Cafe Mocha Read online

  Should they go to the café for coffee even though it was closed because that would be private without being too presumptuous, go to a bar for an hour or two, or hang out at her apartment? While he wasn’t ready for their time together to end, Omar definitely didn’t want to seem cheap or manipulative or eager. And Sherry didn’t want to send the impression that she hadn’t had a good time by ending the evening too quickly or that she was ready for sexual closeness by inappropriately inviting him home.

  It was their first awkward moment. She was back to feeling like a teenager.

  “Do you play pool?” he asked as he settled behind the steering wheel. The question surprised her. “I know an all-night pool hall if you’re interested.”

  She considered it, intrigued, because she knew absolutely nothing about the game. But she had to admit it was a near-perfect solution. Plus, he was offering to teach her, which should be hilarious due to her lack of any athletic skill. Why not?

  “We’ll need to make a few adjustments.” He explained that two over-dressed black people in a place called Cowboy Billy’s Barn might invite a little too much attention. He put her cashmere wrap and his jacket in the car’s trunk and reached over to undo her fancy hairstyle. “That’s better,” he appraised.

  Was it better? Sherry felt an unexpected absence when he stopped loosening her curls with his fingers and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. Why did he make a point of tilting her chin to keep her from looking away? It was an intensely warm moment before he chuckled and removed his fingers. Yeah, that was the point when she had to remind herself to breathe.

  But half an hour later it was she who taunted him when he wrapped his arms behind her to assist her in holding the cue stick correctly. She leaned back against his chest and laughed when he kissed her temple and stepped away abruptly. She’d heard and felt that sharp intake of breath, too, when his body had responded a little more than anticipated to her brushing against him.

  “Afraid?” she whispered with fake innocence as she watched him move to the opposite side of the pool table.

  And so the evening continued with lots of laughter and flirting.

  Sherry felt guilty for keeping him out until nearly 3:00 a.m. until he informed her that on Sundays Rosalee opened the café at ten o’clock. He didn’t need to be there until noon.

  They sat in the car and talked comfortably for a while before Omarion finally walked her to her apartment door. Their goodnight kiss was neither awkward nor inappropriate. Omarion’s hands rested nearly imperceptibly on her waist, his lips very lightly brushing against hers, echoing the tenderness she’d seen earlier in his eyes. Perhaps the exchange lasted a little longer than a typical first date by Sherry’s mother’s standards, but it felt amazingly comfortable.

  Over the next month or so, they spent a lot of time together: ice-skating, movies, traveling Broadway plays. On Sunday mornings, they walked in the crisp air at the nearest metro park before Omar went to work. And there were more trips to the pool hall.

  On the first Monday in December, the café switched to its holiday hours: closed on Sunday, open its normal hours on Monday and Tuesday, and open until 9:00 p.m. on Wednesday through Saturday. Omar explained that the shop would be open the same number of hours except for staying until 10:00 p.m. on the weekend before Christmas. Still, the revised schedule would help him to take advantage of the fact that customers would be out later shopping for gift baskets and grabbing delicious doses of specialty caffeine.

  “Why are you closed on Sundays during the holiday season, though? Aren’t you losing potential sales?” Sherry had asked the week the new schedule began.

  “Money isn’t everything,” was the simple answer. “It’s a family business, operated by family members who have other obligations. We made the decision at the very beginning about how much time we’re willing to take away from our siblings, parents, and Rosalee’s children—and we try not to violate that balance.”

  “And,” he added, “we’ll have even more time together since Sunday is our day.”

  She kept walking and smiled at the realization that she was very happy with the way the relationship was progressing. In fact, a few days earlier, Sherry had decided enough time had passed to invite him to her apartment for dinner. Today would be the first time he’d actually take her up on the offer.

  She didn’t tell him that cooking Sunday dinner with him was a big deal because that had been a tradition when she was a girl—when she’d had a family with parents who set the example about love and relationships. Maybe that was a conversation they would have at some point, but it seemed a little soon to talk about something like that. Sherry didn’t really want Omarion to think of her has lonely or needy or damaged.

  To her surprise, he loved to cook and offered to help with the meal. Having him in the kitchen was a very cozy experience. It made her miss her parents, but she still didn’t talk about their death. She simply accepted the fact that his presence filled the void.

  She had cleared plates and he poured more wine and explained how the café was truly a family business, started by funds invested by his grandfather. His mom and aunts baked pastries and made the soups and sandwiches, and a cousin delivered the food to the store while Omarion kept the coffee stocked and the café organized. Rosalee was the only family member who worked with him. Because she would still need to leave at 6:00—despite the extended hours—since their large family had extensive holiday traditions, he’d probably hire an extra clerk. This was their second year being open during the holidays, and he expected that business would pick up as it previously had.

  “I could help,” Sherry easily offered as she crossed the kitchen.

  “No way. I’m already tempted enough; having you behind the counter might be too much for me,” he only halfway joked.

  “You’re strong. You must think I’m never tempted, huh?” she asked quietly and put their plates into soapy dishwater.

  “Are you?” His fingers moved a stray curl from her face. The question didn’t require a response, which they both accepted.

  “Are you going to let me help? At least I could work the pastries and give refills to the eat-in customers.” The courtesy to non-specialty coffee drinkers kept the counter from being too congested. “And,” she slid her arms around him, “I’m there a lot anyway.”

  “But, you’re usually working for your clients.”

  “Changing my focus isn’t a problem. The holiday season is slower for me because lots of authors are too preoccupied with their families during the holidays to submit any work. The same is true with my small-business clients, so deadlines are more flexible right now.” She kissed him and whispered “please” against his lips.

  “Why?” He kissed the side of her face.

  “Because we only spend time alone. It’s getting a little too difficult—at least for me.”

  They both knew she was right. Saying it aloud only made it more real. The subject of sex had been discussed once and he had been the person to make it clear that he believed in saving sex for marriage, no matter how enticing her beautiful mind and body were. And, while he was also clear about being physically attracted to Sherry, the boundaries were set and unmovable.

  Omarion had thought about her words for a long time before accepting the offer. Thankfully, Omar and Rosalee had a few days to train Sherry on what she would do while they would make specialty drinks or create gift baskets because, within a week of starting the new hours, the café got very busy: more lunch patrons and an increase in gift-shoppers during the mornings and early evenings. It seemed like the practical baskets and lower-than-chain-store prices made Café Mocha extremely appealing. Omarion had even begun selling gift certificates and ordered customized mugs that were flying out the door.

  There was little time to worry about the sexual tension of being around each other too much, even though it was always present. Occasional stolen kisses in the stock room. The brush of a finger along a bare neck in passing. Hands lightly resting on S
herry’s hips if they were standing behind the counter and the café was nearly empty. Yet, for most of the day, the couple had little time to be distracted by their physical growing attraction, especially after Rosalee left for the day. The café was simply too busy.

  Yet, their emotional closeness was steadily getting stronger.

  “Are you coming over for Christmas dinner?” Omar had asked a few days before the event.

  “Holidays are family time. Besides, I didn’t know I was invited,” was her honest answer.

  Omarion had tilted her chin and asked, “What do you think has been happening between us?” Sherry wondered whether her eyes revealed her ambivalence. She moved away when the bell over the door signaled the arrival of customers.

  “Saved by the bell?” he chuckled softly and shook his head.

  Sherry knew that Omar thought she was keeping her distance because the physical attraction was too much of a temptation, but that was only part of the reason. While their feelings were undoubtedly on the same page and growing stronger, Sherry had a few doubts about their relationship that she hadn’t mentioned and wasn’t sure how to bring up. Maybe she was making a big deal out of nothing, but her instincts were warning her that perhaps her delicious coffee god wasn’t really Mr. Right, after all. And she’d rather just enjoy their good days for as long as they would last than push for something more and have everything ending sooner than necessary. She knew all too well about life’s good times ending tragically without warning.

  No, she wasn’t going to rock the boat. Not yet.

  Chapter Three

  “Hey Uncle Omar!”

  Sherry looked up from what she was doing to see a younger version of Rosalee strolling into the café. The teenager with shiny eyes and a bright smile was dressed in a short winter coat and trendy boots and carrying a white open-top box that filled with sandwiches and pastries.

  “Tamara!” Omarion rushed from around the counter to assist her before launching into a conversation in their native language. One day, Sherry was going to have to ask him what tribe they were from and what language they were speaking. Everyone also spoke flawless English, so she knew this was simply their family’s way of communicating privately.

  “Let me introduce you to Sherry,” Omarion was saying as he set the box on the counter.

  Sherry had just put the last of the raw sugar packets into the condiments stand and wiped off the table where the sugar, flavored syrups, and stirs were located. She smiled as she approached the young woman who had wrapped her arms around her tall uncle.

  “Oh, so you’re Sherry. It’s very nice to meet you!” She unloosed her hold on Omar and threw her arms around Sherry instead. “My gram says you must be an amazing woman to make Unc break tradition,” she laughed.

  “Hush child!” Rosalee gasped.

  A confused expression crossed Sherry’s face as she turned to see the embarrassed scowl on her boyfriend’s sister’s face.

  “What?” The teenager shrugged. “Well, she’s not African, and you know how …”

  It was Omar’s stony stare that was effective in closing her mouth.

  “You’ve said enough,” he told her after a long, uncomfortable silence.

  “Yes, sir.” Panic filled her eyes that now seemed to be moist with unshed tears. Luckily for everyone, a crowd of laughing shoppers entered the café and there was no more time for personal distractions. Rosalee snatched the box off the counter with one arm, grabbed her daughter with her free hand, and disappeared into the back room. Omar immediately began greeting customers, and Sherry hurried into place behind the counter to assist him with making the orders.

  The rest of the afternoon was similarly busy, or at least busy enough for Sherry to avoid being cornered by Omarion and pulled into any type of personal conversation. When the customers started to thin about half an before closing time and Sherry announced that she should probably go ahead and leave, he understood how upset she really was and that she wanted some time alone.

  “I make my own choices, Sherry,” he said as she shoved her hands into gloves.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that tradition isn’t everything.”

  She didn’t look at him as she reached for the door. His hand landed on top of hers.

  “Your family is very important to you,” she finally said softly. “They only want what’s best for your life, for your future. They’ve invested a lot into your dreams, too.”

  “I’m the oldest son, so they have every right to advise me. But they cannot overrule me when I’ve made my decision. You are important to me, Sherry. They have to respect my choice.”

  He kissed her lightly on the forehead. “You never answered me before. Will you please spend Christmas afternoon with my family and spend the rest of the evening with me?”

  “Can I have another day to think about it? I don’t have any nearby family, Omar, so I’m not used to celebrations with big families.”

  “One day,” he agreed and hurried back to a customer who was waiting at the counter.

  Advise him.

  The words hit Sherry in the face as sharply as the December wind did when she stepped outside. What had the African family advised their oldest son to do about the black American woman he was dating—the woman who came from no one. Who had no family ties. Of course they wouldn’t advise him to be with her.

  She’d been falling in love—had hoped he was too. But what did she know about being in love, or being in a family as close-knit as his? Her parents were killed in a traffic accident when she was 15, her grandparents lived in Philadelphia but were too sickly to keep her, and the aunt who’d been stuck with raising her wasn’t exactly appreciative of having to taper a career towards taking in a child when she’d never wanted children. Sherry had left that home to attend Capital University and, except for traveling back during school breaks or a few social events, had not returned to her home city.

  She’d spent part of her parents’ insurance money to pay for college. The rest was used to purchase the four-unit row of townhouse apartments where she now lived. That purchase allowed her enough income to work as a self-employed proof-reader, to have the luxury of doing what made her happy.

  She was basically alone. Had her history been the reason she’d wanted to work in Omarion’s family-run business? Omar and Rosalee had been friendly towards Sherry, and although she appreciated feeling such warmth, had she used it to fill a void? Love or not, she had never actually let herself think about what she and Omar should expect from each other. Would he expect her to easily fit in around a bunch of family members who thought she didn’t belong? Would the wonderfully optimistic and fun-loving man be disappointed if she refused to meet the rest of his clan?

  Would she lose him? Each day, she looked forward to his sexy smile and the way he charmed customers and the moments he’d find to hold her hand or kiss her forehead if there were no customers needing attention. And she wasn’t ready for that to end.

  Maybe it was time to tell him about her reservations.

  The next morning, Omar listened carefully before compassionately saying that none of Sherry’s objections mattered. Being intimidated shouldn’t make her stay away from his family; everyone would love her as much as he did. She deliberately didn’t comment on his subtle admission.

  Instead, she asked whether she should bring gifts. Even though he’d first issued the invitation nearly a week earlier, Christmas was on Sunday. She had very little time to think about what to wear and much less time to purchase any presents—didn’t even know what was appropriate in either case.

  “Don’t worry. We don’t wear jeans but otherwise are pretty casual. And most of my gifts are from both of us.” He flashed a brilliant smile at her confused expression. “I took for granted that you’d come, just don’t act surprised when the gifts opened and people are thanking you.”

  Nervousness kept Sherry awake until nearly dawn on Christmas morning. She wasn’t ready when Omarion arrived at one
o’clock, and he could tell she’d been crying. He held her close, assured her that the afternoon would go smoothly, wiped tears away from her golden-brown face, and rubbed her back until she was calm. He made her put a cold-pack over her swollen eyes and drink a glass of wine. Maybe later he’d tell her how much it meant that the event was so important to her.

  Every ounce of anxiety had been for nothing.

  Even though they arrived late, the family hadn’t begun opening presents. Rosalee and her daughters made sure drinks and snacks were circulating for at least another 30 minutes. A glass of spiked punch was pushed into Sherry’s hand with a wink and a sympathetic nod.

  Omarion made the introductions first to his grandparents and then his parents, speaking quietly and respectfully in his native language before switching to English.

  “I wish to introduce my grandparents Mr. Elijah and Mrs. Jamilah Makinwa.” He gave a slight bow before turning. “And these are my parents, Mr. Kamalu and Mrs. Idara Makinwa. This is my girlfriend, Sherry Malcolm.”

  “We’re very pleased to meet you and happy that you could join us for the holiday celebration.” The elder Mr. Makinwa stated.

  “Thank you.”

  “Omar and Rose tell us that you’ve been a great help at the coffee shop,” his wife added with a smile.

  “I try.”

  “Oh, she’s been amazing!” Rosalee injected.

  “Well, we certainly appreciate your contribution.” Idara Makinwa stepped forward to give Sherry a hug.

  “Careful of the punch, Mom.” Omarion laughed and rescued the glass from Sherry’s hand for a moment until the embracing was done. “Here you go. Drink up.” He returned the glass with a smile.

  After a few minutes of conversation with the parents and grandparents, Rosalee took over. She escorted Sherry from room to room to meet the uncles, aunts, and adult children—whether siblings or cousins. Always the men first, and then the women in the couple. The men first, and then the women in the group.