Stealing Candy (9 page)

Are you driving?” Khalil wanted to know as they stood outside the detention center, meandering instead of saying their good-byes.

“Yes, do you need a ride?” she blurted, surprising herself with her eager willingness to spend time with Khalil, even if it meant being ensnarled in a traffic jam that could last for hours.

He could be a serial killer,
her inner voice warned. But she chose to ignore her good common sense.

“I’m parked right there.” She pointed to her five-year-old Camry across the street, parked under a shade tree. There was a time when Saleema wouldn’t have been caught dead inside anything less than a luxury car, but those days were long gone.

Though her wardrobe—remnants of her past—broadcasted a fashionista, Saleema hadn’t shopped for clothing in over a year. She no longer required up-to-date trappings of glitz and glamour.

“No, I drove. My car is parked in a lot at the end of the block, but it doesn’t make much sense to move it with traffic at a standstill. Are you hungry?”

“A little.” A coy smile flickered on her lips. She felt lighthearted. Tipsy. With great effort, she kept her mouth from spreading into an ear-to-ear grin. It was odd to engage in repartee with a man without the thought of a dollar sign in mind.

Prior to opening Head Up, Saleema had been on a paper chase. She’d been preoccupied with emptying out men’s wallets and bank
accounts ever since she’d taken a job at a massage parlor called Pandora’s Box during her teenage years.

Later, motivated by her lust for money and having grown tired of the sex trade, she’d almost taken a disastrous trip down the aisle with a wealthy man who was a former trick.

But a horrible tragedy had changed her, made her reevaluate what was important in life. She’d opened up Head Up with the plan to dedicate her life to prevent young girls from straying down that wrong path she’d taken. She’d wanted her girls to know that their sense of self-worth was their most precious and valuable possession.

Khalil didn’t have to coerce Saleema into agreeing to have lunch with him. On impulse, she accepted the impromptu lunch date with this intriguing stranger.

The pair trekked on foot for several blocks until they reached the place Khalil described as one of his favorite restaurants in the area.

When they entered a very small and cozy Caribbean restaurant, the hostess wore a smile that was aimed at Khalil only.

“Hello, stranger,” the woman said in a tone that was a mixture of joy, accusation, and longing.

“Stranger?” Khalil protested. “I was here last Wednesday.”

“How convenient that you came on my day off,” she replied in a voice filled with complaint.

“My bad,” Khalil said, slipping into jargon, his hands spread wide in apology.

Saleema felt an uncomfortable stab of envy. Were Khalil and the hostess sexually involved?
Don’t even go there,
she sternly reprimanded herself and surveyed the restaurant while the petulant hostess sashayed away.

What was that all about?
she wanted to ask, but didn’t dare show
that kind of vulnerability. She gave her undivided attention to an expansive menu that was printed on numerous chalkboards posted on a wall.

“Anything look interesting?” Khalil’s voice was silk and Saleema was officially smitten.

Perhaps it was the daggers being shot at her by the hostess on the other side of the counter, or maybe she just felt feminine and flirtatious, which prompted her next move. Whatever the case, Saleema felt compelled to let Khalil know that she found him appealing.

Gently, she placed her hand on top of his folded hands. “Nothing on the menu seems half as interesting as you. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
Bold!
And not bad for a woman who had indulged her earth mother inclinations for so long, she’d totally neglected her sensual side.

Unprepared for Saleema’s personality that had suddenly shifted from demure to aggressive, Khalil removed his glasses and did that finger-rubbing thing against his nose. He was nervous and that fact was absolutely adorable.

A male server approached. “Something to drink?”

“Strawberry lemonade,” Khalil said.

“Two?”

“Yes, two.”

Two.
It had a nice ring to it.

As Saleema sipped the sweet and tart beverage, Khalil gave the waiter their lunch order: stewed chicken in mango sauce, rice and beans, with a side order of cabbage and fried plantains.

“For two?” the waiter wanted to know.

Khalil and Saleema both nodded.

Wanting to know more about Khalil, she leaned forward. “How many kids at the detention center are on your caseload…and what
exactly do you do for them?” She was hoping he could give her some advice regarding Portia’s situation.

“I’m not a social worker. I run an alternative school for young men. Boys who haven’t been successful in the traditional classroom.” He rose up a little, pulled his wallet from his pocket and withdrew a card and handed it to Saleema.

Changing Lives Academy was printed in large bold letters. She perused the address, but her eyes nearly bugged out when they landed at the bottom of the card:
Khalil Gardner, Ph.D. Founder and Director.

Saleema’s piqued interest now went beyond Khalil’s good looks and gregarious nature. Like her, this man was trying to make a difference in the lives of troubled teens. He was a kindred spirit.

Then her heart sank.
Kindred spirits? Maybe not.
While Khalil possessed a Ph.D., Saleema was a high school dropout. They certainly were not evenly yoked. In an instant, she felt small and inconsequential.

Back when she’d been guardian of her goddaughter, Markeeta, she’d made sure that Markeeta was educated in the best private school in the area. While running Head Up, she always stressed the importance of education to her girls, yet she hadn’t even put forth the effort to get a GED. What did that say about her? Saleema wondered.

“One of my students…a misguided but good kid nevertheless, is being detained at the detention center.” He shook his head ruefully. “He’d been making so much progress…but like I said, keeping young men off the streets is often more difficult than keeping an addict clean.”

“I’m still recovering from the fact that you’re the founder of an alternative school. That’s major. I’m so impressed,” she said in quiet admiration.

“Well…don’t be. Not yet. The school just opened last year with fifty-three ninth-graders. By the end of the term, we were down to forty-one. Hopefully, enrollment will increase and the boys will all be attending the academy’s first graduation ceremony in three years.” He gave a sigh. “Wish us luck.”

“I’m sure you’ll get there.” Typically, Saleema exuded confidence. She was an intelligent woman who read everything she could get her hands on but, at the moment, she was mentally focused on her own educational shortcomings and could offer only a few measly words of encouragement.

“Trying to educate my boys is a constant battle. Keeping them interested in books and away from the allure of the streets is very challenging,” he said with sardonic laughter.

“I bet,” she said simply, intent on keeping her comments to a minimum and hoping he didn’t ask where she’d gone to school.

Never had Saleema felt so out of her depth. She’d known plenty of educated men. Wealthy, educated men. But she’d always felt superior because she had what they wanted…sex! Sex that she doled out according to their ability to pay.

Unaware of Saleema’s waging internal battle, Khalil went on. “I was at the detention center visiting one of my students—a fourteen-year-old who got caught with four Klonopin pills in his pocket.”

Saleema frowned. “Seems like a minor offense.”

“He has a long history of minor offenses.”

“Yeah, one of my girls is at the detention center…”

Khalil looked shocked. “You have a teenaged daughter?”

“No. I run…well…I used to run a social club for troubled girls. I was at the detention center visiting a young lady who has anger management issues and a lengthy history of fighting. She swings on teachers, students, neighbors…anyone who has the misfortune
of being in her path when her anger erupts. I was her latest victim.”

“What happened?”

“During a heated verbal exchange with another girl, she threw a bean bag chair and accidentally clunked me in the head. I hit the floor with the wind knocked out of me. One of the other girls called 9-1-1 before I could catch my breath.”

“I’m glad you’re okay. But I meant…what happened to your social club?”

Saleema looked glum. “Long story.”

The arrival of their food drew their attention away from Saleema’s troubles. Her eyes sparkled at the sight of the large heaping of exotic cuisine. “My goodness, this looks and smells scrumptious. And such a large portion. I don’t think I’ll be able to eat all this—”

“We’ll request a take-out container. You’ll be happy that it’s in your fridge when you get hungry tonight.”

“You’re right,” she readily agreed. “I’m not much of a cook. I survive on microwaveable packaged meals; having delicious leftover Caribbean food will be heavenly.”

Like a perfect gentleman, Khalil carried Saleema’s leftover food during the walk back to her car. Though they’d chatted about everything from voting for the first African-American president to Michael Jackson’s untimely demise, the chasm between them widened as they both avoided the taboo topic of Saleema’s social club.

“Thanks for lunch,” Saleema said, sitting in her car with the takeout container placed on the floor of the passenger side.

Standing outside her car, Khalil held his iPhone, checking on traffic reports. “Which direction are you…?” He paused and gave
her a long look. “What’s with the mystery woman routine? We’ve been talking nonstop for two hours and I hardly know anything about you.”

“I apologize for being vague, but I didn’t expect to have to go into detail about my life. I’m a very private person these days.”

“These days?”

“Yeah,” she answered without delving deeper.

“I’d like to get to know you better. Can I get that number?” he asked, chuckling as he once again slipped into street vernacular.

Saleema swallowed. She wanted to get to know him better, too. But not now. Not while her life was in shambles. She needed to do some serious self-improvement. She had to up her education game if she expected to roll with a scholar.

“I enjoyed myself, but I’m going to give it to you straight.” She took a deep breath. “I’m a high school dropout. I never bothered to get a GED.” She paused, letting that sink in for a couple of seconds. Khalil looked unfazed, so she plowed on. “You and I are worlds apart and I’m not comfortable with this feeling of inferiority.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“So am I. I thought I’d shed that old skin back in middle school, but it’s back and the new layer is thicker than ever.”

“Interesting,” Khalil said with a hint of a smile.

“Seriously…the moment I saw the credentials next to your name, I felt…well…out of my league. I have to work on me before I can get into any type of relationship. Okay?”

“Are you serious?” There was a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes.

“Yes.”

“I wish I could change your mind, but if that’s how you want it—”

“That’s how I want it,” she said firmly.

Khalil nodded.

Saleema exhaled. Though a weight had been lifted, she realized that her work was cut out for her. There were no coincidences. Khalil’s presence today was a reminder that while she’d been so busy trying to help others, she’d totally forgotten the adage, “physician, heal thyself.”

Khalil whipped off his glasses, and swiped the bridge of his nose as he seemed to be gathering his thoughts. God, he was so good-looking, Saleema had to avert her gaze. She couldn’t bring herself to stare at the gorgeous man that she was allowing to get away.

“Saleema, I want to be completely honest and aboveboard with you.”

She ventured a quick glance at him. His glasses were in his hand. His face was so cute, it was completely unfair.

“I admit it…I’m physically attracted to you,” he said in a serious tone. “But if you’re going to sever our new-found association, I’ll suppress my feelings.” He laughed. “I promise…I’ll stay in my lane.”

Saleema couldn’t find any humor in his promise. She wanted him in her lane—bumper-to-bumper—but not until she was feeling more secure.

“I’ll settle for a platonic friendship. Will that work for you?”

Saleema pondered the suggestion and shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

Khalil put his glasses back. “As I was saying…can I get that number?”

She recited her number, unable to hold back the smile that spread across her face.

 
 CHAPTER 10