In His Arms

But how old was Michelle’s son? She barely seemed old enough to be married with a child, so he couldn’t be that old.

Rashad whistled, and Shaka Zulu, his Yorkshire terrier, came bounding in from the kitchen.

“Hey, fella. Were you eating this late? Why didn’t you come when I got home? You mad at me for being out so late?” He scratched the dog under the chin. “You’re a child-friendly little one, aren’t you? Okay, I’m talking to the dog now.” What was it about that woman?

Actually, she seemed about his age, mid-twenties. Maybe early twenties. According to his brothers, that was more than old enough to be married with responsibilities, but Rashad put his brothers and their ribbing out of his mind.

Shaka followed him upstairs to his bedroom, where Rashad began changing from the long day. He loved that art class, but Wednesdays would be hell from here on—at least for eight more weeks. It also meant that he couldn’t stay at work late on hump day anymore.

Actually, he’d be glad to start leaving work on time if he could show Michelle some of the city. And there she was again—on his mind.

Rashad had dated during and after college, but not seriously. He was used to meeting women, going out, having a good time. He wasn’t used to liking a woman so much immediately, especially one who was off the market anyway.

And this one wasn’t really his type. It stumped him. But maybe that meant they were destined to be friends. He could live with that—or so he thought. But as he climbed into bed, he thought of Michelle’s ample curves and sighed.

Chapter 3

Michelle pulled her satchel from under her chair and starting dropping in her supplies.

“I’m glad to see that you made it here all right,” Rashad said from the seat next to her.

“Yes, I did. Thank you very much. Hey,” Michelle said to Rashad. They were both packing up after their second class at the Art League.

“Yep?”

“Is it okay if we exchange numbers? Only in case we ever have to miss a class or need a ride or something like that. I wouldn’t pester you.”

“You could never pester me,” Rashad said. He wrote his numbers on Michelle’s page of notes. “That one’s my cell phone. This is my landline. Call me for anything. And this is my email. I check it all the time. Put yours here—if you’re sure it’s okay.” He held out his notes.

“Yes, it’s fine. I trust you not to go crazy with my number, but if I catch you putting it on a restroom wall, we’ll fight.”

He chuckled. “No, I wouldn’t.”

Rashad turned back to his portfolio and opened to a page. “Look at this. With all the design classes I’ve taken, I’ve never learned this trick.”

Michelle looked at the abstract of an apple running.

“That’s wonderful. You’re already an artist.”

“Not yet, love. Let’s just say I’m working in my field. Let’s see one of yours.”

Michelle was hesitant but opened her portfolio to one of their assignments. It was a cubist form of a female nude against a brick wall.

“Wow. You’re already an artist, too.”

“Not yet, but I’m trying. I think this one will look good with color. I’m going to paint it over the weekend and see if I can link it to a women’s organization or something. Maybe they’ll want it, and that way I might be able to put it in my portfolio.”

“I’m sure they will want it. It’s beautiful, and I can already see it with color.”

“I want to use various shades on the body—like a representation of multicultural women uniting or something like that. And— Never mind. I’m just yammering on.”

“No, don’t stop. I like it when you’re excited about something,” Rashad said. “I want to hear more, but everyone’s leaving. Hey, do you have half an hour? We can stow supplies in my car and walk along the waterfront so that we can talk a little more. If not, I understand. Your son’s waiting.”

“No, I can stay for a while. Let me just check on the little one and update them that I’ll be running late. I’ll be back here in two minutes.”

Michelle headed to the restroom to make her phone call and found that she was as excited about the prospect of walking along the waterfront with Rashad as she was about finishing her piece and, she hoped, getting it accepted somewhere.

“Hey, honey. It’s Mommy....I know. I’ll be on my way soon....You let Mrs. Miller put you to sleep now, and I’ll carry you home when I get there. And brush your teeth well, young man....Let me talk to Mrs. Miller.”

Mrs. Miller was fine keeping Andre for an extra half hour, so the night was set. Michelle found herself checking her hair in the mirror and applying more lipstick. Yes, she was excited about being out somewhere—and out with him. But that wouldn’t do, would it? He hadn’t actually shown any interest, at least not that kind of interest. She took a breath and went back to the classroom to collect her things.

“Do you know whether we have to turn in our portfolios at any point?” Rashad asked.

“Yes, we do. Three times. That’s why we’re supposed to number the assignments.”

“You’re right. I remember that now from last week. That didn’t make it into my notes. How’s the little one? Do you have time now, or do you need to get home?”

Rashad’s voice dropped on the last question, as though he’d be disappointed if she had to leave. It was just a hint, but it made Michelle smile.

“I have time,” she said, gathering her things. They started toward the elevators. “I bought an extra half hour, which is actually an extra hour, as I already gave myself half an hour of leeway—just in case.”

“Excellent. My car is in the lot across the street again, and you can follow me to Greenbelt instead of using a street map, so you’ll get home quickly.”

Rashad chuckled after he said it, and so did Michelle, but she also rapped his arm with the back of her hand.

“No teasing the directionally challenged art student.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. But I can lead you home.”

“You don’t have to, but it would be nice of you. My car’s in this lot, too. I’m the used Ford Fiesta over there. I’ll be right back.”

While Rashad went over to his Kompressor, a Mercedes-Benz, Michelle headed to her Fiesta. It reminded her of the differences between them. Their ages were close, but he was finished with school and obviously doing well. She had gotten off track and was just starting over. He was where she wanted to be. No, he was where she would be one day—her and her son.

After storing their supplies, they recrossed the street and joined the groups sauntering along the Potomac. Michelle looked down at herself. She had on her usual bargain casual clothes—this time it was a green chiffon tank top with a green sweater, jeans and her usual flats. If she’d known they were going to hang out, she’d have dressed up a bit.

It was late September and a bit cool, so Rashad had put on his blazer when he’d dropped things off at his car. His tie was probably still in the car, but even without it, she could tell from the cut of his suit that he wore good quality to work. His black wing tip dress shoes gleamed. Again—the differences between them.

“What are you thinking?”

Rashad stirred her from thoughts she didn’t want to express, but she didn’t know what else to say.

She took a breath. “I was thinking that you’ve made it, and I haven’t as yet—as yet being the operative words. I wanted to be finished with school by now, to be in my career. I guess I’m a little jealous.”

“Don’t be. You’ll get there soon. And you have something to show for your time that I don’t. A son, a family.”

“That’s true. And that’s part of the reason I’m not finished as yet. But I’ll get there. I have to.”

It was just after ten and had gotten dark. The lights from the promenade were reflected on the water, and boats moored along the harbor bobbed slightly in the flow of the Potomac. There were fewer families out now and more couples. Michelle and Rashad walked close together in the quiet that had sprung up between them.