Michael & Noelle

"Evanio"

“Aunt Cleo?”

After returning home from my date my plans were to just get ready, and leave for work because I wanted to give her some more space.

But as the box sat untouched on the table, I realized that I couldn’t leave without talking to her first. She would’ve never done that to me.

Three gentle knocks on her door, and she opens up, squinting at the harsh light in the hallway.

“Hey, Elle, are you back already?”

“Yeah  . . . it’s almost 10.”

Her eyes widen, “seriously?”

“Yup.”

“I knocked the f**k out,” she chuckles, padding out of her room and into the kitchen, “did you eat?”

“I –“

“Of course you did, we both know that man will never leave you hungry.”

I smile softly, knowing that there was nothing but truth to her words.

I wanted to stay like this forever, to not mention anything about the ring . . . about Evanio, but I knew that that would be too comfortable. I had to let her know.

“You know, there was a note at the bottom of the box,” she grabs a few frozen fruits from the freezer and raises an eyebrow.

“You went back into it?’

“Please don’t kill me . . . but yes I did.”

“Okay . . . and what did the note say?”

I walk over to the coffee table and take the note from where it sat, handing it over to her.

“I think you should read it yourself.”

She hesitates before taking it from me. She takes a deep breath, wiping her hands on her robe and gently nips it from my fingers.

She reads the note out loud, and I watch carefully as her facial expressions morph from confusion, to surprise.

When she’s done, she continues to stare at it before clearing her throat, and resting it onto the counter.

“So . . .” I drawl, unsure of how to approach, “what do you think?”

“I – I don’t know,” she replies honestly, “Evanio is a very sweet man but . . . but his past isn’t the best.”

I wait for her to explain, and she pulls out her favorite knife, chopping up the fruits.

“He’s very promiscuous, well – was. And all over the internet theirs pictures of him with other women. Not to mention he’s been married and divorced three times,” I cringe, plopping onto the kitchen stool.

I could see now why she was hesitant. Flirting, and having a good time was one thing, but being in a committed. relationship was another.

“I guess . . . I’m just afraid that this is all just too good to be true. That the gifts and the smitten words are just on the surface. I haven’t been with anyone else since Quinton, and after what he did to me . . . I just don’t think that I can handle it again.”

Quinton was my aunt’s ex-husband. They were married for over 10 years and she found out on their anniversary that he had five children while they were married, and was secretly in a relationship with another man.

“I get that,” I tell her with a nod, “but everyone has a past . . . I know you’re afraid of getting hurt but that was almost 6 years ago, and I haven’t seen you this happy in . . . a long time.”

“I feel like you should just take your time with Evanio, don’t dismiss him, or . . . brush him off but just . . . date. Get to know him, see how he moves, how he speaks, how he carries himself while you guys are courting and go from there.”

Aunt Clementine sighs, rubbing her forehead.

“Well, I guess I have a few hours to think about it.”

“You do,” I nod encouragingly, “but you better call that man in the morning.”

We both giggle, and she throws a piece of strawberry at me.

“Don’t you have work to go to?”

“I do, actually. I will see you later.”

“Muah, muah,” she blows kisses as I grab my bag to leave.

I thought about her and Evanio deeply, and I silently hoped that she wasn’t making the wrong choice, that he wasn’t going to be a complete asshole.

Because if he was, I’d have to cut off his d**k.

#

The next few weeks passed by too quickly.

Michael and I had three more dates in between, and it was all wonderful. It was us learning about each other, learning each other, and just . . .  growing.

Five dates felt like I knew him for ages, and he just kept getting better.

There wasn’t a night, nor a morning that passed by that I didn’t receive a call. That’s right, not a text, but a call.

Michael just had his ways of making me feel so adored, and appreciated, I felt like I was walking on clouds.

Aunt Clementine also seemed to be on cloud nine right along with me. This afternoon we were actually having lunch with Evanio as I was about to meet him for the first time since he arrived in the city.

“So, he likes seafood,” I look around ‘The Red City’, and nod in approval, “I think we’re going to get along well.”

Aunt Cleo rolls her eyes at me, containing her smile. Her forehead was filled with sweat droplets, and I furrow my eyebrows at her.

She seemed nervous.

I was about to ask her what was going on, but then her face lights up and suddenly she’s waving. I turn to find the person she’s waving over, and a short, buff man saunters over to our table.

“Evanio,” she greets, standing to embrace him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Hey,” he breathes, slipping into the seat across from me, all the while I’m trying to wrap my head around my 5’9 aunt who’s dating a man who’s at most 5’6 . . . maybe 7.

“You must be Noelle,” he says, shaking his head in delight, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Moving past his physical features, Evanio seemed to sit right with me. He was a wealthy man, bt he definitely wasn’t flashy. I looked for chains, rings, even designer, but there was none. He wore a simple pink linen button up, and khakis.

The Rolex around his wrist was the only indication that he may have money.

That’s a green flag.

“I am,” I smile, “it’s nice to meet you, I have heard a lot about you too.”

I wink at my aunt as she narrows her eyes at me, and Evanio chuckles, “all good things, I hope.”

“Don’t you worry yourself.”

“Order whatever you girls want, its all on me.”

Oh?

Did I just hear unlimited seafood boils? I think I did.

The waitress comes around a first time to take our drinks, then returns a few minutes later to take our food orders.

“So, Noelle, your aunt told me you’re a burlesque dancer.”

“I am,” I confirm, searching his face for any kind of judgement.

“That’s amazing,” he replies, and my forehead creases in confusion, “back in the 80s, my mom was a burlesque dancer, and she was famous for it as well.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah, back then it was more of a big deal . . . it was respected.”

“I get that,” I tsk, “now men hardly seem to know the difference between a burlesque dancer, and a stripper. It can get overwhelming.”

“Have you ever thought of doing something else?”

It seemed like this was a question everyone was asking, and if they weren’t asking, I was asking myself.

“You know, as of recently, I have,” I confess.

“Really,” Aunt Cleo leans forward, a concerned look on her face, “why? Did something happen?”

“Oh, no, it’s just that . . . I'm not sure dancing is something I’d like to do for the rest of my life . . . I don’t know if it’s for me.”

“Why didn’t you say anything,” she frowns, “we could’ve discussed . . . we could’ve brainstormed?”

“It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you – or that –“

“I’m sure she’s just figuring it out, Cleo,” Evanio mutters, “let her have her space.”

Aunt Cleo seemed visibly upset, but nevertheless, she remains quiet.

I didn’t know that this would be bothersome to her, I just genuinely felt like there was nothing to tell.

“I’m opening shop here in a few months,” Evanio continues, “I’ll have room for an intern if you’re interest, you know, just to branch out and find out what works for you.”

My mouth drops open, “yes – of course, absolutely.”

Evanio chuckles, “great, we’ll keep in touch then. For now, just get the last few tastes of dancing.’

I never thought that my meeting with Evanio would turn into an opportunity, but honestly he far exceeded my expectations.

He was kind, and gentle to Aunt Cleo, and he made her laugh . . . a lot.

I was grateful for that because I felt like I had disappointed her or something. Whatever it was, we’d talk about it later.

By the time the food arrived, the two of them were in their own worlds while I ate happily. My phone vibrated in my pocket, but my hands were dirty so I decided to ignore it.

Around five minutes later, it rings again.

I sigh, removing my gloves and slipping my phone out of my pocket.

Michael . . .

“Excuse me guys.”

They wave me off as I jog outside, answering the call.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he breathes into the phone, seemingly panting and I furrow my eyebrows, “what’re you doing?”

“I’m having lunch with my Aunt and he boyfriend, what’re you doing?”

I hear a loud noise, almost like clanking on the other end.

“Working out,” he strains.

“Oh, are you lifting?”

He takes a few seconds, before dropping the weight I assume as I hear another loud noise. He blows out a breath.

“I was.”

“So why call me when you’re working out, silly?”

“I miss you,” he confesses, and of course, my lips stretch from ear to ear.

“Michael . . .”

“When am I seeing you again?”

“I don’t know,” I reply, “I’ve been a bit busy and –“

“Come over tomorrow.”

I pause, holding the phone to my ear as I tap my lips.

“As in your house?”

“Yeah.”

Michael has never, ever, invited me to his house, and I’ve never brought it up. I felt like we were moving to an entirely new level.

“Okay . . . uh . . . sure.”

“I’ll come pick you up at 9.”

“Damn, in the morning?”

“Yes, I'm calling off work tomorrow.”

“You are ridiculous,” I chuckle, “you saw me four days ago.”

“Feels like four years.”

“I’ll come see you tomorrow, cry baby.”

“What about tonight?”

“Huh? You know I have work?”

“Come to my house after work then, you can sleep over.”

Uh – no.

There was levels to this, and this one is a bit too advanced for me.

“I don’t think so, Michael,” I murmur, and he groans.

“Fine, tomorrow. 9 o'clock on the dot.”

“Deal.”

“Later?”

“Later.”