loading . . . #WipSnips 8.31- faith: "Sometimes you got to have a will to live." Anthony and Booker were across the room at a table dressed in a red-and-green checked plastic tablecloth, both plates loaded down with food. Now that I wasn’t distracted by the shit show that was brunch, our newest employee could occupy my thoughts. Anthony hadn’t said a thing about a new trainee.
Well, he could have, but Anthony had been long-winded since college. I tuned in and out.
So… Booker was good looking. Let me be honest—that man was fine. In a way I wasn’t used to.
Tall, but not a giant like most of my exes. A rich reddish-brown skin tone, not a dark mahogany or a light caramel. Stocky, muscled, but not in a trying-to-get-cast-as-the-Black-Panther way. Booker was a strikingly handsome, random guy I might pass on the street.
But I wouldn’t expect to see him on the street, so I’d trip over myself on the double take.
More than his outward, Sterling Brown-esque appearance, it was the little things that niggled at that sensitive spot in the small of my back—the gentle strength in his hand when I shook it; the baritone of his voice and the light accent when he spoke that told me he wasn’t from around here.
I’d never made a habit of dating coworkers, but allowances could be made for exceptional cases. When you’ve dated the same guy for ten years, not from around here counted as exceptional.
I slid a paper plate with my paltry selections into a spot next to Anthony and dropped into a chair.
“You have a death wish,” I commented, directed at Anthony’s plate. “You too,” I added, angling my chin in Booker’s direction.
“What I have,” answered Anthony, around a mouthful of food, “is a system. See, I found out who was bringing what. And from that, I deduced who can cook and who has a clean kitchen—”
“There’s no way you can know—”
“You can if you don’t hide in your office all the time.”
“I have the largest accounts, half of which are yours. I don’t have time for potluck investigations.”
Anthony laughed, biting off a chicken wing. “If you get to know people, you know whose food you can trust.”
“I trust Faith’s food, my mama’s food, and my food. What about you, Booker? You don’t seem scared.”
“Well,” he drawled, stretching out the word while stirring a bowl of red beans and rice, “I figure it like this: I’ve eaten boudin, frog legs, alligator, cracklin, Tasso—”
“Do I want to know what Tasso is?”
“It’s a delicacy. Made from hog shoulder. Usually we eat it with—”
“Nope, I don’t want to know,” I said, closing my eyes and holding up a hand to stop the description before he could go further.
“Anyway, I figure if I can survive eating all of that on the regular, I can withstand some questionable food at a company potluck. Plus”—his eyes flicked up to mine while he held a spoonful of beans and rice—“I’m hungry. Sometimes you just got to be brave.”
“Sometimes you got to have a will to live.”
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ABOUT THE KWANZAA BRUNCH
A fated brunch and an unlikely Cupid...
Sienna Charles is tired of the same old, same old. Same old job, same old city, same old friends. Same old men.
Just when she’s relegated herself to living Groundhog’s Day, romance edition, Booker Lasalle swaggers into her life, courtesy an open position at Precision Software. He’s new— to the company, to the city, and, most importantly, new to her.
Booker LaSalle is turning over a new leaf, leaving behind a stressful job and an ex-wife for a new city and a job with growth potential. No more falling for the first pretty woman that crosses his path—like the witty, acerbic, and obviously interested analyst at Precision. Everything about her tempts Booker to throw that “new leaf” plan out of the window.
Read The Kwanzaa Brunch in eBook or print HERE. This is book 3 of the holiday shorts and slightly spoils Book 1, Unexpected. http://dlvr.it/TMs6lL
