Page 32 of A Little Kissing Between Friends

Laughing, I just shook my head. Nana Cherry would cart Amani all over the world with her if she could, and he would go without complaint.

“Well,” I drawled. “I guess not.”

She made a noise of approval. “Good. The Texans are playing today, so you know service will only be about an hour. I already cooked this morning, so just come round the house to eat. We’ll be back no later than eleven.”

Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, I shook my head. It wasn’t even nine yet, and Nana Cherry had probably cooked six different things from scratch. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d risen before the roosters.

“I’ll be there!”

“Good. Talk to you later, baby. ’Mani, tell ya mama ’bye and that you love her.”

My baby’s sweet voice filled the interior of my car again.

“’Bye, Mommy!” he chirped. “I love, love, love you!”

“I love, love, love you too, my baby. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

The call disconnected, and I sighed. Amani was the sun in my solar system; no matter how dark things seemed to be, a moment in his presence—even distantly—brightened my entire mood. Feeling better, I sang along to my favorite playlist as I made the fifteen-minute drive to one of my favorite places in the city.

When I arrived to Black Coffee, the place was packed, with nearly all of the wrought-iron tables filled with people. In the back corner of the room, near the door that led to a patio area, was a group of older men playing board games across two tables that were pushed together. The volume inside was high, but not louder than the nineties R&B flowing through the speakers. Stepping into Black Coffee was always so comforting, like walking into my granny’s house and seeing all my cousins chillin’ on the couch. It made so much sense to me when I found out that it was a family-owned establishment ran by three sisters.

The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans called me toward the counter. There was a short line of only three people, but the five people behind the counter were moving at a constant pace, which let me know just how busy they were. I stepped up behind two teenagers who were discussing what they could order with their limited funds when the woman at the register waved at me as the person in front of her moved down to the end of the counter.

“Hey, Juleesa!”

Grinning, I waved back and took a step forward as the line moved.

“Hey, Tasha!”

Tasha Black, along with her older sisters, Tonya and Toy, ran the cafe that had been started by their parents. She was the sweetest person, with a kind smile, soft eyes, and a soothing voice. We’d met two years ago when her and her father, Mr. Cyrus, delivered coffee to Sanity during one of my day-shifts. After that, visiting Black Coffee became a part of my weekly routine.

The boys in front of me stepped up to the register, but before they could say anything, I leaned around them and caught Tasha’s eye.

“I’m getting their order today.”

They turned toward me, mouths falling open.

“Order whatever you want,” I told them. “I’m paying.”

“Oh, snap!”

“Thank you so much!”

Tasha grinned at the flabbergasted boys. “You heard her. Ball out.”

I laughed as both of the boys started talking rapid fire. Somehow Tasha caught everything they said, keying in elaborate, secret menu–style recipes without stumbling or asking them to repeat anything. When they finished, they both turned to me with another round of thanks before heading off to sit at one of the few unoccupied tables.

“You in a good mood today, huh?”

At Tasha’s question, I immediately shook my head. More like the complete opposite. I was here for sugar and caffeine in the hopes that they would help.

“Not at all,” I answered honestly. Her eyebrows shot up. “But that’s why I need to do nice things, so I can feel better.”

Her lips turned down for a brief second as her chocolate-brown eyes roved my face. I don’t know what she was looking for, but she must’ve found it, because she pursed her lips and nodded her head.

“Can I choose your drink today? I’d like to make you something special.”

Surprised, my eyebrows shot up, but I quickly nodded. One thing I’d learned by frequenting Black Coffee was that the Black sisters knew their stuff. Each of them was the coffee equivalent of a sommelier, and having a custom drink prepared by them was a privilege. Tasha keyed a third drink into the computer and gave me my total. I tapped my card and then went to the end of the counter, leaning against the wall as I watched Tasha squirt different syrups into a large hot cup before steaming milk and pulling shots.