50 Shades of Drake 1 and 2

Chapter One

     Destiny Richards placed a tray of pastries in a large, industrial oven and drew an arm across her brow. After closing the oven door, she efficiently cleared the area she'd rolled and molded the pastries in. Then called out to her co-workers that she was going on her break.

    Standing at 5'7", with dark brown eyes, a small nose, full lips, and a rich, caramel brown skin tone, she was a pretty girl of African-American descent. She was slender in the waist, but she had a very curvy frame, much to the envy of a lot of her fellow female students attending Howard University.

    She untied her apron, removed her gloves, and placed them in her locker before exiting the small bakery through the door in the Employees Only area. She left the hustle and bustle of the humble establishment and welcomed the fresh, Washington D.C., air. The back door of Eli's Bakery opened up into a small parking area. A sidewalk bordered the parking lot, and beyond that, a narrow street where cars lined up at a red stoplight.

    The atmosphere was significantly different from her warm, colorful hometown of Tempe, Arizona, but she'd wanted to attend Howard University ever since she was in junior high school. She was proud of her African-American heritage, loved her people, and loved what Howard University stood for.

    There was no denying that Tempe, Arizona, was a beautiful city. While she would always hold a special place in her heart for it, she'd felt like a caged bird when she was there. As beautiful as the city was, it felt like her fate was bigger than Tempe. She had a passion for journalism, and wanted to travel the world. It was her desire to experience other cultures and help share those cultures with the world. Once she'd gained admission into Howard University, she'd felt that she was on her way. She was currently in her fourth year, and when she wasn't working or spending time with friends, she wrote and edited articles for The Hilltop, Howard University's school newspaper.

    The sound of a door closing just barely registered to her, and that sound was soon followed by a high-pitched male voice.

    "Are you okay over there?"

    She turned her head and briefly flashed a cursory smile to the tan young man with dark curls pulled back in a ponytail.

    Carlos Villegas, her flamboyant Venezuelan co-worker, leaned against the brick wall of the bakery with one leg raised. A cigarette dangled between the index and middle finger of his left hand. He tapped the cigarette lightly, causing a small flurry of ash to drift to the ground. "You look deep in thought over there," he observed, bringing the skinny cigarette back up to his lips.

    She dug her hands into the pockets of her khakis and walked over to join him. "I was just thinking about home."

    "Home," Carlos said, blowing out a puff of smoke. "There are definitely days when I miss home."

    "Venezuela, right?" she asked, leaning back against the wall.

    He nodded, squinting off into the distance. "Caracas." He was quiet for a moment. "There were...major political issues going on at the time. Some of those issues are still going on, actually. When we lived there, my parents kept my brothers and I sheltered from it, though. I have nothing but good memories about living there."

    "What made you decide to move here?"

    He took another puff on his cigarette before answering. "I was born here, in the United States. My mother is a citizen of the United States. About a year after I was born, my grandmother - my mother's mother - got really sick. My mom, being the dutiful daughter, moved all of us to Caracas, to help care for my grandmother. None of her siblings were willing to step in and do it. My abuela fought for a long time, for years she held on. It was hard to watch, even then." A pensive expression crossed his face as he stared at the flaming end of the cigarette. "After holding on for five or six years, her body just...gave out. She couldn't hold on anymore. Then, my mother had to make a decision. We could stay there, live in my grandmother's house, or we could move back to the United States, where my father still lived and where he was still working to make money for us."