“Oh, so she can call you Alani?” Ethic asked.

She cut her eyes at him. “She can, you can’t,” she said, as she crossed her arms.

“You know, if you would have just taken the car, we wouldn’t even be dealing with this right now,” Ethic stated, as he rubbed his goatee, smirking at how quickly he was able to rub it in her face.

“You know what? I think you owe me dinner for making me wait,” she said. “And I may be modest when it comes to gifts, but when it comes to food, I accept only the best.” Her smile let him know that all was forgiven.

“No greasy diner food for you?” Ethic shot back.

“I’ll take J. Alexander’s, thank you very much,” she replied.

“What do you think, Bella? You up for dinner?” Ethic asked.

“I didn’t mean tonight,” Alani said. “I have to work! I’m just saying,” she paused, as she looked out the window. She felt comfortable with him, and demanding dinner was just an excuse to see him again. “Soon.”

“Soon,” he assured.

He pulled up to his shop and she hesitated before getting out.

“The key is in the car,” he informed, nodding toward her new whip. “Good night, Lenika.”

“You can stick to Alani... for now,” she said, as she climbed out. “Good night, Bella.”

“Good night,” Bella returned.

The door closed, and Bella looked at her father. She saw a look in his eyes that she didn’t recognize. “Daddy, what’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing, baby girl,” he said, as he put his car in drive. Everything, he thought, being honest only with himself.

Ethic sat at his desk, looking at the pictures of the little boy that he pulled from the envelope. He smiled, as he thought of the woman who had sent them to him. YaYa had been a woman he loved once. He had thought she was carrying his child, but come to find out, it belonged to her husband; and though disappointed, Ethic knew that was best. She still wrote him sometimes, following his instructions of old-school letters, so that he could have something to keep of her. She always concluded it with a kiss, and he fingered the red, lip stain at the end of the letter, remembering the way her lips felt against his. They were friends and always would be. He would body something, if she ever needed him, but she wasn’t his. She belonged to another man. He wrote a check out to her for $5000. He would keep sending them every month, just to make sure she was straight. Ethic was just solid like that. He hadn’t loved many, but those he had, he liked to take care of, even if he no longer had a place in their lives. A knock at the door caused Ethic to fold the letter and place the pictures in his desk drawer.