“Is this you?” asked Porter, turning off the engine, parking under an amber streetlight. “I can’t make out the number on the mailbox.”
I nodded, snapping out of my thoughts of Porter and body rolls. “Yep. This is me.” The warmth of the streetlights seemed to engulf his normally green eyes, making them shine with reflections of hazel. His skin was luminescent. I wondered if he knew how beautiful he was. I wished I could tell him.
“Wow, I know it’s late, but from what I can see from the street, the house is beautiful. Original brick?” Porter asked, his eyes peering to get a better view and sounding like the architect I met nearly a month ago.
“Yes, but we just repainted it. I also updated some of the stained-glass paneling,” I said, beaming with joy. I really was proud of how the renovations were going.
“Wow…how did you happen to snag a house in the West End? It is so hard to get into this neighborhood these days.”
“Trust me, I know. Luckily, this was my family’s home. My grandparents bought it in the fifties. Saved every dime they had to get that house. They were one of the first Black families on the block. It’s mine now. I’m not selling. The gentrifiers will have to wait until I die. Or my kids die. Restoring it has been a labor of love. An expensive labor of love but I’ve enjoyed renovating it.”
“I’d love to see what you’ve done with the place,” said Porter, softly.
Was he inviting himself into my house? Listen, I wasn’t trying to have an actual “meeting in my bedroom” tonight. But dammit, Porter was making it very difficult for me to resist inviting him in. In the month I’d known him, Porter had proven to himself to be an upstanding guy. A gentleman. But they all start out as gentlemen, Ari. And in the end, even so-called gentlemen can gut you like a fish, roll you up in newspaper, and toss you out like trash. Remember?
“Oh…maybe someday soon,” I said, forcing a smile on my face and burying my thoughts. “Right now, it’s a mess. I want it to be perfect before I have guests. You’re an architect. You understand?”
I prayed that would give him the hint that I wasn’t trying to have him in any room of my house, let alone my bedroom. Or on top of my new kitchen counters. Fuck. Great. Now that thought was in my head.
“Ari, I’m not trying to come in this time of night. We’re coworkers and that would be highly unprofessional,” said Porter, sounding a little rehearsed. My radar must have been off track because I swore there was a vibe going on. Maybe he didn’t see me that way. That was somewhat of a relief. At least now I knew, without a doubt, that nothing could ever happen between us.
So why was I disappointed?
“Right! Highly unprofessional!” I said with an uncomfortable laugh, trying to dismiss the thought （well, thoughts） I had of him doing God knows what to me across my couch. And my kitchen island. And my…
“Can I at least walk you to the door? Make sure you get in safely? I mean, this is still the West Side. At 2 a.m. Gentrified or not.”
“Sure.”
Porter opened the auto locks of the door and came around to open my door.
“Again, automatic locks or not, Eloise would kill me if I didn’t open your door.” He smiled. I slid across the seat as Porter extended his hand to help me out of the car.
I tried to focus on the chirping crickets, the stillness of the night, anything to get my mind out of its lust-filled haze. We walked up my driveway, along the cobblestone steps to my house. The porch lights came on. It cast a glow on Porter that made it look like he was on a Broadway stage.
“They’re on a sensor,” I said, my voice unrecognizable.
Porter looked around, taking in the porch renovations. “You have a swing, too. That’s really cool. My grandparents had one in New Orleans. We used to watch the Mardi Gras parade from the porch.”
I looked at the swing and smiled. “Yeah, I’ve always wanted one. As a kid, my dad promised he would put one up and never got around to it. So, I did.”
I was babbling nervously. I turned my back to Porter and reached inside my tote to get my keys. My hands were shaking as I fumbled to put the key in the lock. I had to get inside this house before I did anything stupid. When I turned around, Porter was barely a foot from me. My heart pounded, mimicking the electric bass thump of damn near every song on that infernal playlist.
I took a step back, my back within centimeters of touching my front door. “Well, thanks for tonight, Porter. It was fun.” I squeaked the sentence out of my throat as fast as I could.