🙇🏾‍♀️

Friday morning found her in the yard, hanging sheets on the line, the breeze snapping them sharply against her hands. She tried to focus on the rhythm, the sun on her back—but all she could hear was his voice, low and certain: 

You’re somethin’ more to me.

The words played in her head over and over. She couldn’t help it. The way he touches her so gently. The breeze carried the scent of the river and fresh grass, but beneath it, she swore she caught the faintest trace of tobacco and whiskey—his scent, sharp in her memory. 

She pressed the last clothespin into place, but her fingers lingered on the fabric, her chest tight. The sheets swayed in the wind, but all she felt was the weight of his hand on her cheek, the heat of his body too close. She hated how much she wanted to feel it again.

As she gathered each piece of dry clothing, she began folding each carefully, placing them into the basket, and heading up the porch stairs when she heard it.

Ring. Ring.

Y/N took a deep breath as she set the basket down in the living space, but the quiet sip from the kitchen made her pause. There, Miss Annie sat at the table, cradling Angelina in her arms as she fed her. Relief flooded Y/N.

“Good afternoon, Miss Annie. Did you need anything?” she asked.

“Darlin’, I just wanted you to join me for tea.”

Y/N hesitated, then noticed the mugs set across from each other. She smoothed her apron and moved to sit, reaching for the kettle, but Annie stopped her with a gentle hand. “Allow me, sugar.” She poured the tea, dropping a sugar cube into each cup with careful grace.

As Y/N lifted her mug to her lips, Annie’s eyes met hers—warm, steady, and somehow searching. “Miss Carter… how do you do it?” Her voice was soft, but carried weight. “Don’t think I don’t see how they circle you, sugar. Men act like fools around a woman who doesn’t even realize she’s the prize.”

A blush crept across Y/N’s cheeks. Annie leaned back, the weight of her gaze encouraging honesty. “If I’m bein’ truthful, I wish I could be like you sometimes.”

Y/N sipped her tea, listening intently. “I wish I could be young again. At your age, I didn’t know Elijah yet. I was just yellin’ spells, healing, workin’ with my mother before she passed. I thought I had all the time in the world. But in a blink… I was married, with a child. Younger me didn’t even know life could move that fast. And then I met Elijah. He wasn’t always so hard… he had the same eyes he does now, but softer. Until one night, their father got drunk and beat Elias for not finishing his chores. Knocked him out cold. By the time he woke, Elijah was in the woods, burying their father.”

Y/N froze, the warm mug heavy in her hands. “Mr. Moore… killed their father?”

Annie nodded solemnly. “That’s when innocence left him. Then he and Elias ran off with no word. Folks said they’d gone to Chicago. Broke my heart, and others’. Thought we’d never see them again—until a few years back, when talks of the juke joint started. And now… here we are.”

Y/N stirred her tea slowly, mind racing. “And you… forgave him?”

“Because, darlin’, I loved him. I prayed for him. I wished for him. I hoped for him. I couldn’t get over him.”

Annie’s gaze softened, leaning in slightly. “Y’know, sugar… I see the power in you. I see it deep down. But you hold back. Too scared, maybe. And I don’t mean just in… certain matters. If somethin’ feels right in your gut, trust it. That’s the Lord speakin’, not nerves. Don’t let anyone tell you different. That strength—it’s always been there, sittin’ in your chest, waitin’ for you to claim it.”

Angelina yawned, and Annie smiled down at her before looking back at Y/N. “I’m gonna put her down for her nap.”

Y/N nodded, lost in thought, as Annie stood, cradling Angelina, but made Y/N meet her eyes. “Baby, your years are still soft. This is the time to stretch, to reach, to stumble if you must. Hold back now, and you’ll carry the weight later. Regret… sugar, it’s heavier than any mistake you could make.”

Annie left the room, but her words lingered, settling over Y/N like a quiet fire, warming and unsettling all at once.

The quiet hum of the house was broken by the sharp knock at the door. Y/N set her mug down and wiped her hands on her apron, peering through the window to see Sammie standing there, a grin on his face and a neatly folded dress in his arms.

“Hey, Y/N,” Sammie called, tipping his hat with that easy grin of his. “Figured I’d come get you ‘fore the afternoon slips away. Pearline said your dresses are ready.”

Y/N glanced over her shoulder at him, a little surprised. “That’s early. Alright then—let me go change right quick.”

Upstairs, she slipped out of her nanny uniform and into a powder-blue sundress, matching heels clicking against the floor as she adjusted the hat that crowned her curls. Her mother’s handbag swung lightly from her wrist as she came back down the steps.

Sammie let out a low whistle. “Now, why is it every time you step out the house, you gotta make the rest of us look plain?”

She laughed softly, smoothing the skirt. “Momma always told me—you never know when you’ll meet your future husband. Best to look your best.”

That had Sammie chuckling, shaking his head as the two of them headed out together.

Pearline’s shop was buzzing when they arrived, the whir of sewing machines and chatter filling the air. The moment the bell over the door jingled, a chorus of voices rang out—“Hiiiiii, Sammieeee”—every seamstress sounding like a schoolgirl at recess. Sammie tipped his hat, grinning at their attention before sauntering further inside.

Y/N gave him a look, raising a brow.

He only shrugged, mischief dancing in his eyes. “What? Told you—the ladies can’t help themselves.” He gestured toward the racks of dresses. “Go on, look around, see what else you like. I’ll fetch Pearline. She can pin it up for you. You can pay me back later.”

Y/N smoothed her hands over her dress as she wandered between the racks, fingers brushing over lace collars and pearl buttons. The business of the store made for a good background noise.

Then it came—the prickling on the back of her neck.

Her hand stilled on a dress sleeve. Slowly, she lifted her head, her gaze sweeping toward the window. For the barest second, she thought she saw a shadow move, a figure too still to be just a passerby.

Her chest tightened.

Y/N turned, scanning the corners of the shop, the space between the racks, the length of the counter. Nothing. Only the whisper of fabric brushing as she moved.

Y/N.”

The voice cracked through the quiet behind her, and she nearly dropped her bag. Her head whipped around, pulse racing—but it wasn’t the shadow she thought she saw slipping past the racks. It was Pearline, radiant as ever in a navy-blue dress that hugged her figure, heels clicking against the wood floor.

“Hello, beautiful,” Pearline said with a smile, her tone as light as sunshine. “Here to pick up your dresses?”

Y/N’s breath caught in her chest. She nodded quickly, though her eyes darted back toward the mirror near the fitting rooms. For half a heartbeat, she could’ve sworn someone’s reflection had been there—someone tall, dark—but now there was nothing but dresses swaying lightly, as if stirred by an unseen hand.

“Sure am,” Y/N managed, her voice thinner than she liked. “I’m really excited.”

“You should be, honey. It’s a Pearline original.” Pearline giggled, skipping closer and hooking their arms together with a playful squeeze. Her warmth was grounding, steady—but Y/N couldn’t stop glancing over Pearline’s shoulder, her smile faltering every time she caught the faintest flicker of movement between the racks.

Inside the fitting room, Y/N smoothed the mauve satin against her skin, the cool fabric sliding like water over her curves. Outside, she could hear Pearline’s voice floating through, playful as always, while Sammie sat sprawled beside her, his head in her lap.

“Y’know, Y/N,” Pearline called, fingers idly toying with the button of Sammie’s coat, “you gon’ be the talk of the town when folks see you in this dress, girl.”

Sammie chuckled, catching her hand and brushing his lips across her knuckles. “Mhm. You ‘bout to have every man in there starin’, wishin’ they could reach out and snatch ya.”

Pearline gave him a sly grin, tapping his chin. “A little lookin’—a little touchin’—ain’t never hurt nobody. Right, Sammie baby?”

He laughed, blushing, and leaned up to kiss her cheek. “Lord, you gon’ get me in trouble.”

“Alright now, beautiful,” Pearline called toward the fitting room, eyes sparkling. “Come on out and let us see.”

The curtain whispered aside, and Y/N stepped out. The room seemed to pause. The mauve satin clung to her like it had been poured straight onto her body, the sheen catching the light with every movement. Her matching leather heels clicked softly against the floor, her chin lifted with hesitation and grace.

Sammie blinked once, twice, before standing with Pearline.

Pearline’s hand flew to her chest, lips parting in a proud smile. “Well, I’ll be… I did it again. Miss Y/N, you are bound to turn heads.”

Y/N twirled, the dress hugging her waist, then flaring just so. “Y’all really don’t think I’m showin’ too much skin?” she asked shyly.

“Honey,” Pearline said with a wicked grin, reaching for a shawl the same hue as the dress, “ain’t nothin’ wrong with showin’ what the Lord done blessed you with. But—” she draped the shawl over Y/N’s shoulders, tying it loose at the front—“if you wear this at the juke joint, we’re gon’ be rakin’ in money. Trust me.”

She stepped back to admire her work, hands on her hips. “Oh, Y/N… the boys are gonna be droolin’ all over you. Let me go ring you up before I change my mind and keep this masterpiece for myself.”

Y/N slipped back into her powder-blue dress, smoothing the skirt as Pearline gathered her purchases. Sammie leaned against the counter, tapping his hat brim, his eyes drifting across the busy shop. A prickle crawled up the back of his neck—someone was watching.

He straightened, scanning the room, and his gaze snagged on a figure that didn’t belong. “Hmmm… is that her?” he muttered.

Y/N turned, brow furrowed. “Who, Sammie?”

“That white woman over there.”

It wasn’t hard to spot her. In a shop crowded with Negro women bustling between racks of satin and lace, she was the lone pale face, moving slow, deliberate, her fingers lingering over the fabrics.

Pearline looked up from behind the counter, her smile faltering. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Mary.

Quickly, she turned her back, drawing in a steadying breath, willing her heartbeat to slow.

Pearline handed over Y/N’s bundles, her sharp eyes never straying far from the stranger. Sammie took the packages, and Pearline walked them to the door. She pressed a kiss to Sammie’s lips, but her gaze slid past him, watching as Mary stood with a dress draped over her arm, eyes fixed not on the garment but on Y/N.

Even as Y/N and Sammie loaded the car, she felt the weight of Mary’s stare, cold as a hand pressed between her shoulder blades.

Pearline turned back into the shop, her smile returning, practiced and polite. “Hello, ma’am. Welcome to Pearline’s. I’m Pearline. How can I help you?”

Mary’s lips curved into a pleasant smile. “Hello. I’m looking for a party dress. Something in satin.”

Pearline’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, her own smile cool and steady.

In the car, Y/N sat quiet, staring out the window as the town rolled past. Something gnawed at her chest, and Sammie didn’t miss it.

“You thinkin’ awful hard over there,” he said, glancing at her.

Her hands twisted in her lap. “Sammie… were we bein’ watched?”

He frowned. “Watched? What you mean?”

“That woman. In the shop.” She hesitated, then pressed on. “When you was in the back with Pearline, I swear I felt eyes on me. And then, just like that, she pops up. A white woman. In a ‘Colored Only’ store.”

Sammie’s knuckles tightened on the wheel. “Yeah… I saw her too. Looked familiar.”

Her head turned sharply. “Who is she?”

He sighed. “She’s the one used to chase after Stack when we was kids. Wouldn’t leave him alone. She was my babysitter when you left.”

Y/N’s chest tightened. “Babysitter? She took care of you when I left?”

“Mmhm.” Sammie’s jaw worked, his tone flat. “After you left, she took your place. And later… she’s the one who help give birth to the twins.”

Y/N sucked in a breath, staring hard at the road ahead. All that history—woven through the Moore family like a stain—and Stack had said almost nothing. Why?

“Don’t look like that,” Sammie said gently, easing his voice. “He hated her, Y/N. Still does. Ain’t nothin’ good in his heart when it come to her. And you…” he gave her a sidelong smile, “you already know where his eyes sit now.”

Her throat went tight. She wanted to believe him. Lord, she wanted to.

It was the day Y/N had been both dreading and secretly waiting for. The morning air felt heavier somehow, thick with nerves. She must have opened her closet ten times, peeking at the mauve satin dress, side-eyeing it like it might leap out at her, then shutting the door again with a huff. Back and forth she paced the floor, wringing her hands, her stomach twisting tighter with each step—until her private phone rang from the nightstand.

She snatched it up. “Hello, thank you for callin’ the Moore home.”

“Hello, is Doll there?” His tone carried a smile, easy and warm.

Her heart fluttered. “Hello, Stack.”

“How are you, Miss Y/N?” His voice dropped into that velvet drawl. “I hope you ready for tonight. I finally get to see you have fun for once.”

“Workin’ is fun?” she teased, sinking onto the bed.

He chuckled, deep and rich. “When you with me, of course, Doll. Good folks, good food, good music… and me.”

The laugh slipped from her before she could hold it back.

“So,” he pressed, “did you find a dress for tonight, Doll?”

“I did. It’s very nice. Actually… very pretty.”

“I already know, beautiful. Anything you slip on turns heads. But nothin’ ever gonna look half as fine as you do.”

Her breath caught, a slow blush rising in her cheeks.

“That made you blush, huh, Doll?” he teased, as if he could see right through the line.

She hid her face in her hands, laughing. “Y’know everythin’, don’t you, Mr. Elias?”

“No,” he said smoothly, “but I am always right.”

Her teeth tugged at her lip before he went on, “I gotta go, but I’ll see you tonight. Sammie’s gonna come get you, Slim, and Cornbread. I gotta be there early with Ann and Smoke. But I’ll see you then, Doll.”

The line clicked off, leaving the room in silence. Relief—and something warmer—settled in her chest. She straightened, squaring her shoulders, the dress still waiting behind the closet door.

After her shower, Y/N moved with a kind of nervous purpose. She wanted tonight to feel different—special. She styled her hair into soft pin curls, a few strands left to frame her face. A touch of liner, a sweep of rouge across her lips, and finally the dress. Before stepping away from the mirror, she fastened her grandmother’s diamond earrings, their subtle sparkle catching in the light.

She gave herself one last look—pleased, if not a little shy at her own reflection—when a knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.

Outside, Slim was shuffling back toward the car, his gait more of a lazy jog.

“Slim, get ya drunk ass in the car,” Cornbread called from the backseat.

“Nigga, don’t you gyat damn rush me,” Slim shot back. “Y’all got the oldest nigga goin’ to fetch the girl.”

The men’s laughter cut short when Slim turned. Their eyes locked on the porch.

There she was.

Y/N stood in the glow of the porch light, shawl draped across her shoulders. Her hair, pinned and curled, gleamed with every tilt of her head. The loose curls by her ears softened her face, while the diamonds at her ears flickered like tiny stars. Slowly, she descended the steps, each movement elegant, unhurried.

Slim swallowed, tugged his hat off, and breathed, “My God… I didn’t know angels came in different colors.”

He cast a side glance at the men, then stepped forward, extending his arm with exaggerated gallantry.

Y/N smiled, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Thank you, Mr. Slim.”

“Of course, Angel Face.” Slim straightened his back with mock pride. “Fellas, let’s hit the road.”

Cornbread hollered as Slim quickened his steps toward the car, “Oh, now you wanna move faster.”

“How ‘bout you shut yo’ big ass up,” Slim fired back, still grinning as the crew piled in.

Stack stood outside the juke joint, the night air thick with smoke and laughter spilling from the doors. He glanced at his pocket watch for the third time, thumb brushing over the brass casing, impatience simmering beneath his calm exterior. The gaslight above caught on his new maroon three-piece suit, plaid print sharp against the glow. His tie and handkerchief matched perfectly, and the brim of his maroon hat cast a shadow over eyes that hadn’t left the road since he stepped outside.

But the car still hadn’t come.

With a low breath through his nose, he adjusted his hat, jaw tight, and turned back inside.

The juke joint was alive now—bodies swaying, glasses clinking, and Pearline’s sultry voice weaving through the horns and piano as the band played to warm up the crowd. Patrons had started filling every corner, the hum of anticipation rising with the music.

Smoke was leaned back against the bar, a cigar resting between two fingers, Bo beside him talking easy, Annie perched nearby with Grace laughing soft at something said. Smoke caught sight of his brother before Stack even reached the bar. He noticed how Stack’s eyes didn’t drift toward the crowd, the music, or the drinks—just the entrance. Always the entrance.

A scoff rolled out of him, half a laugh, half a bite. “You actin’ like you waitin’ on a miracle to walk in here, boy.”

Stack slid into the empty space beside him, resting his hands on the bar but never turning his head. “I am.” His voice was low, certain, steady. Then, with a quick flick of his gaze at the clock above the stage, he muttered, “Where they at? We gettin’ busy already.”

Smoke smirked around his cigar, knowing damn well what miracle his brother was waitin’ on—but he let the thought die on his tongue, watching the way Stack’s jaw ticked with every second that passed.

Stack lifted the Scottish beer to his lips, the glass still cool in his hand, when Bo’s low whistle cut through the chatter. “Whoa…”

The twins followed his gaze, and the whole juke joint seemed to pause. Cornbread stiffened at his post near the door as Slim and Sammie strode in, proud as ever. But it was the woman behind them that turned the room to smoke and static.

Y/N.

The light from the streetlamp outside clung to her as she stepped in, catching the shimmer of her dress—silk the color of deep wine, hugging her in all the right places, with a hem that kissed her calves and a slit that teased her stride. Her hair was waved soft, framing her face, lips painted like sin and promise, and Lord, the way she carried herself…like every eye in the place belonged to her, and she didn’t need to lift a finger to claim them.

Smoke’s cigar tumbled from his mouth, hissing into the ice bucket. Stack froze mid-sip, the beer slipping past his lips and spilling down his chin, forgotten. His heart stumbled in his chest, like it was trying to climb out just to reach her.

She didn’t just look beautiful. She looked like temptation wrapped in silk and fire, the kind of vision a man might ruin himself chasing.

And in that breathless silence, both brothers knew it—Stack was falling harder than he meant to. And Smoke…was falling right beside him.

Slim and Sammie made their way to the stage, the crowd’s cheers swelling as they prepared to play. Y/N glided toward the bar, every step measured, the fabric of her dress whispering against her legs.

“Hi, everyone,” she said softly, her voice like honey over the hum of conversation.

“Darlin’, you look amazin’,” someone called out. “That Pearline’s dress?”

Y/N’s eyes flicked to her, a polite nod following. “Yes, ma’am. Altered and everythin’. Fits like a glove.”

Bo’s gaze lingered a little too long. “Yeah… it does,” he murmured, earning a sharp smack to the chest from Grace. He winced, rubbing the soreness away, and Y/N couldn’t help but bite back a small smile at their antics.

Stack circled the bar, his eyes locked on her. “Miss Carter… this dress was made for you. And that color—it’s… it’s perfect.”

Her cheeks warmed at his words, and when their eyes met, the heat between them was unmistakable. Stack’s smile was slow, deliberate, filled with something unspoken that made her pulse quicken.

Smoke’s clearing of his throat cut through the moment like ice water. “Miss Carter, you’ll be behind the bar with the ladies. We got a lot of food and liquor to sell. But first… Annie, I need you in the back. Now.”

He took his wife’s hand, firm and unyielding, and Y/N already knew the unspoken truth—they were about to vanish into the private world Smoke had carved for himself and Annie.

As the juke joint filled with the hum of conversation and clinking glasses, Stack and Smoke moved through the crowd, greeting patrons with practiced ease. But no matter how many hands he shook or how many laughs he shared, Stack’s eyes kept drifting back to the bar. There she was—Y/N—smiling, helping customers, her presence somehow brightening the dim, smoke-filled room.

Every laugh that slipped from her lips made the shadows around her fade just a little, and Stack felt it tug at him, a warmth he hadn’t expected. Even Smoke, ever watchful and composed, couldn’t help but notice the way she carried herself, graceful and sure, drawing attention without even trying.

Stack allowed himself a slow grin, leaning slightly against the room’s post, drinking in the sight. “Damn, doll,” he muttered under his breath, almost to himself, “you doin’ this on purpose, ain’t ya?”

Stack kept one hand on the bar, the other resting casually at his side, but his gaze never left her. Y/N laughed at something a young couple said, pouring them another round of drinks, and the way her eyes crinkled at the corners made his chest tighten. He shook his head, trying to focus, but every time she turned, even to wipe down the counter, his pulse jumped.

Smoke, moving beside him, caught the look Stack couldn’t hide. The twin’s jaw clenched slightly, his hand brushing the edge of the bar like he was considering reaching across the room. But he didn’t. Not yet. Smoke knew the tension simmering between Stack and Y/N, and though he wanted to scold her for the way she drew men’s eyes—especially his brother’s—he also couldn’t deny the pull he felt himself.

Meanwhile, Y/N, unaware of the storm behind her, moved with ease. She chatted with the patrons, refilled drinks, and offered smiles that felt warm enough to chase away the heavy haze of tobacco smoke. Every time she caught a glance from Stack, her cheeks warmed, and she felt the invisible weight of his stare settle on her shoulders like a cloak. She tried to focus on her work, but the way he lingered at the bar, like a sentinel, made it impossible to ignore.

Bo, leaning in to grab another bottle, nudged Smoke with an elbow. “Look at him,” he muttered under his breath, nodding toward Stack. “Boy done got himself in deep.”

Smoke just exhaled slowly, his eyes still on Y/N. “He ain’t the only one,” he said, voice low.

The night pressed on, music blaring from the stage, boots stomping on the wooden floor, and yet for Stack, all else faded to shadows. Only Y/N remained in the sharp light of his attention, a living, breathing flame that he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—look away from.

The last note of the song hung in the smoky air, vibrating off the walls and fading into the low murmur of the crowd. Sammie stepped up to the mic, adjusting it just so, his fingers tapping lightly against the stand. “Thank y’all for comin’ out tonight,” he said, his voice warm and commanding, rolling through the room like honey. “But I got somethin’ special for y’all.”

A murmur of curiosity ran through the crowd, the brass and wood of instruments catching the dim stage light, as Sammie gestured to the side. “A good childhood friend of mine’s joinin’ me for a song… y’all might know her… she’s singin’ ‘Sugar in My Tea’. I know this song mean a lot to her because her parents always played it for her and her sister.”

Y/N’s chest hitched at the mention of her name. She looked up, startled, as Sammie’s grin stretched wide. “Miss Y/N Carter.”

The crowd erupted, clapping and cheering, the energy bouncing off the walls like electricity. Pearline, moving with quiet confidence, left the bar behind and reached for Y/N, guiding her toward the stage with a reassuring squeeze of her hand. The lights warmed her skin as she stepped into the center, the microphone stand waiting like an old friend.

Her stomach fluttered with nerves as she scanned the crowd, each face a blur of excitement and expectation. Her fingers brushed against the mic, white-knuckled for a moment, until her gaze landed on Elias. There he was, leaning against the bar with that calm, unwavering smile, watching her like he knew every note before it even left her lips.

A slow, steady warmth spread through her chest. The nerves that had been twisting in her stomach began to loosen, her shoulders relaxing, her breath finding a rhythm. In that instant, the stage didn’t feel so big, the crowd didn’t feel so intimidating—she only saw him.

The hum of the instruments faded into a quiet anticipation. She felt the pulse of the floor beneath her feet, the gentle sway of the stage, and the heat of the lights warming her skin. Everything else—the whispers, the clinking glasses, the expectant eyes—melted away.

She was ready.

As Sammie’s fingers danced across the guitar strings, Pearline harmonizing softly behind him and Slim’s piano filling the room with a smooth rhythm, Y/N took a slow, steadying breath. 

Well, I woooooke up this mo-o-o-ornin’… 

Baa-aaaby… sun peekin’ through my bli-i-i-i-iind

She let her eyes sweep over the crowd, feeling the warmth of the stage lights on her face, the hum of anticipation vibrating through the floorboards beneath her.

Yeah, I woooooke up this mo-o-o-ornin’…

Baaaby… you was heavy on my miiiiiind

Stack stood there, leaning against the bar, completely captivated. 

If lovin’ you’s a crime, baby… they gon’ have to take my tiiiiime…

Every subtle movement she made—the gentle sway of her hips, the way her fingers traced the edge of the mic stand—made it feel as though she were performing only for him.

You my su-u-ugar in my tea… hoooney, you my cream in my cuuuup

The crowd around him melted into a blur, their claps and murmurs fading into the background.

Ohhh, sugar in my tea… baaaby, you my cream in my cuuuup

Her gaze swept across the room, then found his. Time seemed to slow for a heartbeat. Their eyes locked, and he could swear he saw the faintest, teasing wink in return.

Mmm… you my midnight dreeeeam… and my mornin’ liiiiight

A rush of warmth shot through his chest, leaving him momentarily breathless, caught between awe and something deeper he couldn’t—or didn’t want to—name.

Yes, you my midnight dreeeeam, baaaaby… and my mornin’ liiiiight

Hold me close, don’t let me go… we gon’ be alriiiiight…

The song flowed through her effortlessly, each note lilting and sweet, carrying both confidence and the soft vulnerability he had come to adore. Stack’s hands curled slightly around the edge of the bar, knuckles white, as he leaned in, unwilling to blink or look away, lost in the music—and in her.

Now the ra-a-aain might be fallin’… hoooney, but you keep me warm inside 

Yes, the ra-a-aain keeps on fallin’… hoooney, but you keep me warm inside 

She smiled to crowd, holding her arms out until her eyes were back on Stack’s Long as I’m in your arms… ain’t no need for me to hiiiiide…

Smoke leaned against the bar, cigar tucked loosely between his fingers, eyes narrowed as they tracked the scene on stage. He could see Stack, all intensity and admiration, fixed on Y/N like she was the only person in the room. His jaw tightened slightly, a low hum of something dangerous curling in his chest.

He watched her sway gently with the music, fingers caressing the mic, and noticed the brief, electric moment when her eyes met Stack’s. Smoke’s lips pressed into a thin line. That same look—soft, teasing, intimate—had always carried weight, and now it was directed at his brother.

A surge of protectiveness, sharp and unyielding, ran through him. He clenched the counter under his hands, nails biting into the wood. He wanted to step forward, to remind both of them of the boundaries that existed… but he didn’t. Not yet. Not while the crowd cheered and the music pulsed like a heartbeat through the room.

Instead, he let his gaze linger on her, watching her smile at Stack, noting every tilt of her head, every sway, every nuance that made her utterly magnetic. Smoke’s lips twitched—not quite a smile, not quite a scowl—but something in him shifted. Possessive, wary, and undeniably drawn in all at once.

The song flowed to its final chords, and Smoke exhaled a long plume of cigar smoke, forcing himself to look away—but even then, the image of Y/N standing there, radiant and unbothered by the tension crackling around her, stayed seared into his mind.

Smoke’s eyes drifted from the stage, cutting through the haze of cigar smoke and chatter, until they landed on a familiar face lingering at the door. She stood there with Cornbread, arguing her case. Smoke pushed off the bar, sliding his hands into his pockets as he made his way over, calm but deliberate.

“What seems to be the issue?” his voice low, measured.

Cornbread straightened. “She wants to get in, but I told her—”

“Let her in.”

Cornbread blinked, thrown off. “Boss, I—”

Smoke’s gaze sharpened, his words coming cool and clipped. “Did I stutter? Let her in. And get yourself a drink. On me.”

Cornbread stepped aside reluctantly, and the woman slipped past him with a slow smile. She scanned the crowd, her eyes flicking first toward the bar before catching sight of the woman on stage. But then—her gaze halted. Locked. On Stack.

And Stack, oblivious to anything but the song and the singer, didn’t notice her… not yet.

Y/N had Stack’s full attention. Her voice poured out like honey, smooth and golden, seeping into every corner of him until it was all he could taste. Nothing else mattered. Not the chatter of the crowd, not the smoke curling from half-burnt cigars—just her. He leaned forward, ready to move closer, to catch more of her warmth, when a sudden hand slipped over his arm and pulled him back.

“Hello, Elias,” a voice purred behind him. “I missed you so much.”

Stack stiffened, turning to find Mary standing there, her smile bright but edged with something sly. For a moment, his chest tightened—until his eyes dropped lower. She was wearing it. The same cut, the same silk drape as Y/N’s dress. But in a muted blush-pink.

Mary caught the flicker in his gaze and twirled a little, giggling softly, heat glimmering in her eyes. “Like my dress?” she asked, leaning closer, her perfume cloying compared to the sweetness on stage. “I think it looks better on me, don’t you think, baby?”

Stack’s jaw tightened, torn between the song that pulled him like a tide and the woman now trying to anchor him with a too-familiar grip.

To keep from causing a scene, Stack slipped his arm free of Mary’s grip and leaned in close, his words low and rough. “The fuck you doin’ here—and how the hell did your crazy ass get in?”

Mary’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it widened. “They let me in. Doesn’t matter how… what matters is I missed you.”

Stack’s eyes narrowed, his jaw flexing as he tried to keep one ear tuned to the voice still singing onstage. “Girl, you ain’t missed me. Don’t start that.” He angled his head toward the door. “Now, leave.”

Mary’s gaze sharpened, stubborn fire flickering in her eyes. She shook her head slowly. “No. Not until I say what I gotta say.”

“You ain’t gotta say a fuckin’ thing,” Stack muttered, stone-faced, carrying the same hard edge his twin wore when he was angry. His eyes flicked back toward Y/N onstage, hoping to ground himself in her voice, her presence—anything to steady him.

But Mary’s words cut through. “You lookin’ at her the way you used to look at me.”

Stack kissed his teeth, the sound sharp, dismissive. “I never looked at you like that. So stop fuckin’ lyin’.”

He turned to walk away just as the last notes of the song died, the crowd erupting in applause. But before he could step clear, Mary yanked him back and pressed her mouth to his.

From the door, Smoke leaned against the frame, a sly grin tugging at his lips as he watched his brother caught. Pearline, scanning the room from her place on stage, froze when her eyes found them. Her gasp cut through the noise. “Lord… is that Stack—with the girl from my store?”

Slim and Sammie both turned their heads, confusion etched across their faces, and Y/N followed their gaze. The sight hit her like a knife to the ribs. Her chest hollowed out. After everything Stack had told her… had it all been a lie?

She didn’t wait to find out. Y/N fled the stage, slipping through the crowd with tears stinging her eyes.

Stack snapped out of Mary’s grip, his focus only on chasing after Y/N—but Smoke was faster. He moved with ease, cutting through the crowd to the back, throwing his brother a victorious smile over his shoulder.

Stack’s face hardened, fury burning in his chest. He jerked his chin toward Cornbread. “Remove her. Now. And if she so much as tries to sneak back in—” his voice dropped, sharp as a blade—“I’ll kill her myself.”

Stack stormed down the narrow hall, jaw tight, boots striking the floor with purpose. He found Smoke leaning casual outside the women’s bathroom, puffing slow from his pipe like he hadn’t a care in the world.

Stack leaned in close, voice sharp as a knife’s edge. “Why the fuck you let that crazy white bitch in here?”

Smoke didn’t blink. He drew another drag, eyes cool, and blew smoke out the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know what you talkin’ about, Elias.”

In a flash, Stack snatched the pipe from his brother’s hand and hissed low, “Don’t play with me. You brought her in here knowin’ what she was finna do. Now Y/N thinks—”

“Thinks what?” Smoke cut him off, brow arched in mock curiosity.

Stack rolled his neck, fighting the urge to put hands on him. “Why you brung Mary in here, huh? You know damn well she the reason we left in the first place.”

For the first time, a flicker of something passed over Smoke’s face, but before he could answer, the bathroom door creaked open. Annie stepped out, smoothing her dress, her eyes moving from one brother to the other.

“She needs a moment,” Annie said softly, glancing back toward the door. “She says she believes Mary been followin’ her. Also, she was at the grocery store before family dinner—asking for Elias.” Her gaze locked on her husband, then slid to Stack. “Honey, I need to dance. Please.”

Smoke’s expression softened instantly, as if the tension with his brother had never existed. “Of course, sweetheart.” He bumped Stack’s shoulder deliberately as he passed, slipping his arm around Annie and leading her back toward the dance floor, leaving Stack seething in the hall.

Stack pressed his back against the wall, running a hand down his face. That’s when Sammie appeared, eyes narrowed. “The fuck you kiss Mary for, dummy?”

Stack’s head shot up. “I didn’t. She kissed me.”

Sammie folded his arms, unconvinced. “What the hell you mean by that?”

Before Stack could answer, Pearline came up behind Sammie, her eyes sharp as she listened.

“Exactly what I said,” Stack bit out. Then, slower, like the weight of it was settling in: “I think she’s tryin’ to be Y/N.”

Pearline frowned. “Why you say that?”

“Because she came in wearin’ the same damn dress—in another color. Did you sell her that dress?”

Pearline shook her head quick. “No, I didn’t. She saw the one Y/N picked and wanted the same, but I told her it was custom, somethin’ special so Y/N would stand out. I guess when I turned my back, one of my girls sold her the same thing.”

The guilt hit her hard, shoulders sagging as she realized the part she’d unknowingly played.

Stack pushed off the wall, voice low, determined. “Go on, then. I gotta tell Y/N the truth.”

Sammie nodded as he and Pearline drifted off toward the dance floor, leaving Stack rooted in place. He straightened his shoulders, drawing a long breath to steel himself, then rapped lightly on the bathroom door.

“Doll, I—”

Her voice came sharp, muffled through the wood. “Go away, Elias. I don’t wanna see your face.”

He pressed his forehead against the door, closing his eyes. “Doll, please. I can explain everythin’. Just—just come out.”

“Why? So you can lie again?”

Stack’s jaw tightened. He dragged in another breath, steadying the storm in his chest. “No. So you won’t be in the dark anymore.”

Silence. Heavy, expectant. The muffled thump of bass and the laughter of the crowd spilled from the dance floor, but here in the hallway, everything held still. He waited. And waited.

Finally, the lock clicked. The door eased open.

Y/N stepped out slow, her arms folded like a shield across her chest, her eyes cutting into him with all the hurt she carried. “I wanna know everythin’, Stack,” she said, her voice low but fierce.

He glanced over his shoulder toward the dance floor, where couples swayed in the dim light, and then back at her. Extending his hand, his voice softened, almost pleading. “C’mon, Doll. Just one dance.”

The weight of his palm hovered open between them, waiting for her choice—an offering, or a last chance. 

The lights were dim over the dance floor, golden and smoky, the kind that made the room feel like it was moving through honey. The band eased into a slow number, saxophone crooning soft, bass steady like a heartbeat.

Stack guided Y/N out, his hand tentative at her back. She allowed it, but her arms stayed stiff, guarded as he drew her into the sway of the crowd. Couples spun and swayed around them, laughter and whispers blending into the music, but between them was only the thrum of something raw and fragile.

“Then what was that?!” Y/N’s voice cracked, sharp against the softness of the music. Her eyes glistened under the dim light. “She had her hands all over you and everythin’. I heard you play with women a lot but—”

“What?” His voice rose before he caught himself, pulling back just enough to search her face. “Who heard that from—” He stopped mid-sentence, jaw clenching, already knowing. He exhaled, low and tired, as though it cost him something just to breathe.

He slid his hands into his pockets, his gaze dropping before lifting to meet hers again, this time steady, vulnerable. “Do you wanna know the truth about Mary?”

“You owe me that, Elias.”

For a moment, he only held her eyes, then let out a long breath, like it had been caged inside him for years. The sway of the music carried them, but his words came heavy.

“I gotta tell you somethin’, and it ain’t easy… but you deserve the truth.”

Her lips pressed tight, but she didn’t look away. She could feel it in the tremble of his voice, the weight sitting on his chest.

“Mary… she… she was neverhin’ but trouble,” he said, voice dropping low, almost shaking. “We… we were close once. But it wasn’t love, not real love. She… she threatened to drag her father and his boys down on Smoke for somethin’ he didn’t even do. I… I went along with her, only to protect him. Only to keep her from hurtin’ him.”

His hands curled into fists in his pockets, shoulders tense, as though even remembering burned him.

“I never wanted her, not the way she wanted me. She only cared about lust, power, what she could take. That’s why we left… why we had to go to Chicago. To stop her from ruin’ more than she already had.”

The words hung between them, thick as smoke. Y/N’s breath caught, her eyes softening though her arms stayed folded between them like a barrier.

He swallowed, eyes flickering over her face before locking with hers fully, stripped of his usual bravado. “I ain’t proud of that moment, sugar, but I want you to know this—what I feel for you? That’s real. I was never hers. I never will be. You… you’re the only one I want, and I… I needed you to know everythin’, so there’s nothin’ in the shadows between us.”

The saxophone wailed sweet and aching in the background, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still—just her heartbeat against his, and the question of whether she could let his truth be enough.

Her throat tightened, her body torn between pushing him away and melting into him.

But Stack wasn’t finished. He dipped his head lower, lips at her ear, pulling her in until his words vibrated straight through her chest.

“Miss Y/N Doll Carter, I gotta set somethin’ straight, ‘cause I been watchin’ how you look at me, and I know what you may have hear. You think I’m just here for the surface — just the way you move, the way you make my blood run hot. But that ain’t all there is. Hell, that’s just the start.

“It’s your fire, the way you hold your head high when the world tries to knock you down. It’s the softness in your voice when you talk ‘bout your kin, the way your eyes light up when you smile — like you’re carryin’ a whole world of dreams right inside you. That’s the part I’m hooked on, the part I wanna know every day.

“I ain’t just wantin’ a touch or a night with you. I want the quiet mornings where you’re still half asleep and I’m watchin’ you breathe, the late nights when you lean on me after the day’s done, and the storms we’ll weather ‘cause together, we’ll be stronger.

“I want to be the man you come home to — the one who keeps you safe when life gets rough, the one who fights to make sure you never doubt you’re loved. You got my heart tangled up, Miss Doll, and if you let me, I’ll show you what real feels like. Ain’t just about the heat of the moment — it’s ‘bout buildin’ somethin’ that lasts.”

The music swelled around them, horns sighing, the drum brushed soft like a heartbeat.

Y/N’s chest rose and fell, eyes glistening as she searched his. She had no idea if his words were true, or just another story spun from that silver tongue of his — but Lord, the way he said them, like each syllable was cut straight from his soul, made it hard to breathe.

She stood there, still in his arms, caught between doubt and longing, with his truth pressed close against her skin.

Y/N looked up into his eyes and that’s when she knew — he was telling the truth. Stack’s gaze held hers steady, unwavering, like a lighthouse cutting through a storm. One hand slid to her waist, the other lifted slowly to cradle her jaw, careful as if she were fine china.

“C’mere, doll,” he murmured, voice low and warm, curling around her spine like fire.

He dipped his head, letting his thumb trace the curve of her lips, memorizing them before his mouth met hers. The kiss started slow, testing, savoring, like a man easing into a tune he already knew by heart. His fedora brim shadowed their faces, making the world around them fade — the room, the music, even the other people melted into the background.

The kiss deepened, coaxing her lips to move with his, not demanding but guiding. She tasted spearmint and the ghost of his last cigarette, felt the rough warmth of his palm against her cheek, and the solid press of his chest against hers. Every motion was reassurance: she was safe, wanted, held.

Her knees weakened, and Stack’s grip only tightened, his thumb brushing against her skin like a promise. When he finally eased back slightly, it wasn’t to release her — his forehead rested against hers, their breaths mingling.

“Now, ain’t that better than daydreamin’, sweetheart?” he murmured, slow grin tugging at his lips.

She returned a soft, shaky smile. “It’s… better than I ever pictured, Stack.”

His eyes darkened — not with danger, but a hunger that made him want to outdo even a woman’s sweetest dream. His hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, drawing her in again. This time, there was no hesitation.

His mouth claimed hers once more, deeper, more certain. She felt him breathe her in, as if her scent alone anchored him. The tip of his nose brushed hers, tilting her head to deepen the connection, and the rest of the world ceased to exist.

One broad palm splayed across the small of her back, pulling her flush against him, thumb tracing lazy circles over her dress. The other threaded into her hair, loosening a pin so strands tumbled free. Her fingers clutched his jacket lapels like an anchor, holding herself close as his lips moved with hers — each kiss a promise: she was wanted, safe, and his.

When he finally parted, it wasn’t to let go. He stayed close, lips grazing her jaw, her ear, voice low enough to vibrate against her skin. “I ain’t done with you yet, doll. Not by a long shot.”

He didn’t pull back completely — their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling, lips brushing whenever she exhaled. His thumb swept along her jaw before drifting lower, curling around her waist. He shifted her just enough to press their bodies closer, a gentle, rocking sway like a dance without music.

“Y’know, doll,” he murmured, warm as molasses, “a man could lose himself right here and never once miss the rest of the world.”

She felt the steady beat of his heart against hers, grounding her, the press of his fingertips at her back keeping her tethered. His lips brushed beneath her ear, slow, teasing, letting her know he could take his time. When she shivered, he smiled, the kind of smile that meant he’d found his place inside her.

His other hand traced her arm until their fingers laced together, squeezing gently: You’re safe with me.

Then, as if the moment itself demanded a seal, he lifted her chin, holding her gaze in a long, unbroken beat — ensuring she was ready — before leaning in again, slower, deeper, as if the rest of the night belonged entirely to them. That was until she came and pulled them apart.

Mary’s shrill voice cut through the warm hum of the juke joint, yanking Stack and Y/N apart mid-embrace. “You think you can just keep her, Stack? You taught me how to fight! I’ll fight every bitch in here, and you know that!”

Stack opened his mouth, but Y/N’s hand on his chest stopped him. She stepped forward, her own heat rising, eyes locked on Mary. “I would love to see you try,” she said, voice calm but lethal.

Mary laughed nervously, smirking like she’d already won.

Y/N closed the space between them, eyes hard and unyielding. “Listen to me real good,” she said, voice low but cutting, each word deliberate. “You don’t leave this place… you’ll leave in a casket.”

Mary scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Oh, come on, you think you can scare me, little girl?”

Y/N leaned in closer, her tone a razor. “Little girl? Honey, I’ve been fighting since before you could spell your own name.”

Mary’s bravado faltered for a heartbeat. “You’re bluffing.”

Y/N tilted her head, letting a sly smirk creep across her lips. “Bluffing? Sweetheart, I never bluff. You want me to spell it out? I’ll do it slow so you don’t get confused: you keep talkin’, I’ll make sure you hit the ground before you even know what hit you.”

Mary’s mouth opened, then snapped shut. “You’re… crazy.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, voice like steel. “Crazy? Nah. I’m just done lettin’ people test me. Step one: back the hell up. Step two: leave the club. Step three: consider yourself lucky if you walk away at all.”

Mary laughed nervously. “Is that a threat?”

Y/N’s lips curled into a faint, chilling smile. “Doesn’t have to be more than that,” she said, eyes sweeping Mary from head to toe like she was marking every inch.

Mary’s bravado faltered as Y/N’s intensity pressed against her. She took a step back, then another, until finally she turned to leave. But as she strode past, she spat the words with venom: “Nigger bitch.”

The insult sparked something deep in Y/N. She followed her outside, heart steady, hands ready. As Mary stepped out of the archway of the entry, Y/N tapped her shoulder once — hard enough that Mary spun. Before she could react, Y/N delivered a sharp, perfectly timed slap, sending Mary stumbling back, unconscious before she even hit the ground, blood leaking from her mouth.

Y/N took a deep breath, smoothing the folds of her dress, and stepped back into the club. The room had gone quiet, every eye on her. Slowly, murmurs of admiration rose. Heads nodded, men and women alike recognizing the strength she carried — unshaken, untouchable, as the music still played. Stack’s jaw slackened, pride and awe burning in his eyes, while Smoke’s expression betrayed the respect he rarely showed aloud.

Y/N’s lips curved into a subtle, victorious smile. She had made her mark.

Something flickered in Stack, a sharp tug at his chest he couldn’t ignore. He glanced at Bo. “Where’s Smoke?”

Bo shrugged. “In the office with Annie.”

Stack rolled his eyes, a half-smile tugging at his lips. Without another word, he reached for Y/N’s hand, his grip gentle but firm. “Come with me for a sec. I need a word.”

Before she could respond, he was already leading her through the dimly lit hall, weaving past tables and chairs, until they reached the stock room. The air smelled faintly of wood polish and paper, and massive wooden crates loomed like silent sentinels. A wide, sturdy table sat in the center, giving the room a secret, private feel.

“What are we doing in here? Am I in trouble?” Y/N asked, a nervous laugh in her voice.

Stack didn’t answer with words. Instead, he locked the door behind them, closed the distance, cupping her face in his hands, and kissed her—slow at first, testing, then deepening with that raw hunger that had been simmering between them all night.

Stack’s hand slid to the small of Y/N’s back, pulling her flush against him. Their breaths mingled, heavy and uneven, as he leaned in, lips brushing hers in the faintest whisper of a touch. It started slow, tentative, but hunger flickered in his gaze, and the brush became a claim.

Y/N’s fingers threaded through the nape of his neck, tugging him closer, needing the warmth and the certainty of him. His mouth captured hers in a sudden surge—no hesitation, no teasing, just pure need. Every second was sharp and electric, a friction of want that made her knees weak and her heartbeat thunder in her chest.

He pressed closer, deepening the kiss, and she responded with equal fervor, lips moving against his like a spark chasing flame. His hand moved up, cradling her jaw, tilting her head, while the other pressed firmly against her back, anchoring her to him as if letting go wasn’t an option.

The world around them faded: the music, the chatter, the dim lights—all replaced by the heat between them, the sharp inhale of air when they parted just enough to catch their breaths, then dove back in, breathless and needing more. The kiss wasn’t gentle—it was desperate, claiming, and insistent, a silent promise of what their hearts already knew.

When they finally pulled back, just barely, foreheads resting together, he whispered against her lips, “Doll… I can’t get enough of you.”

Y/N’s chest rose and fell, matching his rhythm, a small, breathy laugh escaping. “Neither can I,” she admitted, and the spark lingered in the air, unbroken, a promise that this hunger wasn’t nearly sated.

He lifted her effortlessly, settling her gently onto the table. His palms braced lightly on either side of her, grounding her in the moment. “Now, I ain’t like my brother,” he said, voice smooth as aged whiskey, low and deliberate, slipping out of his jacket and hat.“I wanna ask you… permission to make you feel better than you ever have. I wanna make you feel like a brand-new woman. Can I do that for you, doll? Can I make you feel real good, baby?”

Her breath hitched, mouth slightly agape, and she nodded, but Stack shook his head, leaning closer. “No, Doll. I wanna hear it. Please… let me hear you say it.”

Her arms curled around his neck, pressing into him, and she whispered against his lips, “Yes, baby. Yes, you can.”

A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face as he kissed her deeply, guiding her down so she lay back on the table. His hands traced her curves with a mix of reverence and hunger, each touch deliberate, each motion promising what was to come.

He gave her a few more kisses on her sweet lips, pulling her dress over her rear. He stood at the end of the table, between her legs, and slowly pulled down her underwear, gently as he kissed each calf, one by one. “Now, I want you to look at me while I make you feel good, every fuckin’ time. I wanna see the faces you make. Understood?”

“Yes, baby”, she said before biting her lip, making him chuckle before he said, “Good girl, baby. Good fuckin’ girl.” He began to kiss her on her right inner thigh as he sat on the chair in front of her. His eyes were fixed on her to see her, to see her reactions. Seeing what she liked and didn’t like. He began to lick her inner thighs, still watching her chest rise. He chuckled against her thighs before biting into the skin, leaving love bites up her thigh and kissing each one after. 

Y/N looked into his soft eyes when she felt him getting closer to her pussy. He looked down at her and said “shiiiiiiit, ouuuu shit and your pussy is pretty too, baby. Want me to show her how pretty she is?”

“Yes, baby, please.” He smirked as he began to softly and slowly tongue kiss her clitoris, her breath caught in her chest, and he raised his head, licking his lips. “I love takin’ my time. Don’t wanna miss a thing. I hope you don’t mind.” She shook her head, saying, “Not at all. I love it.”

“Say it again.”

“I love it.” His mouth found her clit again, slowly sucking it. Y/N tried to grab the surface below her, but only found his hand. Grabbing it, but instead of pulling away, his fingers automatically intertwined with hers. His eyes stayed on hers the entire time, her moans slowly filling the room, and he felt it was time to pick up the pace. Her face was in awe, gasping for air and silently praying. “Baby, that feels so good. Please don’t stop. Pretty please.” Her grip on his hand had gotten tighter, but he didn’t mind; it just meant he was making her feel oh so right. 

She began to feel the knot in her stomach, and Stack could tell by the way she looked into his eyes. “Is my Doll gonna come for me, hm? Go ahead and tell Daddy you coming. Are you gonna come for me?”

“Yesss…”

“Yes?”

“Yessss.”

“Come on, doll. I don’t hear you.” She couldn’t hold it anymore once she felt his tongue swirl around her clit. “Yesssssssss. Fuuuuuuck. Yessssssssssssss”, she moaned loudly in the room, music to his ears. As she came in his mouth, he groaned, enjoying the sweet taste of her, honey and strawberries. He hurried, grabbing her neck gently and sitting her up, saying, “Open wide, baby”. Once she did, he let a string of his saliva and her juices mixed fall into her mouth as he softly choked her, and before he deeply tongue kissed her, making them both moan and groan. 

“You taste like you belong here,” he’d whisper when he pulls back, resting his forehead to hers. His voice dropped even lower as he said, “And I ain’t lettin’ go until I’m sure you know that.” She smiled into the kiss, and so did he, but on the other side of the locked door stood someone who had a storm brewing inside of him.

-Sweet Babies-