The Many Dates of Indigo

Original Edition: Chapter 4

Tate pulled out a ceramic dish of pasta primavera from the fridge and let the door shut behind him. "So.... did someone call you a spinster?" He set the dish on the island next to the other dishes and platters he had fetched from the fridge. "I'm lost." He stared at her with a puzzled gaze.

Indigo's renovated, farmhouse-chic kitchen was the meeting ground for the majority of their conversations. Conversations that happened between 6 and 10 p.m.—mostly because Tate loved to eat and she loved to cook. It was their mutual agreement and she didn't have to clean out her fridge since he'd feast on most of the leftovers.

"Everyone at that little baby shower was pregnant, married, engaged, or in a committed relationship but for me."

Tate switched the oven on. "Harrison was there." He turned back to her. "He's not married, engaged, or pregnant." He smiled at his attempt at a joke but she didn't, so he let his smile fade.

"He's the one that brought it up then he enlisted Saxon so they both let me know...." She wrapped her hands around the warm mug of tea wishing it was something stronger, bourbon perhaps. No, too strong. She did have work tomorrow, chamomile tea would have to do the job. "That I'm a loser that doesn't date."

"Wait!" Tate stopped scooping pasta in the pan. "They said that?"

"I know how to use context clues." Her mouth quirked to the side sourly. "This is not how I expected my life to be by the age of twenty-nine."

"I think you have a pretty great life." He leaned on the island countertop pensively. "Plus, you're a strong, educated black woman with the best shoe store in Texas."

Indigo narrowed her sienna eyes at him. "Don't use my words on me."

"All I'm saying is...you shouldn't let a man or the absence of one dictate your success." He tossed a green bean into his mouth, gave it two bites then swallowed. "Or let anyone else."

"I want to be a mother." She toyed with the twine attached to the teabag.

"Then adopt a kid." He carefully placed pieces of oven barbecued chicken into another pan like it was gold. "There are a lot of motherless, family-less children out there."

Her eyebrows knitted, gifting him with a faint nod knowing he was right about that tidbit. "But I want companionship."

"You have a sister, a brother, parents, a niece, nephew...and Gambit." He slid both pans into the oven at the same time.

She propped her chin on top of her fist looking at her baby lying on the floor of the kitchen looking at all the food Tate had sorted through with a string of drool hanging from his mouth.

"True..." She moved her gaze back to Tate as he set the empty dishes in the sink, wrinkling her nose she thought of something that would stomp him. " But I need sexual gratification." She smirked at the blood draining from his face as he set his eyes upon her. "A mind-numbing, leg-shaking orgasm would be nice." She lifted the mug to her lips with a snicker.

She wasn't the type to go out to the club, strike up a conversation and bring a guy home or swipe left, go out for a coffee date then burn off all that caffeine with a quickie in the backseat. Long term commitment was niche and since she hadn't been in a serious relationship in a while, she'd been in a drought.

"You can either read the Bible...or..." He shut off the faucet and pulled the towel off the counter. "Call me up and put me in the game, coach." The rumble of laughter growing in his sinewy chest insisted he was joking.

"You're dumb." She rolled her eyes finding his humor infectious. "You have an answer for everything, don't you?"

He shrugged. "What can I say...I'm a writer. We make shit up on our feet." His mood faltered a little as he folded the plaid towel.

"You still have writer's block."

"Like the freaking Wall of China."

She glued the palms of her hands to the cold pale gray granite of the kitchen island. "It'll come to you. Don't rush it, Tattie Tate."

The nickname she'd been calling him since they had become best buds in elementary brought a smile to his lips. "Now, look who has an answer for everything."

"What can I say...." She spun off the stool with the vigor of a child. "I'm Indigo Clark!"

"You don't wait for things to happen, you make things happen!" Tate boasted.

"Right!" She slapped her bare feet on the shiny wood floor that they had buffed last week. "So, this is me getting back out there. I'm back on the market." She danced to the music filling the background.

"Uh-huh." Tate's face scrunched up with disgust. "Don't say market."

"I'm back in the game."

Tate nodded slowly. "Better but don't do anything you don't want to do. If you want to say 'no' say 'no'."

"Trust and believe," she slid her hands in the pockets of her romper, "if I'm not feeling the dude, he'll get the boot. You don't have to worry about that."

"I'll always worry about you." He leaned back against the farmhouse sink as the golden sunset seeped in through the wall to ceiling windows in the breakfast nook painting them with warmth. "You're my best girl....friend."

"Come on, Tate. Let's be real..." She grinned with a tilt of her head. "I'm your only best friend."

"Oh! No!" He slapped his palms on the sides of his scruffy face Home Alone style. "The horror."

Indigo laughed as a sparkle ignited in her brown irises. "You got jokes." She wagged her finger at him as she backed up out the kitchen. "But if you eat up all that food while I'm in the shower I'll give you horror."

"A man eats all the meatloaf once and he never lives it down." He tossed the dry towel on the counter. "Can you believe that Gambit?"

"Believe it," she called over her shoulder as she sauntered out the kitchen. 

Do you think Tate is worried about Indigo dating?