I was sitting in a salon chair with an older woman blow-drying my hair while brushing it. My auburn strands clung to the round brush in her umber-complected hand as she carefully dried them.

Ethan invited me to The Cheesecake Factory in Escondido—an hour away from Julian—to show me different parts of California and celebrate my new job. I hadn't been to that restaurant chain since middle school, but the practice at the time was to get dressed up like it was an expensive, exclusive restaurant.

With that in mind, I found the only salon open after five p.m. and was met with a host of black men, women, and children in the building. It was a black-owned salon and barbershop named Natural Cutz, only a few blocks from the house.

Nicki Minaj's Moment 4 Life flooded the women's section, while Jay-Z and Kanye's Run This Town set the mood for the barbers trimming afros and fades. I heard that woman—the singer named Rihanna I learned of at the bus stop—and was yet again enthralled by the richness in her tone. It was laid-back but flowed with ease through each note and beat, sounding effortless.

Tamika curved the brush and ran the heat across the bristles, setting my ends in upward curls. She smelled like cocoa butter and had jet-black hair in silky finger waves that suited her slender face.

Just as she flicked the dryer off and turned to set her tools on the vanity, Ethan strutted into the building with a smile. He wore a black and white flannel over a grey shirt; dark, baggy cargo pants; and combat boots.

"Looks like I got here in time," he said through a grin so contagious, that it brought one to my blank face.

He leaned against a post separating us from the men feet away and crossed his arms. Tamika unfastened my cape, flicked it up and down in front of me, and brought it behind me.

His eyes dragged across me in every which way, analyzing me like it were his first time meeting me. Then they landed and settled on my newly colored and curled hair. It hung down to my waist in a deep red shade; my roots were dark brown, and the tips were a shade of red so light it bordered on orange.

"Well, what do you think," I asked him, then stood up and turned to the mirror behind my stylist.

She sat the cape on the back of the chair and watched me run my fingers through my beach waves. My hair hadn't felt so warm and clean in years before that moment, and the smell alone almost brought tears to my eyes.

"Did she mean to dye it that way?" Tamika narrowed her eyes at him when he spoke about her like she wasn't standing there.

I turned my head to him and asked with furrowed eyebrows, "What way?"

"Where it's like," he started, rolling his wrist as he searched for the right words to say, "your scalp is dark, the hair is red, and the bottom is yellow."

"Yeah." I admired myself in the mirror. Since moving to Julian, my skin went from almost pale to cashmere brown. I wanted to change my appearance because my roots were overgrown and because I was slowly tanning; blonde and blue hair clashed with my skin tone. "This is how I normally have it styled."

"I think it's nice if you really like it." Tamika gave a disapproving hum in response, then turned away from us to fetch the broom and dustpan a foot away from her. I stared at his reflection, waiting for him to laugh or add more to his statement, but he only set his hands in his pockets and looked around.

After a few beats, I announced that I was ready to leave. I thanked Tamika while she swept my shed hair, and Ethan paid her eighty dollars.

***

We arrived at The Cheesecake Factory in Escondido at eight. The sun had set on our way to our destination, turning the sky different shades of pink and orange.

The building was wide and had a beige exterior that resembled stucco. The sign stretched across and was red with a white light shining behind the letters.

After we parked close to the handicap spaces, we walked side by side-by-side toward the building where he held the door for me to enter first.

It was like visiting a museum or a high-scale establishment reserved for the elite — the one percent of the world.

Chandeliers hung from the ceiling and cast bright white light down on the patrons as well as the walls. There were posts protruding from the walls, and a grand staircase on either side leading to the second floor.

There was a stage for a small band to play piano and a saxophone while the lead sang a Frank Sinatra song.

We walked across the marble floor and stopped at the host's podium.

"Welcome to The Cheesecake Factory," he said, alternating his attention from one of us to the other. He donned a button-up and slacks with his blond shoulder-length hair in a low ponytail. "Table for two?"

When Ethan said, "Yes," the man stepped away from his post since there weren't any other people behind us yet.

He escorted us past vacant tables and up one of the flights of stairs. There were lights under the steps and along the rails.

The smell of fruit, creme, and rotisserie chicken swarmed us as we passed more tables. The host turned to us at the small table at the end of the half-wall overlooking the restaurant.

"Your server will arrive shortly." He started walking away and Ethan jogged after him. They stopped a few feet away and spoke but I didn't hear them.

I sat and watched the men on the lower level serenading us. The melody and vocals were like silk, and it soothed me more than I already was.

Ethan joined me at our table and sat in the only other chair, which was across from me.

"Have you ever been to a place like this before," he asked, and I shook my head without thinking. "Well, I'm glad you hadn't because this is one of the many places I plan on bringing you. Maybe in a month, we can visit the Japanese Garden here in Escondido."

"A Japanese Garden?" I raised my eyebrows as a smirk spread across my face.

"Yeah. I used to go there a few times when I was a kid." I nodded. "I just wanna show you other parts of Cali before you inevitably get trapped in Julian."

I playfully rolled my eyes onto the band as they finished the song. A couple of tables below erupted into applause, so I joined them with a smile.

The men on the instruments played soft jazz while the singer stepped down. He stood at a table by the window where a woman, a baby in a high chair, and a man sat.

The singer leaned down to kiss the baby's short hair and smiled lovingly in its eyes while caressing the thin strands on its head.

The woman handed him a glass of warm water and he drank half in one go. They chatted with smiles and the sight warmed my heart.

It was evident that they were a family or what a family should've looked like.

"Hi," a chipper voice called out behind me. Ethan and I turned our heads to watch the woman stand at our table. "I'm sorry for the long wait. Here are your menus."

She handed them to us and I admired the fancy font and brown border. She took out her notepad and pencil while we flipped through the pages.

"Do you know what you want to eat," Ethan asked me and I shook my head. I wanted pasta, but everything was so expensive. "Okay, well, I'll have the Mushroom Burger with a Paloma Rosa."

I took my bottom lip between my teeth as I watched him give her his order. I knew he was covering everything but I didn't feel comfortable asking for a lot.

I remembered what he told me at Miner's Diner.

'...next time, get what you want. If I'm buying, don't sweat it.'

I swallowed my nerves and took a deep breath.

"I'll have the Pasta Da Vinci," I trailed off, searching for drinks. I peeked over the brim of the menu and noticed Ethan eyeing me. "Um, I guess I'll take water."

"Water? Helen, their pasta is too good to be eaten with water." The waitress smiled as she jotted down our orders. "Trust me, you gotta try the Strawberry Spritz."

I stuttered, "Okay," and we handed off our menus.

"I'll bring out your drinks." Ethan nodded, and she walked away.

He and I turned to each other, him with a smile and me with a blank expression.

"Helen, you know you don't gotta order cheap things when you're with me, right?" He raised an eyebrow and leaned his head forward at the last word.

"You told me before, but it feels weird if I don't," I mumbled. My fingertips grazed the ruffles along the front of my sleeveless top.

Ethan narrowed his eyes and asked, "Why does it feel weird?"

"Well, for starters, we're not dating." He pursed his lips and nodded, his eyes drifting onto the band as they ended the song.

I clapped along with the few diners below us. The singer returned to the stage and stood at the microphone.

They sang a few more songs. The waitress, Cindy, brought out our drinks. As we waited for the food, we gave our attention to the performers.

Eventually, my pasta and his burger were sat in front of us and we began eating.

"So, what's it like in South Carolina," he asked as I stabbed the fork through three penne noodles coated in sauce and parmesan cheese.

"It's calm, depending on which part you visit." I bit off the food on my fork and went for the cubed chicken as I chewed. "I'm from Columbia, so it's a busy area, but nothing too crazy."

"I've never lived anywhere other than California," he said, and I paused while staring at him. He nodded with a pursed-lip smile. "Yeah, my parents prefer the Hollywood scene and the beach life, so we moved out here. My dad was a surfer back in the late sixties and met my mom at this, like, tiki restaurant at the boardwalk. They hit it off instantly."

"That's so sweet." I smiled with my top row of teeth. "Honestly, it's a cuter love story than my parents'," I told him while bringing the chicken to my mouth.

He told me he wanted to hear it so I finished chewing and swallowing, set down my fork, and explained what they told me.

"

They met in the late eighties, got married after a year, and had my oldest brother, then me, and my little sister." I told him about my dad's injury and pride. "My mom spent her youth caring for her siblings and her dad — my grandfather — and now, it's like she's doing it all over again. I guess the good part is that my siblings are out on their own, but," I said, trailing off.

I was happy for my brother, following in Dad's footsteps, but no matter what, nothing could make me accept that my nineteen-year-old sister married a guy in his thirties.

Sometimes, I wished they'd split up, and she and I shared an apartment instead because I refused to believe that she was happy.

I didn't tell him about her marriage; just her joining The Peace Corps.

We finished our food and drinks after what felt like half an hour. I was expecting the waitress to bring the bill, and I assumed Ethan did too because he squinted past my head.

When his eyes relaxed and a smile spread across his lips, I followed his gaze to a group of people approaching us.

They were in uniform: button-ups, dress shoes, and dark slacks. Among them, was our waitress, Cindy.

They began singing Happy Birthday and carried the tune to our table. A few people turned to watch, and I stared out of the corner of my eye at Ethan's lit-up face.

He clapped along with the beat and winked at me.

I was confused because it wasn't my birthday, but I figured he lied to get a discount, so I didn't say anything until they finished.

"Thank you," I said after the song ended. He paid the bill and left a twenty-dollar tip. We walked down the steps and passed the host who bid us a good-night. Once we made it outside, I smiled at the side of his face. "What was that?"

We found his car and shrugged, then unlocked it. Ethan opened my door for me with a toothy grin.

The wind blew against my pencil skirt and ruffle top. My hair swayed on either side of my head but remained behind my back.

The smell of fruity alcohol wafted off our breaths, overpowering the burger and pasta we ate.

I glanced at his pink-tinted lips and wanted so badly to lean in and kiss them, but I refrained.

He shut the door behind me when I slid into the passenger's seat, and I let out a sigh that relaxed my body into the leather.