In His Arms. Yasmin Sullivan Y.

to him at bedtime—one with lots of words to go with the pictures.

      Nevertheless, he was intent on their task and peered at the pages before him.

      Andre was just beginning to grow out of his baby fat and acquire the spindly limbs of childhood, but he still had full brown eyes with thick lashes and big round cheeks that puffed up when he smiled. His features still held the amazement of a child and the vulnerability of youth. Right now, his eyebrows were furrowed in inquiry, and the serious expression on his face ended in a little pucker on his lips that pulled at Michelle’s heart.

      Michelle turned to her son, wrapped her arms around him and proceeded to tickle him until they were both laughing. When they were done, she ruffled his hair and pulled him up from his chair and into her arms for a tight squeeze.

      “Reading is hard work, huh?”

      Andre nodded his head. “Is it time for a snack yet?”

      Michelle laughed. “A snack? You just had dinner. It’s time to get ready to go to the sitter so that I can get to my art class. You can have your snack over there.”

      “What do I get?”

      “What would you like?”

      Andre shrugged.

      Michelle closed her book and pushed it farther onto the dining table. “You go find a couple of movies and put some of your toys and games in your knapsack, and I’ll make you something for later.”

      Michelle put Andre’s evening snack in a brown paper bag and checked on him to help pick out two movies and some toys. Then she went into her room to get clothes out for work the next day and pack her book bag for her classes tomorrow. She would be getting home a bit late, so there might not be time later on.

      “Come, little one. No, first to the bathroom.”

      “I don’t have to go now.”

      “Go anyway. And, actually, so should I.”

      When they were ready, Michelle helped Andre get his knapsack on, handed him the paper bag with his snack, grabbed the things for her art class, hustled them out the front door and walked Andre down two doors to Mrs. Miller, their neighbor and sitter.

      Her class was at the Art League School in Virginia. She had given herself some extra time to figure out a new Metro route, but since it was rush hour, she didn’t wait long for the bus, and it was actually a straight shot on the yellow line from Greenbelt to King Street, where she got on the free King Street Trolley.

      With her destination in sight, Michelle hopped off the trolley and strode through the crowded streets of Old Town Alexandria toward the Torpedo Factory Art Center. She couldn’t suppress her excitement over the class she was starting and hurried through the milling people with her purse slung over her shoulder, her portfolio under one arm and a satchel with the required art supplies in her other hand.

      She already had a lot on her plate, and this would add more, but this was her passion. It would give her the edge she knew she needed so that she could build a real future for herself and her son. She hated being away from Andre during the evenings, but it was one night a week, and it was part of their combined future. She was raising a son, getting a college degree, working full-time and now this. But she was determined to make it all work.

      Michelle shook her head to clear her thoughts. It never paid off when she tried to think of everything at once; this just overwhelmed her. And she was too excited about her class to let that happen.

      As she crossed North Union Street to enter the Torpedo Factory, she could see the waterfront in the background with groups of pedestrians walking the promenade. She envied their leisure, but only for a second.

      A man crossed the street toward her and winked at her. Michelle put her free hand on her hip and gave him a forbidding expression. Then she winked back and laughed. He turned his head back to look at her, probably doubting her sanity, but Michelle didn’t care.

      She glanced at her watch and hurried inside to find her classroom.

      Other students were already getting situated, and Michelle picked her way through the rows of drafting tables to find an empty one. She found one in the center of the room, propped her portfolio on the slanted desktop and began unpacking her supplies.

      “First class here at the Art League?”

      It was a smooth, masculine voice coming from the chair next to hers, and it seemed directed at her. She answered as she was hooking her purse on the back of her chair. “Yes. Can you tell?” She chuckled at herself for being so obvious.

      When Michelle finally turned toward the voice, she found a pair of dark brown eyes gazing at her intently. They were set in an inquisitive expression on a handsome ebony face. The angular jawline held a mouth with full, soft lips, and it was smiling.

      “No, you seem ready to go. It’s my first class here, as well. I’m Rashad.”

      He offered his hand.

      Michelle didn’t realize that she was holding her breath until she opened her mouth to talk. She let go of a deep breath and laughed at herself.

      “Hi.”

      “What’s funny?”

      “Nothing. I just amused myself.” She waved her hand to dispel the thought.

      “I’m glad to see another African American face in the class.”

      “Hmm.” Michelle glanced about. There were a couple of others, but not many. “I hadn’t noticed before. So am I.”

      “Can I ask your name?”

      “I’m Michelle.”

      She took his outstretched hand, and a shiver ran up her arm and down her spine.

      “Nice to meet you,” he said.

      “Same here.”

      Now that her supplies were unpacked, Michelle could give her full attention to the captivating figure sitting next to her. He had on a simple white dress shirt and black slacks, but she recognized the quality of the garments; they weren’t cheap. The shirt, creased from a day of being worn, didn’t hide the broad shoulders and muscled arms beneath it. And though he was leaning back in his chair at ease, his slacks didn’t fully hide the sculpted thighs they covered. Michelle took a breath and hoped he hadn’t caught her checking him out.

      “Are you an artist already?” he asked.

      “Not yet, but I—”

      A voice interrupted her from the front of the room. The teacher for the class had just come in. “Welcome to Composition and Design Fundamentals.”

      Rashad nodded at Michelle, and both turned their attention to the instructor.

      For the first half hour, they got an overview of what they would be learning and doing that term. Then, after brief introductions, they were given their first set of vocabulary words and their first lesson in controlling movement within a picture. They then had an hour to create their own examples before they went on to the second lesson. Though the class was three and a half hours, the amount of information packed in it and the variety of exercises they did made the time sprint by.

      Still, Michelle couldn’t help noticing her new acquaintance in the neighboring seat. Rashad took the class seriously, jotting down notes just as she did and concentrating on the abstract exercises that they were given. Periodically, he looked toward her and found her glancing his way. Each time she felt she had been caught in the act of ogling him, but each time he just smiled—the sweetest smile she’d ever seen—and went back to his task. It made Michelle smile, too.

      For the last half hour, they got their final lesson and their homework. Then they were dismissed. People started to rustle, and some went up to the instructor with questions.

      “Wow,” Rashad said. “That class went by like lightning.”

      “I know,” Michelle