Getting Lucky. Kayla Perrin
Lishelle’s talk about how well her evening with Damon went has given me some hope.
And there’s no doubt that Mark is a good catch. He’s one of the Wickhams—a publishing dynasty in Georgia. Samson Wickham, Mark’s father, runs Wickham Publications, which publishes a series of monthly magazines for black women, black men, teens and entrepreneurs.
I have met Mark at events in the past, but we’ve never really chatted. I do know that he is attractive and, as far as my family is concerned, he’s from “good stock.”
I’m jaded, of course, which is why I told Mark that I would be driving my own car to the Buckhead restaurant. My dating life has most definitely sucked, but I’m always open to meeting the love of my life.
We’re due to meet at seven o’clock, and my personal rule is to never arrive early for a date. Ten minutes late is just about right. You can tell a lot about a man based on how he reacts to a woman being fashionably late.
I make my way into the steak house, and I sense eyes on me as I enter. It’s confirmation for me that I look good. And in my black sheath dress, with my hair in big, soft curls and my makeup done in the smoky, dramatic look that’s so popular these days, I’m looking especially hot. I suppose that even as wary as I’ve been of dating, I definitely miss sex and am open to seeing where the night might lead.
The hostess smiles warmly as I approach her. “I’m meeting someone,” I say before she can speak. “Mark Wick—”
I stop talking because I notice him. Rather, he has seen me and is now standing, waving to me from his table in the center of the restaurant beside three decorative palm trees.
“There he is,” I say cheerfully, and walk toward him.
Mark remains standing until I reach the table, which is beneath a beautiful, circular skylight. We greet by kissing cheeks. And then his eyes roam over me from head to toe, and I can tell that he likes what he sees.
“I’m sorry I’m late.” I offer him a sweet smile.
“No worries at all. I hope you don’t mind, I ordered us some wine and appetizers.”
He has passed the first test, not making a big deal out of my tardiness.
Mark’s eyes sweep over me once more. “Wow. You look amazing.”
“Thank you.”
He pulls my chair out for me and once I’m sitting, helps push it back under the table. Gentleman, I think. Definitely a plus.
He is staring at me with an almost wondrous expression on his face. I wonder what that’s about—until he says, “It’s kind of amazing that we haven’t ever spoken before. I’ve heard of you, of course, and we’ve been at some of the same events … “
“Crazy, isn’t it?” I say.
The conversation that follows is easy, and Mark is definitely the kind of eye candy I can stare at all night. I never really noticed how attractive he was before. I suppose before I only had eyes for Adam.
No, it’s more than that, I realize as I assess him. If I’m not mistaken, he’s slimmer than he used to be. Slimmer and more toned. He was never fat, but I can tell that he has worked out to get into better shape.
“I’m excited about the new magazine,” Mark is saying. “Hip-hop culture is so prevalent, I’m surprised it took us this long to try to penetrate the market.” Mark has just told me that it was his vision to begin a new magazine, Hip Vibe, and that his father finally agreed.
“So it’s your baby?” I ask.
“Yep. I’m in charge of everything. Getting it off the ground, overseeing editorial. I’m having a blast with it.”
“Congratulations,” I say. “I’m sure it’s very rewarding to see your dream come to fruition.”
“Two more months and it hits the stands.” Mark grins, then takes a sip of his red wine. “You know Rugged? The rap artist?”
“Yes, of course.”
“He’s on the cover of the first issue. We did the photo shoot a couple of weeks ago. Amazing shots, I tell you.”
“Just Rugged? Or is he with his fiancée?”
“Just Rugged. He wasn’t engaged then. Though in a future issue, we’ll likely do a story on him and Randi. I already talked to him about having one of our photographers at the wedding.” Mark sips more wine. “Anyway, enough about me. I’ve been doing all the talking. Tell me about you. Your mother said you’ve been doing a lot of charity work.”
Hearing Mark speak so passionately about his career, I can’t hold back a small frown. This has been a bone of contention in my life for a while. I keep feeling as though I’ve missed my calling. Like I’m not doing the one thing in my life that will totally fulfill me.
“Yes,” I tell him, but I don’t say that I haven’t done much charity work in the last year. I haven’t had the stomach to show my face at too many high-profile events, knowing what people have been saying about me and my failed engagement. “But lately, I’ve been contemplating what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. Charity work is great, but I want to find something more … I don’t know … personal?”
“What do you like to do?”
I draw in a breath, consider the question. How can I be thirty-one and not know how to answer this question?
“I like helping people,” I finally say.
“In what capacity? What are you passionate about?”
“I suppose I can see myself mentoring kids, or counseling.” I pause, stif ling the embarrassing thought that has come to my mind. The sad truth is, I never gave much thought to a career outside the home. I always figured I would be married by now, a wife to someone, perhaps already a mother.
Adam has taken that dream from me.
No, I tell myself. He has not taken that dream from you. The dream is simply delayed.
“What?” Mark is looking at me oddly.
“I guess—if you want to know the truth, I always thought I would be a wife and mother. Yes, I would do volunteer work. Get involved with charitable organizations to help people. But I always thought my primary focus would be my husband and children.”
“I know you were engaged to Adam Hart,” Mark says softly.
“Yes.” In so many ways that seems like ancient history, and yet Adam was such a big part of my life. “I have no regrets over my breakup with him. I want to make that clear.”
“No regrets?”
Mark raises his eyebrows slightly as he asks the question, and I get the sense that he is asking me something entirely different.
“I don’t want to talk about Adam,” I quickly say. Want to kill your chances with a new guy? Go on and on about your ex.
Thankfully, the waitress arrives with our appetizers, helping to quash any further talk about Adam. We dig in to our cheese mashed potatoes and onion straws. As I pour myself more wine, I go on to talk about some of the good news in my life—the fact that Annelise is having a baby and how excited I am that I’ll become a godmother. And when I ask Mark to tell me more about the publishing business, he doesn’t hesitate to go into detail about every aspect of his work.
He talks a lot. Much more than most guys I know. Which is kind of nice because there are no lulls in the conversation.
My steak was outstanding, and I’m so full, I pass on dessert—even though the options look fabulous. Mark passes on dessert as well, and asks for the check. Ten minutes later, we are strolling out of the restaurant. A real gentleman, Mark walks me to my car.
I retrieve my keys from my clutch, and then we stare at each other