His Good Thing, page 1
His Good Thing
A CHRISTIAN ROMANCE
FAITH ARCENEAUX
Copyright © 2023 by Faith Arceneaux
All rights reserved.
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To my beta readers — thank you for your time, energy, and feedback. As I begin this journey your support is beyond appreciated.
Thank you, Jaleesa, Kristal, and Tyesha.
Contents
Newsletter
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
Praise
Also by Faith Arceneaux
About the Author
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Chapter One
Loren
He didn’t look like a guy my mama would describe as “a good church boy.” Not the ones in Shiloh Missionary Baptist that she tried to introduce me to on Sunday mornings, or Wednesday Bible study. He wasn’t like any of the guys my dad, the pastor, would corner in his office when he knew I was stopping in for a visit. He didn’t look like he could recite the books of the Bible, or that his parents made him attend every day of summer Bible camp as a kid.
No, he wasn’t that. At all.
Because he wasn’t exactly telling me to “be blessed” when he saw me in the hallway of our apartment building, I often avoided him when I saw him. That day was no different. I saw him at the entrance, and as I followed behind him slowly, I dialed my sisters’ numbers. If I was on the phone with them, he couldn’t ask me if he could hit me up, if I wanted to stop by his place, or if he could stop by mine.
We were standing in front of the elevator, and I gently smiled but looked away as I told my sisters, “Just getting home.” He didn’t look away though. He watched me the entire time. Not that I was looking. But I could feel his eyes on me. Or at least I thought I could from the way the hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end.
“Today was good,” I said into the phone.
If only Aubrie and Jorel understood what was going on. Instead of just going with the flow, Aubrie was shouting, “Girl, did you really just call us to have small talk? You know I need to get to the gym.”
“Of course not,” I told her as the elevator doors parted and I averted my eyes from the apartment entrance where I was focused.
“After you, sweetheart.” His grin was wide, but it wasn’t the only thing that caught my attention. The doors were being held open by his outstretched arm—an arm sporting a bulging muscle without him even flexing.
I found the corner of the confined space and smiled before telling him, “Thank you.” Although the elevator would likely drop my call, I kept the phone to my ear as we rode to my floor—our floor. Again, he held the doors open for me as I stepped off. There was only silence on the phone, but I kept it to my ear as I made my way down the hall to my apartment, unlocked the door, and squeezed inside, not leaving him any space to ask me anything.
The phone vibrated in my hand, Aubrie’s name flashing on my screen. “Girl,” I sighed as Aubrie spoke up, and I heard Jorel’s voice too. “Who was that?”
I answered casually, “Just a friendly neighbor.”
Jorel, my oldest sister who thought she was a proxy for my mama, asked, “Just how friendly is he?”
I didn’t mention that since the day he moved into my building, about six months prior, he was trying to get at me. I reiterated, “He’s just a neighbor,” because since I wasn’t entertaining him, there was nothing worth mentioning.
“From the sound of that voice,” Aubrie noted, “I don’t think I’d mind being his neighbor.”
“Anyway,” I tried to change the subject before Aubrie demanded details on his looks. That was always her focus, but I was trying very hard not to make it mine. “Is this gift going to be ready for Daddy by next week?” With the church anniversary coming up, we were expected to have a gift to present to our dad, and like all the years prior we waited until the very last minute to collectively decide what we were getting for him.
Jorel’s voice faltered, “I hope so.” Then she beamed, “All else fails, I think we can come up with a makeshift gift to hand him during the ceremony.” We did that a time or two in the past. “And for the reception, Sister Jenkins wants to know if the two of you will have a date.”
A question that was asked every church anniversary, at least for the past three years. For me the answer was always, “Nope. I’ll be there alone,” I thought, then dreaded that response because I knew what would happen if I showed up solo. “And in case they ask, tell Mama and Daddy I don’t need them introducing me to anyone.”
Aubrie joked, “Not even the co-pastor’s youngest nephew all the way in from out of town.” She continued mocking the many conversations we faced with members of the church as they tried to introduce us to what they thought to be their most eligible bachelors. “You know the one with the good job, who is in church every Sunday morning.”
“Nope, not him either,” I boasted, and we all laughed.
It wasn’t that I had anything against the guys in the church. Ultimately, I’d want to marry a man who loved Jesus as much as I did—it was the approach. The fact that everyone thought their sole purpose in life was to marry me and my sisters off. Aubrie didn’t mind, she ate up all the attention she got from not only the guys she was introduced to, but from the church members who were always asking about her life.
For me, it felt abrasive. Personal. I didn’t care for it one bit. “Yet you will still show up alone.” Jorel added, “You know if you are alone they’ll want to pair you up with someone.”
I mumbled, “Is that such a bad thing? To be single?”
In unison, they recited, “He who finds a wife finds a good thing.” Aubrie snickered. “Why you out here blocking these men from their good thing?”
“Too much.” I laughed. “Doing too much.”
Jorel nudged, “She has a point though.”
At twenty-three, I felt there was more I wanted to learn about myself. More I wanted to do before I was tied to a man. As much as I knew my parents wanted me married off, they’d be requesting grandbabies next. Jorel was a fine example of that. She wasn’t married for a year even before my mama started asking her when they were going to be blessed with grandkids.
“Listen,” I told her, “I have some countries to visit. Adventures to partake in, and people all over the world to meet.”
“Oh okay,” then Jorel told me, “Just know that God could put a man in your life who is about that life too.”
“He could.” I nodded my head. “Until then though, it’s me, for me.” I busted out laughing. “Anyway, I need to cook dinner. I’ll talk to you two later.”
Cooking chicken and pasta, I imagined what it would be like with a man in my life. Would it be more exciting to have someone to share a meal with every night? To plan out my exotic trips with? Maybe. Since God didn’t see fit, I was good with eating alone at my countertop.
Then it was time to walk the trash to the disposal, and I whispered to the sky, “Okay, God, maybe it would be nice to have a man who could do this part.” I laughed to myself as I approached the door. I opened it and stepped in, pushing my garbage bag into the chute. When I turned to walk out, I saw the same face from earlier—Jameson.
He must have been as shocked to see me as I was to see him because his eyes were wide, and they scanned my body as I stood there not moving. “Even in sweatpants and a t-shirt you are still the most gorgeous girl walking around this place.” His compliments always made me smile, but I knew what would be next, he’d be asking me out, and that was an immediate no.
“When I saw you earlier, I wanted to invite you over for a drink. But you were,” he squeezed past me and dumped his bag into the chute, “occupied.” His tongue licked across his lips and my eyes darted to my feet. I instantly regretted my decision to wear my fuzzy slippers outside of my apartment.
“Jameson,” I told him, letting my eyes meet his, “and I’ve told you, I don’t drink.”
He nodded. “You don’t drink alcohol, right?” The side of his mouth quirked up. “Good thing I have a fridge stocked with other beverages.”
I intertwined my hands, circling the ring around my finger as I told him, “I think I’ll have to pass.” I reached for the door and stepped out, only a few steps before I turned back, running into his chest. His muscles bulging against the side of my face.
I shook my head, stepped back a couple of feet, then said, “Actually, if you are up for it, I’d like for you to join me at a reception. I kinda need a date.” Where the words were coming from, I didn’t have a clue. I didn’t want a date, and for sure didn’t need one. For some reason though, it felt like the best solution to avoid being matched with a random guy from the church.
“A date?” He smirked. “Yet, you’ve turned me down on multiple occasions. And now you want me to join you? At a function?” I started to feel what he must have felt all the times I said no. When he said, “I think I’ll pass,” it felt like my heart leaped into my throat.
“Oh,” I managed to say, “I get it,” before I turned and hurried down the hallway back to my apartment.
Inside, I flopped onto my couch, grabbed a pillow, and covered my face. What was I thinking? What would we look like, together, at that event?
My parents wouldn’t likely be thrilled about who I brought. Not with him having tattoos that covered his neck and his arms. Sure, they accepted everyone at Shiloh Missionary. There were church members with all types of backgrounds. But for guys dating their daughters—the criteria were different. They didn’t exactly tell us we couldn’t date whoever. But let a guy, one like Jameson, approach us when they were around, and they’d have a ton to say.
Like the time the star basketball player at our high school wanted to take Aubrie to prom. All we heard for weeks was, “How did his parents allow him to get a tattoo. In high school. We’ve heard he dates a lot of different girls. Is that really someone you want to spend such a special night with?”
It was. And she did. But it didn’t stop our parents from expressing all the skepticism they could think of.
I, on the other hand, managed to avoid the topic altogether. For prom, I skipped a date and went with all my girls. The few dates I did have in high school never picked me up from the house. I used my creativity to find ways to meet up with them. In college, none of my situations were ever serious enough to bring home.
So then why would I want to rock the boat with Jameson?
Telling him “no” was getting harder and harder to do. I guess.
Chapter Two
Jameson
And there she was. Again. I already knew whatever question I asked her, the answer would be “no.” With a little smile, but still, “no.” She wasn’t like the other girls coming through my apartment—a head nod, a lick of my lips was all it took for them to be leaving wherever they were, and whoever they were with, to come with me.
Not Loren though. It wasn’t like I saw any other guys coming around her place, and I never ran into her at any of the clubs. Whatever she was doing, she was content in doing it.
That just made me want to know more about her. About what had her content chilling at home on the weekends. If she would have ever accepted my offer to come through, or let me take her out, it would have been my first question.
We could never get there though. After watching her clutch her phone to her ear and avoid eye contact while we waited on the elevator, I decided I’d stop trying. I wouldn’t ask anymore. Because whatever she was doing, she was happy doing it, and I respected that.
Although I told myself I would stop asking her out, I couldn’t convince myself to stop looking, admiring her beauty. My favorite feature, her big beautiful eyes, was hidden from me though. Instead, I was left gazing at her full head of hair—just waiting for her to chance a glance my way. She didn’t though.
Not until the doors of the elevator opened, and as I always did, I let her climb on first. She found the corner of the elevator, far away from me, but she still managed to smile as she said “Thank you” in the warmest voice. I should have asked who her phone carrier was because the way she kept the phone glued to her ear made me wonder if there was anyone on it, or if her calls dropped, like mine, when those doors closed.
Then the elevator reached our floor, and I watched as she stepped out and hurried her stride to her door as I maintained my distance, steps behind her.
After she ducked into her apartment, I laughed to myself. In my own apartment, a few doors down, my phone vibrated with text messages filling my screen. The night might not have ended with Loren by my side, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t end with someone. My plans were to get dressed and hit up happy hour with a couple of my homeboys. I didn’t work most of the week to just sit at home on the weekend—and for me the weekend started on Thursday. Despite the fact I needed to be at work on Friday. I didn’t care, it was time to turn up.
I responded to text messages, left and right, letting them know I’d be headed out shortly. Before I did, I needed to shower and tidy up the place—so whoever came back wouldn’t be disgusted by my overflowing trash can. The bottles of beer, pizza boxes, and take-out containers from my favorite restaurant started to leave an unbearable stench. Gathering the bag in my hands, I could hear my mama’s voice telling me, “Do better, Jameson.”
As far as I was concerned, I was doing better. I shrugged off the thought, and walked out the door, back down the hall, to the garbage chute. When I opened the door that’s when I saw her. Loren. Standing there in just sweatpants and a t-shirt, and that saying about women being just as sexy dressed down was ringing true in my head. I didn’t want to be that guy, the guy who complimented the girl for simply existing. Then I said, “Even in sweatpants and a t-shirt, you are still the most gorgeous girl walking around this place,” and almost cringed at my own words. It brought a smile to her face though—and I was captivated.
The whole idea of not asking her out again went out the window, and I uttered, one more time, the words that would make her say, “No, Jameson,” or whatever the chosen words were for that day. She was rejecting me and reminding me she didn’t drink. Another gem she possessed. A woman our age that didn’t drink? I couldn’t say I understood why she didn’t, or wouldn’t, but I gave her props for being different.
I thought our interaction would be over after that, she’d go on her way, and I’d return to my apartment even more ready to see someone—to boost my ego. Return it back to the state of confidence I knew I possessed, with everyone but her. Then she doubled back. She asked me to be a date to a function she was attending. Me. The man she told “no” many times before.
Surprisingly, I didn’t jump at the offer. Something about it just didn’t feel right. Not after she just rejected me. I wasn’t up for games—cat and mouse wasn’t really my thing. But neither was lending favors. And what she was asking felt like a huge favor. I was interested in her. Getting to know her. And apparently, she was interested in checking a box.
My response probably caught her off guard, as much as it did me, because her voice was quiet when she responded, “Oh, I get it,” before rushing away again. She was back at her apartment before I could reach her, before I could change my mind, or ask more questions. I walked past her doorway on the way to mine. Then before I could get inside my apartment there was this strong feeling that I, too, needed to double back.
I shook my head and started to open my door, then the feeling got a little stronger. I squinted my eyes and smirked. “Naw, I’m good,” I said to myself. Then the feeling came even stronger, like something was egging me on. Felt like one of my homeboys was beside me at the bar telling me that the woman at the other end was staring at me. And I should go talk to her. The little nudge he’d give me to push me forward, when he was just trying to get over there to talk to the friend sitting beside her.
Whatever that feeling was, without my homeboy being there, it was strong. I closed my door and double-backed down the hallway to the door I’d watched Loren slide into a time or two before. Even there I started to turn and go back to my place, but that feeling was there, and to say my feet wouldn’t move would be crazy. But they didn’t budge. I pulled my hand up to the door and knocked.
She didn’t come quickly, and I took that as I shouldn’t have been there. I was turning to walk away when the door slowly creaked open. “Jameson?” she said in a whisper.
I turned to her and wiped a hand across my face, then across my head as I walked the steps to be standing back in front of her. “On second thought.” Her lips started to spread into a smile, and that made me want to high five my invisible homeboy. “I’ll be your date.” Then I followed it up with, “Only under one condition.” The smile from her face faded and she tilted her head to the side. Her thick hair falling across her face.
