Hard work, dedication, and focus; 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘍𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯 just wanted change in his hood, his parenting, and off his previous mindset, while growing interest in someone he felt was above his level.
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"I know Cooke, I ain't been up here and dropped nothin' off for my pickup, but—" His words were cut off by Cooke holding up his car keys after entering into the waiting area of the auto repair shop. He was rushing in with an Uber waiting on him and he had to be some-where in under an hour, but the call from Cooke that early Friday morning had him making a pit stop. "What's this?"
"Your keys; up and ready to go," Cooke smiled, placing the car keys in Dante's hand and leaving him confused.
"Hol' on," he said after the mechanic tried to turn around, "Whatchu mean it's ready to go? I ain't bring no cash up here since the truck been here."
Nah, Louboutins did. Cooke thought, and kept his focus on the computer to check on the appointments. "I know that. I towed it here, remember?"
"So tell me how my ride fixed all of a sudden?" he asked, stepping up to the counter Cooke stood behind.
Cooke exhaled heavily, trying everything to withhold the fact a rich woman paid every penny to get his truck up and running as if it was brand new. He knew Dante wasn't slow, so to put some what-looked-honesty into his words, he looked Dante dead in the eyes—know-ing the young-head knew how important it was to look a man in the eyes—taught by his own grandfather.
"Do you realize how blessed you are, Dante?" Cooke began, "you have a ride that's up and running and you in here caring bout how it got fixed. It don't matter. You gotta car. Take yo' blessing when you get and never question it. It's what, 𝟕:𝟑𝟎? You got thirty minutes to get to yo' P.O. and I doubt that Uber out there gonna make it in time. Take yo' keys, accept ya blessing, and get out my place for I call ya Momma."
Dante laughed, even though internally he had more questions—but he'd listen for today because he did have somewhere to be, and would accept the blessing because did miss his old-school, so he tapped the counter before he left out. He told the Uber driver he could le-ave, tipping him for the wait, and climb into his 1990 𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘷𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘚𝘪𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘰. He revv-ed up the engine, and it was quieter—not noisy and rattling beforehand. It was idling quietly, and his gaze went straight to the dashboard to see no lights on to indicate the work he needed done.
His frown deepened, as he buckled the seatbelt across his chest with his foot pressing the break that didn't squeak. Dante shook it off, leaning forward to switch gears and pulling off onto the road. He purposely sped down the road to see how it rides, and it drove... new.
Dante was impressed, grinning at the fact his pickup grandfather left for him was actually riding the way it was when he was younger. Although he still had qu-estions, he was enjoying the fact he was behind his wheel and not having to bum rides no more. Whatever, whoever, the blessing was, he'd be thankful.
