He reached the Torpedo Factory Art Center without coming to any resolution and smiled when he saw her beat-up Ford Fiesta in the lot as he pulled in. Yes, there was something about this woman.
He didn’t know quite what it was or what to do about it, and he didn’t have time to figure it out right then, so he would let come what might.
He found her already there when he entered the classroom, and took his usual seat next to her.
“Did you still need a map to get here?”
“Don’t start with me,” she said, but then she chuckled and nodded her head. “Did you finish your homework?”
“Of course. And here I am with it, even though I’m missing a Redskins game with my brothers.”
“Redskins?”
Rashad couldn’t suppress his laughter, and other students in the class turned to look. He wanted to let them in on it, but he couldn’t stop the laughter, so he just waved them away. When he could catch his breath, he turned back to Michelle.
“You don’t know who the Redskins are?”
“I told you I don’t follow sports. But has anybody thought about this name?”
Rashad chuckled more, but he could control the volume this time.
“I’m glad I amuse you,” Michelle said. Then she put her hand on her hip and moved her head back and forth, getting real. “But this laughter at my expense has got to end.”
“I’m sorry. I am. And, yes, I’m sure that the name has been a subject of debate.”
Rashad was laughing again before he finished. After a firm look in his direction, Michelle joined in.
“Are we still on for tonight, or do you need to leave early to catch what you can of the game on television or something?”
“No, my brother-in-law got my ticket, and the game will show in reruns, so we’re on. I guess that’s the upside of missing the game. I don’t have to miss tonight with you.”
Michelle looked at him closely, perhaps judging his sincerity, but she didn’t reply. She shrugged her shoulders and mouthed the word okay.
That was enough—that and the way she looked tonight. Though she was sitting down, he could see that she didn’t have on her usual leggings or jeans. She had dressed a bit for tonight. Over what looked like a brown satin camisole, she had on a brown lace cover-up that fit close to her body and that went down to her thighs. She also had on brown palazzo pants that widened at the ankle, flaring out like a dress, and she had on low black heels. Instead of her usual sweater, a long, brown African mudcloth wrap hung on the back of her chair with her purse.
Her long hair had fresh curls at the ends, and a piece of material that matched her cover-up circled her head from her nape to her crown, ending in a neat knot above her left ear. If he was right, her face had a little extra makeup, as well, just enough so that he could see the extra care she’d taken.
It was enough to make Rashad look twice and value what he saw—a beautiful woman. He looked down at his standard white shirt and slacks and wished he’d done something else. At least he could grab his coat and tie from the car when they dropped off their portfolios.
“You look great tonight,” he whispered as the teacher walked in.
She smiled and turned to the front of the class, which was all on composition and started with a slide show. For their first drawing exercise, they had to create an arrangement with twenty abstract and unrelated objects. This focused his attention on the task at hand, even if part of his mind was waiting for it to be over.
At the end of the class, they turned in the assignments from their portfolios, and he finally got a look at Michelle standing. In low heels, she was only a couple of inches shorter than he was.
“You must be something like five-eleven, right?”
“What?”
“Five feet eleven inches tall.”
Her brow wrinkled, but she confirmed it. “Yes, how did you know?”
“I have about three inches on you, but not when you have on heels. You look great tonight.”
“You said that before.”
“I mean it again.”
“Thank you.”
Michelle had gathered up her things and turned to him. “Where to now?”
“What do you feel like eating?”
She made a guttural sound and slumped. “I hate that question. Anything. I feel like eating anything.”
“I checked, and there’s a little bit of just about everything around King Street.”
Michelle held up her hand and waved for him to follow her. “Let’s walk and talk before it gets too late.”
“There’s a burger place off King Street. Oh, there’s a Southern place called King Street Blues. I think we can walk there from here. How about that?”
“Yes. There. Quick. Decisive. No pondering.” Michelle chuckled. “I hate that question, but thank you for asking rather than just deciding. And, yes, Southern will be fine, but not fried. I can’t gain another pound or my clothes won’t fit, and I don’t have wardrobe bucks until I pick up some extra hours at the coffeehouse over the summer.”
Rashad knew Michelle well enough to let that go. But he filed the reference under possible things to get her for Christmas.
After they stored their portfolios and supplies, they decided to head straight for the restaurant rather than linger along King Street and chance having it close on them. Michelle had on her mudcloth wrap and looked like an African queen. Rashad took her hand as they maneuvered through the groups touring the street. She was leading, and he didn’t want to lose her, but it felt good to have her hand for other reasons, too. She looked back at him and smiled, plunging them along through the crowd.
“Does this place ever quiet down?” he asked once they made it to the restaurant.
“I’ve been at Regina’s shop until midnight, and there were still people in the streets,” Michelle said.
“That’s right. I’d almost forgotten. Did we pass it?”
“Yes, but I can point it out on the way back, when we have more time.”
The restaurant was still open, and they were seated right away.
Rashad took Michelle’s hands in his while they waited for their late-night meal. He saw her get still and quiet, but she didn’t take her hands away. Instead, she smiled at him.
“I like the feel of your hands,” she said. “They’re strong.”
“Yours are soft. I like that, too.”
Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before their dinner arrived, and Rashad had to let Michelle’s hands go for what they’d ordered. The ribs were tender, the cornbread was moist, the greens were well peppered and the cobbler was juicy. It was a real Southern meal.
“Does it compare to what you get down home?” he asked.
“Yes, it does, but no one can top my uncle’s ribs or my mother’s cornbread and cobbler. This is like home when you’re on vacation.”
“Good. I’m glad you like it.”
“What about your family traditions? How many brothers and sisters do you have?”
“I have three brothers, no sisters.”
“But