From Side Chick to Main Chick

City Ties

It rained that morning, one of those soft, steady showers that smelled like fresh dirt and wet grass. I sat on my porch with a cup of coffee, staring at the street like I had somewhere deep to be thinking about. Really, I was thinking about my old life and how I ended up here.

Marcus used to hate mornings like this. Said they made him “feel lazy.” I loved them because they were quiet—no sirens, no yelling, no neighbors arguing over parking spaces. Just peace. And here I was, chasing that peace, but somehow standing in the same type of emotional mess I thought I’d left behind.

Because of Dre.

We had history, even if it was just passing nods and quiet awareness back in the city. He used to come by, handle whatever “business” he had with Marcus, and leave. Sometimes he’d joke with me while Marcus counted money or made calls in the back room. Dre was funny, easygoing, had this smile that felt like it could see through whatever bad day you were having. But back then, I was loyal—to the wrong man, but still loyal.

Now? Now there was nothing in my way… except his girlfriend.

Later that afternoon, I hit up the little store down the road. I was debating which brand of hot sauce to buy when Dre walked in.

“Keisha,” he said, like he’d been looking for me all day.

I turned slowly, telling myself not to smile. “Dre. You stalking me now?”

He laughed, low and smooth. “Nah, just trying to get my lunch.” He held up a loaf of bread and some Gatorade like it proved his innocence.

“Uh-huh.” I turned back to the shelf, pretending to focus on labels that all looked the same.

He stepped closer, leaning slightly to see what I was holding. “Crystal or Texas Pete? That’s the big debate today?”

“It’s important,” I said, serious-faced. “You can’t mess up fried chicken night.”

He grinned. “I like that you care about details. That city still in you though—you probably don’t even fry your own chicken.”

“Excuse you? I do.” I put the Texas Pete in my basket.

“Oh, you cook-cook?” he teased, one eyebrow raised.

“Yup. Full meal, sides, cornbread. All that.”

“So when you inviting me?” he asked, like he was talking about the weather.

I blinked. “What?”

He smiled, slow and easy. “You said you cook. I’m just trying to see if it’s real.”

“Uh-huh. I thought you had a girlfriend for that.”

That made him laugh for real, head tilted back slightly. “Damn, you just gon’ come at me like that in public?”

I shrugged. “Just saying, I’m not trying to be on somebody else’s Pinterest board as the reason their man ain’t eating at home.”

He stepped a little closer, voice dropping. “You always been like this? Slick mouth, pretty eyes?”

I swallowed before I could stop myself. “You always been this bold?”

He smiled like my question was the answer he wanted. “Maybe. Guess we never had a reason to talk like this before.”

We stood there for a second too long, and I felt that pull—the one I’d felt before, the one I ran from. And it scared me how natural it felt now, standing there with no Marcus in the way, no reason except common sense to stop.

“Anyway,” he said finally, grabbing his bread and Gatorade. “If you ever feel like proving your cooking skills, you know where I’m at.”

“Uh-huh. Don’t hold your breath.”

He laughed again as he walked off, and I stood there pretending to study hot sauce but really… I was thinking about him.

That night, I texted Deja.

Me: Dre’s bold.

Deja: Girl, you just now figuring that out?

Me: He asked me to cook for him.

Deja: And you gon’ do it lol

Me: NO. I just got here. I don’t need this.

Deja: Mmmhmm. We’ll see.

I tossed my phone and sighed. Maybe she was right. Maybe I was already halfway down the road I swore I wasn’t gonna take again.