“Kids were still sleeping when I looked in on them,” he says.
“Yeah.” Small mirror balanced in my lap, I dot concealer under my eyes and on a few uneven spots. “I talked to Deja briefly, but Seem didn’t even stir.”
“We’ll check on them when we land.”
“How was Vashti this morning?” I ask, cursing myself as soon as the question leaves my lips, but managing to keep my hand steady as I sponge-blend my foundation.
Josiah turns his head to look at me. “We haven’t talked today, but I assume she’s fine. She and Anthony will hold the restaurant down until we get back if that’s what you’re wondering.”
It’s not.
After seeing her at his house that morning, I guess I assumed she spends the night all the time. My curiosity about their relationship is endless. They are, admittedly, very discreet at work, and they aren’t a PDA couple. I’ve seen them hold hands occasionally, but they’re never all over each other. Not how Josiah and I were when things were good. Though more reserved than I am, Josiah was always unabashedly affectionate and readily demonstrative. Does he hold back with Vashti when I’m around to spare me discomfort? Or are they always that restrained? How are they when they’re alone?
How are they in bed?
My hand slips. A line of dark brown pencil streaks beneath the bottom row of lashes.
“Dammit.” I lick my finger and carefully wipe away the offending mark.
“You okay?” Josiah asks, eyes not leaving his Apple watch.
“Yeah. Just a bump in the road.”
I go back to my smoky eye. With eyeshadow done, I apply a little Trophy Wife highlighter to my cheeks and chin. If Rihanna never records another song, I’m fine as long as Fenty keeps on giving. It’s a fair trade.
Our phones ding simultaneously with an incoming text message. I’m midstroke filling in my brows, so I leave it for Josiah to check.
“Harvey,” he says, reading the message from his watch. “Asking if his assistant sent us the hotel itinerary.”
“I got it.” I spare him a sideways glance. “The Hardway, right? That boutique hotel not too far from the restaurant?”
“Yeah, it looked really nice online.”
Pulling his phone from his pocket, he types out a response.
By the time we pull up to Hartsfield-Jackson departures, my makeup is done and I’ve removed the scarf from my braids so they hang down my back. Josiah grabs both our bags and rolls them toward the airport entrance.
Over the next few hours, I wish a dozen times that Harvey were traveling with us so he could act as a buffer. When it’s just the two of us, we seem to err on the side of saying too much, or not enough. The wrong thing instead of the right. I can’t wait to get to Charlotte, check into my room, and interact with Josiah only when absolutely necessary. Seeming to have the same idea, he puts in his earbuds as soon as we take our seats. I close my eyes and pretend to sleep the entire flight.
Once we land, Harvey has arranged another car for pickup, which takes us to the Hardway. Lack of sleep and the early morning are catching up to me, and all I can think about is the possibility of resting in my room for an hour before we meet the couple who’s selling the restaurant. The parking lot and lobby are a hive of activity. We wait for a few minutes in the line of guests checking in. By the time we reach the front desk, my feet ache and I’m longing for my more comfortable shoes. I’m so fixated on the pain in my pinky toe, the front desk manager’s words barely penetrate my haze.
“What the hell do you mean, there isn’t another room?” Josiah snaps, a line forming between his brows. “I have the reservation right here.”
He shows her the confirmation number from the email Harvey’s assistant sent.
“Yes, sir,” Amanda, according to her name tag, says with exaggerated patience. “I’ve given you the key for room 428.”
“Yes, but you also just gave me a key for her,” he says, tilting his head toward me. “For room 428.”
“Yes, your reservation is a king-sized bed,” she says, consulting her screen. “Two occupants. Josiah Wade and Yasmen Wade.”
“We’re supposed to have separate rooms,” I nearly screech.
“This is obviously a misunderstanding,” Josiah tells me. “They’ll give us another room.”
“I’m so sorry, but like I said, thereareno other rooms.” Amanda divides her apologetic look between the two of us. “There’s a huge women’s conference in town. A church thing, and all the rooms around here are booked. Room 428 is all we have.”
“I’m calling Harvey. He’ll get this sorted out,” I say, a note of desperation in my voice as I fumble for the phone in my purse. There’s no way I’m spending the night with Josiah and abed.