Free The Bishop's Daughter by Tiffany L. Warren

many opportunities in Cleveland.”
    “What do you write?”
    “Freelance essays and editorials, mostly. One day I plan to write a novel.”
    Dorcas seems truly interested. “You’d definitely be good for our church newsletter. It’s not huge, but it has at least ten thousand readers monthly.”
    “I know. I showed Emoni a writing sample yesterday, and she was excited to have me volunteer.”
    “Well, well, well. It pays to have crushes in high places.”
    “The heavens have smiled upon me.”
    “So it would seem.” Dorcas’s eyes dance flirtatiously, accentuating her mascaraed eyelashes.
    I venture again. “You didn’t answer my question.”
    “What question?”
    “Are you smitten?”
    “I don’t know yet. You haven’t given me enough to be smitten about.”
    “What else do you want to know about me?”
    “Hmm … Where are you working in between your freelance gigs? Our apartment building isn’t cheap. And I peeped that Hummer you’re driving.”
    This is too easy. Well, almost too easy.
    “Are you serious? You want to know if I’m paid, huh? You a gold digger?”
    Dorcas purses her lips and frowns. “Why can’t a woman ask about a guy’s financial status these days without being classified as a gold digger?”
    I comically wipe my brow. “Whew! I’m glad you’re not a gold digger, because I’m broke.”
    “You are?” She looks disappointed.
    “Seriously, I am. But my parents are rich.”
    “Oh, so you’re a trust-fund brat?”
    She says it with such disdain that it sounds like an insult. “I guess so. For now, anyway. I’m about to blow up.”
    “Really?”
    “Yes. I’m only doing these freelance gigs until I get my book deal. I’m thinking I can pull a five- or six-figure advance, like Omar Tyree or Eric Jerome Dickey.”
    “Wow. No one can say you aren’t ambitious.”
    Do I detect a hint of sarcasm? “I’m just trying to chase a dream. What about you? What do you dream about?”
    “What I really want to do,” says Dorcas as a wistful look comes over her face, “is open a school for physically challenged kids.”
    I don’t even know how to respond. She’s got noble plans and ideas. I want to land a book deal. She must think I’m shallow.
    “Wow. That’s great.”
    She smiles. “I didn’t mean to get all ‘save the world’ on you. It’s just that my sister had cerebral palsy. She died when we were teenagers, and I’d like to do something to honor her.”
    “That’s a beautiful thing, Dorcas. I’m an only child.”
    “I have five brothers, and I had one sister. I always wanted to be an only child.”
    I put my hands up in feigned fearfulness. “Five brothers? Oh, I cannot holler at you.”
    “They’re harmless.”
    I wave for the waitress. “Unh-uh. I don’t believe it. Girl, I’m paying this check right now. Forget you ever met me.”
    Dorcas is cracking up and holding on to my arm, trying to keep me at the table. After a couple of moments, I stop struggling and really look at Dorcas. She’s grinning playfully, blinking up at me with those big, beautiful brown eyes.
    I think I might be the one who’s smitten.

Chapter Thirteen
    DIARY OF A MAD BLACK BLOGGER
    What’s cracking, cyber homies and homettes? I’m sending out a bat signal to some of you saved folks, ’cause a brotha’s got a dilemma. Here’s my question: If you’re kicking it wit a church girl, how soon is too soon to pop the question?
    Whoa! Not that question! A brotha ain’t going out like that. I’m talking about how soon can I invite her for a sleepover? Aw, don’t act like y’all don’t know. Saved women talk a good game, but they be giving up the panties, too.
    I see all y’all super saints talking about me. I can see y’all through my computer screen. Well, I just got baptized! I’m not all the way saved yet.
    Dang. Writing that just convicted me in my spirit. Literally. Y’all forget I asked that, and please keep me in your prayers.
    COMMENTS
    Sister Mary 11:03 p.m.
    The