Page 218 of Worth the Trip

My man.

The words fit easily now.

Around noon, the line stretched past the neighboring candle booth when a male voice entered beside us.

“Which one of y’all responsible for making this whole row smell better than the barbecue section?”

Nyla didn’t look up. “Compliments don’t move you to the front.”

“I wasn’t trying to skip.”

“Then congratulations on respecting democracy.”

I glanced over.

Tall. Broad through the shoulders. Close beard. Langston polo. Whistle looped around two fingers.

His attention came to me first.

“You gotta be Nolani.”

“I am.”

“Malcolm Reed. Defensive backs coach.”

Recognition clicked. “Landon’s mentioned you.”

“Hopefully something favorable.”

“I’m reserving judgment until I see what you order.”

He laughed. “See, now I understand why he like you.”

Nyla finally looked up.

Malcolm stopped.

Not dramatically.

Just long enough.

Nyla noticed.

Her brow lifted. “You lose something, Coach?”

“Yeah.” She waited. “My train of thought.”

Oh.

Nyla rested one forearm against the counter. “That line usually work?”

“Wasn’t a line.”

“No?”

“Nah. Lines come prepared. You caught me off guard with yo’ pretty ass.”

I became deeply interested in organizing tasting spoons.