Wedding Chocolate

“He had too many what?”

“No’s. No job, no car, no money and most importantly no personality. Consequently, he got married last year.”

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I was. I was hard up enough a few months ago and called him again.” Isabella grabbed a toss pillow, covered her head and proceeded to scream.

“Izzy? Izzy?” Keri shouted.

When her brief moment of anxiety and frustration passed, Isabella removed the pillow from her head and placed the phone back against her ear. “It’s all right. I’m back.”

“Okay. So Arthur is off the list. No big deal.”

“No big deal? What does it say about the world when he can get hitched and I, an intelligent woman with a damn good job...and somewhat decent looking can only get asked out once every three years?”

“Izzy, stop putting yourself down. You’re a pretty girl. Any man would be lucky to have you.”

How come she only heard those words from her parents and friends? Acidic tears burned the backs of Isabella’s eyes. The truth was the truth. She wasn’t beautiful and she should count herself lucky Randall Jarrett ever gave her the time of day. “Randall would make a good husband.”

“So you’re just going to settle?”

“I didn’t say I was settling.”

“That is exactly what you’re saying. You’re letting Randall and your parents run your life.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Oh, please. Your parents chose your college, law school, your condo, half of your friends and now they have thrown you into Randall’s arms.”

Isabella groaned at having the truth tossed back at her. The great thing about Keri was her wonderful way of telling it like it is. Sometimes she was a little too blunt, but love it or hate it, everyone always knew where they stood with Keri.

Sometimes Isabella wished she was more like her best friend. For one thing, Keri was gorgeous. Whenever she walked into a room, everyone noticed. Then there was Keri’s no-nonsense attitude. She had no time for fools, or “dawgs” looking for a quick score.

“Take control of your life, Izzy,” Keri said. “Do something. Stand up for yourself. This is your chance before they marry you off and pump you full of kids. Call Randall tonight and tell him you can’t marry him.”

“But—”

“No buts. Do it now. Tonight!”

Isabella fell silent while a knot looped and tightened in her chest. “Time to get a backbone,” she mumbled.

“That’s my girl,” Keri encouraged. “Call him and then call me back,” she instructed.

Isabella nodded and then rolled onto her back. “But what if he’s not there?”

“Izzy!”

“Okay. Okay. I’m calling right now.”

“Good. You’re doing the right thing.”

Then why did it feel like she’d swallowed a fifty-pound lead rock? Isabella disconnected the call, and stared at the phone. Just call him, she told herself. Her hands itched and her fingers tingled, but still she couldn’t make the call.

Five minutes went by.

Ten minutes.

Twenty minutes later, Isabella reached for the phone, but after punching in one number, she hung up.

“I’ll call him tomorrow.”

Tomorrow she’d know what to say.

* * *

Derrick strolled through the doors of Herman’s Barbershop flashing a wide smile and bobbing his head in greeting to the Saturday morning regulars. For nearly twenty-five years Derrick had been coming to the small shop.

A few men tossed a “Yo, Derrick,” his way and he volleyed a “Whassup?” back at them.

Herman Keillor, a tall, robust man, who was in his early seventies, had owned the shop through some hellish times. Most customers came for his wonderful stories. Not only had Herman given Derrick his first haircut when he was just six, but the old man had often bragged about giving Derrick’s father his first one as well.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming this morning,” Herman boomed from across the room.

“I always keep my appointments,” Derrick said, shuffling across the room, dodging stretched out legs and chunks of shaved hair lying across the floor. “I do have a flight in a few hours, so we’re going to have to make this quick.”

“Bobby!” Herman shouted. “Get out here and sweep some of this hair up.”

A second later, Bobby, Herman’s seventeen-year-old great-grandson rushed from the back of the shop with a broom and quickly got to work.

Men in the neighborhood filtered in and out daily, but Saturday remained the shop’s busiest day. Six barbers, ranging from old school to new school donned burgundy barber jackets with Herman’s name scrawled on the back. Despite residing in a red brick building that had clearly seen better days, Herman’s Barbershop looked brand smacking new on the inside.

“Here. Have a seat,” Herman instructed and reached for a black cape.

Derrick took his seat in the offered leather chair and made himself comfortable.

Herman’s was the place to be to discuss women, politics and sports. It was a place where men were free to be themselves, get and give advice or just plain bond with one another.

On the suspended television set, some NASCAR race was well on its way, but none of the brothas were paying it any attention.

“Why do you have this stuff on?” Derrick asked.

“Cable is acting up. It’s either this or Sponge-Bob,” Herman cackled.

“Then never mind.” Derrick laughed.

The bell above the shop’s door jingled and Derrick looked up to see his buddy Stanley Patterson race inside.

The regulars greeted the lanky redhead with affectionate nicknames ranging from “Breadstick” to “Red” and even “Whitey.” A couple of the new clients glanced at Stanley as if they were wondering if he was lost.

“Hey, you beat me here,” Stanley said, panting. “I figured you and Meghan would still be celebrating your getting that award.”

That comment caught a few ears and Derrick groaned. “Meghan and I decided to move on.”

“What?” Stanley thundered. “Why? I thought you two had something going.”

“It just didn’t work out,” he said and hoped that would be the end of it.

It wasn’t.

“Did she find out about the others?” Stanley asked.

“My man Derrick be laying the pipe down for real,” Bobby chuckled with a note of admiration.

“Humph,” Herman grunted his disapproval.

“We had an open relationship,” Derrick stressed. Why was everyone forgetting about that major detail?

“Hey, you can pass her my way.” J.T., the neighborhood’s merchandise peddler, said while showing off a tray of fake Rolexes to potential customers. “I saw you two at Phipps Plaza some time back. You sure know how to pick them. Lawd knows you do.”

“You got that right,” Stanley cut in before Derrick had a chance to answer. “Thick and curvy with a booty out of this world.”

“Stan,” Derrick hissed, trying to shut him up.

“What, man?” His buddy laughed. “Everyone in here knows how you roll. You hook up with the finest women in the A-T-L. You’re the man.”

Bobby stopped sweeping to ask, “How do you do it? Do you have a line or something?”

Just like that Derrick was the center of attention. Bobby looked like he was ready to bust out a pen and paper to take notes.

“Nah. It’s nothing like that,” Derrick answered modestly.

Disappointment crept slowly across Bobby’s face and Derrick had the distinct impression the young man was suffering from a mild case of girl troubles. It wasn’t hard to guess why. Acne blanketed the boy’s face and his thick black-rimmed glasses looked as though they were a borrowed pair from his great-grandfather.

“It’s not important the number of women you get,” Herman said. Undoubtedly, he’d noticed Bobby’s sullen expression, too. “It’s finding that one special woman. This knucklehead—” he thumbed Derrick on the back of his head with a plastic comb “—is gonna realize that one of these days.”

Derrick smiled and shook his head.

“Be still,” Herman instructed.

Herman’s declaration didn’t seem to cheer Bobby any—in fact, it only won a few chuckles around the shop.

“I’m serious,” Herman insisted gruffly. “You young folks.” He tsked under his breath. “You just don’t know what’s important anymore.”

“And what’s that, old man?” someone questioned near the front door.

“Family,” Herman said.

Derrick had mouthed the same answer and shook his head again. The guy by the door must have been new to the shop. The regulars knew Herman never missed an opportunity to climb on his soap box about how young men today where turning their backs on the traditional black family.

“It breaks my heart seeing all these beautiful sisters roaming around here raising these babies by themselves. It’s a damn shame,” Herman said.

“Hey, I don’t have any baby mommas,” Derrick said, feeling the need, once again, to defend himself. “And since I’m not ready to settle down, I make sure I practice safe sex.”

“Yeah. Me too,” Stanley added.

“Safe sex or no sex?” J.T. asked.

Another round of snickering ensued. Stanley’s normally pale face bloomed a bright red. Still, it was amazing no one called his Irish friend out or ragged him about trying to date across the color lines. Derrick suspected it was because Stanley was not only a friend of his but was also a member of the Kappa Psi Kappa fraternity. The only white boy to do so.

Being a Kappa man gave Stanley mad respect in the neighborhood since the fraternity did a lot for the community.

“Shoot,” J.T. chuckled. “It just don’t feel the same with a condom.”

“It’s gonna feel worse when you catch something you can’t get rid of,” Herman huffed, and then added under his breath, “Lawd. Lawd. Please help these knuckleheads running around here.” He clicked on his razor and started grooming Derrick’s edges.

Minutes later, Bobby finished sweeping, Stanley was rapt into the NASCAR race and everyone else returned to their little pockets of conversations. However, Herman’s thoughts were apparently still stuck on the previous discussion.

“Let me ask you something,” the barber asked suddenly. “Are you happy?”

“Pardon?” Derrick asked, not sure whether he understood.

Herman turned off his razor. “Are you happy?” he repeated.

Again, Derrick didn’t really know how to answer. “I, uh—”

“Uh-huh.” Herman clicked his razor back on and went back to edging up Derrick’s sides. “Let me tell you something while you’re ‘not ready to settle down.’ Men and women were put on this earth to procreate. Marry and multiply. It breaks my heart to remember all the things we as a race had to overcome just for the next generations to become more lost than they ever were.”

Derrick squirmed in his seat.

“All anyone talks about is money, fast cars and loose women.” Herman tsked again. “We used to come in here and talk about how to advance the race. Now everyone’s just hustlin’ and only thinking about themselves,” Herman said.

“I’m far from being a hustler,” Derrick laughed, trying to lighten the old man’s mood. “You know how long I’ve struggled to make a success as a political strategist, bouncing back and forth to Washington. It’s a lot of hard work, long hours.”

“Uh-huh,” Herman said, unimpressed. “Nice slogan to put on your gravestone. Much better than something like: Derrick Knight—a wonderful husband and father.”

Derrick swallowed.

“Let me tell you something, son.” Herman clicked off his razor and turned the chair so that their eyes would meet. “There’s nothing on earth better than the love of a good woman. You think you’re a success now? Man, that’s nothing compared to what you could do with a soul mate in your corner. Someone to hold you up when you don’t think you can stand any longer. It’s not about who has the deepest curves or the thickest backside, but someone who, when you look into her eyes, her soul speaks to you down in here.” He thumped Derrick’s chest, indicating his heart. “Love like that is better than some fancy job or fast car. Love like that is what it’s truly all about. I know it and your father knows it, too.”

Derrick’s parents, now retired and living it up in Florida, shared a love that inspired everyone who knew them. But none of this changed the fact that Derrick had never experienced this ground-shaking love his parents shared.

Never.

Chapter 3

“You didn’t tell him,” Keri accused, marching into Isabella’s apartment. “I should’ve known you would chicken out.”

Isabella cringed and shut the door behind her steaming best friend. “I was going to call him...I just couldn’t figure out what to say.”

“You say: ‘Sorry, Randall, but I can’t marry you.’ See? Simple,” Keri said.

“Simple for you maybe.” Isabella shuffled from the door and into the kitchen. She opened and slammed cabinets, while she prepared her morning coffee.

“I don’t know why I even bother. You’re never going to grow a backbone.” Keri slumped into a chair at the kitchen’s island. “From now on you’re on your own. I’m keeping my two cents to myself.”

“C’mon. Don’t be like that.” Isabella turned to her friend. “I need you in my corner more than ever.”

“Need me to do what? Watch you throw your life away and marry the wrong man simply because you’re too afraid to hurt anyone’s feelings?”

“That’s not what’s going on.”

Keri lifted a dubious brow and crossed her arms.

“Okay, it’s sort of like that.” Isabella turned toward the coffee maker and hit the brew button. In truth, up until now, she really hadn’t minded her parents making all the decisions for her. Mainly because at twenty-seven Isabella still didn’t know what she wanted to be when she grew up. How crazy was that?

In a sense, her parents gave her the much needed direction in life. As it turned out, Isabella was a damn good tax attorney. Maybe—just maybe, her parents really did know what was best for her—including who she should marry.

“I’m going to do it,” she said softly, making a decision and ignoring Keri’s narrowing gaze. “I thought all night about it and...well, I do have some feelings for Randall.” She nodded more to convince herself than her best friend. “We’re good friends and plenty of therapists and psychotherapists say that’s the foundation for a strong marriage. Love will come.”

“Nothing like putting the cart before the horse,” Keri said.

Isabella’s chin thrust forward while her intense gaze leveled with Keri’s.

“Oh, God. You’re serious.”

“Love isn’t like the movies,” Isabella said, and then added in a sullen whisper. “At least not for me. If I turn this down, there’s a strong possibility that I could end up an old maid.”

“Oh, stop it,” Keri snapped. “There’s no such thing anymore. We’re the same age. You don’t see me rushing to the altar with the wrong man.”

“That’s because you have options. You’ve dated more men this year than I’ve dated my entire life. The rules for beautiful people are different from the plain Janes of the world. Beggars can’t be choosey.”

Keri stepped forward and placed a hand against her shoulder. “Izzy—”

“Don’t.” Isabella drew back, breaking contact. “I’m not trying to put myself down. I’m just facing facts. And the fact of the matter is: a proposal from Randall Jarrett is like winning the marital lottery. He’s handsome, successful—”

“Okay. Okay.” Keri said and threw up her hands. “Stop trying to sell him to me. You’re marrying him not me. I’m just going to buy a big-o tub of popcorn and watch this fiasco from the sidelines.”

“Keri—”

Her hands ascended higher in surrender. “Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.”

“Good.” It was an obvious lie, but Isabella lacked the bravery to call her on it. But there was one thing she needed her best friend’s help with. “Uhm,” Isabella drawled and then swallowed the gigantic lump lodged in the center of her throat. “I, uh—”

Keri lowered her hands, but then crossed her arms while her eyebrows played a game of see-saw. “What? Surely this can’t get any worse.”

Isabella jabbed her hands onto her waist.

“I mean, better,” her best friend corrected. “It can’t get any better.”

Isabella trudged past the arctic sarcasm. “Randall doesn’t know I’m a virgin.”

“Surely, it’s not hard to guess.”

“Will you please be serious?”

Keri’s laugh erupted like a machine gun’s rapid fire. “I was being serious.”

Clenching her jaw in mutinous silence, Isabella poured coffee into a ridiculous-size mug with the logo: Geeks do it better!

Keri read the mug and just shook her head.

“It’s meant to inspire,” Isabella said after following her gaze.

“Of course it is,” Keri said with a roll of her eyes. “So, what’s your point? Randall doesn’t know you’re a virgin. And?”

Her feelings still bruised, Isabella shook her head. “Never mind. Forget it.”

“Izzy, spit it out before I strangle you.”

Squirming while her face scorched with embarrassment, she plunged ahead. “I don’t want to disappoint Randall. You know...on our honeymoon.”

“As long as you have a pulse, it’s fairly hard to disappoint a man in bed. And for some, a pulse is highly overrated.”

Isabella’s patience finally snapped. “Will you please be serious! I’m pouring my heart out to you and you think it’s amateur night at the comedy club.”

Keri’s hands shot back up into the air. “My bad. What is it that you want me to do?”

“Teach me,” Isabella said simply.

“Teach you what?”

“You know...how to, uhm, spice things up on our honeymoon.” One look into her friend’s amused face and Isabella regretted she’d ever brought it up, but Keri’s next words surprised her.

“All right. You have yourself a teacher.”

* * *

There were times when Derrick hated his job.

And flying to Washington in the middle of a thunderstorm was one of those times.

“You look green,” Charlie Masters, one of his best friends and frat brothers, shouted from the pilot seat. “If the storm is bothering you, why don’t you just sit back and close your eyes?”

A jagged bolt of lightning appeared to strike dangerously close to the airplane’s small wing. Derrick wondered how he let his buddy talk him into flying in this small death trap instead of him going commercial. These tiny things had a habit of dropping out of the sky.

“How the hell can you see where you’re going?” Derrick snapped, trying to hide his fear. He didn’t have much success given how the rain and the wind tossed the plane around like a paper kite.

“Relax,” Charlie said with an irritating chuckle. “I’ll have you on the ground in about twenty minutes.”

Derrick’s hard gaze speared his all-too-calm buddy. “You forgot to add alive and in one piece.”

Charlie’s hazel-green eyes twinkled with amusement. “Well, I’ll do what I can.” He laughed.

Derrick groaned because the alternative, punching the pilot, wasn’t a smart idea. Out of the six tight-knit Kappa Psi Kappa fraternity brothers, Derrick and Charlie’s friendship went all the way back to diapers—simply because their mothers had been best friends for over forty years.

The women had married around the same time and had even delivered baby boys ten days apart. The boys grew up thick as thieves. But where Derrick tended to be more aloof about his handsome looks, Charlie milked his GQ status for all it was worth with the ladies.

The plane’s turbulence worsened and Derrick’s hands tightened on the sides of his chair. “Charlie, land this damn thing.”

“Roger that!” Charlie tipped the wheel shaft down and the plane tilted into a nose dive.

Derrick shouted a list of profanities.

Charlie, the jerk, laughed.

An hour later, a frazzled Derrick and a happy-go-lucky Charlie checked in to the Hamilton Crowne Plaza off 14th and K Streets. The front desk clerk questioned Derrick several times as to whether he was all right.

Derrick grunted while Charlie slapped him on the back. “He’s just fine,” Charlie laughed. “Just needs to learn how to relax.”

Derrick shrugged off the heavy hand and cut a narrow gaze over his shoulder, however, the end result just further amused his traveling companion.

“I don’t see why you’re so upset,” Charlie mused as they walked down the hallway of the fifth floor to their suites. “I got you here in one piece, didn’t I?”

“Barely,” Derrick muttered, stopping before room 519 and cramming his card key into the electronic lock. “I’m renting a rental car and driving back.”

Charlie’s bark of laughter rumbled through the whole floor as he stopped at room 521. “Now don’t be like that.”

Derrick entered his suite and back-kicked the door. He could still hear Charlie after the door slammed. “It’s time to get a new set of friends,” he mumbled under his breath as he plopped his suitcase and overnight bag onto the bed and then realized he’d been given a double instead of a king-size bed.

“Just great.” At six foot six, a double meant he would either have to sleep diagonally or put up with his feet hanging off the bed—something he absolutely hated. “Don’t sweat it,” he coached. “You’re only going to be here for two days.”

He waltzed over to the window and opened the blinds. The view of the powerful political town was magnificent. The earlier thunderstorms had disappeared but left the day a blurry depressing gray. “Two days,” he reminded himself. “It’s probably going to be a living hell.”

* * *

Isabella wandered through the aisle of the Capitol Hill Bookstore’s Health and Wellness section, praying that she wouldn’t bump into anyone she knew. Her lame disguise of being dressed head to toe in black—complete with a black duster raincoat, black oversize sunglasses and black fedora hat only seemed to draw more attention to her.

“Relax, relax,” she mumbled and searched crammed bookshelves for the list of books Keri instructed her to buy.

A salesperson popped out of nowhere and asked, “Can I help you, ma’am?”

Isabella gasped and nearly jumped out of her skin before whirling around and physically blocking the bookshelf to prevent him from noticing the titles she was looking at. “Uh, no. I, huh, am just looking around.” She beamed a nervous smile.

The employee stared at her with his eyebrows gathered at the center of his forehead. “All right. Well, just let me know if you need anything.” He crept backward away from her like he was afraid to turn his back on a crazy person.

It wasn’t until she was alone in the aisle again that she expelled the air burning in her lungs. “All right. Just grab the books and get out of here,” she coached, snatching books like a wild hurricane.

Her arms full, Isabella performed a sort of walk/run from the back of the bookstore up to the cashier counter. The only problem was there was a long line snaking around a gold post labyrinth. She lowered her head and mumbled a curse.

The giant in front of her turned around. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

Isabella’s knees nearly folded at the incredibly sexy baritone rumbling from above her, but no way was she going to glance up so he could get a better view of the books in her arms. Instead, she pretended like he hadn’t spoken to her.

Sure enough, at her silence, he turned back around.

She chanced a peek over the rim of her dark sunglasses only to be startled by the sheer size of the man’s broad shoulders and Texas-size back that narrowed into a trim waist. For a fleeting moment, she wished he wasn’t wearing the long leather coat; she had a sneaking suspicion that the man probably had a nice butt.

Isabella’s cheeks heated at the idea.

“Next in line,” the bored, robotic cashier called out and everyone in line took a small step forward.

When Isabella stepped to where the potential hunk previously stood, she caught a whiff of the most seductive male cologne she had ever smelled in her life. It was so heavenly. She closed her eyes and imagined floating on a cloud. She drew in a deep breath and was unaware that her feet were moving on their own accord.