Same Time Next Week (Ch 39)
Welcome back to my first serial on Substack, a tantalizing tale of a former pop star and a mysterious, reclusive Afro-Latina.
New here or need to catch up? Drop back to the INDEX and start from the beginning.
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Secrets and spice collide! When a casual conversation takes an unexpected turn, Shelby's carefully constructed walls begin to crack. What is she hiding about her mysterious past with Lucas? And how long can she keep her secrets when Jackson's fame threatens to put their private paradise in the spotlight?
Sometimes the most dangerous part of falling for someone isn't the fall itself—it's the fear of being caught.
"I keep trying to call you, but I get the voicemail. Where've you been? What's going on?"
Shelby rolled her eyes at the high pitched, over-dramatic whine coming from the phone she cradled between her ear and shoulder. On the stove, four pots were going at once. The counter was covered in salad ingredients waiting to be sliced and tossed together. Shelby kept one eye on the clock and the other on the oven timer. Jackson was supposed to be coming by around 9 o'clock for dinner. Chances were that he wouldn't show up until closer to 9:30 or 10, but that didn't give her nerves any relief.
"Sorry, mom. I've been busy. I started taking classes at UCF. It's accelerated, you know? So you do like, a whole semester in half the time."
"Oh. I didn't know you decided to do that."
Evelyn sounded miffed and a little left out. Shelby could commiserate—she was used to being able to lean on her mom for support and comfort, but lately she didn't have time, between classes, a few bar tending shifts a week and seeing Jackson to keep her up-to-date on everything in her life. She barely had time and energy to keep up with their weekly date, but skipping it was not an option. Jackson was like a habit, a very, very good habit that she intended to keep up as long as she could.
Like tonight–Shelby went to class, stopped at the library to meet with her study group, arriving home with enough time to start enchiladas, Spanish rice, refried beans and salad. After months of going out to eat every week, she thought it would be a nice change to eat in, but the pressure that she put on herself to make it perfect was stressing her out.
To complicate matters, Evelyn didn't know about Jackson. Shelby wasn't sure what to tell her in the beginning. She wasn't sure what to tell her, now, either. They kept things casual, in the here and now. On occasion Jackson offered up details about the past-as a solo artist, or working with Boy Wonder, or as a music producer or writer, but she'd never asked him to share those details. Never asked follow-up questions.
Not that she wasn't curious about it all, about the person he was back then compared to the person he had become, or if he had ever fallen prey to the temptations of being a household name. She was insanely curious about his life in LA and what he was doing back in Orlando, but bit her tongue and didn't ask, because he believed in equality and would want to ask her questions, and she couldn't answer them. The nugget that Shelby had given him weeks before about a fiancé was eating at him, she could tell. He would ask for more details soon. She wasn't quite ready to tell him yet.
Shelby wasn't sure she would be ready to tell him ever.
Dinner was coming along nicely, so Shelby took a few minutes to chat with her mother about how life was working out for her in Orlando. After a few rocky weeks, things were looking up. She'd made a few friends at the bar and in her classes. It was nice to be able to smile and breathe again, to answer the phone without worrying about hearing eerie silence, followed by a hissing, angry, hateful message. Against her better judgment, Shelby had begun to relax.
As she figured, her cell phone alerted with a text that he was leaving the studio a few minutes after 9 o'clock. That would put him at her house around 10, which was perfect timing for everything to come out of the oven. The piece de resistance, a chocolate torte from Dessert Lady, sat on a shelf in the refrigerator, waiting to be sliced into and devoured.
Sometimes from plates. Sometimes from each other. That was her favorite part of Thursday nights.
"So, I hear like... food. Plates and things. Are you having friends over?"
Shelby smiled to herself. Her mother was pretty sneaky sometimes. "I am having a friend over."