of you, Auntie Rey,”

  “It’s nothing. And Alexi will be with me to show me what’s what. We’ll be fine. When was the last time you had a Saturday off?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted.

  “Go and be young. It only comes around once.”

  I put down the knife and went over to enclose the sweet woman who was a second mother to me in a hug.

  “Oh, don’t cry.” Melody moaned, as my eyes filled with tears.

  “It’s the onion, you boob!” I laughed.

  The front door banged open and a male voice rang, “Mm, something smells good in here!”

  Auntie Ray shook her head, “That boy…” Archie popped his head into the kitchen and Mrs. Reyes scolded, “How many times have I told you not to slam that door.”

  “Sorry, ma’am.” Archie apologized, and then beamed a charming smile Mrs. Reyes’ way. He was learning a thing or two from Peyton. Those men always defaulted to charm when things got sticky with the ladies.

  Auntie Reyes smiled back at the bearded man, but shooed him out of the kitchen “The rest of the guys are in the living room. Robert bought an electric drum of all things!”

  “Cool,” Archie blew a kiss toward me and Melody and took off for the living room.

  I addressed Melody, “I never asked how things went with his mom. Was everything okay?” A few weeks ago, Archie had gone to visit her and had recently returned. Archie’s mom and dad divorced when he was young. His mom lived in California while his dad lived in Belize. Archie’s relationship with both parents was complicated. The Reyes’ should officially open their homes to kids with Mommy and Daddy issues. They seemed to attract us messed up folks just fine.

  “His mom is good. Archie said that she’s seeing someone.”

  “Wow, that’s… interesting. Isn’t she like almost fifty?”

  “What does age have to do with anything?” Auntie Reyes piped in.

  Melody and I shared funny faces but relaxed our expression when Mrs. Reyes looked our direction. She narrowed her eyes at us as we tried to hold in our laughter.

  “I can already see that the two of you might not eat lunch today,” Mrs. Reyes threatened.

  Melody and I mutely went about our business. Thankfully, when the food was finished fifteen minutes later, we were allowed to dish up a plate.

  “Babe, you want me to take out a plate for you?” I asked Peyton who had followed the line of guys to the kitchen table.

  “Please?” He responded, and then dived back into conversation with Spencer and Archie about the Samsung versus Apple debate. Mrs. Reyes had not missed the exchange and sent me a wink of approval as I took out a plate to share up for Peyton. Mr. Reyes smiled and mouthed, ‘it’s about time’ when I returned to the dining room with a loaded plate for Peyton. When everyone was seated, Mr. Reyes prayed over the food and we dug in.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A few minutes into the meal, Archie lifted his drumstick and pronounced, “Okay, is everyone a couple now?”

  The chatter around the dinner table stilled at his declaration.

  “Don’t look at me like that!” Archie cried when all the adults around the table sent him a surprised glance. “Melody and Spencer, now Peyton and Mia,” he turned to the Mr. and Mrs. Reyes, “are you two running a matchmaking service?”

  Everyone laughed, “Daddy says it’s better not to get married,” Eryn piped in knowingly with her adorable gap-toothed grin on proud display. My eyes widened at her mature statement and all heads swung in Mr. Reyes’s direction. He threw up his hands in defense.

  “Daddy never said that,” he clarified, “I train all my girls,” he included me in his hand gesture, “to choose wisely and if they don’t my shot gun is completely loaded. It’s not my fault that they went all the way to L.A. to find their partners.”

  Peyton choked on slice of plantain. Mr. Reyes laughed at his reaction, “You didn’t think you were getting out of the shot gun range did you Peyton?”

  I handed him a glass of water and tried not to laugh at how red Peyton was getting. “No-no sir.”

  Archie reclaimed the table’s attention, “When is it my turn?”

  “For the shotgun?” I asked.

  “No,” he scoffed, “the girl.”

  Mr. Reyes forked a load of rice and beans into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed before answering. “Whenever you find her. The Constitution says when you find the right woman, you find a good thing. My shot gun’s got your name on it if you fall out of line.”

  All the girls around the table had a good laugh at Archie’s expense. He grinned sheepishly and Spencer patted him consolingly on the back.

  “Spencer told you about the yacht?” I asked Peyton privately once the table had settled down some and the others chattered on.

  He nodded, “I was hoping we could go. I wanted to tell you but Melody thought she should ask her mom to help out first.”

  I smiled and restrained the urge to smack a good one on Peyton’s lips just for being so handsome. He really was an amazing person.

  “Aww,” a chorus of feminine sighs swept the table almost knocking us over with the force of the gust. Peyton and I glanced up in astonishment.

  “They’re just so cute.” Melody enthused staring us down like we were her favorite couple in a romantic comedy. Spencer rolled his eyes and smirked.

  Alexi dimpled, “I’m so jealous.” She blurted.

  That got both Mr. and Mrs. Reyes’ attention. “You’re too young,” they scolded their sixteen year old daughter in tandem.

  Peyton and I shared a glance before we burst into laughter. This family was too much.

  Later that evening, we said our goodbyes to the Reyes’ and headed back to my apartment. I invited him in and we lounged on the couch, my foot in his lap as we aimlessly watched the television. Peyton turned the channel to the world news and I immediately tuned out. He knew I got my news from the Internet, not cable t.v. Wanting to be closer to him, I crawled to his side of the couch and rested my head on his chest as I pulled out my phone and browsed through my Instagram. An hour passed without much talking as we remained engrossed in our individual activities. I logged on to Facebook and liked some photos, stopping to show Peyton an adorable picture of my older cousin’s baby.

  “Is it a boy or a girl?” Peyton wondered as he stared at my phone screen.

  I scoffed, “He’s a guy. Can’t you tell from the adorable plats in his hair?”

  Peyton peered at the picture, “He’s wearing a bracelet.”

  “Lots of Caribbean parents put red bracelets on their children. It’s to ward off evil spirits.”

  “That does not look like a boy baby,” Peyton insisted. I laughed at his clueless remarks and swiped through what felt like an album of baby photos. He observed the frames with me. Finally getting enough of the admiring the different places the baby had laid down, he leaned back against the sofa end and said. “When we have a baby, we dress him like a boy if he’s a boy. No bracelets.”

  I arched an eyebrow at him, “First of all, if I want to put a bracelet on our baby, I’m putting a bracelet on our baby. Not because I believe evil spirits have any power over us but because bracelets are cute. Second of all, baby boys don’t care if they wear frilly things, they’re too little.”

  Peyton groaned, “Fine if you want to look our child in the eye fifteen years later and tell him we dressed him up in froufrou things because it was cute, be my guest.”

  I laughed, “His girlfriend will appreciate the baby pictures, trust me.”

  “You want to allow our son to date at fifteen?”

  “It’s better than if he does it behind our backs.”

  “No way! He won’t get the chance to do anything behind our backs. I’ll sca
re him into submission.”

  “With what? You’re a teddy bear and you know it. Our kids will walk all over you.”

  “You’re a soft touch yourself.” Peyton pointed out.

  “We both know I’ll be the disciplinarian so don’t even kid yourself.” I remarked with finality.

  Though Peyton disagreed with me, he let the matter drop. We continued to enjoy the quiet together until the silence was broken by a knock on the door. I got up to answer it and stopped short when I saw who was on the other side.

  “Mom!” I blurted, totally blown away that my mother was here. My parents never visited their children.

  “Hello Mia,” Mom croaked.

  “Babe, everything okay?” Peyton called from the couch.

  “Just give me a minute,” I stepped out and joined Mom in the hallway.

  “Who was that?” Mom craned her neck to see into the apartment but I closed my door before she could get a good look at my Caucasian boyfriend. That would only breed drama.

  “What are you doing here, Mama?”

  She sucked her teeth, “I come visit my only child and she treats me like that? Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

  I felt the sting of her censure and apologized, “I’m sorry, Mama. It’s good to see you…. Now seriously, what are you doing here?”

  She narrowed her eyes and snapped, “I left your father.”

  My world shifted in that moment. “What do you mean you’ve left Daddy?”

  Mama stepped closer to me and hissed, “Keep your voice down. I’d appreciate if we could discuss this inside. Tell your boy toy to leave.”

  Before I could correct her and blurt out that Peyton was actually my boyfriend, the door opened and Peyton stepped out. “Hey,” he said, stepping out of room like he owned the place. His macho persona dropped when he noticed that I was talking to a woman, “Sorry to interrupt. Just making sure you’re good.”