When the Fairytale Ends Read Free Page A

as she bent over much more than was required to remove the domed silver tray. She was teasing him, and it took plenty of willpower to keep from scooping her up and carrying her back to the bedroom, flinging her onto the bed and ravaging her. They’d been at it a lot lately, probably because their wedding was just over three months ago, and technically, they were still in that honeymoon stage.
    She pointed at the table. “Have a seat, Mr. Crinkle.”
    As if on cue, his stomach growled, and he licked his lips, savoring the taste of their kiss as he strolled to the table and pulled out a cushioned chair. She removed the dome with a theatrical twist of her wrist and held her dainty hand in the air, singing, “Voila!”
    Eggs Benedict, three slices of bacon, buttery grits, and mixed fruit. Not too heavy, and not too light—just the way he liked it.
    â€œThis looks great, babe. I appreciate it.” He leaned over and puckered his lips for a kiss, and she gave him a peck.
    While Greg ate, Shania left the kitchen, then returned moments later with his iPhone. He thanked her and scrolled through his missed calls. Yeah, she was right. Twenty missed calls and fifteen of them were from Franklin, along with about a dozen text messages that all basically said the same thing:

    Aye man, we still going? Aye man, answer the phone. Aye man, u ignoring me? Man, I knew u was gonna punk out. U worse than a female.

    He laughed at the last text message, then decided to keep Franklin in suspense a little while longer while he returned his parents’ call as well as calls from his brother and sister. After he thanked them for their wellwishes for his birthday, he finally dialed Franklin’s number and held the phone away from his ear as Franklin exploded.
    â€œOh, so now you wanna call me back?” Franklin roared into the phone. “Man, forget you! I been calling you all morning. I thought we was gonna leave first thing this morning and get that bike. I knew you was gonna punk out. Something told me you was just spitting out hot air. Man up, Greg. You a thirty-five-year-old, rusty-behind, grown-behind man. Why you gotta get permission from your wife to get a bike? You already know she’s gonna say no. Now, you got me sitting here, all geared up, thinking I’m about to help my man pick out his first bike, and you straight stand me up. So that’s how we do things now, Greg? That’s how we do it?”
    Once his friend finished blowing steam, Greg put the phone to his ear and said, “You still coming or what? I can be ready in like fifteen, twenty minutes.”
    â€œA’ight, cool, dog. I’m on the way.”
    Greg ended the call and chuckled to himself. That boy was a fool. Even though he had Franklin by two years, he often felt like he had him by twelve. Franklin was irresponsible, wifeless, childless, girlfriendless, only used proper English when he was at work—and even then, slipped in his Southern slang every now and then. And the only things he cared about were his bike and vintage cars. Greg figured that if Franklin could ever find that one good woman, handpicked, packaged, signed, sealed, and delivered to him by God, he would finally grow up and realize that there was so much more to life than toys and laughter.
    Greg finished his breakfast and licked his lips. Shania cooked even better than his mother, and that was no easy feat, he surmised. He checked his watch and realized that Franklin would be arriving soon. After taking a quick shower, he tied a towel around his waist, and though he tried his hardest to ignore the mirror, he glimpsed at himself once more. He scratched his scalp and picked up a handheld mirror to check the rest of his head. As far as he could tell, his freshly faded hair was still black. Maybe that hair wasn’t gray, after all; maybe it was off-brown. He considered shaving his head again, but he didn’t have time to deal with that