CAFÈ AU SUCRE ROUX

“OKAY!” Delta Slim held his hands up to silence the loud group. He had been gracious enough to let six people join him since they had been effectively banished from the larger cabin that Smoke and Stack Moore owned—the former was not present and the latter sat off from the rest of the group smoking a cigarette like it was his lifeline. Who was responsible for the predicament they were in now was anyone’s guess. “Now, y’all know I don’t mind you bein’ here but we can’t do all this yellin’ and fussin’ ‘round here. Why don’t y’all go one by one and explain what happened?”

“Well, we can start with Grace and Bo,” Mary pointed at the couple. “How did that stuff even get to a spot where Smoke and Annie could get it? I heard her tell y’all to put it away.”

Grace stood up scandalized by the accusation. “Excuse me? You seriously think we dosed our friends with somethin like that? You of all people, Mary!” 

Mary crossed her arms and stared the smaller woman down. “Yes, me of all people, Grace. How did it get out of your possession?”

Grace’s face crumpled trying to remember the details. “I don’t know! I took it to our room and put it in our—” She paused, the memory of that night coming back to her.

2 Nights before NYE

The bulk of the group had arrived at the SmokeStack cabin in the Smoky Mountains. When Grace and Bo arrived Stack, Mary, Smoke, Annie, Pearline, and Sammie were already there.

Annie put together a charcuterie board and finger foods for everyone to snack on after they took their luggage to their rooms and freshened up. It was truly a spread fit for a magazine or one of those food blogs that obviously took a lot of work and everyone quickly partook. 

Except Smoke—he sat away from the group scowling like he’d rather be any place but where he was. He had spent a considerable amount of time warning everyone that, even though it was winter, bears could still be roaming looking for food in the woods nearby so they should be cautious. As usual, they teased him about going into “Papa Smoke” mode and went on about their day.

“Aww. He’s grumpy,” Annie joked. “You’d think his heart would’ve grown three sizes during Christmas.” Her smile was wide but it was obvious that she was tired from the previous day’s travels plus everything she did to prepare for the rest of the group to arrive.

“Annie, I can hear you callin’ me a grinch,” Smoke called to her, his expression turning neutral.

“Good, I didn’t think I was speaking loud enough,” Annie shot back. “Come on over here, Smoke. We don’t bite.”

“I ain’t got proof that you don’t bite,” Smoke grumbled before joining them at the dining table and taking in all of Annie’s hard work. He shot her a disapproving look before taking a grape and popping it in his mouth.

“Slim said he rented out a cabin nearby so we can invite him over on New Year’s Eve,” Stack told the group.

“Imma have to make sure all the liquor locked up then,” Smoke sighed.

“Ooh! Annie, I forgot to show you what we picked up on the way in!” Grace pulled a small satin pouch from her pocket.

Annie groaned already knowing what was in the pouch. “I told you not to waste your money like that, Grace. That ain’t nothin’ but a few dried herbs and some mint oil. It doesn’t even have any natural aphrodisiacs in it.”

Grace waved her friend off. “The girlies on TikTok swear this is the real deal. A love spell in a bag, they say. Said a little pinch of it keep you and your man goin’ all night.” She winked at Annie.

“Don’t be pinchin’ nothin’ around here this week and put that stuff away before somebody confuse it with some seasonin’.” Her phone dinged with a text message. Looking at it, she shook her head and put her phone away.

Sliding the bag back in her pocket, Grace giggled. “Once we find you a man, Annie, I’ll give you a little bit of this.”

“And we will find you a man,” Mary flashed her the ring on her left hand. Her engagement to Stack on Christmas Day only strengthened her resolve to make sure Annie was partnered in the new year.

“I don’t remember losin’ a man so you don’t have find one for me,” Annie countered. No matter how much she insisted that she didn’t want her friends involved in her dating life, they never missed an opportunity to insert themselves anyway. Especially during the holidays when they felt sorry that she was alone.

Smoke scoffed catching everyone’s attention. He cleared his throat and looked away. “Can’t believe I’m agreein’ with Annie. Shit sound like a waste of money.”

“And Scrooge McDuck here ain’t one to waste a nickel,” Annie cracked as she gave him a pat on his head. The two walked a fine line between playful banter and all-out arguments. On separate occasions before this trip started, they had been warned against getting too heated and spoiling the fun for everyone else.

“Annie,” Mary warned looking pointedly at her best friend. She was a major proponent of the “keep Annie and Smoke from killing each other” mission. She could not handle another situation like the one they had on a trip to New Orleans the previous year.

Rolling her eyes, Annie removed her hand from Smoke’s head and went to walk away from him before feeling the sting of a slap on her ass. “Fuck!” She rubbed the spot where it stung turning to get back at him but was dragged away by Mary. 

“Nope, nope, nope! Go put some ice on it or somethin’. Y’all ain’t doin’ this shit this week.” Mary shoved her towards the kitchen and turned back to Smoke. “Now why you do that?”

Smoke shrugged. “Seemed like she needed it.” He bit into a cube of cheese and  sat back like it wasn’t a big deal.

“You better sleep with one eye open, Smoke,” Bo laughed. “Annie ain’t lettin that one go.”

“She better,” Stack pointed at Smoke, “or both of y’all gone be sleepin’ outside with them damn bears for all I care. I ain’t havin’ a repeat of New Orleans.” It was evident that Stack was beyond fed up with Smoke and Annie’s antics.

The evening was peaceful for the most part with very little interaction between Annie and Smoke as the group spent time playing drinking games. Not a huge fan of alcohol, Annie stepped out to smoke a blunt she rolled earlier and make a quick phone call. She returned to her friends laughing uncontrollably and slurring their words.

“Annie! Annie!” Bo yelled her name when she closed the door behind her. “Do you think Smoke is a boob man or an ass man?”

She shrugged, her eyes low and a little red. “I know he can be an ass, man.” 

This set off another round of laughter from everyone except Smoke who was staring Annie down like he was planning his revenge.

“Who was you talkin’ to on the phone?” Smoke asked casually sidestepping her joke about him.

“Yeah, you been on your phone a lot,” Mary pointed out. “You hidin’ a man from us or somethin?” 

Annie grabbed her head obviously tired of this topic. “If I was hidin a man, Mary, you’d be the first to know where I buried his body.” 

“So who was on the phone?” Smoke pressed again.

“Ya mama, Smoke! Damn!” She removed her coat to hang on the coat rack before sitting down on the floor beside Mary.

Mary cleared her throat, her brows furrowed and her face red from the few shots she had downed during their game. 

Annie looked down knowing the topic of Sharon Moore was a sore spot for Mary. She stayed silent the rest of her time with the group, expertly dodging personal questions with jokes and witty quips.

Around 8pm, she called it a night and went upstairs to bed. Smoke retired to his room about thirty minutes later, not wanting to deal with any more obnoxious laughter or comments about his sex life. It wasn’t until 10pm when everyone else started to feel the toll the day took on their bodies and they ended the night as well.

Grace went to get ready for bed, her head swimming from the amount of liquor she consumed. In her room, she emptied her pockets pulling out the bag from earlier. As she went to put it in her luggage she heard clapping coming from Annie’s room. “What the hell is she celebrating this late at night?”

She went to the wall shared between the rooms and pressed her ear against it. There were a few muffled grunts before the clapping started again. Just then, Bo walked into their room making electric guitar noises, startling her. “Bo, you’re being too loud. Folks are tryna sleep.”

“Baby, ain’t nobody but Smoke and Annie sleepin’ right now.” He closed the door and put on a wicked grin and stalked closer to his wife. “You definitely won’t be for a few more hours.” He lunged at her and gathered her in his arms.

All thoughts of the sounds from Annie’s room forgotten, Grace squealed as her husband dropped her on the bed and covered her mouth with his.

*****************

“So I don’t think I put the bag in our luggage but it was definitely in our room somewhere,” Grace insisted. “Somebody had to go in and take it.”

“Yeah, that’s possible,” Mary agreed. “Or you did what you said you were gonna do and put that stuff in her drink?”

“Fuck off, Mary! I said I’d give her some once we found her a man! And what about you? The first one to point the finger is usually the guiltiest. The way you and Stack just left them at the overlook without telling them where we were goin’. You wanted this to happen so you could have your ‘no drama, no stress’ trip. That was more important to you.” Grace threw her hands up and walked over to Bo and took a seat in his lap.

“Don’t you try to spin this around on me, Grace Chow! Me and Stack were the only ones keepin them from rippin each other’s heads off so everyone could have a good time. Besides, why would I want them two together? It’s obvious they hate each other.” 

“It would be cute though, right? You and Stack and Annie and Smoke. Maybe you put it in a spot where they could put in their coffee or somethin,” Pearline chimed in. 

“Ugh!” Mary groaned running her hands through her hair. “Not you too, Pearline. Why would I do something like that? How would I do something like that? Annie doesn’t drink coffee anyway.”

“Nah, baby, you ain’t gotta explain nothin to them,” Stack spoke up, the scowl on his face matching one that Smoke would normally wear. “So they six hours into a sex marathon. They’ll come out of it and either they won’t do all that bitchin’ they like to do or they’ll be even worse than before.” He put his hands up in prayer. “I PRAY this fix all the shit they be causin on these trips.”

“So Stack did it,” Sammie said matter-of-factly after observing quietly the entire time.

“Hell naw, nigga,” Stack went to slap his cousin upside the head. “You think I wanted to hear my brother beggin’ Annie to sit on his face at 10 o’clock in the damn mornin?! Maybe it was you.”

Sammie put his hands on his chest astonished at the accusation. “Me?!”

Pearline considered this for a second. “To be fair, it kinda makes sense, Sammie.”

“Well, I’m glad we agree that it wasn’t me,” Mary held up her hands and went to have a seat on the floor.

“How does that make sense, Pearline? Annie and Smoke? I wouldn’t do that.” Sammie crossed his arms wondering how he got dragged into it.

Stack chuckled. “Is it Annie and Smoke, Sammie? Or is it mommy and daddy to you?” He stood in front of his cousin and crouched down like he was about to explain something simple to a child. “This whole trip, you stayed close to at least one of them. Asking Annie to cook for you, sew up somethin you ripped, layin your head in her lap while we watched a movie. The only thing she didn’t do was tuck you in at night! And if Pearline wasn’t here with you, you probably would’ve asked Annie to read you a bedtime story.”

“I can’t help that she’s a comfortin’ person, Stack! That don’t mean I gave her any of that stuff y’all talkin about.” Sammie looked over to Pearline who was deep in thought.

“And with Smoke?” Stack continued. “Oh, that’s Papa right there, ain’t it Sammie? Followin him around, askin’ him for advice or how do make somethin’, even dressin’ like him sometimes.” He flicked Sammie’s chain which was similar to the one Smoke wore often. “These trips make you miss Uncle Jed and Aunt Ruth so you had to have somebody to fill in, huh? Smoke and Annie naturally filled that void but they argued too much and Lil Sammie don’t like when mama and daddy argue so he made a plan to fix it.”

Sammie just shook his head furiously. “I ain’t do that.”

“But Sammie, you did—” Pearline was cut off by Sammie’s hand over her mouth. Instead of fighting against him, she bit his hand. 

This had everyone’s attention. Delta Slim took a swig from his flask watching in fascination. “Nah, let her speak now, boy. If it done caused y’all to end up in my cabin, we need to hear it.”

“Fuck, Pearline!” Sammie clutched his hand and looked at his girlfriend in fear. 

Pearline cleared her throat and folded her hands over her knee. “Sammie did want Smoke and Annie together. It didn’t go the way he expected it to yesterday though.”

*****************

1 Day before NYE

Things were tense in the cabin after the group left Smoke and Annie arguing at a scenic outlook and spent the day without them.

Annie was cordial to everyone but not warm like she usually was. She cooked the meal Sammie wanted with her earbuds in and avoided conversation. Smoke was in the woods nearby taking pictures of the sunset through the trees.

Sammie sat at the kitchen island waiting for Annie to acknowledge him. He wasn’t used to the silent treatment from her and he felt a little guilty that he listened to Stack and didn’t tell her where the group went. He honestly thought some extended time together would help them and he’d been thinking of something he could do to maybe bring them closer.

He walked over and tapped Annie on her shoulder. His heart warmed the way her face softened for him. She really couldn’t stay mad at Sammie. “Smoke need your help outside. Said somethin’ about the exposure on his camera and you could help.” The lie rolled off his tongue so easily, he impressed himself.

“Why Smoke just can’t look it up on YouTube then?” Annie rolled her eyes and went back to cooking. “He know more about cameras than I do anyway.” Her phone dinged in that moment she pulled it out, her eyes widened before she rubbed her temples in distress.

“You know how Smoke is. Plus, I think he left his phone upstairs.”

Annie looked at him skeptically but finally nodded. “Turn that pot off in about ten minutes.” With that, she left to go see what Smoke needed.

Pearline walked in as Annie left. She knew Sammie was up to something. “What you up to now, Sammie?” She had gone along with his plan to get Smoke and Annie together but after a few attempts, she was ready to give up. Nothing was working.

“Sunsets are romantic, Smoke and Annie are alone in the woods, easy peasy,” Sammie said simply as if that explained anything.

Pearline pulled some grapes out of the fridge and rinsed them off rolling her eyes at her boyfriend. “That don’t make sense, Preacher Boy. You think Annie just gone fall into Smoke’s arms because there’s a sunset?” Pearline felt sorry for Annie after only knowing her for a few months. 

It was obvious to her that\ everyone had their own idea of what Annie should do and what would make her happy. The work she put in to make everyone’s time at the cabin easier was obviously being taken for granted.

“Maybe, just gotta wait and see.” He tossed a grape in the air and caught it in his mouth. It didn’t take long for Sammie to get his answer when he heard a scream from outside.

“OPEN THE DOOR!” Smoke yelled from outside the cabin, his voice panicked. 

Stack rushed from the living room to open the door. “What the hell happened?” He moved back as Smoke ran in carrying an unconscious Annie.

Smoke took her in the living room and laid her down on the couch. “Annie, open your eyes for me.” Panic seeped into his usually steady voice. “Go get a cold wet towel or something!” He yelled at everyone that had gathered around worried. He took her hand in his. “Please, baby, open your eyes for me.” He tapped lightly on her face.

Grace returned with a wet towel and dabbed at Annie’s forehead. “Did she hit her head or something?”

“It was a fuckin bear! She smelled like food and it charged at her.” He felt her hand grip his and squeezed back. “We back in the cabin now, Annie. It’s okay, just open your eyes.”

Sammie stomach was in knots. The only reason Annie was out there in the first place was because he lied.

Blinking her eyes open, Annie groaned and tried to sit up but was stopped by Smoke and Grace. “I’m fine, y’all. There was—that bear it was taller than me—I think my grandmama spoke to me. Said I should’ve had my Black ass in Clarksdale instead of in the woods. Elijah, your camera is still out there!” She tried again to get up but was unsuccessful.

Everyone looked at her in confusion not sure how to take her rambling. Smoke kept her hand in his rubbing soft circles with his thumb. “You come face to face with a bear, get away without a scratch, and now you tryna go back out there for a damn camera? Maybe you did hit your head.” He rubbed the back of her head checking for any bumps.

The group was too concerned about Annie’s well-being to notice the way Smoke cradled her in his arms and whispered things they couldn’t hear. 

“Should we report this as a sighting or an attack?” Mary asked pulling out her phone.

“I don’t want to talk to no police tonight. Just say it was a sighting.” The adrenaline of the encounter began to wane leaving Annie feeling tired. 

“Okay, but what if the officer is single?” Mary tapped her head like she made a good point. “Be nice to have a strong man of the law come to your rescue, huh?”

If looks could kill, Mary would be six feet under with the way Annie and Smoke glared at her. “Girl, what the fuck? Stack, get your fiancée before she become bear food.” Annie gripped her head like she was in pain. 

Stack took Mary’s phone and tapped on it a few times before handing it back. “We don’t want pigs snoopin around here and we sho don’t want Annie to end up with one of em.”

“Why did you even come out there Annie? I told everybody bears can still be roaming the woods.” Smoke scolded still concerned that she had been hurt in some way.

Shrugging, Annie avoided glancing over to Sammie. “I wanted to see the sunset too. Unless that’s against the rules, Smoke.” 

“Hell yeah, it is when you smell like a bear’s favorite meal! You could’ve sat on the patio and saw the sunset just fine.” He still hadn’t let Annie go. In fact he pulled her closer to him as if something might take her away.

Groans erupted from around the room with Smoke and Annie getting back to their original selves. 

“Okay, Papa,” Annie words dripped sarcasm. “Can I finish dinner now—wait something is burning. Sammie did you forget to turn the stove off?”

Sammie’s eyes widened as he realized he was supposed to turn the pot off ten minutes ago. “Shit! I’ll get it!” He ran to the kitchen and saw smoke billowing from the silver pot. Turning off the stove, Sammie waved a towel around hoping to thin out the thick smoke filling up his lungs. 

Pearline joined him and turned on the fan above the stove and opened the kitchen window. “I hope you ain’t ruin Annie’s good pot or she gone put you outside with that bear.”

Annie walked in surveying the scene. Her favorite pot sat smoking and maybe it was the near-death experience that she had or maybe it was the sheer disaster this trip had become but she burst into tears at that moment and left out of the kitchen with Smoke following closely behind her.

Sammie stayed up late that night trying to get all of the burnt stuff out of the bottom to no avail. It wasn’t until Smoke came down and pulled out a strong cleanser that he was able to make progress.

************************

“I did try to get them together,” Sammie admitted. “But I absolutely had nothing to do with what’s goin’ on with them now.” He tried not to think of it because Stack was right, he did kind of think of them as parents what they did in the bedroom was not his business.

“Okay, so we still don’t know who was responsible,” Bo sighed. “Did somebody maybe see the bag and assumed it belonged in the kitchen?”

Everyone in the room shook their head.

“Do y’all think that maybe they are just together and didn’t take any of that stuff at all?” Pearline asked. “I know y’all said they don’t like each other but, they have been pretty isolated from the group.”

The tension turned to humor as everyone but Sammie laughed at Pearline’s suggestion.

“Smoke would’ve told me if somethin was happenin between him and Annie,” Stack said with surety. “I ain’t noticed him being weird around her or nothin’.”

Mary shook her head and wiped the tears that had slipped out from laughing so hard. “The only way Annie would even kiss Smoke is if she was under some spell or it was life or death.”

Grace snapped her fingers. “What if that’s it? What if that’s all this is? They’re both single in a group of couples and they both came face-to-face with a bear so maybe they needed some kind of release.”

“Okay, but you found the bag half empty in the kitchen,” Bo reasoned turning Grace slightly so he could see her face. “You think they just used some of it to get in the mood?”

“Maybe,” Grace shrugged. “They’ve never even flirted with each other before and now they’re…you know.” It was difficult for her to even say Smoke and Annie were having sex. “Like Mary said, it would take something powerful as hell to get them together like that.”

Stack’s phone dinged. “Okay, Smoke just texted me and said we can come back. I guess we can figure out what happened when we get there.”

Delta Slim’s shoulders shook as he laughed at the group in front of him. “Wait! I’m comin’ wit y’all. I bet I know how this all will turn out.”

*******************

Annie didn’t want to come to Gatlinburg for the holiday. She didn’t even want to leave her house, but she had Grace and Mary tag teaming her in their group chat so she decided to come along. Immediately informing Smoke that she didn’t want to be there in the first place.

Smoke supported her choice and promised that they could still spend some time together in the cabin. They weren’t quite ready to make their relationship public especially with all the trouble they caused back in New Orleans that led to them acknowledging their feelings for each other. It took many more months for them to act on those feelings and everything still felt new.

His request to Annie was to not do too much. No making sure everyone was taken care of before taking care of herself, no cooking full meals just because somebody asked, and no spending hours on an itinerary that no one would follow anyway. It surprised him very little when she did exactly the opposite of what he asked.

After seeing the meal she prepared for everyone ruined, she couldn’t hold back the tears. She wasn’t trying to ruin this trip and she wasn’t picking arguments with Smoke like their friends assumed.

********

1 day before NYE

“I didn’t even want to be here, Elijah,” she cried into the crook of Smoke’s neck. “They keep treating me like I’m the problem to be fixed and it’s just making everything worse.” She knew what Sammie was trying to do and it was the same thing Mary tried to do earlier that day after she shut down all of Annie’s suggestions for group activities.

He rubbed her back. “We can pack up and leave tonight if you want, baby. Let them do this shit without you.” He knew that this would be the case, but he didn’t have it in him to tell Annie that right now, especially when it wouldn’t do any good.

For months, Grace and Mary have been on her about “finding a man” so they could do couple things. For this trip, Annie spent a lot of time finding group activities for them just for Mary to opt for more couple centered activities. 

“And then they’ll say I’m overreactin’ and if I had a man, I wouldn’t be doin’ all this,” she sniffled, her head feeling heavy from crying.

“You do have a man though,” Smoke pointed out. “And I don’t think you should let them put you in a box like this. Even with me, I want you to be your own person.” He kissed her forehead. “You don’t listen to me half the time anyway so I don’t know what they think is gonna change with a man around.”

Smacking his shoulder, she couldn’t help but laugh at him. She ran her fingers across his face, her nail tracing his features. “You were right this time. I just have to accept I can’t do everything to please them. And your mama, Elijah. I love her so much but she’s been textin’ and callin’ me everyday because she had a dream about a baby and she swear it’s ours. She sent me a picture of an outfit she already bought! I love her but I’m not ready for kids yet.”

Though they were keeping their relationship secret from their friends, Sharon Moore had picked up on what was going on between them almost immediately. They swore her to secrecy but that didn’t stop her from bombarding them with questions about when they’d marry or give her some grandbabies. 

“I’ll take care of my mama. I love that she love you but she gotta know when to step back.” He kissed her forehead. “I damn sure ain’t gon’ let her scare you away from me. In the meantime, you need to start treatin’ Sammie like he’s a grown ass man. He know how to order food. He don’t need you cookin’ him breakfast, lunch, and dinner everyday.”

Her heart softened thinking about Sammie. “But he’s still a baby to me!”

“He ain’t no damn baby. He’s 21-years-old and he know better. And you gotta draw some boundaries with Grace and Mary. If you say no the first time, let that be it. Don’t let them make you feel bad because you ain’t where they think you should be.” He lifted her chin up with his finger. “I’m fallin’ in love with you more everyday, Annie, and that’s because you got so much good in you that it get on everybody around you. I don’t want you doubtin’ that for a second. If they can’t see that, fuck ‘em.”

“But I don’t even wanna deal with them tomorrow. You wanna stay in the cabin with me and let them do their own thing?” 

“And what you wanna do in the cabin?” Smoke asked pulling her into his lap so that she was straddling him. His face immediately went into her cleavage. It was definitely his favorite place to be.

“Mmm,” she moaned feeling his tongue run across her chest before sucking lightly. “I wanted to watch some movies but I’m open to suggestions.” 

“As long as you open.” He gave her a few more gentle nips. “I need you to get some sleep tonight though because tomorrow, Imma keep you busy.” 

“Whatever you say. I can’t promise that I’ll be quiet like I been these last few days.”

“That’s what I’m countin’ on.”

**********

NYE

Once Mary woke and did her morning routine, she went to Annie’s room to check on her. For the rest of her life she would question why she didn’t think to knock. It was the most courteous thing to do. It was the smartest thing to do. It was the safest thing to do. Instead she was greeted with the vision of her friend’s legs in the air while a male figure rested between them obviously enjoying his first meal of the day.

The horror wasn’t in the what, it was the who. She knew the male figure because she had the same make and model. Before they knew she had barged in, she quickly shut the door and ran back to her room to wake Stack.

Shaking her fiancé with an urgency reserved for a house fire, Mary tried to wake Stack. “Elias, get up! Smoke and Annie—Stack get up!” She shook him harder until his eyes cracked opened.

Alert and alarmed, Stack sat up quickly and looked around for any sign of danger. “What? What happened?” His voice was thick with sleep. He rubbed his eyes to clear his vision. “Somethin’ happen?” 

Mary bit her lip trying to think of the words to explain what she saw. “I think Smoke and Annie are—

“Fuck, Elijah! Like that! Like that! Don’t fuckin’ stop!” Annie’s words were surely loud enough to wake the entire cabin.

“Aye, yo!” Stack threw the covers back and stood up to put on a shirt. “I know they ain’t—” He opened their bedroom door and saw Bo and Grace in the hall with the same confused expressions at the sounds coming from Annie’s room.

“Sit on my face, baby. I wanna drink it all!” Smoke’s pleading filtered through the door.

Without a word, they all filed down the stairs and into the living room where Sammie and Pearline were sitting watching a t.v. show.

“Is Annie up yet?” Sammie asked pausing the show. “I got her pot clean and I wanted to show her.” He was oblivious to the stunned faces of everyone who had just come downstairs.

Grace nodded, her mind far away like her brain was trying to solve a complex problem with no discernible variables. “She’s definitely up.”

“Okay, I’ll go up—” Sammie started to get up but was stopped by Pearline. It was then that he noticed everyone had weird looks on their faces. “What’s wrong?”

“Your cousin decided to grab him a bite to eat at Café Annie,” Stack said humorlessly. “Did y’all know about this?” He looked around to see if anyone would confess.

“Maybe Annie did hit her head gettin’ away from that bear last night,” Bo suggested. “Maybe both of ‘em did.” It was hard to fathom that either of them were of sound mind.

“I mean, it was a scary situation. Maybe Annie hasn’t snapped out of it yet,” Mary posited. “That’s it right?” Because what else could it be?

It took Sammie a moment before he understood what was going on. “Oh. Oooooooh! Smoke and Annie? Fa’real?”

“I’m surprised you can’t hear ‘em all the way down here,” Stack said before a loud moan traveled down to the first floor of the cabin. “Aw, HELL naw! This gotta be a joke. They just fuckin’ with us, huh?” He rubbed at his temples trying to make any sense of the situation.

Mary put her hand on his shoulder. “I promise you, they fuckin’ but not with us. I accidentally walked in on them. That would be one hell of a joke to make.” 

Rubbing at her eyes, Grace yawned. “I’m not even awake enough for this shit. I need some coffee.” She made a beeline for the kitchen while everyone else stood thoroughly confused about the turn of events.

“So we agree, they both hit their heads last night runnin’ from that bear? Or maybe they smoked some bad weed?” Bo asked. “That’s the only explanation I can think of right now.”

“I think I might have another explanation.” Grace returned holding up a small black statin bag—the love spell pouch. “This was in the kitchen and it’s been used.”

“Goddamn it!” Stack cursed and started pacing. “That shit work forreal? How long it take to wear off? How the hell did they even get it?”

“I don’t know, it depends on how much they had.” Examining the bag, she sighed. “It looks like half of it is gone. Fuck! They ain’t stoppin no time soon.”

“Well, I’m not stayin’ in here listenin to them all day,” Mary said. “We gotta get out of here. Maybe they’ll have it out of their system before midnight.”

The group prepared themselves for another day outside of the cabin. In the meantime, Smoke and Annie were off in their own world.

While Annie was recovering from her second orgasm of the morning, Smoke had latched on to her nipple. “Ahh! Elijah, I need another one, baby.”

He released her nipple with a POP and smirked at the way she squirmed underneath him. “You bein’ greedy now, Annie. I just gave you two.”

“And if you keep suckin my titties like that, it might be three.” She spread her legs and wrapped them around him. “I coulda gotten eaten by a bear last night. You really gon’ make me beg for it, Elijah?”

He refocused his attention her nipple and hummed. “Mhmm. That’s for calling me the Grinch and Scrooge McDuck.” He thrusted his hips making contact with her center but offering no relief. 

“Ugh! I’m sorry, baby! Please just put it in! You feel how wet you made me? You ain’t gone do nothin’ about it?” She pulled his face from her chest so he could see the pout she wore. 

Having already decided that he would give this woman anything she asked for, he crumbled immediately. Smoke reached between their bodies and slid his finger between Annie’s wet folds. “Imma take care of you, Ma, don’t worry.” He moved his finger until it was on her  hardened nub. He drew circles eliciting quiet whimpers from the woman beneath him. His mouth watered at the thought of tasting her again but he also needed to feel her clenching around him. 

Rolling back on to the bed, he pulled Annie on top of him, her massive breasts nearly eclipsing his entire face. “Ride it, baby. I wanna see you bounce on that shit.” 

Not needing to be told twice, Annie grabbed his thick length in her hand and lined it up with her dripping hole. She eased down on it her toes curling at the way she stretched to fit around it. “Damn, Papa, it’s so thick.” She bit her bottom lip to keep from squealing at the sensation of their connection. 

Bracing herself, with her hands flat on his chest, she dropped her hips down burying him deep inside her. Egged on by Smoke’s grunts of pleasure, she rose up and slammed her hips back down. She continued developing a rhythm that had them both moaning each other’s names. “You like the way this pussy grippin you, Elijah?”

“Fuck yeah, baby.” His eyes were closed tight as he focused on not finishing too soon. Smoke already knew that he’d give everything she asked him for but now he was thinking about stuff to give her that she’d never need. “Pussy feel like heaven. Keep ridin’ it, Ma.”

The sounds of their skin slapping together filled Annie’s ears and made her gush even more. Knowing the power she now held over Smoke, she leaned forward to grip his throat. “Don’t fuckin’ cum until I tell you to.” She switched from bouncing and rolled her hips at a tantalizing pace. 

The hand on his throat sent a jolt straight to his dick. “Annie, please, baby!” 

“Please, baby!” Annie mocked still teasing him with a slow roll of her hips. “That’s what yo ass get for makin’ me beg for this dick. You know who it belong to.” Gripping his throat tighter, she leaned forward. “Who this dick belong to, Elijah?”

“You, Annie. It’s yours! This dick belong to you!” He attempted to thrust his hips but was stopped by Annie putting her full weight on him.

“Try that again, Elijah, and Imma finish without you,” she threatened using her lower muscles to clench around him. “If it’s mine, let me do what I want with it.”

Smoke groaned and nodded. “Do what you need to, baby.”

Speeding up, she rode him like it her life depended on it. “Fuck! I’m close, Papa.” She threw her head back and let out a cry loud enough to scare all the wildlife nearby. Pleasure pulsed through her as her core spasmed uncontrollably. “Cum with me, Elijah!”

Smoke’s release was instant feeling the way Annie’s soft center massaged him. It was his turn to yell out, screaming Annie’s name like the highest praise he knew. He pumped all he had into her wet cunt his mind turning to mush. “You want a spaceship?”

Her mind still foggy from her orgasm, she flopped down next to him in bed sure she misheard what he said. “What?”

“I said do you want a spaceship? I think Imma buy you one.” Smoke’s words were slurred as if he’d had too much to drink. “I’ll buy you the moon too.”

Annie would laugh about it later but at that moment she just kissed him with every bit of her. “I love it when you get pussy drunk and start promisin’ me stupid shit, Elijah.” They spent time wrapped up in each other until the mood struck again and led them down paths of pleasure.

They stopped to give their bodies a break and hydrate but couldn’t stop themselves from falling right back into each other. One moment, Annie was preparing them a quick snack and the next moment, she was pressed into the countertop as Smoke plowed her from behind. 

“Yo pretty ass owe me for what you did upstairs.” He pounded into her, his pace brutal and unforgiving. “Who this pussy belong to?”

“Please, Smoke! I need to—AH!” A hard swat to her thigh made her remember who she was dealing with. “It’s yours! This pussy is yours!”

“I know it is,” Smoke chuckled darkly. “You better not forget it either, okay?”

“Okay, Elijah,” Annie whimpered losing all will to fight back. 

When they were finally able to separate, they cleaned up and ordered food. Smoke sent a message to Stack telling him the coast was clear. 

“They gon’ be mad,” Annie said as they sat down to watch a movie. “Stack especially. Y’all tell each other everything.”

“He’ll be all right. He get mad over little stuff sometimes but he’ll be good after I talk to him.”

Side-eying Smoke, Annie smacked her lips. “This ain’t little though. I know why we kept this between us but they might feel like we don’t trust them.”

“We don’t. You see how they been actin all week. They asses will get over it.” He wrapped his arm around Annie and pulled her to him saying no more on the subject.

************

Stack pulled up to the cabin and parked. “The next trip, we will be leavin they asses in the Delta. It’s always somethin with them.” He huffed, got out the car, and stomped toward the front door leaving Mary, Sammie, and Pearline to follow as Bo had pulled up beside them with Grace and Slim.

As Pearline exited the vehicle, something shiny under the seat caught her attention. She picked it up to see it was a silver hoop earring. “Mary, I think you dropped your earring. It was under the seat.” She held it up not expecting it to be snatched from her hand so quickly.

“This ain’t mine.” Mary clutched the earring in her hand. This is Smoke’s car, not Stack’s.” She promptly turned and rushed past Stack practically kicking the door open.

Inside, Smoke and Annie were cuddled on the couch watching a movie like they didn’t upend everyone’s day. 

Mary stomped in, her face red and her eyes narrowed taking in the couple before her while pieces of a puzzle she didn’t even know existed fell into place. “Hey, Annie. Smoke.”

“Hey, Mary,” Annie responded not looking away from the tv. “Y’all have fun today?”

“Obviously not as much fun as you did, Annie. And I guess you had as much fun in the back of Smoke’s car three weeks ago.” She held up the earring. “You told me you lost the other one at work.”

Stack stepped beside his fiancée confused. “What’s goin on?” He looked at his brother and Annie with their arms wrapped around each other. “So y’all a thing now?”

“Nah,” Mary shook her head as the rest of the group walked into the living room and sat down where they could. “This ain’t just happen now. They been hiding this from us for at least three weeks. Ain’t that right, Annie?”

“At least that long.” Annie confirmed and held out her hand for the earring. “I knew it would turn up somewhere.” She slid it in Smoke’s shirt pocket. “Keep that safe for me, baby.”

“What is she talkin’ about, Annie?” Grace was seriously confused. “You and Smoke?” She pointed to the two of them.

“Smoke, that ain’t true is it?” Under the anger that was bubbling in Stack’s chest was a twinge of hurt. 

Smoke just looked at Stack and shrugged. “We were gonna tell y’all soon and things kinda went crazy this week so now y’all know.”

“Wait so y’all didn’t take any of the love potion stuff?” Sammie asked, the excitement visible on his face. 

“What?” This time Annie did look at the rest of them. “Hell no we didn’t take that shit. It was on the floor by the stairs this morning. Half of it spilled out when I picked it up and when I went to clean it, somebody distracted me.” She nudged Smoke playfully. “I guess I left it on the kitchen counter.”

“Wait,” Stack held up his hand not caring about the love spell. “Smoke, you been hidin’ this from me? Your own brother? Why? I tell you everything! You was the first person I told when I wanted to propose to Mary. You think I was gon’ try to stop you?”

The liquid in Delta Slim’s flask was louder than the movie still playing as he took a swig. “Goddamit, I knew it! They been tryna shake y’all this whole week and y’all ain’t notice nothin. Bet not ever become detectives.”

Ignoring Slim, Smoke sat up and looked at his brother. “It wasn’t like that, Elias. We just wanted some time with each other for the last three months without anybody’s questions or pressurin’ us about what we should be doin’.”

“Three months?!” Stack, Mary, and Grace said together. Suddenly Smoke and Annie were hit with a barrage of questions. “Why not tell us?” “Don’t you trust us?” “How did you hide this from us?” “How did this even happen?”

“Stop! Be quiet, please!” Annie stood up, her head starting to throb. Silence fell across the room. The tv was muted. “This is why we kept it to ourselves. I’m tired of having to justify my choices to this group. Tired of every single time we’re together, it turns into the “let’s fix Annie” committee. So yeah, we kept this one from y’all until we were sure that it wouldn’t waiver under y’all’s judgment and questions.”

“But I don’t have a problem with you and my brother bein’ together, Annie.” Stack stepped forward. “It’s the fact that we don’t keep things like this from each other.” He glared at Smoke. “You ain’t tell me because you thought I’d break y’all up or somethin?”

“We ain’t tell nobody, Stack,” Smoke responded weakly. “It wasn’t just that we thought y’all would break us up. We didn’t want anybody chiming in on what we had goin on. Good or bad. Already bad enough Mama been doin’ it.” 

Annie’s head whipped around when she heard a squeak from Mary. “Mary, it’s not—”

“That’s why she’s been callin’ you? Because she knew already?” Tears filled Mary’s eyes. “I bet she been plannin’ y’all’s weddin’ and she don’t even care about mine. I guess she will get the daughter-in-law she actually wants.” She turned and left, her footsteps thudding up the stairs.

Stack shot a look of disappointment to Annie and Smoke before following behind her.

No one said anything until Sammie cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together. “I’m happy for y’all. I always thought y’all would make a good couple.”

“Shut up, fool.” Smoke threw a pillow at him. “We know what you been tryna do. We ain’t dumb. Leave my woman alone and stop askin her to cook for you.” He motioned for Annie to come sit next to him. “You a grown ass man.”

“What? But Annie don’t mind! Ouch, Pearline!” Sammie clutched the back of his head.

Pearline smirked. “You a grown ass man, Preacher Boy. You’ll figure it out.”

Grace observed Annie and Smoke from across the room and the two of them together made so much sense. “They’re kinda perfect for each other,” she whispered to Bo who had been a quiet onlooker most of the day. 

“Mhmm,” Bo agreed. “What the hell were y’all arguin about at the overlook?”

“Nothin,” Smoke said simply. “We just knew y’all would leave us alone if it looked like we was arguin. It worked. It was bullshit that nobody backed Annie up though. So we gon’ take our own trip somewhere and do whatever she want.” He kissed the side of Annie’s neck causing her to giggle.

“I knew once y’all said ‘bout that bear,” Slim slurred, “I knew then what these two was doin. They done had this big ole cabin to do whatever they want to do without y’all.” He stomped his foot and slapped his leg as his shoulders shook. “And look at ‘em done wore each other out. They ain’t gon’ make it til midnight.”

Annie stood and gestured toward the kitchen. “Well, we still ordered food for everybody to eat. Just a bunch of party food really and Smoke brought a nice bottle of champagne. Make sure Slim gets some food but don’t give him no champagne.” She looked down at her watch. “We got about two hours til the New Year but y’all can play some games or somethin’ ’til then.”

“You not stayin’ down here with us?” Sammie asked ready to run to the kitchen.

Shaking her head, Annie headed towards the stairs. “I’m tired, lil Sammie. Your cousin—” Her mouth was covered by Smoke’s strong hand. 

“Oh, so it runs in the family,” Pearline joked pushing her boyfriend towards the kitchen. “Happy New Year, Annie and Smoke. See you in the mornin.”

“Happy New Year, Pearly,” Annie sang once Smoke removed his hand. “Happy New Year Grace and Bo.”

“Yeah, Happy New Year, y’all,” Smoke threw behind him as he moved them both quickly up the stairs. “Don’t be down here destroyin’ shit.”

Annie moved towards her door but was dragged towards Smoke’s instead. “Smoke, please, Miss Kitty needs to recover from the day she had.”

“And she will.” He opened the door and pulled her inside. “My bed is ready for you to sleep in though. Ain’t gotta change the sheets and I already moved your stuff.” His lips traced her jawline  while his hands gripped her ass.

“You promised me sleep, Papa.” Even as she said it, she pushed herself closer to him. “You think Stack and Mary okay?”

“They’ll be fine. We can talk to ‘em tomorrow. Let’s get you to bed though.”

**************************

The next morning, Annie woke to her phone vibrating repeatedly on the nightstand. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she picked it up and saw that it was Sharon Moore. She turned over to hand the phone to Smoke because she could not deal with his mama this early in the morning only to find his side of the bed empty. Sighing, she steeled herself and answered the phone.

“Good morning, Ms. Sharon! Happy New Year!” She masked the sleepiness in her voice.

“It would be much happier if you called me Mama like I told you to, Annie but Happy New Year to you too, baby. Y’all have fun last night? I texted those sons of mine but they ain’t respond.”

“Oh yeah! We had a lot of fun,” Annie lied smoothly. “The town had a fireworks show that was visible from the cabin. What did you get up to last night?”

“Me and the girls stayed in and made drinks and watched that lil gay man—Andy or somethin—we watched his countdown on tv for a little bit.  Willie Mae got drunk as a skunk. She passed out in the guest room right now. Cathy up though, cookin’ breakfast but she don’t make the biscuits like you do.” 

There was yelling from the background that Annie couldn’t make out. “I’m talking to Annie!” A pause. “Cuz you don’t make biscuits like her, Cathy! Yo dough is too loose or somethin’. Chile, now she in her feelins. Anyway, I didn’t want nothin’ just checkin to see how y’all doin. You and Smoke gon tell everybody soon, right? I’ll keep ya secret a lil bit longer but I almost let it slip after a two margaritas.”

Annie was close to ripping her hair out hearing Sharon ramble this early in the morning. “We let them know yesterday. Most of ‘em took it well.” She rubbed her face not ready to talk to Mary just yet.

“I bet Elias and Mary had somethin’ to say, huh? He ain’t never liked when his brother kept stuff from him. Got mad at him a whole week when he found out Elijah was savin’ up the lil money that they got from me to buy me somethin for my birthday. They’ll be okay though. What about you and Mary?”

“I don’t know. I guess. I think she is feelin’ kinda alone with the engagement and wantin’ to plan the weddin’ since her mama is…you know. I think maybe she want you to help her.” Annie bit her lip hoping for the best but truly not knowing where Sharon stood when it came with Mary. 

She seemed to be happy that Stack and Mary were engaged but she didn’t bring it up much and she certainly wasn’t calling Mary on the daily to ask how she was doing or tell her random things.

 “Really? She want me to help?” Sharon sounded genuinely surprised. “I didn’t think she wanted my help so that’s why I hadn’t said anything about it. Did she tell you she wanted my help?”

“You know the way you been callin and textin’ me all week? It kinda looks like you have a favorite especially to Mary.”

“I do!” She said without hesitation. “And Elijah better be putting a ring on your finger soon. That don’t mean I don’t like Mary though. She can be…a lot but hell, so can I. She just never seemed that interested in me and I ain’t one to push.” At this Annie had to roll her eyes. “If she want me to help her with the weddin’, I will. You know I like stuff like that.”

“I think that would make her feel a lot better.” Annie looked up to see that Smoke had come back into the room with a steaming mug. “And maybe the baby you’ve been dreaming about is actually hers and Stack’s.”

“No, I’m sure it was yours and Elijah’s. It was a girl with your pretty brown eyes. Elias and Mary’s first will be a boy. I know that for sure.”

Annie groaned. “Well, she won’t be around for a long time so I guess you’ll have a grandson first.” 

“No—”

“Elijah just walked in,” Annie interrupted her before she could say anything else. “I think he want to talk to you.” She handed Smoke the phone and took the mug of hot tea from his hand. Sharon was right, she was a lot and definitely too much for Annie this early in the morning.

After getting off the phone with Sharon, Smoke sat on the bed stared at Annie as she drank her tea. 

“What you lookin at, Elijah?”

“What you think I’m lookin at, woman?”

Looking down, Annie checked to see if she had anything exposed. “Well my titties ain’t out and we both know that’s the real reason you with me.”

“I mean, if I die with my face buried in ‘em, I wouldn’t be mad.”

“I would be. Planned on smotherin’ you between my thighs once I got a good life insurance policy on you. You talk to Stack?”

Smoke nodded. “Yeah, we cool. He still don’t like that I did it but he’ll get over it. He said Mary is mostly sad that Mama ain’t said much about their engagement.”

“Yeah and I talked to Sharon about that. I wanna leave that between them as much as possible though. I won’t answer for their relationship with each other and I don’t want to be their buffer. Everything else, Mary needs to get over though.”

“Well, she up if you wanna go talk to her. It’ll be a long drive back to Mississippi if y’all ain’t speakin’ to each other.”

“Uuuuugh, I guess. Let me get myself together before I do anything.” She rolled out of bed, her muscles aching from the previous day. “Shit! Maybe we overdid it yesterday.”

“I feel okay.” Smoke shrugged. 

“Because your legs weren’t up in the air, and your face wasn’t pressed against the mattress, and you weren’t bent over the counter, or laying down on the stairs.”

“I’ll give you a massage later on.” He walked up behind her and pressed himself into her back. 

“I don’t think me or my birth control is strong enough to handle one of your massages, Elijah, so I’ll have to decline.”

When Annie found Mary, she was outside on the patio wearing a coat over her pajamas. “You ain’t cold out here?” Annie was fully dressed with her coat on and still felt the chill in the air.

Mary shook her head. “I have my coat on. It’s supposed to warm up today a little. I need to apologize for last night. It wasn’t right to put my issues with Sharon on you like that.”

Sitting beside her friend, Annie nodded. “You know I’m not competin' to be her favorite.”

“But you are and I know that. I don’t even know if you’ll want to be my friend after I tell you this.” She looked off. “You and Smoke made more sense than I ever wanted to admit. I noticed it back in New Orleans Even when y’all would fight, you couldn’t be apart.” She laughed at the memory. 

“I just didn’t want y’all together because then you’d have the calm twin who wouldn’t second guess a lifetime with you and the attentive mother-in-law who would love to have you around. She always liked you but to have you as a daughter? I’m sure she was over the moon when she found out.” She sniffled and wiped away a tear. “That’s why I pushed so hard to find you somebody else—anybody but Smoke.”

Annie was stunned to hear this. “Mary, Stack loves you. He was nervous as hell that he’d mess something up when he was plannin to propose.”

“I know he loves me, Annie, but you weren’t around when we first got together. We fought harder than you and Smoke. He didn’t really take us seriously until I left him. I’m glad we were able to move past that but it would’ve been nice if it was easy. Knowin’ Smoke, he probably picked out a ring after your first kiss.”

“Well, he better hold on to it for as long as possible. I’m not gettin married any time soon.” Annie hugged herself willing the weather to warm up. “And we knew back in New Orleans too, just didn’t do nothin’ about it until recently. But this ain’t about me and Elijah. Lots of women ain’t close to their husband’s mamas. What’s really the issue with Sharon?”

“I know it’s not her job to be my mama but it’d be nice if someone wanted to. My own mama blocked me on everything when she saw I got engaged to Stack, which is fine because she’s a crazy bitch. I just want some guidance through this and I have nobody. Sharon’s the only one.”

“Have you ever just sat down and talked with her?”

Mary shook her head. “No, she probably wouldn’t want to though.”

“Okay, I gotta be honest, Mary. It don’t sound like you tryin’ much with her and I’m blamin’ Stack too because he should’ve addressed this a long time ago.”Annie huffed not liking the fact that she had to explain to grown adults that they should just talk to each other. “Sharon supports y’all’s engagement one hundred percent. She made Stack practice his proposal so it would be perfect for you. She likes you but you gotta show her you want her involved. Go have lunch with her sometimes or buy her some scratch offs. She’s easy to get along with.”

“You forreal?”

“Yes! You don’t get blessed with frequent calls from Sharon Moore unless you’ve put a little effort in. Hell, at this point, I need a break before she starts planning the baby shower.”

Mary looked at her questionably. “Are you—”

“Don’t even fuckin’ finish that question. Absolutely not, but that ain’t stopped Sharon from insisting that I will be soon. Elijah may have to wrap it up for the foreseeable future.”

“That’s what she’s been callin about?” Mary doubled over in laughter.

“It’s not funny,” Annie grumbled sitting back in her seat. “I’ll let you take the honor of givin’ her her first grandchild. According to her it’ll be a boy.”

Mary looked like she saw a ghost. “You not serious. That’s just how older people talk sometimes, right?”

“Yeah, my grandmama used to say stuff like that. She was never wrong though. That’s why I’ve been freakin’ out every time Sharon call me. The fuck Imma do with a baby?”

“I sure don’t need one now. Gotta make sure me and Elias bein’ careful from now on.” The wind picked up slightly causing Mary to fold her arms together and hunch over for warmth. “We spent almost the whole day at Slim’s accusin’ each other of dosin’ y’all with that love spell stuff. Now it’s makin’ me realize why y’all didn’t tell us. I’m sorry for doin all that and pressurin’ you to come here.”

“Yeah, you gotta leave me alone for a week when we get back.” 

“A week?! Why that long?”

“Because, I wanted to be at my house gettin my feet rubbed by Elijah but instead, I let you talk me into comin’ here and ended up gettin chased by a damn bear.” Annie sucked her teeth.

“But he rubbed more than your feet yesterday. You tellin’ me you gon’ ignore me for a week when you got multiple days of Smoke foldin’ you like pressed laundry?” 

“Yep! Don’t forget I got chased by a bear.” Annie stood up. “If I stay out here any longer, I might turn into a block of ice. Come on.” The two walked in to see Grace standing near the door.

“Y’all kiss and make up?” She asked jokingly but her eyes were serious. 

“Annie said I can’t talk to her for a week when we get back home so yeah, we made up.” Mary pulled Annie over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “And there’s the kiss.”

Grace looked at Annie in confusion. “Why won’t you speak to Mary for a week?” 

“I ain’t speakin’ to yo ass either, Grace. Y’all got me up in these damn mountains with bears and shit. Got love potions or spells or whatever the hell y’all was tryna give me.”

Mary leaned over to Grace with a faux-whisper. “She ain’t gon’ be able to talk no way if she screamin’ Smoke name the whole time.”

“I didn’t wanna say nothin’,” Grace whispered back. “But she barely able to walk today. After a week, she might be on crutches.”

Annie rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling at her friends. “While y’all standin’ here laughin’ I’m about to cash in on a spaceship I was promised yesterday. See y’all whenever.” She turned, trying to walk away as normal as possible but heard the laughter behind her. 

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

He didn’t need to know what was said.

Didn’t even need to know who said it.

Smoke drove with both hands on the wheel, grip steady on the leather. The door of the Colored schoolhouse swung open in its hinges before fitting into its frame, and he walked through the threshold with a quiet determination. He wasn’t there to argue. He was there to be clear; to shut an old door he never meant to leave cracked open in the first place.

The kids were long gone. All that remained was the ghost of their feet shuffling against the floorboards and the echo of high-pitched laughter. And her. She sat at the desk at the front of the classroom with a stack of papers and a thick red pencil, making straight lines across words with clean, even strokes, and just the right amount of pressure. 

Sunlight cut across the empty desks, catching the chalk dust that still hovered in the air. The classroom was quiet, but it wasn’t empty. History, resentment, and two different versions of the truth hung between the two of them like a physical weight that made the room feel smaller. It pressed against the walls and the lone window on the side of the building like it could feel the tension brewing and wanted out.

Smoke cleared his throat. 

She scoffed. A quiet, annoyed expulsion of breath. Then she looked up, and when her eyes met his they held his gaze, then went up and down his form slowly. Canvassing, maybe. Taking in the seriousness in his posture. Taking notice of the cold calm he carried.

“Demetria.” Smoke’s voice was cold too, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. It usually was. But this kind of cold was more resolve than anything. 

“Smoke,” she said back. 

“We need to talk.”

“Well, hello to you too,” she said sharply.

“Hey,” he said. “We need to talk,” he repeated, tone flat.

She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “About?” she asked with a challenge in her tone.

“Us.”

The word made her lean forward on her elbows. 

“I just came to say we’re done. For good this time,” he said firmly. He opened his mouth, then closed it, like he had something more to say but decided against it. 

“That’s it?” The look on her face went from amusement to surprise to something else in the span of a few seconds. “That’s all you have to say to me?”

“I’m sorry it took so long for me to say out loud. I should have said it sooner. That’s on me. But we been done a while. You know that.”

“You always did think silence was kinder than the truth,” she fired back. 

Smoke hung his head. Because she wasn’t wrong. Her anger, he could take on the chest. He at least owed her that. 

“Look, I don’t know what’s been said or who you been sayin’ it to,” he started. “But whatever’s been said, I’m here to put it to rest.” 

Something flashed across her face and left just as quickly. Recognition. And the sinking feeling of dread. “You must got somebody you care about a whole lot, to come all the way over here just so you could say it plain,” she said. “She know about me?” 

“I’m sayin’ it now,” he said, voice low. 

“Does she know about me?” She asked again. A little louder this time.

Smoke’s jaw ticked. 

“So there is somebody else,” she said carefully.

Smoke didn’t answer. 

She studied his face for anything— regret, sadness, anything. She closed her eyes to keep her composure and shook her head like it would somehow make the sting go away. It didn’t. But she put her dignity back on anyway.

“Well,” she said, almost breathless. “There it is.”

Smoke nodded once. Demetria looked at him like she couldn’t recognize the shape of the man standing in front of her anymore, then she went back to her papers with the same measured carefulness she always used. The force of her pen made the paper crackle on the desk. Her corrections felt more personal now. Like she was trying to cross him out of her life one red line at a time.

“You take care.”

“Or not,” she snapped.

Smoke nodded like he accepted the ire, then he turned towards the entrance. He walked into the cool Mississippi air outside and away from the tension that sat between them, ready to snap like a rubber band pulled taut. And when he closed the door to the schoolhouse behind him, he made sure it shut all the way.

“Mwen kontan.” 

She said it in such a sultry, whispery tone. Not on purpose, that’s just how Annie’s voice sounded to Smoke. Alluring and fragrant, like the scent of the magnolia blossoms scattered around them on the ground. 

It was an early Sunday evening in November. The magnolia tree that stood tall on the side of the boarding house was changing. Its delicate, white petals drifted loose from the branches overhead and fell soft into the yard like the last bit of summer was shedding itself, piece by piece.

They sat on her patchwork quilt under the remaining shade of the tree. Annie had her knees tucked beneath her, her new sketchbook open on her lap. Smoke was across from her, one knee up, forearm casually resting over it. His eyes were anything but casual, narrowed with a fierce concentration. A lantern sat close by the edge of the quilt. Its flame burned low and steady, painting gold shadows over the pages of Annie’s sketchbook and the tips of her fingers.

“Hold on,” Smoke fussed. “You gotta say it slower.” 

Annie chuckled. “Mweh con-tan,” she sounded out slowly.

Smoke was staring at her lips, trying to mimic the way she formed the words when she spoke. She was amused by his focus. Impressed. He had it in everything he did. That bitter resolve. 

“What that mean?” 

“It means I’m happy.”

“Mwen-kun-tin,” he tried.

Annie winced. “Close, but…just try it again,” she urged.

“No,” Smoke said flatly.

“Why not?”

“I said it just how you said it.”

“No,” Annie shook her head. “You didn’t.” 

Smoke’s mouth twitched. He looked away before it could fully turn into a smile. “Sounded close enough to me,” he grumbled. 

“Mweh con-tan,” she said slower.

“Mwen kun-tan,” he repeated.

Annie bit the inside of her cheek. He was doing it on purpose, with his stubborn self. 

“You laughin’ at me?” Smoke asked bitterly.

“No.”

“Yeah…you are.”

“Am not.”

A magnolia petal landed on the page. Smoke picked it up without thinking, turned it once in his hand, then placed it on the quilt like he was afraid to hold it too long for fear he’d crush it in his hands. 

“Say it again.”

“You’re enjoyin’ this too much,” he huffed.

“And you bein’ difficult on purpose.”

“Mm.”

“Mm,” she said louder. She laughed softly and shaded something with her pencil near the corner of the page. It was a sketch of the shape of his mouth. Just the corner and how it curved around the sound he kept getting wrong. How he’d pushed a nasal sound outward instead of dropping it down.

Smoke shifted closer by a fraction, looking down to the sketchbook curiously. “Can I see?”

Her fingers tightened around it out of instinct. 

“You ain’t got to.”

The gentleness in his words made her look up. Made her grip loosen. She turned the sketchbook towards him, setting it between them. On the page wasn’t just one drawing. There were several spread across the paper. The curve of a leaf. The twist of a root. The slope of a hand pouring tea. Felix curled up on the porch. Halfway tucked in the pages was a loose leaf drawing of the inside of a small house. Smoke stared at that one the longest. He knew instantly what it was. He’d seen her sketch of the outside of her shop before. But this one was different.  She pulled it out from where it was wedged and placed it in her lap. 

Bundles hanging from the ceiling on one side. 

A long counter in front. 

A curtain that led to other rooms. 

Small jars lined up neatly on shelves. 

He took in every section, every detail. 

“Your shop,” he said finally.

“One day,” Annie replied shyly. 

“One day, when?” 

Annie looked up. “When I got enough saved. When I know enough,” she listed off. “When Aunt Della thinks I’m ready. When…” she huffed out a breath softly. “When the world lets me, I guess.”

Smoke’s jaw worked. 

“It wouldn’t just be remedies,” she said, rushing to fill the quiet before it got too loud. “I’d sell teas, salves, tonics, food, too. It wouldn’t just be a shop,” she continued, searching for words that would land. “It’d be somewhere people can come when they got things they ain’t ready to say out loud, but they ready to stop lettin’ it hurt them.” 

Smoke kept quiet beside her. 

Annie took a deep breath. “My grandma had an apothecary. Nothin’ fancy,” she said softly. “Just a place where people came in whisperin’ and left breathin’ easier.”

Smoke watched her. Her eyes, the way they softened around certain words. Her hands, and how they fidgeted on the edge of the paper. He looked at the page again while she ran her finger lightly over the built-in shelves she drew. 

“I want that. Somethin’ with my name on it. Somethin’ I know how to keep.” 

He looked at her again. “You will,” he said firmly. 

The certainty in his voice made her go still. “You sound sure.”

“I am.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you.”

Annie tucked the drawing away and closed her sketchbook halfway, her hand smoothing over its cover. “You know some of me.”

Smoke nodded once. “I know enough.”

Silence settled between them again. Easy. Annie watched him for a moment, trying to read what had changed in his face. He looked the same mostly. Quiet. Steady. Shoulders still carrying that heaviness. But his eyes looked different.

He sat up straight and faced her. “Annie.” He said her name and she felt her heart thump hard in her chest. She couldn’t figure out why. He’d said her name a million times, but he’d never said it quite like this.

“Yes?” she replied. 

“I talked to your aunt.”

“About what?”

“You.”

The night moved around them. Crickets chirping in the trees, distant voices from a house down the street. Dogs barking, chickens roosting. It all seemed to quiet around this very moment.

“I told her I wanna court you. Proper.”

“You did?”

“I did.”

“And now?” she asked quietly.

“Now I’m comin’ to you.” 

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes piercing. “I ain’t askin’ you for nothin’ you don’t wanna give,” he said. “And I ain’t askin’ you to stop what you been showin’ me.” 

Annie’s throat tightened. “That matter to you?”

Smoke’s eyes moved to the sketchbook, then back to her. “It matters to you,” he said plainly. “It matters to me.”

“I thought you ain’t believe in all that stuff,” she said. “Hoodoo.” 

“I don’t.” He shrugged. “I believe in you.” 

Annie drew in a small breath, tilting her chin up a little. “What does courtin’ mean to you?”

Smoke took his time to answer.  

“It means I come correct. I don’t sneak around corners with you. Don’t have folks guessin’ what you mean to me.  It means if I spend time with you, it’s cause I’m serious about you.” 

“You are?” 

“I am.”

She looked at him— a silent urge to keep talking, like he wasn’t already undoing her under this magnolia tree.

“I ain’t sayin’ I got everything figured out. I don’t. I got work that ain’t clean. I got Stack.” His mouth tightened faintly. “And I got things I still need to make right before I can ask for more than this.”

He sighed. “But I know what I mean,” he said. “And I don’t mean to waste your time.” 

Annie looked down at the sketchbook in her lap. This man, whose words always held weight, had looked closely at her dreams sketched in graphite and smudged lines and simply said —he wanted to be part of them. 

She looked back at him. “If I say yes,” she said slowly. “I want my shop. I want my work. I want…I wanna be somebody outside of who I’m with.” 

“You already are,” he said, voice low.

Annie blinked.

His voice stayed low. “I ain’t askin’ to make you smaller.”

Annie’s breath caught. “Then what you askin’?”

He paused for a moment, then— “To walk beside you while you grow.” 

The silence that sat between them wasn’t empty. It was so full that Annie had to look away just so she could breathe. 

That’s when she felt it.

A nervous laugh.

It rose up in her throat— not because anything was funny, but because the weight of this moment was so heavy, she had to lighten it somehow before it swallowed her whole. She tried to suppress it, but the corners of her mouth had already turned up.

“You laughin’ at me?”

He noticed. Of course he did.

“No!”

Smoke’s mouth twitched. “Yes you are.”

“No I’m not!”

“You a bad liar.”

“I'm not lyin'...you just...makin’ me nervous right now,” she admitted softly.

His eyes softened. “You can take your time to think about it.”

Annie shook her head immediately. “No,” she said. “I don’t need time,” she assured him. 

His eyes got serious again.

“I’ll let you court me.”

Something moved across his face. Not quite a smile. Something much more dangerous to her composure. “Yeah?”

Annie’s lips curved into a fully encompassing smile that spread gently across her face. “Yeah.” 

He held out his hand for her. A question. She put her hand in his and they laced their fingers together carefully, palms warm and steady against each other. The answer.

The tree shed another petal. It drifted down between them and landed on their intertwined hands. They didn’t move it. The lantern burned low. They sat like that beneath the magnolia tree as the last of summer continued to fall around them.

The next morning was a blur. Between the demands of empty stomachs and the nervous tremor of her own hands, a nagging anxiety sat on her shoulders and butterflies fluttered violently in the pit of her belly. A sigh of relief left her lips as the last lodger headed out the door, leaving her and Aunt Della to at least be able to clean up the kitchen and dining room in a tempered silence. 

The wind chimes on the porch fluttered in the breeze, whistling a throaty, breathless jingle that did nothing to calm her nerves. Aunt Della glanced her way a few times, but said nothing. Even Felix tried to soothe her, his purrs doing little to bring her any real solace. 

Annie shoved a biscuit in her mouth to give herself something to do. The warm fluffiness filled her mouth and the butter satisfied her tastebuds with its rich, melty goodness. She sighed then took another bite, closing her eyes as the sustenance moved through her body.

Maybe she was just hungry. And maybe her anxiousness had nothing to do with him.

She moved quicker, stacking, sweeping, wiping, scraping until the house smelled like eucalyptus, lavender, and bleach.

Annie collapsed on the couch in the front room, but not from exhaustion. From adrenaline that had nowhere else to go. Her heart beat rapidly and she fingered her ileke beads like that could somehow calm it. Morning light cut warm and light through the front windows like a balm on her skin. She tilted her head back and let her eyes close, basking in the quiet after the chaos of breakfast. 

The scent of tobacco, peppermint, and bay rum floated through the screen door. Slowly—like the rich, layered smells that arrive in a kitchen when meat, butter and herbs fold into each other on the stove.

Then the screen door cracked open and Smoke stepped through. 

Annie’s mouth went dry.

The first thing she noticed was the way he darkened the doorway once he stepped past the threshold. He was tall, well over six feet. Large and imposing frame, and even though she was a tall woman herself, it felt like he towered over her. The muscles on his arms and shoulders filled out every inch of his white collared shirt, pressing against the starched fabric with a powerful, restrained strength. His suspenders held up trousers that sat comfortably around his hips. His boots were heavy on his feet even though his steps were light. It was a subtle contradiction that made her tongue feel like cotton in her mouth. 

The second thing she noticed were the flowers in his hand. Two separate arrangements— one a mixture of white, cream, and greenery. The other was a mixture of vivid colors that looked like a rainbow painted the petals. Each was wrapped in brown paper and tied gently with twine.

Smoke removed his hat and turned to see Annie spread lazily across the couch. Apron halfway untied, scarf to the side, legs hanging off the edge, dress tracing the curve of her hips. She looked beautiful with her feet dangling in the air, bent nickel hanging loosely off a string around her left ankle, shoulders relaxed like she didn’t have a care in the world. He liked that look. Wanted to see more of it.

He was doing that staring thing again, Annie thought to herself. The way his eyes slowly swept up and down her body gave her goosebumps, and she suddenly became very aware of how she was presenting. Worn dress, apron smudged with stains, hair fuzzy in her cornrows, barefoot and lounging on the couch. But the heat in his eyes turned a casual glance-over into a smoldering glare that pinned her in place. The paper around the bouquets crinkled under his grasp as he adjusted them in his hand. When his voice finally broke the loaded silence that had overtaken the front room of the boarding house, it was rough with something that made her spine snap straight. Her legs followed, then her hands, dragging her upwards until she was sitting up completely.

“Good mornin’.” 

Annie smiled up at him, a sight that beamed brighter than the morning sun. “Good mornin’.”

Smoke took a step closer, then two, and with one hand grabbed the white bouquet out of his other and extended them towards Annie. “For you.”

“Thank you,” she said, inhaling their scent. 

Smoke nodded once, then looked around the room. “Where’s your aunt?”

“Somewhere out back,” she said breathily, taking another sniff of the flowers. 

“These for her.”

“Awww, ain’t you sweet?”

“Don’t tell nobody,” he said in that low register that made her skin tingle, with a timbre that told her he wasn’t joking even though the corner of his mouth lifted when he said it. 

He proceeded into the kitchen then out the back door, leaving Annie with her own thoughts and the absence of…him. His presence stayed in the room even though he was gone, and it wasn’t just because the smell of his cologne lingered behind. Her head tilted when she realized what day it was. Monday. What was he doing here?

“What we doin’ today?” He asked as he stepped back into her space.

Annie’s breath stuttered.

Aunt Della listened in from the kitchen, looking entirely pleased with herself. 

Annie cleared her throat and shut her mouth that had opened at Smoke’s words. Not because she wasn’t used to him being forward. But because the look in his eye told her he was dead serious when he asked her that question.

“I gotta stop by Chow’s,” she started, to which he acknowledged with a nod. “Then the drugstore,” she continued. She listed things off until she stopped to look down at what she needed to do before anything else. “I gotta wash up first. Change.” 

“I’ma be right here,” he assured her, sinking deep into the couch, putting his head back, and spreading his legs. 

Annie took one more look at him and darted up the stairs.

Thirty minutes later she was in front of the mirror, blouse tucked into a halfway-fastened skirt. Her hair was taken down from her cornrows, oiled, greased, parted down the middle, and pulled back. 

Except one piece that just wouldn’t lay flat. 

She brushed it once, then brushed it again. It refused to lay right, refused to stay right. Her hairbrush clattered on the dresser where she dropped it. 

“What am I doing?” she asked like the walls could talk back. 

She gripped the edge of the dresser, then touched the open edge of her blouse still unbuttoned at the throat. Her fingers rested there a moment before she remembered to button it. 

Her fingers weren’t steady. She cursed under her breath, buttoning it with trembling hands. She smoothed the front down, turning to the side to make sure it was tucked all the way in. 

Then she picked up her hairbrush again. Went over the same spot. Got the same result. 

She threw her hairbrush down with frustration, flustered. 

All of a sudden she felt very alone. More alone than she’d felt since she got to Clarksdale. She tried to blink away the tears but one escaped her eye. It rolled down her cheek, dropping onto her dresser. 

She missed her friends from home. 

She missed her family.  

She didn't expect this. Didn’t expect him. 

And now she was standing in the middle of something new surrounded by people who barely knew her. No mama who always knew what to say. No brothers teasing. No daddy who would pretend it wasn’t making him emotional seeing his little girl stepping into her role as a woman.

Maybe it was a sign. 

She didn’t know what she was doing. She couldn’t even get her hair right without falling apart.

What did she know about being courted?

The word felt strange in her throat. New. Like a dress made out of fine fabric that she hadn’t yet learned how to move in. Like something she wanted to be careful with, to not wrinkle. Something she wanted to spin in front of the mirror just to see how it caught the light. 

And maybe, just maybe….if it fit just right, she could keep it.

Her stomach fluttered. 

She didn’t know what came after she said yes.

She’d heard stories from her friends back home, but she was never in the thick of it to look around and see how it felt. 

She didn’t know how close she was supposed to stand beside him, what folks would hear if he said her name too soft. Didn’t know if holding his hand would feel natural or if she’d overthink every step. She didn’t know what part of herself was meant to stay guarded and what part was allowed to lean.

But between the frustration, and the fear, and the homesickness that had a vice grip on her nerves…she still wanted to try.

That was the part that kept resurfacing.

She wanted it. Wanted him beside her. Wanted to be beside him. And she wanted folks to see.

The truth of it rose up so plainly, it didn’t leave room for her to argue with herself about it.

She wanted to know what Smoke looked like when he didn’t hold himself back so much. Wanted to learn what his quiet felt like when it belonged to her. Wanted to see if walking beside him in the daylight felt like sitting beside him under the magnolia tree in the backyard.

She rubbed her ileke beads and let the touch ground her. Then she put some oil on her fingers, the special blend her mama made that halfway leaked out in her trunk, and brushed the worrisome part of her hair the way her mama always did when she got too frustrated to do it herself. Rub, smooth, brush, set. 

She looked in the small, age-spotted mirror again, and her mouth curved up into a small, winsome smile.

Maybe she didn't know what she was doing.

But maybe the only thing she needed to do today was walk downstairs, meet his eyes, and take it one step at a time.

The floorboards upstairs groaned and Smoke’s head snapped towards the sound. He rose slowly from his spot on the couch, keeping his eyes trained on Annie as she walked down the stairs with a hand on the banister. 

His gaze moved over her. 

She wore a deep mustard-colored blouse tucked into a navy blue ankle-length skirt and high button leather boots. Her purse was slung over her shoulder and her skin still looked warm from her bath.

“You look nice.” 

“Thank you.”

“Real nice.”

Annie’s cheeks warmed. 

“Ready?” he asked.

Annie smiled once she got to the bottom of the staircase. “I’m ready.” 

Aunt Della stood in the threshold between the kitchen and the front room, arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes went from Smoke to Annie and back. “Y’all don’t have too much fun out there,” she smirked. “And watch my baby,” she said to Smoke.

“I will,” Smoke said as he put his hat back. He opened the door for Annie and stepped back to turn to Aunt Della. “Always.” 

Aunt Della shook her head playfully and turned back to the kitchen, arms still folded but a grin on her lips. 

The ride over to Fourth Street was quick—just two short blocks. People in front of Chow’s Grocery were few and far between, but the sidewalk was far from empty. Outside, business moved as usual. A vendor restocked produce while a worker inspected their freshness. A few customers left the store with items wrapped tightly in brown paper while their children skipped alongside them with peppermint sticks and molasses chews in hand. Wagons trekked by slowly with mounds of cotton in the back, and the constant hammering of picks chipping ice blocks apart echoed in the street.

Smoke rounded the front of his truck to open the door for Annie. He held up a hand for her to balance herself on and took care to make sure she was steady once she stepped out. He followed behind her as they walked to the entrance, his hand on the small of her back as he held the door for her.

The inside held the sweet pungency of chicory in burlap sacks being hauled from the back and piled high by the windows. Charles and Bo Chow stood behind the front counter, Charles weighing something on the scale while Bo wrote an entry in the ledger. A smirk spread across Bo’s face when he saw Smoke and Annie at the door and clocked their closeness. He nodded at Smoke, then slid his eyes over to Annie and waved at her, drawn by the warmth that always seemed to radiate off her. 

“Baby,” Smoke started, exchanging a look with Bo. “I need to go holler at Bo real quick.”

“Okay,” Annie responded in that sweet, syrupy Louisiana drawl of hers.

She drifted across the store looking at her list, then made her way down one of the aisles in search of something else entirely. Smoke watched her go, watched her disappear, replayed it in his head. Then he turned to Bo. He was wiping down a display as Charles rang up a customer at the till.

“How you been, man?” Bo asked.

“Good, good,” Smoke said. He greeted him with a firm handshake, then pulled back to get a good look at him. “Damn, fatherhood huh?”

“I look that bad?”

“You look like shit.”

Bo laughed, the corner of his eyes crinkling with it. He looked tired, but content in a way that made his eyes twinkle. Like he was at peace despite it all. “Tired as hell. But I’m happy,” he nodded. “We happy.” 

“I’m happy for you, Bo.”

“Thanks man,” Bo replied, shaking Smoke’s shoulder. His eyes flicked over the store. “Della’s girl…that’s you?”

“You mean Annie,” Smoke corrected. 

Surprise overtook Bo’s face and he raised an eyebrow. A question. “Yeah, I mean Annie.”

“Yeah,” he answered. Firm. “She mine.”

Bo clapped Smoke on the shoulder, looking at him with a sense of shock and awe. “Oh shit,” he exclaimed, putting a fist in front of his mouth. “Look at you, fixin’ to be in my shoes soon, Smoke.”

Smoke shot him a look as he walked away, but something in him got quiet when the thought crossed his mind. Then it got warm.

Annie, a mother.

Him. 

A father.

He shook the thought away just as quickly when they became poisoned by thoughts of his own father. 

That felt like a metaphor for his own life— innocence being corrupted by its own blood.

The thought of being a father after putting his own in the ground felt devastatingly ironic, but hope flickered somewhere that maybe it could rewrite whatever went wrong with his own.

He shook his head and kept walking through the store, his legs carrying him past the aisles in slow, measured steps. He didn’t rush. He knew exactly where Annie was. 

Annie was still reeling. 

From him calling her baby. From the way he said it with that deep Mississippi drawl. Her cheeks were warm, skin flushed, and all of a sudden, everything felt hot despite the store being cool.

She stood in the aisle, humming under her breath, half bent over as she flipped through a wire basket on a shelf filled with seed packets. 

“Why she want this when we got it in the backyard?” She fussed. 

She shook her head, plucked the seed packet from the stack, and stood up. They dropped into her shopping basket as she walked further down the aisle. She picked up the small bag of feed and saw a shadow out of the corner of her eye. She ignored it and went about her business crossing items off her list when she heard it.

“Hey stranger.”

She turned around.

Reverend Carter stepped around the corner.

Red button up, brown tweed waistcoat, gold pocket watch hanging. And that silver signet ring that he rubbed with the pad of his thumb. She looked down in his shopping basket and her brows knit at the contents inside. 

Her lips tightened into a line, that same odd sense of familiarity crept up on her again and made her insides tumble with unease. 

“Hey.” She adjusted the strap of her purse around her shoulder.

A grin spread across his face. “How you been?”

“Good,” she nodded. “You?”

Carter nodded like he was choosing his words carefully. “I’ve been doin’ just fine,” he said slowly.

Annie shifted her weight. “So you’re back?”

“For a little.” 

She blinked. “Where you speakin’ at this time?”

“Church off Yazoo,” he said quickly.

She frowned for a second, then relaxed her face. 

Carter chuckled under his breath. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“You stayin’ at the house?”

He smirked to the side then looked back. “I’m stayin’ with the pastor.”

“Makes sense.” 

“Yeah…makes perfect sense.”

His eyes dropped to her ileke beads, then back up. The glance was quick, barely even noticeable. But she did. The hand that wasn’t holding her basket rose to touch her beads protectively. 

Smoke noticed it too. 

He was at the top of the aisle, watching.

He saw Carter’s eyes dip to her chest. It was just a brief second, but the flicker made his chest tighten. 

He crossed the aisle in three long strides. He kept his eyes forward, locked on Carter who had sensed him looming and had since looked up from Annie. 

Smoke stepped behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist, the motion tucking her into his side. The gesture was smooth, natural, like her body had no business not being there all along.

Annie let out a quiet exhale. It was a short, controlled breath that made her shoulders relax.

Then she moved—but she didn’t move so much as melt. She relaxed back into Smoke’s touch, folding easily into him. His fingers curled around her hip, but his eyes didn’t leave Carter’s.

“Afternoon,” Carter said politely to Smoke.

Smoke just stared at him, his dark hooded eyes like black orbs piercing into the depths of whatever lay behind Carter’s. No nod. No acknowledgement. Just a cold, tactical assessment.

Carter blinked. “Y’all goin’ to the Harvest Party next month?”

“Yeah,” Annie replied quickly. She felt Smoke’s grip tighten on her hip.“We—”

“What business a preacher got at a juke joint?” Smoke asked, voice flat.

“I ain’t goin’,” Carter said, rubbing his signet ring. He looked down at it, then looked back up at them. “Just tryna make conversation.”

Smoke and Annie glanced at each other out of the corner of their eyes. 

“Well,” he said, tipping his hat. “Y’all have a good rest of your day.” 

Then he walked away.

The bustle of Chow’s went on around them but they didn’t hear it— like they only existed now in their own little bubble. Then Smoke dipped his head to her ear and pressed his lips there.

Three short kisses. Soft despite the intensity of the feeling behind them. Warm, from the closeness and something else entirely. They felt less like a kiss and more like a claim.

One right behind the ear, one lower on the skin right above the neck, and one right on the shell. His nose nuzzled there for a second before he opened his mouth and hummed right into her ear. Low, deep, right into the part of her ear that made his voice vibrate right down her spine. 

“You good?” 

“Mhmm,” she hummed.

She looked over her shoulder at him and his eyes were closed at the sound of her voice. She stroked his beard and his eyes opened to find hers darker. Her fingers grazed the shell of his ear. A gentle touch that made him fight off a shiver. 

“Behave,” he said, squeezing her hip gently.

Annie grinned. She turned away from his grasp and slinked out of the aisle like nothing happened. Then she glanced over her shoulder at him once more to bat her eyes at him before slipping completely out of his sight. Smoke stood there watching her walk away, his body still warm from where she rested against it. He flexed his hands at his sides to subdue the fire she stoked in him, then followed behind her.

Outside, the air smelled like spice and the bite of the chilly November air. Annie adjusted the paper-wrapped bundle from Chow’s against her hip and slipped it into her purse. Smoke stepped out behind her with the chicken feed sack tucked under his arm and the rest of Aunt Della’s order in his other hand like it weighed nothing. He watched a shiver run down Annie’s spine that she tried to hide.

“Cold?”

“A little.”

“Here.”

Smoke shrugged off his jacket and laid it over Annie’s shoulders as they walked towards his truck. The smell wafting from King’s Tamales Stand next door stopped Annie in her tracks as a man working the booth shouted his prices to folks passing by and wrapped hot tamales in paper. Warm masa, spice, meat steamed softly inside of corn husks. Steam curled up from a heavy pot blackened by use and hit the inside of the tin roof of the stand that had a crooked hand-painted sign attached to the front.

Smoke glanced at Annie. “Hungry?” 

Annie looked at him with those wide brown eyes of hers. Then her stomach answered before she got the chance. She scoffed, looking down at it like it betrayed her thoughts, then back up at Smoke. 

Smoke’s mouth twitched. “Come on.” He shifted the sack higher beneath his arm and stepped towards the stand. “How many you want?” 

“One.”

“Just one?”

Smoke looked towards the tamale man. “We’ll take four.”

Annie blinked. “Four?”

Smoke looked back at Annie. “I’m hungry, too.” 

The man behind the stand grinned like he’d seen this before. “Two for the gentleman, one for the lady now, and one for when she gets hungry later.”

“Exactly,” Smoke agreed.

Annie scoffed, looking away before a smile broke out on her face.

“Hot?” the man asked.

Smoke looked back at Annie again. She lifted her chin, offended despite herself. “Hot.”

Smoke looked back to the grinning man and nodded once. “Hot.”

“You think I wouldn’t like hot?”

“I didn’t know that’s why I asked.”

“You forget where I’m from?”

“I remember.”

The tamales came wrapped in paper, steam rising as the man passed them over to Smoke. He paid, coins dropping clean in the man’s palm. “Enjoy,” he said as they turned down the sidewalk. 

They walked a little ways down the side of the building, stopping by a patch of shade where the street noise softened around them. Smoke set Aunt Della’s things carefully by his feet, then handed Annie her tamales. He unwrapped his own with easy hands. Annie watched him without meaning to. The way he carefully peeled back the husk. The way the steam curled around his fingers. The way he took the first bite and let it sit in his mouth before he started chewing. He chewed once, twice, then nodded faintly to himself. 

“That good?”

“Mhmm.” He took another bite. 

Annie unwrapped hers, holding it carefully between her fingers as the heat bled through the paper. The first bite was soft and smoky. The cornmeal was tender, but not enough to fall through her fingers. The meat was rich with salt, pepper, and something earthy underneath. She chewed thoughtfully, her mouth analyzing every flavor. Smoke was already on his second tamale, but was chewing slower now, watching her. 

“What?” she asked.

“You makin’ a face.”

“I’m thinkin’.”

Smoke’s brows knit together. “About a tamale?”

“Mhmm.”

His mouth curved. “That so?”

“Absolutely.”

She took another bite, slower this time. “It’s good.”

Smoke nodded but kept his eyes trained on her for the—

“But.”

“I knew it.”

Annie smiled faintly. “It could use a lil’ more depth.”

“Depth?”

She nodded. “Depth.”

Smoke looked down at his half-eaten tamale then back up at Annie. “It’s a tamale.”

“And?”

Smoke looked amused now. He tilted his head. “What would you do to it?”

Annie shifted her weight. “I’d give it somethin’ to round out the pepper,” she said. “So it don’t just sit on top.”

Smoke just looked at her. “You always this particular?”

“With food? Yes.”

“And everything else?”

Annie opened her mouth, then closed it. She looked down at her tamale, then back at him. And when she spoke, her words came out softer than she expected them. “I know what I like.”

Smoke’s gaze hadn’t left her. “Good.” He took another bite, slowly. The cornmeal broke apart clean between his teeth. A long chunk of saucy meat landed on his tongue and he slurped it down his mouth without breaking eye contact.

“You starin’.”

Annie blinked. “Am not.”

“What you lookin’ at then?”

“You got somethin’ on your face.”

He ran a hand through his beard. “For real?” 

“It’s gone now.”

He couldn’t ignore the mirth in her eyes. She looked away, unwrapping the last tamale with more attention than it needed. The corner of Smoke’s mouth lifted. 

“Where I’m from, folks put more life into they food,” she said, turning back to him.

“More life?”

“Yep.”

“What that mean?”

“It means…” she said, looking towards the street like she could find the words there. “Food should taste like somebody remembered where they came from when they made it.”

“You sayin’ the people who made this…forgot where they came from?”

“No.” She smiled into her food. “They just knew wherever they was goin’ didn’t like it hot!”

Smoke huffed a laugh. Fourth Street moved around them, unconcerned. And the tension from inside of Chow’s softened into something easier. Something with steam, spice, and a little more kick. 

“I’ll make sure to let King know.”

Annie swatted his chest. “Smoke, don’t you dare!” 

When they were done eating, Smoke gathered Aunt Della’s order again and Annie threw the empty wrappers into a nearby waste barrel. She wiped her fingers against her handkerchief, the taste of pepper and cornmeal still heavy on her tongue. 

They left their items from Chow’s locked in Smoke’s truck, which he left in front of the grocery store at Annie’s insistence. Annie enjoyed the scenery as they walked leisurely towards the next stop on her list of errands. Smoke enjoyed the scenery too— her. Her hair, tucked into a thick bun, had tendrils hanging down the sides of her face that blew with the wind. One kept sticking to the shell of her ear, tickling her when it hit just right. The beads tucked under the neckline of her dress rattled if she moved a certain way. And she still had his jacket on to shield her from the wind. The sight of her walking around with his suit jacket draped over her shoulders did something to him that he couldn’t explain and didn’t want to. 

They neared the crossroad where Fourth Street met Issaquena, the street lined with shops for personal and grooming services. Luella’s Dressing Room & Alterations, Ritzy’s Beauty Salon, Brown’s Barbershop, and others sat along a row of close-knit brick and wooden storefronts with mended awnings and handmade signs.

The noise of the street got louder as they approached the block where Luella’s and Ritzy’s stood across from the barbershop. Or maybe it was just the noise in Annie’s head. She walked closest to the sidewalk with Smoke right beside her, watching her closely. His hand would find her lower back if he saw her steps falter or slow. They dodged some kids roughhousing, a stand or a low hanging sign, a crack in the sidewalk.

The area in front of the barbershop was full of men standing on lampposts smoking cigarettes, people watching, and chatting each other up. Suspenders loose or off, hats sitting low, legs bent, feet on the brick barbershop building while they waited their turn. The striped pole outside spun slowly with the wind. The smell of shaving soap, pomade, and hot comb smoke drifted upwards from the barbershop and the beauty salon across the street. The men outside let their eyes wander when Annie approached them on the sidewalk— and froze when they saw Smoke right next to her. Conversations paused, necks craned slowly. Smoke guided her through the crowd that parted for them with his hand at her back. The men acknowledged him, some giving him daps, others giving a firm nod. Some said a few polite words, tipping their hats and greeting them both as they walked by. But Smoke kept his hands on Annie. Always on her. 

Sunflower Music was painted in gold lettering on a black wooden sign that hung perpendicular to the sidewalk. The awning was a muted red, the color faded by the sun and wear, and stuck out of a narrow brick storefront with tall display windows in the front. Folks walking by would just stop and stare at what was inside— sheet music, instruments, phonographs, a lone Columbia Graphophone. Stacks of records displayed like treasure. Once the shop bell guided them through the door, the smell of paper, varnished wood, and cigars turned the crisp winter air to something with more bite. The space was long and spread out. Wooden floors. Pressed-tin ceiling. Ceiling fans turning slowly overhead. Most of the displays were spread out across the walls except a few items that were secured behind glass cases and oak cabinets shined to a mirror finish. 

A musician tested out strings by the wall where the instruments were displayed. A few church mothers Annie recognized from First Baptist Missionary were flipping carefully through church hymn sheet music displayed in stands on the other side of the shop. 

The owner stood by one of many phonographs with a record in his hands. He placed it in one, cranked the machine, and dropped the needle, all in one smooth, practiced motion. The customer standing next to him waited for the beat to drop. The record spun, the sound cracked slightly, then the smooth sound of a brass band spread throughout the room. Annie paused. The customer bopped his head to the fast-paced, soulful music coming from the phonograph speakers. 

Then the cornet solo hit.

Annie stilled entirely. 

The sound of conversation faded away, even the pointed looks of the church mothers who recognized her walking hand-in-hand with Smoke, she paid no mind. The familiarity of the music made her chest twist painfully. It sounded like home. Felt like it too. Like street musicians, second line parades, and rain hitting tin roofs during summer storms. 

“Annie?” he asked, voice low. He touched the small of her back.

Once she caught her breath, she whispered, “Yeah.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” she replied, blinking back the tear that threatened to drop from her left eye. “Just reminds me of home.” She blinked and she could see it clearly. A rickety old shack. The fierce, stubborn, woman who lived inside who felt more like a spirit than a memory. “My great-grandmama,” she said a little softer. “Before she passed…she loved listening to the cornet. I don’t know why but that was the only instrument that made her face light up no matter how out of it she was.”

Smoke rubbed her lower back and they moved deeper in the store but Annie felt like she was walking through water. They ended up by the stack of records which stood close to the instruments along the wall. 

“That’s the thing about music,” he said. “It has a way of bringin’ you back to somebody, even after they long gone.”

Annie exhaled sharply. She went through the Vaudeville records but she wasn’t really looking. Smoke stood by her side, facing her, waiting. 

“We lost her to the hurricane. Back in ‘15.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“She wouldn’t leave.” Her voice cracked. 

“What you mean?”

Annie took a deep breath.

“She lived deep in the bayou. Water filled with gators,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “She knew the storm was comin’ before it did. Said if the water’s fixin’ to take her she ain’t gon’ run.” 

Annie looked towards the window like the memory called her there for some reason. “She said she had somebody on the other side waitin’ on her.” 

Smoke nodded once, eyes patient. “You know who?”

“No,” she said. “She was sold downriver ‘fo she could remember anyone.”

“Damn,” Smoke whispered. 

She smiled. It was faint, like it was pushing through the grief. “She was alone her whole life…’til she started having babies.”

“How many?”

“Fourteen.”

Smoke whistled low.

Annie hummed. “She was somethin’ else.”

The memory of her great-grandmother flashed quickly through her mind like a blur. Eyes that looked different…older than her age, and much younger at the same time. Her frail hands dragging a stick through swamp mud, leaving marks that looked less drawn than remembered.

“What was her name?”

Annie blinked and it was gone. Her hand rose to her ileke beads again, then she looked up at Smoke with the softest, widest, brown eyes, and the tenderness in them made him sigh. 

“Antoinette,” she said finally. Like the name pulled something out of her that made her hesitate to say it out loud.

Smoke rubbed her shoulder, pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. 

Annie put a hand on his chest, leaning into his touch. 

They let the silence sit between them for a few moments. Let the quiet ache until it dulled into something easier to move on from.

“Anyway,” she said finally, pulling herself together. “Let’s get what I came here for.” Her fingers walked the records in search of the ragtime one Aunt Della wanted.

“What kinda music they listen to, over there in France?”

“They liked a lot of the stuff we brought over.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Our regiment had a band and everything.” 

“Were you in it?” She teased.

His mouth twitched. “Nah.” 

The musician testing out guitars hit a chord with a slider that made Smoke’s hand tap once against the record box before he caught himself. He looked at Annie and she was already looking at him. 

“What?” he asked.

Annie arched her brow. “You like that?”

“It’s nice.”

“Why?”

Smoke exhaled. “It’s slow. Got a little ache to it.”

Annie chuckled low.

The guitar player took his slider off and played something a little louder, a little faster, a deep Blues riff.

“You like this one, too?” 

“This more Stack’s style.”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“What?”

“It’s more Stack’s style but your hand been tappin’ away since he started playin’.” 

Smoke looked down at his hand then back to Annie. “Don’t mean I can’t enjoy it.”

“You right,” she smirked. “But you tappin’ along like you know this song by heart.”

“I do.” 

Annie frowned. “From where?”

“My daddy.” He paused. Looked down. Sighed. “He played the guitar.”

“Oh,” she mouthed. She heard something in his words even though his voice was steady. Pain. Shame. Guilt. Loss. Whatever it was, it weighed heavy.

His jaw tightened. “Back then…” he drifted off. “The music felt kinder than the man.” His eyes found her again.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

Annie rubbed his arm, then pulled it around her. The gesture made his shoulders relax, and she wrapped her arms around his chest. “Elijah,” she whispered up to him.

His name on her lips felt as warm as her hand on his chest. 

“Hmm,” he answered, looking off into the distance.

She rubbed his back. “You alright?” she asked quietly.

He looked down at her, then wrapped his arms around her tighter. 

“Yeah,” he said into her hair. He inhaled her scent—jasmine, rosewater, and vanilla.

Annie didn't push. Just let him stay in the moment a little longer, with her to hold onto.

Across the room, one of the church mothers cleared her throat entirely too loud, and just like that the tenderness snapped. Smoke and Annie both frowned, then looked over with expectant gazes. One cold, one more curious but still annoyed. The church mother’s mouth snapped shut and she scoffed, turning back around. Smoke and Annie both laughed as they walked towards the register, his arm around her shoulder.

“I’ma get an earful on Sunday ‘cause of you,” Annie joked, lacing her fingers with the ones hanging over her shoulder.

“They need to mind they own business,” Smoke said. Loudly. Right towards where they were congregating off to the side by the sheet music.

Their heads snapped over immediately.

Annie swatted his chest.

“What?”

“Lord,” she mumbled. “You was just tellin’ me to behave and you out here talkin’ crazy.”

“Tell the truth, shame the devil. Ain’t that what they say?”

“Smoke!” She tried swatting at him again. This time he caught her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. Annie rolled her eyes but she couldn’t stop a grin from spreading on her face.

“Nuh-uh,” his voice dropped low, right by her ear again. “You know my name.”

Her breath hitched.

“Mhmm,” he drawled.

They stepped to the register. 

“Find everything you were lookin’ for?” The clerk asked. 

The words sat between them. Smoke looked at Annie.

“Yeah,” Annie said. “Just this.”

“This a good record,” he remarked. “Classic.” He set the W.C. Handy record in its sleeve, then wrapped it twice in newspaper.

Annie listened.

“His band still play around town, in Tutwiler, and down in Mound Bayou.”

Smoke’s jaw clenched, then unclenched. Annie saw it. Saved it for later.

“Bayou?” she asked.

“Mound Bayou. All black town, just a little ways south of here,” the clerk remarked. 

Annie nodded curiously.

The clerk slipped the record in a brown paper bag. “That’ll be 75 cent.” 

Smoke had it in the man’s hand before Annie could pull out her pocketbook. He watched her hesitate and shot her a look that dared her to pull her own money out. That’s all she needed to see to keep her hand right where it was— wrapped tightly in his. 

Smoke kissed her hand again before grabbing the bag.

“Y’all have a nice day,” the clerk said.

They turned to leave a few minutes later, bags between them as they fell in step beside each other. They didn’t talk much, but their hands stayed laced, like they both needed to touch the piece of themselves they just shared. When they stepped out of the building and the noise of the street came back, the moment didn’t disappear. It just followed them out into the cold. The chilly air whipped wildly across their faces, but it did nothing to cool the heat rising between them, or the thrum that sat underneath all the tension.

A month went by, but not quietly.

The air got colder. November flew by like a gust of wind off the gulf where Annie used to catch crabs with her brothers when she was a little girl. The house got louder. Out of towners, people trying to get up North before the snow up there delayed the trains. Blackbird got busier. Annie kept storing her money in the tea tin that fit perfectly under the floorboard in her room. Soon she’d have to get a bigger one, she thought to herself. And find another hiding place.

Annie’s lessons with Aunt Della continued behind padlocked doors. 

Dress fittings at Luella’s became less frequent as her Harvest Party look came together. 

Smoke got busy, too. Quiet meetings on the outskirts of town. Trips to Memphis and business at Moon Lake. He came around the boarding house even more. This time he didn’t need to feign usefulness.

Meetings under the magnolia tree became their ritual. Every Sunday when the afternoon stretched its arms out into evening he’d come around back. Like clockwork, he’d show up, the side fence creaking open before he stepped through. They’d sit outside and talk until the mosquitos got too bad.

It became a place where they shared pieces of themselves. 

A place where ordinary conversation became sacred. 

Nellie, Pearline and Gigi squealed when she finally told them about Smoke. And time with them became more frequent too — nights, afternoons, or mornings in town before the roads got too crowded. 

As long as it didn’t touch Sunday night. 

Those belonged to Smoke.

“Louisiana,” Gigi started. Casual, like she was just asking about the weather. “You ain’t mounted that horse yet?” 

The words cut through the laughter, the sound of peas dropping in a bowl, even the phonograph that played soft jazz from the corner. Somebody choked mid-chuckle. Everybody turned to look at Annie, then froze. Three sets of eyes stared at her with a glittering curiosity that made her palms feel clammy in that moment. Gigi tapped her foot on the floor impatiently. Pearline fiddled with her hands. Nellie looked at Annie like she could read the answer in her face. But Annie wasn’t bothered. In fact, she was a little amused. This wasn’t a new question.

The four of them were sitting around the kitchen table after congregating at Nellie's house following their weekday bible study. Nellie’s mother took one long look at the four of them lounging around the front room and put them to work. She set a bowl and some peas on the kitchen table and walked out the room without another word. A pot of greens soaked on the counter. Pepper and onion sat chopped in a cast iron for later. Flour still sat in the cracks of the table from breakfast. 

She sighed softly. “No.” 

“Why not?” 

“She said she ain’t ready, y’all,” Pearline chimed in for her. “She say this every time y’all ask this question.” Then quieter. “It ain’t always like what them singers be goin’ on about.”

“Maybe not for you,” Gigi rebutted. “But you ain’t mountin’ a stallion.”

“More like a donkey,” Nellie joked.

Annie snorted. Even Pearline laughed under her breath. 

“So y’all just been kissin’?” Gigi probed.

“Mhmm.”

“You let him…touch you?” The question came from Nellie.

Her body flushed warm at the thought. Annie looked over to Nellie. “No.”

“Shame,” she sighed. “He look like he know what to do with his hands.” 

“Mhmm,” Gigi agreed.

“He should know,” Pearline said matter-of-factly. “Him and his brother done ran through half the town.”

“More than half,” Nellie muttered.

Annie sighed. Rolled her eyes.

“Stack more than Smoke,” Nellie confirmed. 

“Don’t I know it,” Annie replied.

“I heard Stack got a mean appetite,” Gigi said slyly.

That made Pearline gasp. “Gigi!” 

“What?” Gigi asked incredulously. 

“Please,” Pearline insisted in a hushed tone.

Annie shook her head. “Oh my God,” she protested. “I don’t need to hear this about my man’s brother.”

“Your maaaan,” Pearline teased playfully. Annie smiled.

“I heard Smoke manhood so big, it touches your soul,” Nellie said.

Annie’s head turned towards Nellie. “Who told you that?”

Nellie shrugged. “Is it true?” 

Annie shrugged.

“Every woman in town want a piece of them twins, I’m just surprised you ain’t took a bite yet.” 

“Not even a nibble?” Gigi asked. She looked shocked.

Annie chuckled low. “Not even a nibble.”

“But you seen it, though? Felt it? Backed up on him and let it poke you a little?”

“No,” she said. “I ain’t seen it.”

“But you felt it.” Gigi’s eyes grew wide. “It’s big ain’t it?” 

“He walk around like it’s big,” Nellie said plainly.

The room exploded with laughter, squeals, and giggles. Annie fumbled with a pea. 

“What’s big?” A voice rang out from the other room.

Nellie froze, then groaned and rolled her eyes when she realized who was talking.

“Awww don’t sound too happy to see me lil’ sis,” she continued. She stepped into the kitchen, t-strap heels clacking against the floorboards. Nice dress, nicer stockings, hair styled differently than Annie had seen in Clarksdale or New Orleans. Baby on her hip and another child at her waist, vice grip on his shirt like she was trying to keep him from running off or touching something he wasn’t supposed to.

Nellie rolled her eyes again and kept on shelling peas. “Hey Verity,” she said flatly. She looked up and her eyes softened when she saw her niece and nephew. “Look at how big you are!” she exclaimed. 

“Aunt Nellie!” 

Verity released the little boy and he ran over to give his aunt a hug. She adjusted her grip on her daughter, bouncing the babbling toddler on her hip. 

“Baby,” Verity said calmly with that mom warning underneath, “gon’ and help your daddy outside.”

The little boy rushed out the front door, leaving just the girls in an awkward silence before they quickly changed the subject. 

“Hey Verity,” Gigi and Pearline said together. Verity greeted them back, staring curiously at the stranger sitting at her mother’s kitchen table. 

“Verity,” Nellie started. “This is Annie, she’s new, from Louisiana. Annie, this is my sister Verity. She’s in town from Chicago.” 

Annie wiped off her hands on her apron and held out her hand to shake. “Nice to meet you, Verity.”

“Nice to meet you too, Verity. My goodness, you’re so pretty.” 

“Thank you,” Annie beamed.

Verity looked around the room. At each woman’s face individually. “What was y’all in here talkin’ about?” She asked like she’d already heard too much.

“Nothing,” Nellie said firmly.

Verity’s eyes narrowed.

“Men,” Gigi admitted bluntly.

Nellie shot her a look, to which she just shrugged and kept shelling her peas.

“What about ‘em?” Verity asked as her baby grabbed the collar of her dress. She untangled her fingers carefully while waiting for someone to say something.

“Annie here got herself a suitor already,” Nellie called out. “Smoke Moore.”

The look on Verity’s face said that she was busy putting a name to a face before it finally clicked. “Oh, one of the twins!” She wiped drool off her baby’s lips before it dripped on her clothes. “So they both came back from the war,” she remarked. “That’s good.”

Nellie rolled her eyes. “She done forgot about everybody she grew up with.” 

“Did not! They’re both so much younger than me.”

“You’re only 27.”

“And I been in Chicago for the past seven years,” she quipped. “How old are they now?”

“21,” Gigi answered.

“Babies,” she whispered, pinching her daughter’s cheek.

“Anyway, do you mind? Us babies,” Nellie said sarcastically, “tryna talk here. About somethin’ you don’t need to know nothin’ about.”  

Verity sighed. She was older, but still young enough to remember being where they were. Young and unmarried. Always being in a position to be told or met with judgment. Mostly from the women closest to her. 

She’d moved to Chicago and was met with a different type of perspective. The social scene was different, much different, probably something that’d make her mother clutch her pearls if she heard the lasciviousness that was considered normal, and that she had a taste of it before she met her husband. 

So, she knew all about flirtation and temptation. About men who only knew how to talk pretty, men who knew how to be tender, and men who confused possession with care. And behind the venom in her words, she could hear something more vulnerable in her little sister’s tone. So, she pulled up a chair at the table, put her baby between her legs, and went to work shelling peas. They worked together in silence for a while. Nothing except the occasional sigh, the sound of the baby hitting the table with her palms, and the house creaking and settling around them.

“Anyone else seein’ anybody new?” Verity asked.

Nobody replied. The air in the tiny kitchen held an uncomfortable type of tension. But it wasn’t anything unique. It was generational. A hesitance that usually exists in the gap between women just becoming and women who’d already been in their shoes. 

“How’s your husband, Pea?” 

Pearline cleared her throat. “He good,” she responded. She kept her head down while Verity looked at her knowingly. 

The front door practically flew open with all the energy of a hyper five-year-old boy. He took his shoes off by the door then ran down the hallway. 

Another person stepped in. His steps were much slower, but his energy was just as powerful in a measured, grown man kind of way. All six heads in the kitchen turned at once. Skin the color of chestnuts, bulky shoulders, broad chest, piercing light brown eyes that could stop a woman mid-sentence. He took off his hat to reveal a head full of low-cut slicked down hair. His three-piece suit matched the sharpness of Verity’s dress like a lid to a pot. He flashed a smile and damn near every woman at the table gulped hard. 

He waved his hand to greet everyone. “Hey y’all.” His voice was deep and gruff. A hint of southern twang in it, like the South had somehow rubbed off on him but he wasn’t born and bred here. 

“Hey,” everybody said back. 

Verity smiled, clearly unshaken by his presence because this was her husband. 

“Can you take the baby? She gettin’ fussy and I’m tryna help the girls with supper.”

“Sure.” He crossed the room to the kitchen and planted a kiss on her waiting forehead, then grabbed his daughter from her lap. 

“Thank you.”

“Hey sugar plum,” he cooed. He spoke softly to his daughter. She giggled and rested her head in the crook of his neck as he took her down the hallway.

Once they heard the click of a door shutting in the distance, the kitchen could finally exhale.

“That’s your husband?” Gigi asked breathlessly, looking towards the hallway like she needed him to reappear out of thin air. “Girl he is too fine!”

Verity grinned. “That’s my man,” she said proudly.

“Where you find him at?” Gigi continued. “And do he have any brothers?”

Annie kept her thoughts to herself as she snapped a pea under her thumb. While they sized him up her thoughts drifted over to Smoke. How his smile was easy when he showed it. How he didn’t show it to anybody but her. The way he’d walk in and suck the air out the room. The way his muscles filled out his clothing. Her breath sped up at the thought. She felt flushed. Hot all of a sudden, all over again.

Verity laughed at Gigi’s remarks and shook her head. “He do, but he’s the only good apple in the bunch.”

“Lord,” Annie chuckled.

Verity looked over at her expectantly.

“I got nothin’ but brothers,” she explained. “Got one, maybe two of them decent. The rest ain’t got the sense God gave a goose.” 

Everyone at the table laughed, the tension easing into something more relaxed. 

“It would take God and all his disciples to drill some decency into ‘em,” Pearline let slip out.

“Pearlie!” Nellie gasped at the revelation. Sweet little Pearline with her lace gloves, quiet eyes and her perfect posture like she was afraid that if she didn’t stand up perfectly straight someone would come behind her with a ruler to put her back in line. 

She shrugged casually, clearly pleased with herself. 

“Gigi,” Annie kept on shelling peas. “You ever see Will again?”

Gigi made a sound like she was vomiting and Annie broke out in laughter. 

“Verity,” she looked at her. “This man had the worst smelling feet I’ve ever smelled in my life!”

“Not smelly feet.”

“A horse’s hoof smells better than that man’s feet,” she grimaced. “Besides,” she smirked like her face held a secret she’d been dying to tell. Her voice got low. “I’ve been keepin’ company with Rodney again.”

“Not surprised,” Nellie mumbled.

“Who’s Rodney?” Annie asked.

Nellie answered for her. “Just the man she been stuck on since we was kids.”

“Ohh….” 

“I ain’t stuck. He’s just familiar.”

“More like that hmmhmm” she gave the table a knowing look, “is familiar.”

“Hush!” Gigi swatted Nellie’s shoulder. “It’s reliable.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with goin’ back to an ol’ reliable.” Annie whipped her head around. The voice came from Verity.

“That’s right,” Gigi agreed smugly.

“Annie ain’t even done nothin’ with that twin of hers yet.” 

Annie rolled her eyes. “Here we go.”

“Why not?” Verity asked.

She huffed a small breath out her nose. “Just waitin’ for the right time.” 

“You waitin’ til the party huh?” Gigi asked with a grin. “All that liquor runnin’ through you will loosen you right on up,” she teased.

Annie shook her head, laughing.

Pearline spoke up quietly. “Don’t let the liquor make you do anything you don’t wanna do.”

“I ain’t,” Annie said.

“You keep it for yourself until you good and ready to give it away.”

“Exactly,” Pearline said. “And if he really cares, he won’t mind. Not one bit.”

“My husband waited a whole year for me to let him in. Didn’t pressure me. Didn’t make me feel bad. Didn’t make it ‘bout his needs,” Verity recalled. “What matters is what he does when wantin’ you, means he gotta take it slow.”

Her words landed. 

“Do he know?” Her voice was small. Pearline’s. “That you a virgin?”

Annie exhaled sharply. “I ain’t told him,” she confessed. 

Pearline spoke again. “And…he ain’t tried nothin’?” 

“We ain’t been alone like that,” she said softly while fumbling with the hem of her apron. “And I ain’t found the right time to tell him yet.”

“He gon’ wear you out once he get his hands on you,” Gigi said dramatically. “You know that right?”

“I believe it.” And she did.

“Whew, chile,” Nellie drawled. “I’ma say a prayer for you. And for your—” 

“Eleanor!” Verity snapped.

Annie snorted.

Verity looked over at Annie, eyes warm. “You’ll find the right time,” she assured.

The kitchen was a little quieter after that. Just the sound of knuckles cracking, shells snapping open, peas hitting the bottom of the bowl, throaty jazz still coming from the corner. And a glaring question that hummed underneath the noise. 

“Do you want to…you know, with him?” Pearline asked.

Annie stopped shelling for a moment and looked to the side to collect the whirlwind of thoughts that spun around in her head. 

Her and Smoke had been having outings. Not running into each other by chance, not catching a glimpse across the sidewalk. Together. In public. On purpose. It was mostly whatever it was she wanted to do. Smoke liked it that way.

They tucked into their own little routine as what was blossoming between them slowly became familiar. Since her conversation with Aunt Della she hadn’t taken the time to sit down and think about what exactly it was or where it was going to go. All she knew is that in this new rhythm with him…it felt right. 

He’d touch her gently. Carefully. Like he was holding onto something fragile. But even the slightest contact sent shivers down her spine. 

A hand at the small of her back.

He’d lean in close when he needed to say something to her. Always did.

But sometimes he’d drop his mouth right by her ear just to hear her gasp under her breath.

He’d wrap his hands around her waist and she swore she forgot how to breathe. 

But she didn’t move away.

His desire for her was palpable. 

He was hungry. 

She could see it in his eyes and feel it in his restraint. 

But he was tender with her, like he was dousing his own desire until she was ready to cross that bridge, and that ignited her curiosity for more like a spark lit in a dry room.

She knew she was in trouble when she started to notice the absence of certain things. His closeness. His touch. The feeling that came from it.

She thought about his mouth a lot. What it felt like pressed against hers. The way his tongue would trace the seam of her lips like a man standing at a threshold, waiting to be invited in. 

Her thoughts usually stopped there because they were too overwhelming. 

Kissing wasn’t new to her. Desire wasn’t either. Not entirely. 

She’d heard things. Sensed them. She wasn’t naive in an ignorant way. 

But as the baby of the family, and the only girl, she’d been crowded. She was always loved and protected. But love and protection always felt like being watched and managed by people who assumed they knew what was best for her.  

Then Smoke came along. He unsettled her because he didn’t hover. He waited. With his quiet attention and something deeper that sat underneath the surface. 

He listened.

He chose her. 

He made space for her to choose herself. 

And for a girl who spent her whole life being guarded, space felt dangerous. 

It felt like freedom. 

Freedom to be held but not held back.

She wanted to step into it, the new version of herself that was emerging from sheltered beginnings.

Craved it.

Craved him.

Badly. 

Even though she didn't fully know what that meant, she wanted to be close. Wanted to experience everything that came along with that closeness.

And it wasn’t just a physical thing. It was a primal, desperate ache that rose from the depths and swept through her body, hitting every single nerve ending along the way.

She even started dreaming about him. It was always the same one. She’d wake up in a mess of her own making—nightgown clinging to her curves, sheets damp. Then she’d spend the rest of the day feeling a dizzying pulse between her legs, like her heart had found a new home there.

It was like his soul had floated to hers while she was sleeping, and wanted to make sure she was ready for the day she finally just...let go. 

“It never feels right when one of them ain’t here. She could’ve just lost track of time, it ain’t often we let her go out without one of us dropping her off and picking her up.”

Elijah’s grip tightens on his phone. Everything she was telling him made sense, but the knot forming in his stomach was telling him otherwise. 

He’d been sitting around stiffly since she left, and it eased slightly when she texted to let them know they made it. However, as more time passed, he found himself even more tense than he was before. 

Annie leans closer to him, making him unclench his jaw when she leaves a few kisses on it.

“If she needs you she’ll call, Papa. You reminded her of the safe word, right?” she asks, and he nods. 

Elijah’s eyes meet hers, and she can see the worry pooling in his irises. The thought of Arielle needing to use it made the feeling in his gut intensify. The word was only to be used if she was in a situation she couldn’t get herself out of, and the idea of that made his chest tighten.

“I should’ve taken her. This is why I always take her to wherever she’s going. Annie, I swear, if she has to-”

“She’s not gonna need to use it, Elijah,” Annie cuts him off as he rises out of the bed, his phone forgotten on his pillow. 

“She can handle herself. You and Stack made sure of that.”

“I know she can handle herself,” he starts, beginning to pace back and forth. “I know how them lil niggas can be. Her knowing how to defend herself ain’t gon’ stop one from trying something.”

Annie sighs softly. She stands and steps into his path, making him stop in front of her. There was a deep frown on his face, and his brows were furrowed so deeply that Annie could tell he was panicked more than anything else.

“You are working yourself up,” she says firmly, her hands finding his forearms. 

“You just want her to be okay. Me too, but she don’t need us makin’ all the decisions for her anymore, and it’s time for you to start getting used to that.”

He exhales deeply, his hands finding Annie’s waist as he closes his eyes and tries to ground himself. 

After a few moments, he opens them and is met with Annie’s soft gaze. Her hands move up to his biceps, rubbing soothing circles in them.

“She hasn’t even texted, Annie. She normally texts if she’s gonna be late.” 

“It won’t be the first time she does something she don’t normally do. It ain’t the last time it’s gon’ happen either.”

Elijah raises an eyebrow as he listens to Annie’s tone. He looks at her, not missing the way her eyebrows twitched when she finished speaking.

“It’s something you ain’t telling me?” he questions, making Annie shake her head.

“No. I just have a feeling,” she replies. He looks at her, waiting for her to explain.

“I heard her talking to Marley on the phone earlier. Something about meeting some boys,” Annie tells him, her grip on him tightening slightly when she sees the deep frown reclaiming its place on his face at the mention of the one friend of Arielle’s that he wasn’t too fond of.

“I didn’t think she’d stay out so long past her curfew, so I didn’t say anything.”

“You should have, because I would’ve told her she couldn’t go. She lied to me, Annie.”

“She didn’t lie, Elijah. She said she was going to a party with her friends. Even gave you the address like you told her she had to, and that’s where she’s at. Don’t look or sound like a lie to me, plus she's 17. Think about what you and Stack were doin’ at 17 and be glad that ain’t her,” she shoots back, raising an eyebrow.

He smacks his teeth and looks away from her. 

“If she needs you, she’ll call, and if she doesn’t, you’ll get to practice your disciplinary skills when she gets home.”

“I discipline my kids just fine,” he rebuts halfheartedly, making Annie laugh.

“Even you don’t believe that,” she says, her fingers intertwining with his. “Remember when she cheated on that test?”

“I talked to her about that.”

“Yeah. You talk to her every time, and she knows that’s all you’re gonna do. She makes you think she hears you, then she moves on to the next thing as soon as you let her go. That’s Elias with a bow, and each time she plays you with those sad eyes and that pout.”

Elijah looks away for a moment before finding Annie’s eyes again, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“She got your eyes, though.”

“That’s how I know what she doin’,” Annie replies with a smile, leaning up to peck his lips.

“If she’s just out late and nothing’s wrong, then 3 weeks of early curfew,” he says.

“Good job. Now make sure you stick to it,” Annie says with a knowing look.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Elijah replies, leaning down for a kiss. 

Just as Annie’s hands find his face to pull him in for another, his phone rings. 

Elijah’s eyes shoot open and lock on Annie’s. They look toward his phone at the same time, Elijah pulling away to grab it after a moment.

“It’s Ari,” he mumbles, the tension in his body seeping into his voice again.

He answers it after a second, Annie’s hand finding his arm as he puts the phone on speaker.

“Arielle.”

“Papa,” she answers, and her parents clock the unease in her tone.

“I need you to come get me.” 

I reach under my seat for the pamphlets. I traced my thumb over the cream cardstock. The ink was raised, a deep charcoal that caught the amphitheater's torchlight. At the top, in a cursive script, were the words: PRELUDIO A COLÓN by Julián Carrillo

Beneath the title, the description was brief, written with the type of academic detachment of someone who had forgotten what it felt like to breathe. I squinted against the dim light, reading the text. 

“ A journey into the 'Thirteenth Sound.' Witness the Fracturing of the traditional octave into micro-intervals, Carrill unveils the hidden frequencies that exist betwixt the notes of the living and dead. This piece is a sonic and phonetic map of the unseen."

Apparently, this piece was written for a soprano opera singer, flute, guitar, violin, cello, and a harpzither. The name of each artist was listed under the instrument they played. According to the pamphlet, the opera singer was Julian Carrollo’s great granddaughter. She stuns in a wine-red dress and a red flower in her hair. 

It starts on a solemn note. Then, the music began on a haunting chord. The soprano's voice rattles something inside of me. With my senses raw, Carrillo’s piece was like a glass of cold water against the skin. The strings had microscopic cracks between them, creating a serrated frequency that vibrated against my feet and shot up to my heart. There was nothing familiar about the harmonies to find comfort in. Just a sliding, ghostly pitch that turned my stomach. 

I'm trying to green out right now. On 2 mg’s IF that. I couldn’t understand it. This sensitivity of it all. 

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm that fought the music’s eerie stretch. I gripped the armrests, nauseated and spinning, as the world shredded into thin, screeching ribbons. This song feels more like the death of something. An ending. Every string plucks at my nerves, causing a deep sense of unrest. The printed program notes that this is Sofia’s favorite arrangement. The violin sounds like a cry. 

The spotlight beams down on the band as they play louder and louder. I press my hand into Vlad’s lap and he takes hold of it.  I straighten my posture to take deeper breaths. The music stops and then starts, intensifying and then diffusing over and over. It feels as if it’s pushing me towards a place I don’t want to go.

Earlier I’d noticed red pattles in the crowd for drinks. I raise mine, and within a minute, a server grabs me a bottle of water for my stomach. I chug half of it as the piece fades out, hanging over the last few notes. 

I’m grateful for the silence, and I focus on box breathing. The technique seems to take the edge off my panic as I rest my hand back into my lap and grab the pamphlet. 

Next. A ballet called Lo Eterno en Marcha. In English it translated to “The Eternal in progress”. I read the dancers' names. Lucian and Estella. They walk into the spotlight shining down on the pit. Lucian is tall with fire-red hair pulled into a ball at his nape. He is freckled and wide-eyed with a hooked nose. His eyes are an electric green. Estella is a tan-skinned, black-eyed woman with her hair slicked into a long braid down her back. There’s is something ancient about her specifically though they look the same age.

I lean closer to Vlad and whisper, “ Are they together?” 

He smiles quietly and nods. At first, I think he won’t elaborate, until he leans over. “They died on the same day during The 1755 Tsunami of Cádiz.”

I marvel at the two of them, reopening the program to read about the performance.

" Emerse yourself in the exploration of the Kinetic Infinite, where dance transcends mortal perception. By moving beyond the speed of sight, the performers shed the friction of time to exist as a singular line."

Hmph. Not for my eyes, clearly. I was riding high. My shoulders relax as the water seemed to calm me down. Slowly, the music morphs into an almost rhythmic thrum. They might as well have been hummingbirds. Their bodies were a kaleidoscope of frantic, impossible motion. I blinked, trying to focus, but my eyes couldn't catch them—not fully anyway. They were moving at a speed that defied the physics of my own sight.

I watch the carousel of bodies entangled together, their garments bleeding into a new color. Ribbons of white silk and streaks of black and red caught in a hurricane. I somehow managed to catch the occasional "stutter" of an image—Estella’s face, twisted in serene focus, before she dissolved back into a trail of silver light. It was as if someone were flipping through a sketchbook, giving the human eye only a millisecond to process a picture that was already long gone. 

I felt a slight pressure on my hand. Vlad was leaning forward, his eyes tracking something I couldn't see. He wasn't looking at the blur. He was watching the individual. "Lucian’s Grand Jete is the best I’ve seen," he whispered, his voice smooth and captivated. "Estella is holding the peak of her arc for a fraction of a second too long. It works..."

I looked back at the pit. I saw nothing but a shimmering mist of movement and the rhythmic snap of fabric slicing through the air. I imagine that for the vampires, this was a display of peak athletic grace. For me, it was a reminder of the sheer, breathtaking distance between our physical capabilities. There would come a day when I could appreciate a performance like this. But not tonight. Tonight was reserved for getting through this event without losing my shit. So far, I think I’ve done somewhat well for myself…all things considered. 

The program moves on. Lucian and Estela get a standing ovation. They’d clearly impressed the crowd of old blokes. I clap alongside Vlad, paying my respects. 

We were closing in on the main event now. Sophia floats down to the pit with Luna in her arms. Luna slowly unties her robe, and Sophia takes it from her and folds it, leaving it on a nearby ledge. A woman and a man walk into the pit, one holding a guitar and the other a microphone. I take another glance at the program. The first dance would be to “ La Llorona” by Chavela Varagas. The performers were yet another set of vampires, Allen Baker and Alicia Chavez. The pair was dressed in matching suits. 

I've heard the song before in a movie, and to my surprise, Alicia sounds just like Chavela. So much so that I start to wonder if she’s lip syncing. I tap Vlad. “ She sounds just like her”, I whisper. 

He nods. “ Some of us are mimics. She could have heard Chavela once, and that was enough for her to memorize every inflection of Chavela's voice. Pretty neat, right?” he murmurs. 

My eyes widen at the sound of her voice. Impressed by the impersonation. I couldn’t tell a singular difference in tone.  Slowly, Sophia pulls Luna into her arms, and they begin their dance. 

The love between the two of them was palpable. I could feel it. Sophia, looked at Luna like she held the moon and the stars. I knew how it felt to be looked at like that. To love somebody so much that if you thought about it long enough, it started to hurt. Luna, with her glowing skin and fragile build, held her arms around Sophia as if she’d float away. 

Sophia is pliable, and I notice she’s not leading. It’s Luna who decides where they go. Her respect for her wife outweighing her need to physically control her. Instead, she tucked her chin into the crook of Luna's neck, her eyes closed, inhaling the scent of her partner. I imagine this would be the last time she could smell her as a human. Or, feel the murmur of her blood under her skin. It was a lingering, almost desperate press of the face…a silent apology, or maybe a benediction.

I can feel myself start to get emotional. A heat burns on the inside of my face but I managed to blink away my tears. I can feel Vlad looking, but he gives me my dignity and doesn’t ask any questions. 

Luna leaned back, her fingers grazing the sharp line of Sophia’s jaw, and for a moment, they stopped moving entirely. Sophia took Luna's small, shaking hand and pressed a kiss not to the knuckles, but into the center of the palm, then folded Luna's fingers as if giving her a secret to keep for eternity. 

Luna is trembling. For good reason. Because these were the last time she’d see Sophia through human eyes. To feel her touch with human skin. 

The singer's voice carries a heavy devotion. As if pleading to whoever she’s singing to. Though I couldn’t interpret the words, I felt what it meant. As the song climaxed, I could see Sophia begin to work the sleeves of Luna’s night gown. Her fingers slip under them as they sway until she’s tugging on them. They slide down her arms, and then her dress slips over the peaks of her breasts, exposing her entire chest. Bare. 

I swallow a small gasp. Luna is unalarmed, eyes closed as if this entire thing had been practiced a thousand times. I can’t help but lean forward as Sophia leans in to kiss her wife, unrushed and patient, not pulling away until Luna needs a breath. Then she moves to her ear as she flicks her hair behind her shoulder.  Slowly, her lips slide down to her neck. Her nose traces itself along her shoulder, savoring her here the most. Then she moves to the front of her throat, kissing a path down her chest in slow pecks. 

Her nose trails to the middle of her breasts, and she kisses her there, tasting her. Luna holds Sophia's hair, her fingers etched into her scalp as she closes her eyes. In an aching pace, Sophia unhinges her jaw and lines her teeth up with Luna’s heart. I think to myself, surely it can’t be here. Did Luna choose this to be the place, or was it only here? 

Sophia’s teeth sink into her wife’s chest as she bites her. Luna lets out a pained mule, cradling Sophia’s head as her own falls back. I can see the tears trickle down her temple as she takes in quick gasps of air. Luna doesn’t struggle in Sophia’s hold despite the pain. She doesn’t push her away. She cries out long and painfully. A finality in her mewls as if this moment had freed her from something. 

I’d realized I hadn’t been breathing when I took in a long-needed gulp of air.  I didn’t feel my own tears until they were dripping on my neck, already starting to cool. I fan myself as I sit back watching in marvel. 

Sophia kept drinking in large gulps. Blood poured down the front of Luna’s dress, inking the silk and widening with each passing moment like tie-dye. My humanity is quietly panicking because I know what comes after this. She’s going to kill her own wife. 

Luna is becoming paler by the moment, and nobody is stepping in to do anything. Yet somehow, her unwillingness to push her away is enthralling. To love somebody that much that you take their blade for them. To stare unflinchingly in the jaws of death. 

Luna goes limp, and Sophia holds her up with a hand on her back.  The crowd is so silent I can hear my own breathing. I tremble at the imagery as Sophia keeps drinking. Gripping the armrest, I keep myself planted in my seat. Forcing myself not to look away. On her last few sips, Sophia pulls away and gazes down at her bloody wife. 

Something wet drops on my forehead, startling me out of my concentration. Then another. Then another, until my head is whipping back and forth, trying to figure out the culprit. Had somebody thrown water on me? Was it leak? Seconds later, a fourth drop prompts me to look up. 

Eyes. All I see are eyes. Fearful eyes. Pleading eyes. Recognizable eyes. 

Enez. Oh god. Enez from the club. Tied up at the mouth, hands bound to his back and hanging from his feet, he looks to me as if I’m his only hope. However, it’s not just Enez either. It’s DJ and dozens of other men bound and gagged. Swaying from the ceiling of the amphitheater at their feet. I cover my mouth, holding in a scream as my heart begins to race. 

Alex warned him. He told Enez what he would do….

“Wait until I tell him the shit you tried to pull” ….. 

Some conveyor device electronically moves the men hanging around various sides of the theatre, pulling them all together to hang over the very center of the pit. They begin to struggle and cry, groaning from behind their gags and pleading. Servers begin to hand out disposable rain jackets and plastic face shields. I can feel my breathing become erratic as I grab one and clumsily pull it on. 

“ospăț…”

“ ospăț!!” 

There’s a shift in the energy of the crowd. Suddenly, these quiet and astute vampires are getting more and more antsy. 

“ospăț”, a woman below us hisses. 

Pretty soon people begin to yell the phrase over and over as it spreads through the crowd like some virus. With trembling hands, I pull out my phone in a panic. I type in the passcode and unlock it, trying to find a way to translate the term. 

A notification pops up on my phone. Nya texted me as if she knew my distress. I open the text to see a picture of food captioned

“My lasagna🍽️😘.” Angrily, I swipe away from the text and open a translation app, recording the sound. 

ospăț… (feast) 

Feast….

The chorus of vampires chants the words until they all say it at once. A stern command as if they alone decide for him. Vlad stands, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. He’s stepped out of his shoes. “ Listen to them. The children of the night. What sweet music they make”, Vlad murmurs quietly. I call out to him, but he doesn’t answer. 

He floats to the edge of the dias, feet hanging halfway off the stone. In a single blink, his skin is changing, or rather—shifting. Bones collapsing and lengthening under his skin. The golden undertone I'd come to know was now a pale husk of veiny flesh, taking on a lifeless color. His back widens, stretching the skin thinner and thinner and thinner until something breaks. 

He’s sprouted wings. 

A long layer of skin covers the wings like a bat. His shoulders widen. He gets taller. All of his body hair has vanished. The points of his ears have become sharper. His nails turn to dark talons. 

Am I dreaming? I feel an ancient dread. A familiar one. In a dying attempt, I call his name again. “Vlad Tepes”, I snap sternly. My heart racing, hands pinned to my seat. As if his name alone would give me dominion over him. 

Slowly, he turns to me, revealing glowing eyes, sharp teeth, warped and stretched features. A nose too sharp. A mouth too thin. Pure monstrosity. He’s not even there. I don’t feel him. I can’t feel him. Whatever this is. It’s a shell. 

Soundlessly, he jumps from the balcony, disappearing, and the crowd ceases its chant. I dart to the edge of the Dias to see him free-fall and then shoot upwards to the bound victims. The slap of his wings echoe across the arena with a heavy thwack. 

The creature claws at throats, bursting the skin open like broiled hot dogs. One by one, he silences each man, turning their cries into wet gurgles. Mists of blood hit the crowd. I turn my head, smelling iron permeate through the air. The vampires cheer in delight, some sticking their tongues out like children in the rain. He saves Enez for last, hanging upside down, nails and feet gripping the poor man’s body as he sank his canines into his neck. He pulled away heaps of flesh, making it hurt as Enez begged for mercy. 

I'm going to be sick.

On shaking legs, I begin to wobble down the stairs, holding onto the railing, ducking behind cheerful vampires who roar for more violence. My legs give out from the fear, and I fall flat onto my ass, swallowed by a sea of bodies. 

“ Mato!”, I yelp. I begin to hyperventilate. “ Mato help!”, I shout. 

In a snap, strong arms pull me up from my armpits, and I’m blasted into the lobby at the speed of light. He snatches off my blood-stained raincoat and grabs my face. 

“ Breathe…deeply”, he compels me. 

My body has no choice but to follow suit, and it keeps me from passing out. I take the stragglers in the lobby into account. A few older-looking vampires and possibly a few humans were eating at the bar, boredly. They’d seen this all before. 

Mato, more sympathetic than the eyes of my lover, wiped my tear-streaked face. His hands rest on my shoulders. The sound of weeping men round the corner, all bound and gagged in a single file line. Sybil walks behind the group in knife-point stilettos, cheerily pushing them forward, towards the opening of the arena. “ Time to feed the beast!” she sang merrily, winking at me as she walked past. 

I stare at her dumbfoundedly. I can hear the moment the next set of food enters the pit, as the crowd gets more lively. I shake my head and look back at Mato. He raises a brow at me. 

“ Vlad should have been more thorough. You are very clearly not ready. I warned him”, he sighs. 

I shake my head. “ I wouldn’t listen to him. I kept…brushing him off. I…those people”, I stammer. 

Mato saves me the guilt. “Remember, we only pick the worst of the worst for these events. In this case, these hybrids were running a whole operation. Taking advantage of women and stealing their life force. It’s been a long time coming ”, he says. 

I frown in confusion. “ Hybrids. You mean incubi ?”, I ask.

“Usually one parent is, and the other is human. Very pesky creatures, but surprisingly delicious. Luna will make a strong fledgling with quality blood like that”, he explained. 

A wave of nausea hits me again at the thought of blood. I’m greening out. There’s no stopping it this time. I fold my arms around myself, looking at the floor, trying to soothe myself somehow. 

“ Why don’t I call your ride and get you on your way back to the villa. What’d ya’ say, kid?” he asks endearingly. 

I don’t have time to answer him because I’m darting to the bathroom to empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet. The room is swirling. I flush the toilet, leaning against the stall as I close my eyes.

I slide down the stall, sitting down on my butt, and pushing my head between my knees as I try to recenter myself. My phone vibrates with a text from Nya. I open it. “Should I fuck Alex 🤔🤫”

I shake my head and close my phone, dropping it back into my lap. The sound of humming brings me out of my mental spiral. I peeped under the stall door, trying to see if anybody had come inside. I was completely alone.

Weakly, I unlock the stall and peep behind the door. I smell the lavender and opium. There she sat in the mirror, brushing her hair and smoking. Amina.

The longer I stare, the less control I have. My feet scrape forcibly across the floor. She was the storm, and I was the helpless piece of debris being pulled into her orbit. I try to anchor my feet to the floor, hold onto the sink, and push my hands away to no avail. She’s trapped me. 

Amina Medina POV

“ Ghost”, I taunt, exhaling the smoke from my lungs. I turn to the room. I could feel her—I believe it to be a woman. “ Will you be of use today?” I tease. I go back to brushing my hair. I don't suppose the little ghost will answer anyhow. 

The woman in the mirror staring back at me has changed. My hard edges had been sanded down, first by my husband and then finished off by our cherubic children. Anger wasted a lot of my time and shaved years off my life. I found a place to put it long ago. I wrapped it around a paddle much like my hairbrush, except it was made for skin. Every woman finds her hobbies, I suppose. 

My quiet part of the day was dwindling. Soon, tiny feet would stampede into my private oasis, and I won’t get a moment of peace until I’m lying next to my Vlad. I cannot say that I did not prefer it this way. 

I use my last minutes wisely, finishing my pipe and oiling the candles for my children, Hamda, Alexandru, and Petru. In the short years I had with my mother, she taught me the importance of the spirit and how it must be guarded in children. I want to believe my mother's prayers still hold me to this day, and I’d hope the same for my children. 

I dress each candle in rose oil, roll it in an herbal blend with sea salt, working from bottom to top. I look over at Vlad’s candle. Undressed and yet to be lit. I’ve been fighting a thought for many weeks. A bad thought. One that may change the way he viewed me despite all the terrible things that transpired early in our betrothal. It was a forbidden rule. Some things in life couldn’t be cheated. 

I am pulled from my thoughts, hearing the patter of feet. Alexandru is always first because his legs are the longest. He bursts in, smiling, with two missing teeth. A spitting image of his father as a boy. I can’t contain my excitement, though it has only been 7 hours since I last saw their darling faces. Petru wasn’t far behind him as they crashed into me. A chorus of “Mommy! Mommy!” Echoing across the corridor. 

I grab them both into my arms, showering them with kisses on their soft little cheeks. Petru climbs onto me, wanting to be picked up, something his father had gently reprimanded him about. He was trying to get him to embrace being a “big brother” now, but it was a tug of war. He was stubborn, much like me. Secretly, I did not mind picking him up despite his growing heaviness. I hold Petru’s face against my rib, looking at the three of us in the mirror. The boys were dressed well for church, as all little princes should be. 

“ Mommy, Petru, and I want to go see the horses after service—please”, Alexandru asked respectfully. 

I put Petru back on his feet. “ Okay, but you must be nice and quiet during service. Then I will see if Lady Patricia will escort you”, I bargain. They nod excitedly, already knowing they’d get to visit no matter the outcome. 

I recognize the sound of the footsteps barreling around the corner. My heart leaps at the thought of him near. Vlad opens the door, holding Hamda, who’s squealing at the excitement of her little family. Vlad pressed a kiss to her head. I walk over and kiss her dimpled cheeks before landing a peck to my husband. He had stolen far too many this morning. 

Hamda reaches for me, and I pick her up. She grabs my mouth and stares into my eyes, transfixed on me. Would it be so silly to believe she was communicating with me deeply? In a way that her words could not yet form? Of all my children, she looked the most like me. The only girl, the quickest birth, and my easiest baby. And to think the midwives had all said that girls were harder, stole your beauty, and more. They were all so terribly wrong. In fact, I believed her birth had healed something deeply wrong with me. I found something inside myself that I'd lost long ago when she looked at me for the first time. I had so many grand plans for her. She would be the antithesis of my life. 

“ Hello, I’m still here. Hamda. You're rubbing it in”, her father waved to get her attention. We did have a bond that I couldn’t deny. I chuckle as she blinks at her dad, then turns to smile with me, showing her gums. 

“ It will be your turn very soon, I’m sure of it. You’ll speak in that secret language that all girls do with their fathers”, I laugh. Not that I’d ever experienced that, but it was what I saw in the towns. Men were capable of loving their daughters more than themselves. If I’d failed at anything, at least I knew I gave that to my daughter. 

Vlad lifts each boy by their feet, stomping around the room and out the door as they squealed in excitement. He loved to play the brute. Their game of “Mean Papa,” which they absolutely loved. There was no angry man in their home, and yet the idea of one humored them. I follow behind them with Hamda in my arms, watching them climb their fathers' backs. 

Our set of workers followed far behind us as we made our way to church. We sit in the front row of the chapel, last to appear as the crowd stands, waiting for us to take our seats. 

Service was service. Painfully long and achingly quiet. The priest's eyes rolled to me every now and then. I think he knew in his heart that I did not hold onto this faith. That I didn’t truly believe. Vlad did—but almost in a painful way. An almost punishing or fearful way. He needed this all to be true so badly. I couldn’t take that from him. If this was how he made sense of this wicked world, then so be it. 

It was a wife’s duty to abide by her husband's religious beliefs. Six years ago, I would have detested this idea. I eventually succumbed to my duty. Some choices came naturally, and others I gritted through. Not because I had no choice, but because it was easier to just get on with it. Vlad knew about my candles, herbs, and spells. He didn’t ask. He didn’t judge. That was enough for me.

Furthermore, I do not believe the priest is an honorable man. He yearns for violence. I’ve seen it in his eyes. The way they ignite when he speaks with Vlad. I’d know no religious man to talk about decimating their enemies to fire and ash. I look up at the intricate mural paintings on the chapel ceilings. I whisper to Vlad,“ I have often wondered why the angels in church are always so fair. Why is this?” I ask him. 

I can see his dark eyes roll to the ceiling, looking up introspectively. He tilts his head and squints. “ I asked that question many years ago. The answer was unclear. Apparently, angels can only look this way. I do not believe that to be true. It’s all by interpretation”, he murmurs very quietly into my ear. 

Our eyes meet with a deep understanding. I could have left it here but I respond. “ They believe it is only they who will go to heaven. We are the ones who must fight to get in”, I whisper back, leaving him to his thoughts. 

Tensions escalated. The Turks were edging closer to a victory. New battle strategies were drawn up day by day. The feeling of uncertainty drew closer. 

I watch Vlad suit up in armor. I put my hand on my stomach, trying to quell the nausea. He was gone more than he was away. The children had begun having intense meltdowns in his absence, crying for him at night. He’d only been back for three weeks and would soon be gone for another four. He’s staring at me with an apology as he grabs his helmet. He’s an angel in silver and mesh. The suit makes him this terrifyingly large abominable figure. The impaler…they call him. He gets to me across the room in three long strides, towering over me, cupping my face. I look up at him through teary eyes. He kisses me, and it feels like the first time ever. I breathe him in through my mouth. Trying to capture the essence of him with my tongue, just in case it's the last time.

All I can manage to croak is “I need you.” Which frightened me because I never needed anyone. His eyes mirror back my pain. I see them swell with tears, too. I knew this hurt him. I knew he hated being away. But this was duty. That’s what they made the sons of kings believe. And so there would be no debating any of this. I was married to a king. I was a queen consort. I don’t have the power to make him stay. 

This carries on for months and months. The frustration made me agitated, but he refused to argue with me. He would let me get it all out and insisting that he understood. Insisting that he felt the same way, but made no move to change any of it. I would melt back into his arms, tiring myself out with my tears. Sex would ensue, an attempt to try and salve the sting of our situation. It sated us both for a day or so, but it couldn’t fix this. Not permanently. 

Time had become my obsession. I was running out of it. I knew it deep in my heart. One stormy night, I’d dreamt of a large bird that had cracked open the ceiling of Poenari and plucked me from my bed like a bug from a leaf. Our greatest archers were of no use for its impenetrable wings. It had the strength of 100 men or more, and it shot me straight into the clouds. I did not panic at all as the wings holding me by my waist turn into strong hands. It's the nail in my decision. 

Through the French doors, I watch Vlad bounce a squealing Hamda in the air from the other room. I’m seated at my chaise, sitting across from the traveler I’d arranged this meeting with. She pulls back her black hood to reveal her eyes. One green and the other brown. Her skin is darkened, withered from the sun, with a light coating of dirt and dust. She’d travel a long way to get here. I call for a guard to close the curtains, blocking Vlad from seeing this exchange. “ Have you brought it?” I get right to it, picking up my cup of tea and bringing it to my lips. 

She waves her stained red fingers, and the guard brings over the brown leather case, setting it down on the table that divided us both. “ It is there”, she says in a heavy accent. 

I slowly grab it and fiddle with the locks until it clicks open. The petals are like wine, with a thin stem, no thorns, and a sickly sweet fragrance. Rosa Aeternitas. Few knew of the flower's potency. Vlad assumed I was ordering more jewelry for Hamda—— my usual frivolous spending. But no. I had to order in secret. 

I pet the petals with the tips of my fingers, staring at it in complete wonder. Many people say that this flower was cursed. It was created from black magic. In my many travels as an adolescent, grieving women and mothers would use this flower to cheat death. I’d often wondered why women were so drawn to it. Nevertheless,  this world had unseen laws and scales, and toying with the finality of death was precarious.  

“You may stay until you feel you’ve fully rested. Feel free to use any of the guest amenities.  I will make sure you are accommodated”, I say in finality. What more was there to discuss? She’d done good work, but she made no move to get up. 

She puts up a gentle hand and takes a sip of her beverage. Warm milk. No tea or sugar. I eye her suspiciously as she rests the cup on the saucer. 

“ Let us go over conditions of use— to say that I did my part”, she warned in an almost melodic tone. I pause, crossing my legs and clasping my hands on my knee. 

“ Death is a tricky thing. I'm not sure who you will use this for, but I can say this flower won't let you escape sacrifice. Whatever or whoever you're trying to save, you must trade your wish for something of equal or greater value”, she advised. 

“ Naturally”, I quip. Trying not to give away my naivety with this particular plant. 

“This flower has a thirst for blood. Plant it in a pot and bleed over it every day. You will know it is ready when it turns dark red, like old blood. Then you must dry the flower, grind it into a fine powder, and wear it close to your body. Let it get to know you and your intent. Only then can you work with it. Tincture, tea, salve, syrup—no matter…”, she trails off. 

She looks over at the covered door and then back at me. I can see her thoughts swirling in her head. “ It will hurt. Please know that”, she murmurs carefully. 

I grimace. “ Hurt?” I question. 

She begins with a sigh. “ It will feel like death. I do not mean to be forward, but if you feed it to the children, it may be very—”, I stop her. 

“ It is not for children”, I blurt.

That seems to relax her slightly. We sit there for a moment in silence. Suddenly, Petru cracks open the door and then busts in. “ Mommy. Mommymomma!”, he shouts. I stand up quickly.

“ Petru. Mommy will be out in a moment !” I begin to walk to the door. He stands in the doorway with his finger in his mouth, staring past me and at the traveler. Vlad rushes behind him to snatch him up, whispering a quick apology. I close the door behind them both and turn back to my guest. Joining her again, I settle back down onto the chaise, pouring myself another cup. 

“ The King, he dotes on the children”, she observes. I nod quietly. 

“ He enjoys them. Watches them. This is unusual for a man of his status. Terrible rumors have spread far and wide. And yet…”, she counters. 

I turn a defensive eye to her, not wanting to get too much into the details. “ He is good to us ", I murmur.

The traveler stays all but two days before she leaves in the night. I pot the flower in my private room, hiding it behind a wardrobe. On the 7th day the rose turned a dark red—almost black. I plucked it, dried it, and wore it against my skin for seven nights.

In the blanket of the night, I sneak off to the markets with two guards. My hands hover over the stalls and their displays, waiting until the feeling feels right. Snake venom, Dried rat tails, Bat teeth, bird feather, and a wolf's eye marble. 

I spread the materials on my desk, watching their shadows dance under the candlelight. A feeling of hopelessness overwhelms me. In another week, he’d be gone, and this time, there was more risk involved than ever with this ambush. I clasp my fingers together trying to piece together the ingridents. 

My mother once told me that if I wanted something, I should cry to the world.  If I’m worthy, whatever I wish for will come true. So I do. They’re hot and heavy down my face. I plead for his protection, bargaining with his past. Asking the world not to turn its back on him. To give him more time to prove his worthiness. Of what? I didn’t know. There’s a belief that Kings don’t have to be good men—only dutiful men. There was a time I didn’t care about his moral standing. I’d only wanted him and if he was good to me then to hell with the rest of it. I couldn’t have felt any more different than I do now. I bottle each and every single tear into the smallest glass flask I could find, scooping the water from my cheek and watching it pool inside the glass. I close the flask and begin with boiled hot water. 

I add each ingredient minutes apart, grinding down what I can into the thinnest of powders. Rosemary, Rue, and Clove for protection from physical harm. Calamus for domination over the enemy. Yarrow for healing the wounds. What couldn’t be crushed would be steeped, including the marbles and teeth. The Snake venom was for defense, the Rat tail for strategy, The wolfs eye for perception, bat teeth for wisdom, and the bird feather for agility.  Hours later, I’m left with a thick black syrup. I finish it off with the drops of my tears, stirring it all together before straining it. 

I speak over the concoction, commanding dominance over his enemy’s discernment and clarity. Breathing my biggest hopes into the bowl, pleading for his protection. I sing hymns of ancient prayer, my uncles used to sing before heavy storms. As a young girl, I often believed those songs could stop the wind in its tracks, turning the outcome in our favor. Being so far from home for most of my life has left me feeling disconnected. I’d always felt that my  religion was whatever I learned along the way in distant lands. Yet I knew that the best form of protection I could give my husband and my children was my love and my wrath. And maybe that in itself is my religion. 

“ As payment… To this world and this world alone, I give my soul and flesh and bone.  Bind my life to this mortal track, so where he stays, I must come back”.

In the morning Vlad had gone off for a hunt with the hounds and a few foot soldiers. The children were fond of wild rabbit and Vlad had promised to bring some back for supper. The kids and I spent the entire late morning and afternoon in play. Podul de Piatra  (The stone bridge) and Leapșa (Tag) were some of their favorite games. Eventually, the staffers joined in my place as I walked around the courtyard with Hamda, who was now standing on her own at 9 months. Her fists wrap around the tips of my fingers as I guide her down the stoned path. We watch crows dance in the snow. We eventually head back, watching the boys play sword with their nanny. 

The thunderous clank of hooves and the screech of the King spaniels, Greyhounds, and Basset hounds alert the children that Daddy is here. He turns the corner, and it feels like seeing sunlight. The boys run to the mud room, jumping up and down as Vlad walks in with 8 men and dirty dogs, who try to dodge the staff's hands as they try to catch them. On his belt hung 5 small rabbits. The other men hold dozens of wild doves and a pig. 

Chaos ensues as the boys begin to chase the dirty hounds. Vlad’s men laugh as the staff slips in the mud tracks, desperately trying to rein everyone in. Vlad grabs the children in one hand, slamming the rabbit on one of the tables with the other. My husband hooks his finger in his cheek and gives the room a sharp whistle. The dogs stop in their tracks, allowing the staff to herd them back outside for a rinse.

The group disperses as the cooks take the fresh game to the kitchen. The children run off to play leaving only Vlad and myself. He closes the gap between us, and I look up at him, reaching up to pull him down for a kiss. He always steals more than I give until we end up in a lip lock. Eventually, we pull away when one of the cooks rounds the corner for the last rabbit. “ How badly did they terrorize you?” He asks. 

“ They played all day. No piano and violin lessons. No foreign language. We skipped all of it…which means they will sleep all night…thank goodness”, I grin. 

He raises a brow at me. “ I’m in luck?”, he hints. 

I can’t hold back my laugh. “ I may or may not have a surprise for you.” I can see the smile widen on his face. “ But you must stay awake and not fall asleep like you did last time”, I tease. When really it was both of us. He just happened to fall asleep first. 

“ You have my word”, he swears, stealing yet another kiss. “ I will not leave my post”, he murmurs. I grab his hand, leading him to the drawing room to join the children and me until dinner was ready. 

On such a cold evening, rabbit stew was the obvious choice. As we funnel into the dining room, I hand Hamda off to Vlad as I sit Petru down in his seat and wipe his little hands clean with a rag and bowl of warm water, a Moorish custom from my people. Bathing the skin meant fewer sicknesses. Alexandru wipes his own hands, waiting for my praise at how independent he is. This, of course, offends Petru, who insists he will do it himself the next time. I choose my battles wisely, not bothering to disagree with the choice that he will surely forget. 

“ Did you boys thank your father for going out and getting your rabbit?” I ask. 

“Thank you, Papa!” Petru shouts. I shush him, holding back my chuckle. 

“ Thankyou”, Alexandru murmurs before stuffing his spoon in his mouth. 

Vlad picks out bits of soft carrot and mashes them between his fingers to feed Hamda. Though many families I've come to know, including my own, expect their children to be peripheral objects, that wasn't quite the approach Vlad and I wanted for our children. We asked them questions about themselves, about their day, about what they dreamt of when they slept. I’ve found that it is at the dinner table that children let their true personalities show. Where one could make the obvious distinctions between siblings. This, in turn, produced outspoken, but very polite and expressive, children. 

“ What did you do with Lady Patricia yesterday?”, Vlad asks Alexandru. Our son perked up, mentally replaying his day at the markets. 

“ First, we went to see the sheep, and then she let me pick which one we could eat. Then, we went to the stables to see the Arabian horses. T-ThenT-then…...”, Alexandru pauses for a moment. We patiently wait for him to gather his thoughts, as he was still very young. Much like his father as a boy, he’d developed a stutter. Vlad assured me he’d grow out of it with much practice and space to work it out on his own. He had extensive speech lessons 3 times per week. 

“ S’alright Alexander. Take your time, it’ll come back to you”, Vlad reassures him gently. I nod in agreement, smiling at his puzzled little face.

Alexandru takes a long, deep breath. “ Then we went to the markets to go pick out toys, and Lady Patricia got us sweets”, Alexandru beams. I chuckled at his sweet face.

Vlad turns his attention to Petru. “ Very good, Alexandru. Petru, what did you eat for breakfast today?”

Petru answers in a way that only Petru could. “ The men in the towns said that papa dips his bread in the blood of his ena….”, he begins to stumble. 

“Enemies, Petru”, Alexander quips. Petru twists his face at his brother for helping. 

Of course, Vlad and I share a look. He looks more amused than anything, and I’m just disturbed. “Those Saxon merchants spread lies to make the day go by faster. It is simply gossip. Do you know what gossip means?” asks Vlad.

Petru shakes his head. Hamda began smacking her hands down on the table because Vlad wasn’t feeding her fast enough. 

I step in. “ Gossip is when people make up stories about other people, where they tell lies for fun or to hurt the person they lie about. People make up a lot of gossip about Daddy. But is Daddy scary? Is he mean to us as they say? Does he hurt us?” I ask. The boys quietly shake their heads no and go back to eating dinner. 

Dinner concluded with the boys falling asleep at the dinner table. I can see the smile creep on Vlad’s face as he picks them both up, getting them ready for bed. I grab Hamda, knowing she’d be the easiest to put down, considering she skipped her nap. 

Like old times, I sent for him through a letter passed by a maid to another maid, and so on. It’s just like when we were sneaking around, when there was so much more at stake on a social front.  I tell him where to meet me—the bathhouse. 

All those years ago, when I made him pay for my affections, I criticized him harshly for the lack of baths in Poenari. If one wanted to bathe, a wooden tub would be moved into their room, and it would never stay hot for long. After an intense night between the two of us, I reminisced on the Arab baths in Grenada. I’d only seen them a few times as a small girl, but they were immaculate. Inside the Alhambra, the Comares Baths were a world wonder. It beheld stunning geometric tilework, marble floors, and a vaulted ceiling punctuated with star-shaped skylights that let shafts of daylight filter through the steam. These large pillars stood from the water, and I’d hide behind them, waiting at just the right moment to scare the older women. The stone kept the water warm along with the underwater heater. I faintly remember the smell: cardamom, jasmine, and clove. 

To my surprise, development at Poenari began shortly after I mentioned it. The bath was completed within three months. Only then did I realize he’d do almost anything to make me happy. Soon after, it became our hideaway. If he couldn’t find me anywhere else, he would look here. 

At the refreshment cart, the two glasses of wine I ordered for the bathhouse sat side by side. I take the syrup flask from my pocket and hold it up, inspecting it. I pour the tiny flask into each cup, swirling the concoction around with the spoon until it dissolves into the cherry wine. I slowly strip out of the nightgown, folding it and leaving it on a bench just a few feet from the water before I step in. 

I submerge myself, swimming under the water to the other side to soak through the twists in my hair. I touch the bottom, swiping my fingers against the colorful tiles, opening my eyes to watch the candlelight dance on the surface of the water. A black shadow blocks the ray of light shining into the pool. I peek my head out to look at Vlad.

I wipe the water out of my eyes and stand, revealing half my torso. Without my prompting, he begins to disrobe. With each thud of clothing, I tread further and further away from him, heading towards the deeper end of the bath. I turn around, pushing my feet from the stone to launch myself into the deep end. When I turn back around, Vlad is gone.  I can hardly contain my laugh as I begin to kick rapidly, moving faster, feeling him near but not knowing what angle he would strike me from.

His arms grab my thighs, and I let out a sharp, startled scream that rolls into a fit of giggles. He lifts me up onto his shoulder, spinning me around before he drops me back down, catching me by my waist. I turn around and embrace him, wrapping myself around so tightly that I could feel his heartbeat against my chest. 

His hand encircles my waist as his face nuzzles into the crook of my neck. “ So, this is my surprise. How long has it been, wife?”

I murmur. “ Not since Hamda was born, I imagine.” I slide my hands up his scarred torso, up his neck, and then plant my hands on either side of his face. My heart leaps at the sight of him, all these children later. Maybe even more so than before. 

“ Do you want to try for a fourth? Or how about triplets this time? ” I blurt. Half joking. 

He lets out a chuckle, eyes tracing my mouth before he shakes his head. “ And have you cursing me the entire delivery…again??”

I smirk in remembrance. “ They’re so cute when they’re little, though. They look like little old people. Especially Petru.”

His grin softens into a warm smile. “ Yes, I suppose he did look about 80 years old, didn’t he?” 

Now I giggle. “ Do you remember how he always had hiccups and this little shocked expression. Like he could not believe he had actually been born”, I snort. 

Vlad’s face lights up fondly, remembering those special times. “ Well, maybe we can have a more serious conversation about a few more once the war is over”, he prompts. 

I can’t help the way the hike in my shoulders drops. Then. My smile fades, and I’m looking down in the water, avoiding his gaze. I gently pull back, but he doesn’t let me go. He never does. Even when I’m angry with him, he doesn’t. He always follows me. I’d felt like such a lucky woman in that way. It was no different now. “ Amina…”, he murmurs in a pacifying tone. I turn my head, and he grabs my chin. 

“ Stop it”, I clip. 

“ I’m not doing anything to you”, he soothes. 

“ You are breaking my heart,” I scoff. 

“ I don’t want to fight”, he pleads. His brows furrow when I avoid his gaze.

  “ You know that is not my intention. But this war is what I've been waiting for my entire life. This is what men in my position are trained to do”, he rasps. 

A flame of anger licks me, and I lose the lid on my temper that I'd kept tucked away for some years now. It rears. “ FUCK the war. I’M what you've been waiting for your entire life”, I sneer. He blinks in surprise. I reach behind his head and tug a tuft of his hair, now just short enough to grab hold of. 

I hover close to his ear. I can feel his erection bobbing against my stomach. “I hope that fucking priest dies a slow death. He is a snake. He will pay for the turmoil he has caused this family”, I spit. I let him go, wading further from him. He catches me by the ankle and drags me back to him. I struggle in his grasp when he whips me around, enclosing his arms around my stomach. 

Sometimes, I needed this. When something was too painful to say to his face, he'd turn my back to his chest and wait. I can feel the scruff of his beard and chin rest in the crook of my neck. He was waiting patiently for the truth. 

It spills out in a wounded way. A way that made me feel so incredibly small. “ I hate how emotional you make me. I hate this. You make me a blubbering fool. I hate this feeling”, I whine. I bite my bottom lip trying to stop the incoming tears.  

He grumbles. “ That’s what love is. Complete and utter madness—I’m finding.” 

I take a long sigh, feeling myself relaxing into him like I always do. “ So many women lose their husbands to war. They lose them and get on with it. They find a way through it. I suppose it’s easier when he’s a complete monster. If he’s away, then there’s nothing to worry about. Nobody to pester you for sex or hit you…or berate you. What do you do when you actually love him? ” I mutter.

He chuckles quietly behind me. “ Have a little faith in me, my love.” 

“ I planned to be a spinster before I met you, you know?” I ramble.  A kiss to my temple pulls me out of my haze, and I blink back to life.

“ I consider myself to be one of the luckiest men in Europe—the world even”, he hums. 

I turn around to look at him. “ I don’t want flattery, Vlad. I want to hear how angry you are”, I plead.

Something in Vlad’s expressions drops. “ I’m angry every day of my life, Draga. I don’t want this war, but I inherited it. I don’t want this responsibility, but it’s mine. My faith waivers constantly, and I have questioned the priest in private. It is my family or his. It is my kingdom or his. Sultan Mehmed feels in his heart that he is doing the right thing by attacking Wallachia, because it is a war he himself has inherited too. So perhaps everyone is wrong…I do not know. But what I do know is that I will not run from this fight, and the Turks cannot be reasoned with. So if it's blood they want…”, he sighs tiredly. I can see his brows crinkle in exhaustion. For the first time, I see the physical and mental fatigue written all over him. 

Vlad could put a brave face on for almost anything. He could be hard to read in front of other people. It was only now, however, that I could see the stress. I find myself reaching back into him, feeling upset with myself for coming onto him so sharply. 

He doesn’t push me away. He accepts me into his embrace. I rest my ear against his chest, listening to his heart. I relinquish my control of this war. I know in my heart that there is nothing that can be said to deter this war. No matter how tightly I hold onto him, within the next few days, he could be called into battle. I have to find a way to accept this. All I can do is reinforce my protections and hide. 

He grabs me out of my thoughts and kisses me, hard. It distracts me from the pain as I submit to his advances. All we have right now is this. This is what we both could control at this moment. Each other. 

I find myself pressed up against the ledge of the pool, his fingers wrapped in my hair, leaning over me as he licks into my mouth. I am pliant and wanting, wrapping my legs around his hips. It doesn’t go far before I insist on wine. I feel the water roll off my skin as I walk to the cart to grab our glasses. 

When I hand it to him, he makes no move to observe what’s in the glass. He chugs it, looking straight at me, transfixed on my naked form. He makes no complaint about the bitter taste or the darker-than-usual color. He slams the glass on the edge of the pool. So I do the same, chugging until there’s nothing left. 

“ Get over here”, he gruffs. He’s in a demanding mood. A rare treat indicating that he’s even more frustrated than he seems, but he won’t be able to rest until I punish him. Because not even a warm bath or stiff cup of wine would truly wind him down. 

I stare at the bottom of my glass, settling with what I’ve just done to both of us. I’d secretly hoped I could convince him to pull out of the war. Now, I must let the cards fall where they may. “ Amina..”, I hear him call with such a rare impatience. 

I let him take me the way he wants. I find myself entangled in his grasp, wholly and willingly. His fingers in my mouth, his tongue along my neck. He consumes me in a way that only he can. His odd way of taking me out of myself entirely until I’ve divorced myself from all thought or reason. I scream like I always do. A bathing sponge wedges itself between my teeth, giving me something to bear down on, but I end up pulling it out along the way. 

We break from the haze long enough to get back to quarters, cold from the contrast of the warm water. We sit by the fire, having another glass of wine. The candles in the room turn the air muggy. I watch the way they burn down so quickly before I spring my advances on him when he least expects it because that’s what he prefers. Someone so naturally vigilant in his daily life enjoys the element of my surprises. Enjoys being cut down to pieces and then rebuilt by my hand.  

I play this role. Pretend that he’s nothing to me when he’s become everything. Bound to the bed, blind folded, the wax stings enough to make each muscle in his body contract and then release. Over and over. Each exhale a relief as the sting brings him closer to a sense of release.  I watched the wax dry along his torso, while my hands gripped his shaft. It cools into a dark pink color, the same color as the very tip of him. I’d left him here on the precipice of climax for far too long. The most guttural sounds leave him when the pleasure and pain mix. A wounded mewl that he stifles between clenched teeth. I run my hand faster, up and down, to test just how much of himself he could hold back.  Every so often, my eyes roam up to his face to see the faintest sign of tears. 

I find ways to terrorize him the entire night. He finds his release more than once. I found mine too again and again, and then the sun came up. The fog of the night is lifted. The room is covered in wax and goose feathers from the pillows he tore into. Spilled wine, smoke, and ash litter the rug.

He lies there, muscles loose and eyes half lidded. I’m buried under pounds of his flesh, pressed to the bed with him as my blanket. We gaze upon each other, already halfway between worlds and almost asleep. My handprint is imprinted his cheek.

The words find me and leave me before I can even think. “Be with me, for all time”, I ask quietly. A vulnerability that hurts me in a way that I welcome. 

“ Always”, he croaks, sealing his promise with a kiss. 

A few days of bliss calmed my nerves. The Turks went quiet, and Vlad had talks with his generals about possibly ambushing the enemy. A sense of control over our situation had come back. But soon I would come to regret my decision to feed him my spell. Whatever I have done has affected him in such a horrific way. I question if I have poisoned my husband.

First came the nausea. He was sleeping longer than usual, sometimes even midday. He would get chills that left him shivering in the late afternoon. Our physician assessed him, and the only conclusion was that it was a seasonal cold. 

He sat in the baths, trying to work up a sweat. Breathing treatments with healing vapors and soothing teas did nothing. Boiled garlic made it worse. Then the nausea and vomiting came in the middle of the night. I watch in terror as the episodes unfold, trying to soothe him through it. I’m entirely unaffected. Doctors checked him for cuts and scrapes to rule out secret infections, but nothing came up. 

On a rainy night after a sick spell, he finally settled enough to go back to sleep. I watch over him,  rubbing his chest as he dozes off. That’s when I noticed the glint of his nails, sharp and pointy, they’d somehow grown in the matter of minutes to claws. I hold his palm and bring it closer to my face to inspect it. I watch them retract back into his nail bed. 

The night was full of terrors. Each night, lying beside him, I wait for something else to stir me. Fanged teeth poked from his mouth, and then the next minute, they weren’t there. His eyes glowed when he woke up to relieve himself. I was pinned to the bed in fear, unable to utter a word to him. Cuts and scrapes healed faster than usual, taking maybe a half day to grow new skin. Then he began to sleep less and less. I worried for him. Was this all I had hoped for? Or had I turned my lover into something unrecognizable? 

Soon, we were woken up in the early morning by soldiers banging on our door. I make myself decent as they barge in, armored. They suit him up with lightning speed as I rush behind him, my feet slapping against the marble as I frantically shout for our children. 

Handmaids pick the boys up out of their sleep. I grab Hamda and put on her coat and hat, then put on my own. The boys tug on their fur hats as the workers and soldiers zip past us. 

It’s time. It’s finally happening whether we want it to or not. Vlad is kissing me fully and harshly. An alarm in his eyes that burns me. I’m terrified. The boys go quiet, hanging onto my waist. He bends down to kiss them.  “ Look after your mother…”, he whispered to Alexandru. Hamda is screaming at the top of her lungs as I try to bounce and console her. It’s as if she knows what’s happening. Petru and Alexandru kiss their father as he hugs them tight. Then he presses a gentle hand to Hamda’s face, trying to soothe her. " I love you”, I plead. He says it back. Over and over, kissing me as he’s pulled away until he’s gone. 

“We must get to the safe house, follow me”, our Kingsguard instructs. 

Amina Boudreaux Pov

Zanto shakes me out of it. I peer up at the overhead lights of the bathroom, twitching back to life. I sit up, grabbing my pounding head. Deborah, Lisa, and Lettie all stand in the distance. 

Deborah speaks up. “ Word of advice, dear. We don’t do well with cannabis. That’s a great way to lose control of your abilities and end up in a hell of your own making”, she preached. 

“ How long have I been out?” I scramble to my feet. 

“ Not long. Maybe 5 minutes”, Zanto reassured. 

I remember it all. Every single last detail. A wave of guilt washes over me. I blink away the tears. Nausea swirls in my stomach again. 

“ I can get you to excrete the rest of the THC out so you can stop feeling so badly”, Zanto insists. 

“ Please!”, I beg. 

“ You’re really gonna have to pee in about 5 minutes”, she warns, placing her hands in mine. 

The warmth emitting from her hands is comforting. I look at the three other women. “ Ladies. Why don’t you all rejoin the ceremony? Amina and I will be out in a minute”, says Zanto. 

They all trail out of the bathroom. Sure enough, Zanto's work on me had me rushing to the stall. A welcome relief compared to what I’d been through earlier. I immediately felt better, but a heavy exhaustion weighed on me. Every limb felt ten pounds. I come out of the stall and wash my hands, gazing at myself in the mirror. 

I’d completely cried my makeup off, black streaks riddled my cheeks, and my lips were cracked from dehydration. The flyaways in my hair make me look like a parrot. This was the woman who cursed her husband. Who put him through unimaginable pain in the name of love? Rather than just letting go and letting things be as they are. 

I dry my hands on a napkin, trying to wipe the black makeup off my face, but only making it worse. Zanto looks at me in that wise way that she does. As if she could see right through me. As gifted as she is, I imagine she probably could with or without physical sight. 

“ Tell me”, is all she muttered sympathetically. 

I start, but my lip wobbles, so I bite it, trying to compose myself. “ I…. I'm the reason for all of this”, I whisper. I pause, looking at the checkered marble floor. I start again. “ Amina Medina used spell work to keep Vlad alive. She paid for it with her life. She— I watched what that poison did to him. I watched him suffer, and he blamed himself for it. All these years”, I shake my head in regret.

Zanto shakes her head slowly in protest, grabbing my hand. “ Love is madness. It makes us do things that we never thought we’d do. Don't judge yourself for loving—Amina. It’s the very thing we were put on this earth to do”, she countered.

“ He’s not going to forgive me. He will try, but he won’t be able to”, I argue. 

She made a soothing sound with her voice, resting her hand on my shoulder. “ If you really believe that in your heart, then you have a lot more to learn about him”, she warned. 

With some encouragement, I’m able to leave the bathroom. I didn’t want to be rude to Sofia and Luna, so I figured it was best to finish watching the ceremony. Mato escorts us both to our seats. Overlooking the theatre, I find Vlad still in his altered form. 

Luna, just barely breathing in her blood-soiled dress, drinks from Vlad’s arm. Sophia holds her wife in a bridal pose while she pets her cheek, coaxing her to drink. The dark blood seeps from the sides of Luna’s mouth as she finishes up. Her eyes close again, and Sophia places her on the theatre floor, propping her head in her lap. 

The theatre is so silent that I can hear Luna struggle to breathe. It’s so distinct that I’m sure I’ll never forget it. At first, it was much like a hollow suction. A bubbling rasp as the body tried to clear the airway. Then it morphed into a low, rattling click deep within Luna’s chest. Like pebbles in a pouch. Her diaphragm is barely moving. Small breaths turn to periodic gasps, spreading out from every minute to every two, five, and then none. She stops breathing. 

That was the conclusion of Luna’s human life.

 Sophia rubs Luna's hair so gently. We wait for Vlad’s blood to take its course. A reassuring hand rests on Sophia’s shoulder. It’s Vlad, now in his human form. Sophia looks up, placing one of her hands on top of his own. His eyes find mine in the crowd. We share a quick glance, but my eyes fall back to Luna. 

After ten minutes, Luna’s eyes open, and Sophia cries as if she’s been born. I can hear the sniffling around me as other vampires watch in profound sentiment and tears. Luna’s body reanimates as she sits up and observes the crowd, pantomiming her breathing. Blinking. All functions she no longer needs but what her humanity made her used to. A habit of life that followed her in death.

Luna has church glass eyes now, just like Vlad’s. It only made sense considering he sired her in a way. If we get through tonight, I'll have the same eyes one day. A distinction in his line of fledglings. A part of a whole. 

I watch as her mouth opens and closes. She’s hungry and ready for her first drink. Another group of chained Incubi comes into the arena. They’re compelled into acceptance and silence. Vlad chooses a short-statured man in the lineup and grabs him by the back of his neck, swiftly walking him over to Sophia and Luna. He kicks the back of the man’s legs to force him to kneel. Luna’s mouth opens, showing new and sharp fangs, reacting to the stimuli of a meal. Vlad holds the man down as Sophia whispers something in her ear. I imagine she’s telling her how to drink him correctly. Like a baby animal, standing for the first time, she clumsily brings her mouth to his neck. 

The short man bursts out into a painful scream. Sophia holds the back of her lover's head, still quietly instructing her. Once she’s drained the man, which takes all but five minutes, Vlad flings him into a pile of corpses like withered trash and grabs another body. Luna’s bite deepens this time, allowing her to get more blood at a quicker pace. Her eyes roll into the back of her head in satisfaction. I can’t imagine how this feels to illicit such a reaction from her.  In just a few short minutes, she drains the second screaming man, and Vlad grabs her another. Before I knew it, she was on her fifth body, then her sixth, and finally her seventh. I gawk at just how long it takes her to feel fully satisfied, but I know this satiation won’t last long. In another 30 minutes, she’ll need to feed again. Knowing vampires as I do now, they have it all planned out.  

Luna stands on wobbly legs as Sophia supports her. Her large eyes take in the audience as she blinks. She looks like herself and then not like herself at all. A newness to her, a carefulness, bordering on uncanny, but also confused.  The audience roars into applause, throwing roses and whistling. They're quite moved by the display. I imagine that they're probably all trying to talk to her, giving her encouraging words in her mind. A whole new world would open up for her, and she’d have thousands of people to guide her through it. 

Unlike Vlad. He did it all alone.

Nauseous from the stench of blood, I ask Mato to escort me to the car and send my regards to the rest of the witches I’d met. When I slip into the vehicle, I open my phone to see that Nya is at the bar with Alex. She sends me a picture of their drinks, and I see his large hand in the picture. I can only imagine how the night will end for them both. As for me, I rest my head against the window, already tired from the events that transpired through the night. Half asleep, the car door opens, making me sit up. I can’t bring myself to look at Vlad. The ride back to the villa is a painfully silent one. 

He lets me shower first, though he’s covered in blood, sitting on the lid of the toilet, and brushing his teeth. I make quick use of it, clipping up my hair and giving my body a thorough scrub. I finished the rest of my care routine. Teeth, skin, lotion. I loosen my hair and throw on a bonnet before digging through my luggage for a night gown. 

Burrowing under the covers, I check my phone again. I sent Nya a text telling her I’m back at the villa and to share her location. She does so, right away, with not even so much as a goodnight. She was plotting clearly. I knew my sister. I rest easy knowing Nya would be safe, and maybe it’s for the better that she’s not here. I’m not sure how this conversation will go. We could easily be breaking up tonight if he can’t stomach what I did. 

I pull back the covers to look at him. He’s in boxers, clean from head to toe, hair still wet and shiny like his lashes. He smells like pine, cedar, and soap. He stands there, painfully still, unblinking, just like a statue. There’s a moment of silence between us both as we watch each other trying to figure out who will break the ice. 

“ I already know, Amina..”, he murmurs. 

My stomach drops, and I sit up, pushing the covers down to my waist. The strap of my nightgown slides off, exposing my breast. I’m oddly embarrassed for some reason. Maybe it’s the added exposure when I already feel so guilty. His head tilts, gently using his finger to hook it up back over my shoulder. Slowly, his eyes rolled back up to me. Not an ounce of animosity in him whatsoever. I shake my head in confusion. He already knows what I’m going to ask next. 

“ In the car. I was afraid I ruined everything between us with that display. I read you. I know you said not to. I know you didn’t give me permission, but I panicked”, he reasoned softly. 

I shake my head softly. “ No. No. " It’s okay”, I said. 

Another moment of silence passes us. I look down in shame, trying to find the words. “ I can’t say that I didn’t mean it, but I didn’t know the brutality it would result in. I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. I wish—I wish I had done things differently”, I stutter. I feel the tears swell, so I try to hide them, but the wobble in my voice gives it all away. They spill over as I discreetly try to wipe them. He bends down to his knees, resting his forearms on my thighs. His hands encircle my back as he meets me at eye level. 

“ The woman I knew stabbed me in my sleep. I knew then that she was capable of anything”, he croaks. 

I let out a bitter laugh. Not one of humor but rather irony. Because yes…I did. ME. No matter how many degrees of separation I tried to keep between my three lives. There’s a darkness inside of me. It’s always been there, and he sees that. That’s why we work together. He pulls me out of my thoughts abruptly. “ Your proximity to what’s hidden is no ailment. It’s not a burden. Your Darkness is your gift. You command it, it does not command you.” Then he looks at me with the most incredulous look. 

Pride. It’s pride.. of all things. 

His hands reach for my own, curling them around mine and locking between my fingers. “ There is nothing that you can do or say that will make me not want you. I want you when it’s easy, and I want you when it’s difficult. Especially when it’s difficult”, he chuckles softly. “ All these years, I thought my condition was a punishment. You can’t imagine the relief I feel knowing it was your protection all along. A dying wish. Though not everything went as planned and we’ve suffered great losses…I won’t shame you for doing what you felt was right. I would have done the same. I know you thought you’d be able to protect the children. I know you wanted our family together, so I still burn those candles for the children. Every time they melt, I collect it and burn it all again… ”, he rasps. 

That breaks something in me. I hide my sob behind my hand while he embraces me. I was fully ready for him to harbor some form of resentment towards me, and in the back of my mind, I’m still afraid he will. However, I know one thing to be true. I have to get them back. Petru, Hamda, Alexandru. Our story can’t end with just the two of us. If I study hard at the institute, then maybe this won’t all be for nothing. I can fix this…

When my crying stops, and I gather myself, he pulls away to give me a once-over. I wipe my face with a Kleenex, annoyed I’ve cried my skincare off. 

“ I need you to be honest”, he whispers softly.

“ Ok”, I croak. Already so tired and emotionally raw. 

“ I scared you. Yes?” he prompts. 

“ Yeah..”, I sniffle. 

“ I would never hurt you. Not as I am now. Not as I was. Never, never, never…ever ”, he chants. His brows furrow as he looks at me. I know it meant a great deal to him for me to understand this. 

“ Does it hurt you? That version of yourself? Or does it hurt to be like this?” I ask. 

“ No. That version of myself is me at my maximum. My most effective. My true form is as I am. Nothing hurts...”, he soothes.

“ I called you, and you didn’t answer. I know it’s you, but is it still really you? Does it feel like you?” I whine. 

“ It’s an altered state. A blood lust. My need to feed was stronger, and therefore I did not answer. I can decide if and how I do harm. It’s just a little bit harder to reach all of me— the human parts of me, rather, but I’m still there. I’m still me”, he says with a cautious tone. 

“ I want to see you. Let me try again”, I blurt. I hold onto his shoulders firmly. His face twists in confusion. “ Let me try again, please...”, I beg. 

He pulls away a bit, studying me. “ Amina, are you sure about this…? It’s late, and you’re already so tired, and it’s been a long night”, he trails off.

“ I need this from you. I need to accept what I’ve done. This is important, Vlad ”, I sniffle 

As expected, he does not argue. Instead, he carefully stands to his full height and steps back. He grants me my wish. I look down at his feet. They begin to change, widening and turning from that bronze color to a sickly, fleshy, pale color. 

Soon, I can hear the rumble in his chest when he breathes. It’s akin to a bear or a lion, hollow and wide and rolling. Tuffs of air hit the top of my forehead every time he exhales. My hackles raise, naturally, as I sit as still as possible. My instincts barely comprehend that I’m sitting in front of my boyfriend and not a wild animal. 

My eyes roll up his body. He has pronounced calves and thighs that are larger than usual, having doubled in size.  His torso grew wider, and his forearms were more pronounced with these harsh, deep blue veins. I catch the sharp point of his claw, black, long, and curved. I reach out for his hand, carefully taking it into mine. Compared to my own, his might as well have been a baseball mitt. The mutation had doubled the size of his hands as I traced his palm. 

The thump of his wings unfurling makes me jump, but I don’t pull away. It’s nothing, but flesh stretched tight over bone, veins running in various directions. I stand and slowly reach for the edge, rubbing the tip of my finger to the top. He makes the most perturbed sound in his chest, akin to a rumble or growl. A shiver passes over him, and I run my finger to the highest point of the wings, stopping at the hooked bone that curves over, pausing just at his ear. I don’t dare look at his face. No, not yet. 

I work up the nerve, going back to his chiseled stomach. The skin feels like rubber here, smooth, hairless, and indestructible. I poke him gently, and my finger barely makes an impression. I questioned whether he was carved from stone, given how hard his muscles were. I spread out my fingers just above where his navel should be. I run my palm up, up, up, until I reach his chest. The breath on my forehead keeps me on my toes. I observe his body's reaction to me, careful not to make any sudden movements. If he had a prey drive, I wouldn’t want to trigger it. 

I jump the gun and finally look. Taking in my creation. As I thought, He is absolutely terrifying. My heart races when our eyes meet. Glowing reflective eyes, pointy ears, a sharp nose, and teeth. No hair, lashes, or brows. Just this other worldly creature that could rip me apart in seconds. I notice the way his eyes shift past me. Is this shameful for him? I hoped not. 

Somehow, I swallow my fear and reach for his face, and most peculiarly, he leans into the press of my hand. As if even in this heightened and primal state, he found solace in my touch. I pull my hand away, and he blinks back at me. My breathing fills the silence as we gaze at one another, like two beings meeting for the first time. 

Now, I understand this dynamic. As much as I belonged to him, he belonged to me, too. He’d accepted this long ago, and it was only now that I fully understood it. Without much thought, I guide his face down to mine and slot my lips over his own, holding the sides of his face as I lick into his mouth. I still taste his minty toothpaste, a reminder of the man still buried deep inside him. 

This one is sweet and gentle, opened with a soft parting of the lips, seamlessly aligning with his. Warmth blooms throughout my body. I get the same butterflies I always do, my body reacting to what it knows on a cellular level. He could stay like this and still have my heart. 

He deepened the pressure, tilting his head to allow me to catch my breath as a low vibration of pure contentment echoed from his chest straight into me. His palms close around my back and then his wings, cocooning us inside, pulling me closer to him. Kissing me until I was breathless. Eventually, I come back to myself and pull away to meet his eyes. When I opened them again, I found him back to his real form. No wings. Just Vlad. 

“ Be with me, for all time”, he whispers softly. 

I smile, knowing the origin of the proposal. Without a second thought,  I whisper back, “ Always.”

Vlad and I spent most of the morning and afternoon in bed. I know we should have probably spent our last day doing something special, but neither he nor I could unglue from each other long enough to do so. Nya came back at 2pm, walking in the door singing. I pulled on my robe, tiptoeing out of bed and meeting her on her way to her room. 

Her clothes are in a shopping bag, and her flip-flops squeak against the floor like her own theme music. Her curly hair is pinned at the top of her head in a clip that’s about to fall off, and she’s not wearing any makeup. Just gas station sunglasses, an oversized white t-shirt stating,  “ I heart Mexico”  with matching Mexican flag shorts. 

Her night went as one could expect. She got all dolled up and cute to go out solo clubbing. She bribed her alex to sit with her for drinks, and then the conversation started. He was a tough nut to crack, but she got him to open because Nya was a charmer in that way. They hit it off. He seemed like a decent guy. He owned a few businesses, with his security job being his top priority. His family resided mainly in coastal South Carolina and Georgia. Later, they walked the boardwalk, then the beach, and then went bowling. Their last stop was a speakeasy for more drinks and bites. When he was just open enough to laugh at her jokes, she decided to strike, and strike she did. One kiss to his cheek and then the corner of his mouth, and he unraveled. She gave him the rundown as soon as they got to his hotel room. She came prepared with her rapid STD kit and her condoms. As a healthcare professional, she encouraged him to consider going on prep like she had been, stripping down to nothing but a thong and anklet. As one could imagine, he was most receptive. The image of her giving Alex a throat swab while sitting on his lap, topless, had tears running down my face from the absurdity. 

Everything came back clear, of course, because werewolves, much like other supernatural creatures, rarely got sick. She then went into the most explicit, dramatic, and immersive reenactment of the night's main events. Nya assumed that because of how assertive she’d been, she'd have to take charge of the bedroom. To her surprise, Alex preferred to call the shots. Afterward, they went to get food and get high on the beach. 

Nya sighs. “I cannot have a consistent dick like that. I’ll end up on the first fucking 48. He’s either crazy, a liar with no house, or he’s married. Something’s wrong. Besides, he’s not even my type”, she shrugged. I already knew she was talking herself out of pursuing this. 

I squint at her. “ Uh…he’s very handsome. Like objectively.” 

She crosses her arms defensively. “Somebody can be handsome and still not be my type.” 

I shake my head slowly, knowing her thought process already.. “ Well, you haven’t been having luck with your type. Sometimes you have to try something new. You're not marrying the guy”, I counter. “ Stop being scary and actually answer his text when you touch down in the US again. Do NOT block him”, I warn. 

I can already see her getting cold feet. Already overthinking the situation. Nya could be a creature of habit when it came to certain guys. There were some glaring differences between the two of them that made her hesitate. Where we came from, he’d stick out like a sore thumb. He was also 16 years older than her, 45, to be exact. No kids, thankfully. Still, I remember the way he looked at her all dolled up in her dress at the wedding. He was a decent guy. I knew that entertaining the connection wouldn’t hurt. “ You said you wanted a rich guy. Live a little..”, I murmur quietly. 

She shrugged, a slight grin falling on her lips. Nya loved material items. She wasn't ashamed of it. If anyone was to blame, it should be Joseph Landry, who spoiled her rotten the minute he found out he was having a girl. A girl he very much prayed for the moment he found out his wife was expecting. I left her to her thoughts, scurrying back to the room with Vlad to let Nya sleep. 

We closed out the trip with a beautiful catered dinner on the beach with some of the best food I’ve tasted in my entire life. Vlad even managed to have an assistant snag us a few souvenirs to remember our trip, even though we had tons of photos. Nya and I left Mexico having gained something. For her, a new love interest or wallet, depending on how she wanted to play it. And for me, a certainty on what the path forward would be with Vlad.

Ironwood Keep had a drawing room that felt ancient, carved from grey stone and molded by centuries of magic. I see accents of crimson and tarnished gold, warmed by a roaring candy red fire in a massive, soot-stained hearth. Gothic windows line the far wall, overlooking the misty forest below. The glass is thick and distorted with age, casting warped, amber pools of light across the oriental rugs and oak furniture.

The entire back wall has been converted into a massive, floor-to-ceiling tea apothecary. Hundreds of tiny, dark-wood drawers and antique glass jars are built directly into the stone masonry, packed with loose-leaf teas, dried roots, and glowing botanical specimens. Lettie stands on A creaking, wrought-iron ladder leaning against the shelves to reach the highest cubbies. “ Calendula. Just what I was looking for ”, she hums as she comes down the ladder slowly, the jar of tea floating behind her by her command. 

Zanto sits in a high-backed velvet armchair, a cup of tea in her lap. Vlad and I sat next to each other on a double love seat. Two children occupy this space, working the room as if they’ve done so many times before. One little black girl with cornrows whispers to an Asian girl with pigtails. They look no older than about 8 years old. 

“ No, I want to give her the tea”, one girl whines. 

“ No, I wanna do it”, says the other girl.

“ Girls…settle down”, Lettie calls out in warning, not even turning her back. 

They don't listen, of course. They keep whispering while my tea gets cold. “ He's a vampire”, the girl with the cornrows whispers with her hand over her mouth. The girl with the pigtails squints at Vlad as if trying to figure him out. I can see the smirk forming on his face as he sips his coffee. 

With this new knowledge, the girl with the pigtails stays behind and allows the girl with the cornrows to give me the tea instead. I hold back my laugh. “ Here’s your lapsang. Would you like anything else?” She smiles widely at me. I can see her two missing teeth, much like Alexandru, and it warms my heart. 

“ No, nothing else. Thank you for my tea, you guys are such good little helpers”, I chuckle, resting the cup on my lap. 

“ I-Is it true you're a vampire? ”, Pigtails speaks up, joining her friend standing in front of me. 

“ And you drink blood?” the girl with the braids chimes. 

Vlad looks at both of them for a few seconds, relaxing with his back to the couch, one leg resting on his knee.  He opens his mouth to reveal his sharp canines, letting out a faux hiss. The girls scream and run off deeper into the castle. 

I swat Vlad's leg, trying to hold my laugh. “ Why would you do that? You’re so fuckin’ mean.” 

Zanto lets out a loud cackle as red pools in her cheeks. Lettie shakes her head, trying to contain her laugh as she walks over with her own cup.

“ Serves them right. They're both a little too nosy for my liking”, she sighs.

Zanto chuckles. “They'll be bonding over that story for years to come. Trust me. I know my girls.” 

“Your girls?” I ask. 

“Yes, my pupils,” Zanto nods. “ They're just starting out. Much like you will be if you decide to make this place your second home.” 

“ Let’s talk..”, I prompt. Lettie joins Zanto, sitting across from her. 

“ Well, with your permission, I was able to tell the other ladies about your work with Rosa Aeternitas. To use that plant to its highest efficacy takes a very skilled witch. Now that we know the origin of the condition we call vampirism, please tell me you called Dr. Bach. I am sure his research team is beside themselves ”, Zanto asks Vlad. 

Vlad’s eyerbows shoot up. “ To think that my origin traces back to carnevorus plant. It's been a hell of a week. I’ve already contacted Dr.Bach. Amina will be meeting with him soon”, he says.

“ Excellent. Lettie and I would love to answer your questions before she starts your tour", says Zanto.

I start. “ You all said you were watching me but I continued to have those dreams well after you guys stopped prying. Why do you think that was?”

Zanto shrugs. “ The truth finds us witches sometimes. Even when we don’t want the truth we find it. Emotional highs and lows can send our abilities into over and under drive. Deep down your subconscious likely wanted that answer.”

I nod slowly, thinking about my hallucination on the boardwalk. Well. Now I knew the truth. A hard truth but it was mine. I lean forward urgently. “ Theoretically speaking, how long would it take for me to become a high witch?” 

Lettie smiles. “ That depends on you. There’s no timeline for self-mastery.  For me, it took about 20 years.”

“ 11 years of study for me. It truly depends, but you’re a very talented girl. It could be even less time if you work hard”, says Zanto.

I nod, feeling a little more hopeful. There's nothing stopping me from passing my milestones sooner. “ Zanto, I know you work with spirits.  What do you think about death and its finality and all that?” I ask hesitantly. 

Zanto thinks for a moment. “ It’s really just a transformation rather than an ending. Why do you ask?” 

I pause. “ So bringing back someone from the dead?”, I prompt. 

The two women have worried looks on their faces. Lettie decides to speak for both of them. “ That is an extremely difficult and risky thing to do. In fact, we know of only one other witch who succeeded, and she is long gone now. People don’t always come back the way they came. It could take you maybe your entire life to do it successfully, and there’s a question of ethics and suffering. What is it that the spirit wants? Is that somebody who should come back? That all comes into account. Most times the answer is to leave things as they are…“Lettie winces. 

Her answer deflates me a bit. Either way, I know I won’t be giving up. I won’t show my hand either. Vlad may protest, but if he sees I can do it, he may change his mind. " Understandable”, I mutter. 

“ Well, we may be jumping ahead a bit. Every witch's experience is hers alone. Why don’t we get started on that tour to see if this place is the right fit for you?” Lettie encouraged.

“ Of course ”, I say, finishing the last of my tea and pulling myself up to a stand. Vlad and Zanto stay behind. It’s only Lettie and I who decide to leave. 

She takes the lead with swift steps. The massive, wrought-iron doors swung outward on their own with a heavy hum. We walk out to the grand Foyer that smells of lavender and wood.  Just above us, gothic arches and soaring glass domes looked out onto a foggy sky.

"We have 7 floors," Lettie murmured as they stepped onto a spiral staircase. Potion brewing was at the lowest level of ironwood. A small class with only one instructor. Which meant fewer classes. “ We only have one instructor for potion brewing, which means the children, teens, and adult groups only get one lab per week, and the rest is coursework. Every witch has a duty to teach and pass on her knowledge.” I peered over the stone railing into the dark lower floor. Below, seven-year-old girls giggled as they dropped beetle eyes into tiny cauldrons, sending up puffs of neon pink smoke. “Now, let me show you the courtyard. That’s where we do Elemental magic”, Lettie leads. 

In the courtyard, water cascaded down bare stone walls, and a harmless mist of stormwater drifted near the opening. To my right, a circle of older women stood in silence. With subtle, fluid extensions of their hands, they tore raw stone from the floor, condensing it into perfect, razor-sharp blades that hovered in the air. I can only imagine how quickly they could throw those if they had to. In theory, the courtyard was just another classroom, with desks, chairs, and whiteboards. No roses like poenari. 

The second floor was dedicated to telekinesis and mind control.  A class of small children sat cross-legged on the floor, faces twisted in fierce concentration as they kept brightly colored feathers floating a few inches above their palms. The instructor looked pretty young herself.

The third floor was devoted to spellcasting and conjuring. This was Lettie’s floor with her assistant teacher, a girl in her late teens. This floor in particular was lively and colorful. Clumsy, earnest adolescents crowded around wooden tables, practicing basic incantations to conjure butterflies made of light or make wooden blocks sprout fresh daisies. They mobbed around Lettie and hugged her. She seemed close with this group. She introduced me, and their bright faces lit up with welcoming smiles. 

This fourth floor was energy manipulation, and it was eerily quiet. A group of adult witches sit on pillows with tea candles in their palms. The objective was to manipulate the flame in time with their breathing. Lisa gives us a quick wave as we pass through. Her room in particular was the most serene, resembling a yoga or wellness studio more than a classroom. At the far end, there was a large window simulating a beach with an ocean for ample relaxation. I guess the concept would make sense. Energy manipulation required the person to be grounded. 

The fifth floor was for scrying. This was Deborah’s department, and I could tell it belonged to her from the coldness in the air.  This was the teen class. The colors here were dark, just like Deborah’s clothing. Her students stood in a circle, observing the student in the middle, who was leaning over a large stone bowl full of water. Its size was comparable to that of a cauldron, although it was stationary. When the student lifted her face from the bowl, her eyes were completely milk-white, rolled back into her head as she channeled. Eventually, she came back to herself. Deborah would then test the girl on the message she meticulously left for her last week. 

Eventually, we moved on to the 6th floor. This was the floor for mediumship. To my surprise, the floor was empty. “ No class today. Only every other day. It can be a very physically demanding class”, Lettie explains. We look into one of the empty rooms for the older woman. It looked much like a theatre except there were rows of chairs surrounding the small circular stage. 

“ What happens there?” I ask.

“ Complete surrender”, says Lettie ominously.

My legs were burning by the time we reached the 7th floor. Cursing and hexing. This floor was arranged like a sparring exhibition, featuring a long, raised wooden platform stretching down the center of a gymnasium-like hall dotted with rows of watchful students. This arena was fortified for safety, with thick, quilted leather padding covering the stone walls and flagstones to seemingly absorb magic. On the elevated stage, an adult student threw a hex at the target dummy. It blackened into decay, completely disintegrating into a mildewed, withered husk. The younger students clapped in excitement.  

The last stop was the library. The towering mahogany bookshelves stretched so high that the tops were lost in shadow. Little girls sat in sunny alcoves, giggling as oversized picture books turned their own pages and pop-up dragons blew real, harmless puffs of smoke. Grown witches scaled floating ladders that lengthened and shortened at whim. 

“ If you ask me, I think this is the most important room in the entirety of Ironwood. We don’t just read here. This is where we archive. We relive events through mediumship, scrying, or dreamwalking, like you. We record them, refining them over time until they’re as accurate as humanly possible.” Lettie smiles proudly at witches writing in books with inked feathers. 

I glance at their faces, full of concentration. “ What do you do with the archives?” I ask. 

She shrugs. “ Well, some of them are simply for preservation. To keep a memory alive. They can be used for historical accounts—primary sources. That sorta’ thing. Leverage. Every now and then, we do sell to big spenders, usually the vampires and fae. Most importantly, we can hold the world and ourselves accountable. To not make the same mistakes. History allows us to solve problems. Break curses and heal whatever was lost. Our first duty as witches is not only to protect but to help those in need. This allows us to do so. At least, that’s what I believe.” 

“My history has been haunting me since I learned to spell my name”, I murmur, looking at the endless rows of recorded documents on the other wall. Lettie pulls a leather-bound book from under one of the desks and hands it to me. I open it, flipping through the empty pages. 

She nudges me softly. “ Well, medieval Romania was no walk in the park.  I’m sure many of us here at Ironwood would love to read it one day. When you’re ready, of course.” 

We walk a loop around the castle grounds. I see women of all ages outside doing various activities like reading or riding their bikes. Ironwood Castle was nestled between the ocean and nowhere. Vlad got me here through his “shadow” travel. Besides the humongous lawn, there was a forest that went on for miles and miles. After that, nothing at all. Apparently, magic worked well here, caught between a rock and a hard place. 

As I watch the little girls playing tag on the freshly cut lawn, I feel a sense of completion here, not quite like meeting Vlad and agreeing to finish our story. No, this was a deep resonance. Almost as if I was apart of this place.

So, I said yes.

Over dinner, Vlad proposed the idea. “ Put in your two-week notice. Just focus on ironwood and your art. I’ll keep the bills on autopay.”   I wish I could say that I put up more of a fight. Truly. But I didn’t. I could hear my grandmother now preaching about the importance of never depending on a man. By her teachings, I always kept a little money on the side in case I had to “escape”. Her words, not mine. 

The farewell party in the break room surprisingly got me all misty-eyed. They brought cake, balloons, flowers, and gift cards. I’d worked with some of these people so long that I considered them somewhere between friends and family. Sarah wept for me the most, telling me how happy she was that I was following my dreams. Mr. Landry said he could “sense it”. I’m sure he knew Vlad had something to do with it, but he respected my privacy enough not to ask.  

“ No matter what, we always got ya’ if things don’t work out, but I don’t wanna’ see you back here. Ya’ hear?  If you’re gonna’ swing, swing hard”, he mutters in my shoulder as I embrace him. 

“ I will,” I sniffle, pulling back to look at him. I offer him my best watery smile. 

I walk back to the car with my gift bags and balloons. We get stuck in rush hour traffic shortly after our departure. I reminisce on the last ten years of my life. To have moved so slow and then my life changing almost overnight. 

I was sure I’d spend the rest of my career busting tables, and I made my peace with it. I’d lived a life I hated for so long that I barely noticed the way it was slowly killing me. Much like a pair of shoes, it fit me for a long while before the sides began to close in and the ache from the confinement began to throb. Maybe what was becoming my old life was someone’s dream, but it doesn’t belong to me anymore. I can admit it was a lifeline I wouldn’t take for granted.  I was just waiting on the permission to break away.

I watch the city pass us by out the rearview window as the surroundings of my old job stretch further and further away. I take it all in. The fractured asphalt against the cotton-candy-colored houses. I watch the seniors sitting on the porch in their rocking chairs, keeping a watchful eye on the children chasing a deflated ball. The corner grocery was littered with people leaving, carrying styrofoam plates or Thankyou bags. Retired men drove their candy-paint Cadillacs that shook the ground when they played their music. A woman walks home from work, her purse in one hand and a huckabuck in the other. We hit a pothole, and I can’t help but chuckle to myself. Yeah…the 8th ward. Much like the 9th ward. I loved New Orleans with everything inside of me. That would never change.

We stop just outside the church, parking on the street in front of the entrance. Vlad hands me the envelope, and I put it inside my purse. Id had this idea for a long while.

“ Do you want me to come inside?”, Vlad asks. 

“ No, you stay. I won’t be long”, I reassure him. I unbind myself from him and slide against the seat, pulling myself out the door. My shoes tap against the familiar steps of St. Peter. I remember thinking each concrete step was a mountain as I jumped down from them as a little girl in Sunday's best. I can already hear the pipe organ from outside. 

A woman in sunglasses and a hat zips past me, and I knew I’d come at the perfect time. The sun shone through the church windows, casting pink and blue hues onto the tile floors. I waltz past the pews to the confessional and close the door, sitting down. I can hear the slot behind the box opening as Gabriel awaits my confession. 

“ Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been 6 months since my last confession”, I mutter. 

There’s a warmth to his voice, and I know he’s pleasantly surprised to have heard from me. “ May the Lord be in your heart”, he says. 

“ I found comfort and solace in the darkness. I went against everything I thought I knew. I let you bless my home, knowing that it wouldn’t work. That darkness I spoke of was never going to truly let me go. It’s always been with me. I tried so hard to fight against it, but it’s only when I stopped fighting T hat I knew true fulfillment”, I confess. 

Gabriel interrupts me. “ Should I call someone ?” he asks in a concerned tone. Deciding it is best to break formality. 

I let out a light chuckle. “ I’m okay, really. I’m better than I’ve ever been, actually. A little scared, naturally. I let fear rule my life for so long. I guess I just came here to thank you. Thank you for always being a listening ear. You’re one of the few people who knew the battle I was up against—against myself.”

A beat of silence passes between us. I know he’s confused. I continue. “ I’ll leave my donation on my seat. You won’t see me for a while.” I pull the envelope from my purse and leave it next to me, standing. “Thank you for everything, Father Gabriel.” 

I leave the box, pushing past the wooden doors. I take my time down the steps, remembering how I toppled over them as a kid. I smile to myself. Smoke wafts under my nose, and I look ahead to see Vlad. He leans against the car, finishing half a cigarette, dressed in black with those same shades on. The corners of my mouth tug upwards at his presence. 

“Amina !” Gabriel opens the door, holding the check in his hand. A bewildered look comes over him. He freezes up when he sees Vlad. Gabriel reaches for his cross cautiously. I look back at Vlad, and he’s smirking, putting out his cigarette with the ends of his fingers and throwing it towards the storm drain. I shake my head at the way he secretly enjoys freaking the Priest out. I don't think he'll ever be a fan of priests again.

When I finally reach for him, he pecks me on the lips. “ Where do you wanna’ go next?”, he ask.

“ Home”, I say. He opens the car door for me, and I slide in. I offer a wave to Gabriel, who’s stuck there at the steps, gawking, and unmoving. The car starts, and we take off down the road. From the rearview mirror, I can see Gabriel standing in the street, watching our car leave. 

“ Which home?”, Vlad asks. 

I slide back into his lap, smiling at the thought of being in Poenari again. He grins back at me because he just wants to hear me say it. “ Our home”, I said.

The End

Authors note: That concludes Dracula guys! I have a 2 part epilogue I’ll be posting in a few days. One of them will be VLAD’s POV finally! LOL. I would like to Thank these special folks for their kind words and comments during the duration of Dracula Penance. You guys have no idea just how much a comment can motivate someone to finish a story.

@harmshake / @ruth-belcher you have been such a pivotal part of this story because of the encouragment you’ve given me. I've been writing since 2017 and the way you've digested this story in such a meaningful way has singlehandedly restored my love writing again. You made it fun again. The amount of care and detail you put into your reviews make me feel so special. Thankyou so much.

Thankyou @that-one-anxious-mango and @blackbi4d for your heavily detailed commentary. I cannot tell you how many times the two of you have made me laugh and smile from your commentary. I’m always excited when you two share your thoughts.

@swiftscepterdragon Thankyou for your consistent interactions with my work.

@aphroditeshea Thankyou for your engagement with my work and taking time to leave comments!

@brownsugarcoffy I watched you binge the story in real time and all your comments put a smile on my face. Thankyou, truly.

Jada Wilson wasn’t the type of girl who liked to lose. 

It wasn’t because she was mean, and it wasn’t because she thought she was better than everybody else. She liked working hard and seeing results. If she studied for a test, she expected a good grade. If she auditioned for something, she expected the spot. If she walked into a room, she expected to leave an impression. Most of the time life made sense to her because effort and reward usually moved together. Teachers remembered her because she participated. Boys noticed her because she was pretty. People gravitated towards her because she was funny. None of that felt complicated. 

It felt earned.

That was probably why Anissa “Annie” Landry irritated her so much.

She didn’t dislike her at first. At first Annie was barely a blip on her radar. Nothing more than another smart girl in her Honors Biology. They sat near each other, partnered on projects occasionally, and shared enough classes that familiarity came naturally. Jada liked her then. Everybody liked Annie. The problem was Annie seemed completely unaware of the effect she had on people. Teachers, classmates, and even complete strangers trusted her, confided in her, and listened when she spoke. Annie never seemed to chase attention, yet attention found her anyway.

By October, most of the freshman class already knew whose names lived at the top of the grade rankings. Annie. Jada. Malcolm. Sometimes another student slipped into the conversation, but those three stayed there consistently enough that everybody noticed. Jada noticed because she cared. Annie only seemed to notice only when somebody pointed it out.

Jada could admit that she paid more attention to Annie than Annie ever paid to her. Annie shrugged off good grades like they were nothing to celebrate, like success was something that simply found her whether she reached for it or not. She didn’t treat life like a competition. In fact, Jada found it frustratingly difficult to tell whether Annie ever competed for anything at all. Every conversation she had with Annie left her feeling like she was in a race by herself. Annie never bragged, gloated or rubbed anything in anybody’s face. If she had, Jada might’ve found it easier to straight up dislike her. Instead, Annie never seemed to fight for attention, yet attention found her anyway. That made everything worse.

And then there was Elijah “Smoke” Moore. 

She had World History with him and Stack, and found herself gravitating toward him. It wasn’t just because he was fine. All the girls thought he was fine as hell. Stack too. The difference was that after a while, his looks stopped being the thing she noticed first. He was quiet without being shy, smart without showing off, and funny whenever he actually felt like talking. She mentioned him in conversation casually enough that nobody thought much of it, including Annie. Looking back, she wasn’t even sure when curiosity became attraction. She started looking for him in crowded hallways and listening for his laugh across cafeterias. Which would’ve been embarrassing if it hadn’t happened to half the girls at school. It was the fact that he didn’t react to her the way other boys did. Most boys either flirted immediately or spent so much time trying not to stare that it became awkward. Smoke did neither. There was a quiet confidence about him. A steadiness that felt older than seventeen. The kind of confidence that never needed announcing.

He talked to her like everybody else. He remembered things she told him. Laughed at her jokes. Held entire conversations without once making her feel like he was trying to impress her or fuck her. At first she found it refreshing. Then she found it confusing.

The more time she spent around him, the more she paid attention to him. She noticed that the “quiet reputation” people gave him wasn’t entirely true. Smoke wasn’t shy. He just didn’t waste words. So when he did speak, people listened. There was a steadiness to him she didn’t find in other boys their age. 

Mike was sweet. 

Isoo was funny. 

Stack was…Stack. Impossible to ignore. 

But Smoke was something different. Being around him felt easy, and she wanted more of it. More of him.

By the middle of freshman year she started doing things she’d never admit to out loud. Lingering after class. Choosing seats closer to him when she could. Finding reasons to continue conversations that should’ve ended five minutes earlier. The frustrating part was that Smoke never treated her like a girl he was trying to avoid. He talked to her. Laughed with her. Sat beside her in class when the seating chart put them together. If he’d been rude, she probably would’ve gotten over her crush on him. 

Instead, he was kind. 

And kindness left far more room for imagination than rejection ever could.

If somebody had watched them from a distance, they probably would’ve assumed he liked her. Hell…she almost convinced herself of the same thing.

But she never expected Annie to factor into the equation.

One afternoon after school, a crowd of students lingered outside waiting for rides while the Mississippi heat rose from the pavement in visible waves. Stack was in the middle of a story and Smoke stood nearby having his own conversation with Mike. Jada walked over and joined them, enjoying the small satisfaction of making Smoke laugh at something she said. 

Then something happened. Something that anybody else would’ve overlooked. It should’ve been forgettable. Instead it became one of those memories that stayed rent free in her mind for years. 

Stack yelled something from across the parking lot and Smoke turned. Jada expected him to look at his brother. Instead his attention drifted somewhere over her shoulder. The movement was subtle enough that most people would’ve missed it, but she didn’t. She followed his line of sight and when it landed, her heart dropped. Annie stood near the curb with Pearline and a few other girls, her backpack hanging from one shoulder laughing at something one of them said. Smoke was looking right at her. Annie wasn’t flirting. She wasn’t loudly trying to get anyone’s attention. In fact, she looked completely unaware that Smoke was even looking hee way at all. 

Jada glanced back toward him and felt something in her chest tighten unexpectedly. His expression hadn’t changed much. There was no grin. No obvious reaction or giveaway that would’ve made the answer easy. What she saw instead was interest. Pure interest. The kind that settled naturally and comfortably, like he’d found exactly what he was looking for without meaning to. When Jada looked back, Annie looked up. Her and Smoke’s eyes met for barely a second before surprise crossed her face in that honest, unguarded way people managed when they weren’t expecting to be seen. Smoke looked away first and the moment disappeared so quickly that nobody else seemed to notice it had happened. The conversation picked right back up. Everything went back to normal as though a five-second interaction in a parking lot hadn’t just rearranged something inside her.

And Jada couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d just seen. 

The truth landed harder than she wanted it to. Smoke liked Annie. And not in the casual way boys claimed to like half the girls at school. It wasn’t in the temporary way crushes came and went every few weeks. He liked her. Liked her.

The part Jada couldn’t understand wasn’t that Smoke liked somebody. It was that the somebody was Annie. Annie wasn’t louder than anybody else. She wasn’t chasing him. Half the time she seemed completely unaware of him. And yet, out of all the girls walking those hallways every day, his attention found her.

Why Annie? 

The question stayed with Jada long after that afternoon ended. Not because she thought Annie wasn’t pretty, smart, or worth liking. Annie was all of those things. What bothered her was that she couldn’t figure out what Annie had that made Smoke look at her differently. 

The more she watched them over the following months, the more that question followed her around, and the harder it became to pretend she didn’t already know the answer. Once she noticed it, she started seeing it everywhere—in the way Smoke listened when Annie talked, in the way his attention settled on her naturally no matter who else was around, and in the quiet consistency of his choices. There were no grand gestures, no public declarations, nothing dramatic enough to become gossip. What existed between them was built from a hundred small moments most people would’ve overlooked and a hundred more that Jada couldn’t stop noticing.

At some point she started testing it. Nothing obvious or anything she couldn’t explain away afterward. A comment here. A joke there. Sitting a little closer than necessary. One time at a party she picked up Smoke’s cup and took a sip while she was talking, mostly because she could. Smoke didn’t notice. Annie didn’t react the way she envisioned. The conversations kept moving. At first she thought she’d proven nothing. Later she realized she’d proven exactly what she’d been afraid of. Neither of them acted like there was anything to compete for because they belonged to each other already.

That was the part Jada hated most.

Whatever existed between them had been there long before either one of them said it out loud.

Life eventually moved on the way life always did. High school ended. Annie left for North Carolina during their senior year and, for a while, it felt like she took part of the town with her. It wasn’t because people sat around talking about her every day, but because certain stories suddenly stopped being told. People changed. 

Smoke most of all.

Jada noticed that too.

The version of Smoke everybody knew after Annie left wasn’t an angry one. If anything, he became quieter. More closed off. He still laughed when something was funny, showed up when people called, and still worked, helped, and handled business the way he always had. But something about him felt absent, as though a door had closed somewhere inside and nobody knew how to open it again.

But life carried Jada away too, before she had much time to dwell on it. College came next. An engagement. Then a marriage. Neither lasted the way she’d hoped. By the time she moved back home and started building a career in real estate, she was older, smarter, and considerably less interested in fairy tales.

Then she ran into Smoke again.

One of his construction crews had been working on a property she was helping list and for a second she thought she hadn’t recognized him. Then he looked up and gave her a half smile and just like that, she was sixteen again. The attraction came back embarrassingly fast. Older now. More controlled.

But still there.

The difference was that adulthood gave her advantages she hadn’t possessed in high school. She didn’t have to sit around wondering whether a boy liked her. She could simply ask him to dinner. So she did. One dinner turned into another. Then another. At some point the conversation drifted toward old classmates the way it always did when people got older.

“Whatever happened to Annie?” Jada asked.

The reaction was immediate. Something closed. Smoke took a drink and looked away. “She live in North Carolina.”

Jada laughed. “I thought y’all would’ve been married with twenty kids by now.”

Smoke didn’t laugh. The silence that followed answered more than words ever could. A few minutes later he changed the subject entirely.

Jada never brought Annie up again. Later that same night she asked if he was seeing anybody.

“No.”

“You lookin’?”

“No.”

The answer should’ve discouraged her. Instead she smiled. “Well, lucky for you, neither am I.”

The arrangement that followed worked because neither of them pretended it was anything else. They spent time together. Ate dinner once in awhile. Called sometimes. Shared her bed often enough. Smoke was kind to her. Respectful. But from the beginning he made one thing clear. 

He didn’t want a relationship. 

He told her more than once that she deserved somebody capable of giving her what she wanted. More than once he told her that if she found that person, she shouldn’t let him stand in the way of it. 

Jada heard every word. 

The problem was…she kept hoping. 

Not because Smoke encouraged it, but because she thought time might. She thought consistency might. She thought enough good days stacked together could eventually become something neither of them planned. Maybe that was foolish. Maybe it wasn’t. Either way, she had started believing they still had time.

Then Mary called the day of the cookout.

Jada had been at the showing she was covering for a colleague. The conversation started normal enough, which should have been her first warning sign. Mary was never normal when she had gossip. By the time she finally got to the point, Jada wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Bitch, Annie’s back!”

Suddenly all those years she hadn’t spent thinking about high school came rushing back at once. The words settled somewhere unexpected. Surprising. The surprise lasted exactly three seconds before Mary delivered the second piece.

“The cookout at Pearline’s aunt house… it’s a party for Annie coming back home.”

That was the moment everything else disappeared. The noise of the clients asking about square footage faded into the background. The showing stopped mattering. Even Mary’s voice asking her what she was going to do became distant as another thought slid immediately into place. 

For the first time since hearing Annie’s name, she wasn’t thinking about high school anymore.

She was thinking about Smoke. 

He had been acting strange. Distracted. Quieter than usual. Looking at his phone more than normal. Now she understood exactly why he hadn’t seemed like himself. Some old shit came back up…. I ain’t figured out what to do with it yet. The pieces connected so quickly that Jada almost laughed.

Annie.

By the time she pulled into Aunt Cheryl’s yard, she already knew who she was looking for. The problem was she hadn’t expected to find them standing together.

And she for damn sure hadn’t expected to find them holding hands.

Smoke was holding Annie’s hand. 

On its own, that didn’t mean anything. 

People touched, hugged, and got caught up in conversations and forgot who was watching. 

What unsettled her was everything wrapped around the gesture. 

The look that had passed between them before Smoke finally let go. The way neither of them seemed aware of anybody else until she spoke. The strange sense that she’d walked into the middle of something already in progress.

For a moment nobody said anything. 

The sounds of the cookout continued around them as though nothing unusual had happened. Children ran through the yard screaming over water guns. Two men at the dominoes table accused each other of cheating. Mrs. Cheryl was threatening bodily harm if they didn’t quit acting stupid. The music changed somewhere behind her. Life continued moving. 

Yet standing there, looking between Smoke and Annie, Jada couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d interrupted a conversation neither of them had wanted to end.

The hand didn’t bother her nearly as much as Smoke’s face had. Over the past year she’d seen him tired, irritated, amused, distracted, and halfway asleep after a fourteen-hour workday. She’d seen him fresh off job sites and fresh out of the shower. She’d seen him after bad days and worse weeks. What she’d just seen standing across from Annie felt different.

There had been a lightness to him she couldn’t remember seeing, as though some invisible weight had disappeared without warning. Now the distracted silences, the moments he’d stared at his phone and seemed somewhere else entirely, made perfect sense.

What unsettled her more was how he looked at her. The surprise on his face had disappeared quickly enough.

The irritation hadn’t.

It was subtle. Most people would’ve missed it. Smoke wasn’t expressive enough for dramatic reactions. But Jada had spent too much time learning his moods not to recognize one when she saw it.

Every time she spoke, his attention drifted back toward Annie. When Annie looked away, his eyes followed her. And when he did look at Jada? 

The expression wasn’t warm.

It wasn’t guilty either. It looked closer to frustration. Like she’d walked into the middle of something he wasn’t finished with yet.

The realization settled heavily in her chest. She recognized that look too.

From high school.

Back when she’d stand beside him talking and catch him looking over her shoulder at Annie. When she’d convince herself she imagined it. 

Back when she still thought being patient would eventually change the outcome.

Still, Jada smiled. She had spent too many years learning how to smile through discomfort to stop now. 

“Annie.” Her voice came out warm and easy, exactly the way it was supposed to. “It’s been a long time.”

Annie smiled back automatically, but there was a delay to it that immediately caught Jada’s attention. She looked like somebody still trying to catch up to a conversation everyone else had already started. “Yeah. It has.”

“When did you get in town?”

“Thursday.”

“No kidding.” Jada adjusted the strap of her purse and glanced briefly toward Smoke before looking back at Annie. “Smoke didn’t tell me you were back.”

The sentence left her mouth easily enough, but she knew exactly why she’d said it.

She wanted to see. 

So Jada watched Annie carefully. The confusion arrived first, then recognition. Then something else. 

Jada recognized that look because she’d worn versions of it herself before. The moment when information rearranged itself into understanding. If she was being completely honest, some small, selfish part of her wanted Annie to understand. Wanted her to know she wasn’t just another person at the cookout. That Smoke existed in her life too.

Maybe that made her petty or even insecure. Maybe it made her exactly the same girl she’d been in high school. Whatever the reason, she couldn’t deny the small flicker of satisfaction when she saw it finally click for Annie.

Whatever Annie had expected when she came back to Mississippi, this wasn’t it. Jada watched her expectations crumble behind her eyes and Jada immediately felt guilty for her own smugness that followed. It wasn’t Annie’s confusion she enjoyed. It was the confirmation that she wasn’t invisible. For years she’d been the girl standing on the outside of whatever existed between Annie and Smoke. Now, for the first time, Annie was being forced to acknowledge that Jada occupied space in his life too.

Across the yard, movement caught her eye. Mary had finally wandered close enough to be useful and dangerous at the same time. The woman was carrying a red cup and looking entirely too pleased with herself. One glance toward Stack confirmed he had already figured out exactly who was responsible for this shit. Pearline looked ready to strangle somebody. Probably Mary. Maybe Stack. Maybe Jada. Possibly all three.

Jada almost laughed.

Almost.

Because standing there between Smoke and Annie, she had the uncomfortable feeling that this situation was about to become everybody’s problem.

“No kidding... Smoke didn’t tell me you were back.”

Annie wasn’t sure how to respond to that. The statement felt simple enough on the surface, but something about it snagged in her chest.

Jada laughed softly and shook her head.

“Then again, he ain’t really been himself lately.”

The comment was delivered so casually Annie almost missed it.

Almost.

Annie looked toward Elijah before she meant to. His attention was already on her.

Not Jada.

Her.

The conversations around them hadn’t stopped, but something in his posture had changed. His shoulders were tighter now. His expression quieter. Like he was listening to a conversation he couldn’t quite hear but already knew he wasn’t going to like the ending of.

Annie tried to focus on what Jada was saying to her. She really did. Jada was standing right there asking normal questions in a normal voice, smiling the same way she always had, and nothing about the interaction should have felt strange. 

People moved on. People dated. People built lives. Eight years had passed since Annie left Mississippi. She knew all of that. She understood it so completely that she almost became angry at herself for struggling with something that should have been obvious.

Still, her attention kept snagging on small things she couldn’t seem to ignore. The ease in Jada’s posture. The familiarity in her voice. And now that one sentence kept replaying itself in Annie’s head.

He ain’t really been himself lately.

It wasn’t what Jada had said. It was how she’d said it. Like she knew what normal looked like. Like she’d been close enough to notice the difference.

But Elijah wasn’t looking at Jada at all. Every time Annie glanced up, his eyes found her again. Concern. Like he could see something growing and didn’t know how to stop it.

Annie couldn’t process that at the moment. She couldn’t stop noticing that nobody around them seemed surprised Jada was standing there. Not Stack and definitely not Pearline. The realization arrived gradually, settling into place one piece at a time.

Jada wasn’t visiting Elijah’s world. She was already a part of it.

“Mississippi must seem different now,” Jada said with a small laugh.

Annie looked at her. “What?”

Jada smiled. “I said Mississippi must seem different now.”

“Oh.” Annie forced a smile. “Yeah.”

The conversation continued around her, but Annie found herself looking past Jada and toward Pearline. The glance was brief. It didn’t need to be longer. Something flickered across Pearline’s face the moment their eyes met, and Annie felt her stomach drop before her mind fully caught up.

Suddenly the entire day looked different.

Pearline sitting on the edge of the bed while Annie changed clothes for the hundredth time. Her listening to her talk about Elijah. Her watching her spend an entire afternoon slipping back into old memories she should have known better than to trust.

None of those moments had felt unusual at the time. Standing here now, they rearranged themselves into something else entirely.

Pearline looked away first.

And that hurt more than anything Jada had said.

Annie smiled automatically when somebody laughed at a joke she hadn’t heard. The expression felt strange on her face. Around her the cookout continued without interruption. Auntie Max was waving a paper plate around while telling a story loud enough for half the neighborhood to hear. Everything looked exactly the same as it had fifteen minutes ago, yet everything felt completely different now.

She looked toward Elijah before she could stop herself and immediately regretted it.

He was still looking at her. 

He wasn’t really talking anymore. Stack had said something. Mary laughed. Jada answered somebody’s question. Elijah hadn’t reacted to any of it. His attention remained fixed on Annie, his expression growing more troubled the longer she stood there pretending everything was fine.

Concern sat plainly across his face now, and the sight irritated her more than it should have. Concern meant he knew something was wrong. Concern meant he could see it happening. Concern meant he was watching her fall apart in real time.

That was the final straw.

Because Annie could handle disappointment. She could handle awkwardness. She could even handle finding out Elijah had moved on. 

What she couldn’t handle was standing here feeling exposed. 

Feeling foolish. 

Feeling like the only person who hadn’t known what was happening. 

The humiliation crept in quietly, attaching itself to every memory she’d made since getting off the plane. Every conversation. Every question. Every moment she’d allowed herself to hope for something she had never said aloud. By the time she finally spoke, her voice sounded perfectly normal.

“Excuse me.”

Nobody would have noticed anything wrong. Nobody except Elijah and Pearline.

Annie saw it immediately when Elijah straightened and took a small step forward. The movement was instinctive, the kind people made when they sensed trouble coming. For a second it looked like he might say something. Explain something. Stop her. Annie didn’t give him the chance.

“Y’all enjoy yourselves.”

The smile never left her face as she turned toward the house. She heard Pearline call her name before she reached the steps, but she kept walking anyway. The screen door opened and closed behind her, muting the sounds of the cookout almost instantly. Only then did she allow herself to stop pretending she was fine.

The bedroom door clicked shut behind her, muting the noise from the backyard without silencing it completely. Music still drifted faintly through the floorboards. Every few minutes a burst of laughter floated up from downstairs, followed by the low hum of conversation and the occasional shout from Aunt Cheryl whenever somebody touched food they weren’t supposed to touch. The sounds were familiar enough to be comforting. Instead they made Annie feel trapped. The cookout was still happening. Everybody was still down there. 

The world hadn’t stopped just because hers suddenly felt off balance.

She crossed the room and dragged her suitcase onto the bed. The zipper caught halfway open and she jerked it harder than necessary, dislodging the contents inside. A shirt disappeared into one corner. A pair of jeans landed on top of it. One sandal followed before she stopped and stared at the mess she’d created. Nothing about it resembled packing. The blue sundress she’d rejected earlier that morning still hung over the chair near the window. Seeing it there brought back the memory of standing in front of Pearline’s mirror for nearly an hour while her friend laughed and told her she looked fine. At the time she’d told herself she was nervous about coming home. Looking at the dress now, she realized that hadn’t been entirely true. 

Nobody spent forty-five minutes deciding what to wear to a family cookout unless some part of them cared who might be there.

The thought followed her to the dresser. The bottle of tequila sat exactly where she’d left it earlier, half-forgotten beside a hairbrush and a tube of lip gloss. For a second she just stared at it. Then she twisted the cap off and took a long swallow straight from the bottle.

The liquor burned all the way down, sharp enough to make her wince. She stood there waiting for it to do something useful. Numb her. Distract her. Slow her thoughts down. Instead the burn faded almost immediately and left everything else untouched.

Jada’s face remained exactly where Annie had left it.

So did the sound of her voice.

Smoke didn’t tell me you were back.

That was the problem. 

Jada had said them the way people said ordinary things, the way people spoke when they weren’t thinking twice about what they were revealing. There had been familiarity in the statement. History. Conversations Annie hadn’t been a part of. Enough conversations that her return to Mississippi had become information Jada expected to have. Annie took another drink and walked toward the window before she could think too hard about it.

The backyard stretched beyond the trees in patches of movement and color. She couldn’t make out individual faces from here, only clusters of people gathered around tables and lawn chairs while smoke drifted lazily upward from the grill. Somewhere down there Elijah was probably sitting beside Jada.

The thought arrived uninvited and irritated her immediately.

Smoke could date whoever he wanted. He wasn’t married. He wasn’t obligated to explain himself to her. Eight years was a long time. Long enough for people to build entirely different lives.

She knew that.

She believed that.

The problem was that knowing something and feeling it turned out to be two very different things.

Every time she tried to reason her way through it, her mind circled back to the same uncomfortable place. Not that Elijah had moved on, it was that she’d spent the entire day realizing she never had.

She took another shot. The tequila burned less this time, or maybe she was just getting used to it.

What she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about was Jada.

It was because it was Jada.

The same girl who always seemed to be measuring herself against Annie back in high school. The same girl who smiled while making comments that left Annie wondering whether she’d imagined the insult. The same girl who spent years trying to figure out why Smoke paid attention to Annie and not her.

Annie closed her eyes. Immediately she hated herself for thinking it. It wasn’t fair. Elijah didn’t know any of that.

Not really.

He knew Jada the same way everybody knew Jada. Funny. Smart. Beautiful. He hadn’t been standing beside Annie during those hallway conversations. He hadn’t seen the looks. He hadn’t felt the subtle edge hiding beneath the smiles.

Still, the thought lingered.

Did he know?

Annie stared back out the window.

Didn’t he know how she felt about Jada? Didn’t he know she’d never really trusted her? Didn’t he know enough about Annie to know that this, out of everything, would fucking hurt?

The questions sounded ridiculous the second they formed, because what exactly was Elijah supposed to do with information like that?

Avoid a woman for eight years because his high school girlfriend didn’t like her?

The idea was absurd. Annie knew it was absurd. Yet somehow that didn’t stop it from hurting. 

The truth was she hadn’t spent the day grieving what Elijah had with Jada. She’d spent the day imagining what might still exist between her and Elijah. That was the part she couldn’t forgive herself for. 

Not the jealousy.

The hope.

That truth settled over her slowly as she sat on the edge of the bed. The photographs. Geneva talking about Elijah carrying her inside when she fell asleep on his shoulder. The way everybody at the table had spoken about them like they were inevitable. The way Elijah had looked at her after learning she never wanted to leave. 

The warmth of his hand around hers. 

None of those moments would’ve mattered if some part of her hadn’t been carrying hope onto that plane from North Carolina. She hated admitting that, even to herself. Hope felt childish at twenty-five. Hope felt irresponsible after eight years. Yet the evidence sat all around the room. The dress she’d changed out of three times. The suitcase she’d never fully unpacked. The mixtape buried somewhere among her things. She hadn’t come to Mississippi looking for closure. 

She’d come looking for possibility, and now she felt stupid for pretending otherwise.

Another swallow of tequila disappeared before she realized she’d picked up the bottle again. The burn barely registering anymore. What did register was the growing discomfort that had nothing to do with Jada and everything to do with Pearline. 

The longer Annie sat there, the more the last two days began rearranging themselves. Pearline encouraging her to come. Pearline listening to every story about Elijah. Sitting on the edge of the bed that morning while Annie changed clothes. Watching her spend an entire afternoon slipping back into old memories she should’ve known better than to trust. 

None of those moments had felt strange when they happened. Looking back now, they felt different. Heavier. Like pieces of a puzzle she hadn’t realized she was assembling.

Annie stared at the bedroom door and tightened her grip on the bottle. She didn’t know exactly how long she’d been sitting there, but she knew Pearline well enough to know what would come next. 

Pearline hated conflict. Hated disappointing people even more. There was no chance she was leaving Annie up here alone. Sooner or later those footsteps would come down the hallway. Sooner rather than later the door would open. The thought should’ve prepared her. 

Instead it made the hurt settle deeper. 

Because for the first time since walking into the house, Annie stopped thinking about Jada standing beside Elijah and started thinking about her best friend downstairs, the one person who had known exactly how much hope Annie had carried back to Mississippi and said nothing at all.

Pearline didn’t knock.

The door opened slowly before Annie could tell her not to come in, and the look on her face was so familiar Annie almost hated her for it. Concern. Caution. The expression Pearline wore whenever she thought somebody was about to make a bad decision.

Unfortunately for both of them, Annie had already made several.

Neither of them spoke at first. Pearline’s eyes moved from the open suitcase to the tequila bottle resting beside Annie’s leg before finally settling on Annie herself. Annie knew exactly what she saw. Red eyes. A half-packed suitcase. Clothes scattered across the bed. One sandal near the bathroom door and the other somehow buried beneath a blouse sleeve hanging halfway out of the luggage. The packing wasn’t real. Annie knew it. Pearline probably knew it too. She’d managed to put three shirts into the suitcase and somehow remove four. Every few minutes she found herself folding the same piece of clothing she’d already folded before throwing it into a different corner of the room.

“How much of that you done drank?”

Annie glanced down at the bottle. “Enough.”

Pearline sighed and stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

The sound made something tighten in Annie’s chest.

“You ain’t finna leave.”

Annie laughed under her breath and reached for another shirt. “The hell I’m not.”

“You drunk.”

“I’m buzzed.”

“Annie.”

“I’m grown.”

Pearline rubbed a hand across her forehead.

The movement irritated Annie so bad. The careful voice irritated her. The patience irritated her. The concern irritated her. All of it felt like somebody trying to calm her down before she’d even been allowed to be upset. 

She shoved another armful of clothes into the suitcase and immediately regretted it when the zipper refused to cooperate. The tequila bottle found its way back into her hand before she even realized she’d reached for it.

Pearline watched her struggle with the suitcase for another minute before speaking again.

“I was gonna tell you.”

Annie stopped. She couldn’t help it. The words settled somewhere deep enough to hurt.

Slowly she looked up. “No you wasn’t.”

“I was.”

“When?”

Pearline opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

Annie laughed. The sound wasn’t pleasant. “Exactly.”

“I didn’t know how.”

The answer hit Annie harder because it sounded honest. Honest and useless at the same time. She looked away before Pearline could see it landed. 

Outside Annie could hear laughter. She hated them for laughing. 

“You could’ve started with the truth.”

“I didn’t know what the truth was.”

Annie took another swallow from the bottle. The burn was gone. “What truth?”

Pearline hesitated. “Them.”

The word sat between Annie and Pearline.

“I thought they was just fuckin’.”

Pearline shifted from foot to foot. “It didn’t look serious.”

Didn’t. Past tense. Annie heard it. Her stomach dropped.

“What changed?”

Pearline froze.

The hesitation told Annie almost everything.

“What changed, Pearline?”

For a second it looked like Pearline might refuse to answer. Then she sighed. “I saw them Thursday.”

Annie frowned. 

Thursday.

The word rolled around in her head before settling into place. The restaurant. That strange feeling she’d had all night. The uncomfortable certainty that somebody familiar was nearby. The way she’d caught herself looking around for no reason she could explain.

Pearline acting strange afterward. Starting a sentence and never finishing it. Looking at her like she wanted to say something before changing her mind.

The pieces connected so quickly Annie almost felt sick. “He was there.”

Pearline didn’t answer.

“He was there with her.”

Still nothing. The silence told her everything she needed to know.

Annie stared at the bottle in her hand before taking another drink. The tequila was more than half gone now. At some point she’d stopped counting. Her face felt warm. Her thoughts felt loud. Every emotion she’d spent the last eight years carefully suppressing seemed determined to show up all at once.

“You saw them and still said nothin’.”

“I wanted to.”

Annie laughed.

The sound came out sharp enough to make Pearline flinch.

“No you didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t, ’cause if you did, you would’ve.”

“I really did, Annie.”

Annie shook her head and looked away.

Outside, the yard erupted into laughter after. The sound drifted through the screen window and landed in the room like an insult.

She took another swallow from the bottle.

“Fuck, Pearline, I could’ve handled him messin’ with ANYBODY else.”

Pearline’s face changed immediately.

“Annie—”

“No. I’m serious.” She laughed again and wiped at her eyes. “I could’ve handled some random girl.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them. “Some girl from Jackson. Memphis. Atlanta. Hell, California.”

Pearline stayed quiet.

“But Jada?” Annie shook her head. “Jada of all people?”

The room fell silent, because Pearline knew. Maybe not every detail.

But more than enough.

Enough to remember the little imsults disguised as jokes. The competition Annie never agreed to participate in. The way Jada always seemed to know exactly where she stood with Elijah. Enough to understand why hearing her name hit differently.

“You should’ve told me from jump.” Annie looked down at the bottle in her hand. “You should’ve told me the second you saw them.”

Pearline sighed. “She ain’t hate you, Annie.”

“Don’t do that shit.” The warning came fast. “Please don’t sit up here and act like you don’t know what I’m talkin’ about.”

Pearline looked away.

Exactly.

“That’s what I thought.” Annie laughed and immediately wished she hadn’t, because now she sounded bitter.

Maybe she was.

“I know it sound stupid.” Her voice cracked. “I know he don’t owe me shit.” Another laugh. Smaller this time. “And I know he got every right to move on.” She stared toward the window. “But for some reason hearin’ it’s Jada make me sick to my fuckin’ stomach.”

The confession hung between them. Raw. Embarrassing.

Honest.

“And that’s why I’m mad at you.”

Pearline frowned.

“Cause you knew that.” Annie looked back at her. “You knew exactly how that was gonna hit me.”

Annie sank onto the edge of the bed and looked down at the shirt in her hands. At some point she’d stopped packing and started moving things around just to keep her hands busy. The same shirt had gone into the suitcase three separate times and somehow kept ending up back on the bed. The tequila wasn’t helping anymore. It had moved past the point of making her feel better and settled into that dangerous place where every thought felt louder than it should.

“You know what the crazy part is?”

Pearline looked up. “What?”

Annie laughed, but there wasn’t any humor in it. “I still would’ve came.”

For a minute neither of them said anything.

Annie picked up the shirt and started folding it. Then unfolded it. “I would’ve still got on the plane.”

The words surprised her because she hadn’t realized they were true until she’d said them out loud. She would’ve come for Aunt Cheryl and Uncle Lewis. For Geneva and Auntie Max. For Pearline. For Stack. For the cookout. For every piece of home she’d spent years pretending she didn’t miss. And somewhere in that list sat Elijah too. Not that she expected anything from him. Or because she thought eight years could disappear in a weekend. But because he mattered whether she wanted him to or not.

Pearline watched her carefully.

Annie laughed again and wiped at her face. “That’s the part that got me.” She looked down at the bottle. “You should’ve told me anyway.”

Pearline lowered her eyes. “I thought if y’all talked—”

“There you go.” The words came out tired more than angry. Annie shook her head. “That’s the part you keep missin’.”

Pearline started to talk, then stopped.

Annie looked toward the window where the sounds of the cookout drifted in through the screen. “You keep tellin’ me what you thought.”

Her voice cracked. “What about me? What about what I wanted?”

Pearline’s face tightened immediately.

Annie hated herself a little for saying it. The regret didn’t make it less true. “You knew.” The words came quieter now. Which somehow made them worse. “You knew and watched me get off that plane.”

Silence.

“You knew and watched me talk about him.”

Pearline looked away.

“You knew and sat on this bed while I changed clothes fifty fucking times.”

The tears finally came. Hot. Embarrassing. Impossible to stop.

“And you still brought me here.”

Pearline looked devastated now.

Good.

A terrible thought. An ugly thought. One Annie hated the second it crossed her mind. But it was there anyway. 

“You watched me hope.”

The room seemed to shrink around them as Annie’s words settled into the space between them. Outside, somebody shouted something followed by laughter. The sound drifted through the screen window and disappeared into silence neither woman seemed willing to break.

Pearline stared at her. Then something in her expression changed.

Exhaustion.

“You think I wanted this?”

Annie looked away.

“You keep talkin’ like I sat around plottin’ on how to hurt you.”

“I ain’t say that.”

“You don’t gotta say it.” Pearline wiped at her face with the heel of her hand before crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “For two fuckin’ days I’ve been watchin’ this happen knowin’ eventually you was gonna look at me exactly like this.”

Annie didn’t answer because she was looking at her exactly like that.

“You think it was easy watchin’ you get off that plane smilin’?” Pearline laughed once, but there wasn’t any humor in it. “You think I didn’t know why you was really nervous?”

“Pearline—”

“No. Let me finish.” The words came out sharper than anything she’d said all evening. “You wasn’t nervous about no cookout and you know it.”

Annie looked down at the shirt twisted in her hands.

“You talked about him the whole ride from the airport.” Pearline’s voice softened again. “You talked about him while you unpacked.” 

Another breath. “You talked about him when we went to breakfast.” Another. “You talked about him every time his name came up like you was tryin’ real hard to convince yourself it didn’t matter.”

The tears Annie had been fighting rose all over again.

Pearline shook her head. “And every time I thought about tellin’ you, I’d look at your face and think maybe I was wrong. Maybe Smoke and Jada wasn’t serious. Maybe they would’ve ended whatever they had goin’ on by now. Maybe y’all could finally sit down and talk.”

Annie swallowed hard. The words should’ve made her feel better. Instead they somehow made everything worse. For the first time since the argument started, she could see exactly how Pearline had convinced herself to stay quiet. Not that she thought she knew best, but she wanted the same impossible thing Annie wanted.

“I was hopin’ too, Annie.”

Annie closed her eyes.

The confession hit differently than everything else Pearline had said. Anger she knew how to carry. Embarrassment too. But this felt heavier. It forced her to acknowledge something she’d been trying very hard not to look at. Pearline hadn’t been trying to hurt her. Pearline had been hoping right alongside her, building entire possibilities out of half-finished conversations and old memories that she wanted so badly for them to be true.

Pearline looked down at her hands. “Remember when I told you I left my charger at Stack’s apartment?”

Annie frowned. The question felt random enough to pull her briefly out of her own misery. “Yeah.”

“I ain’t leave no damn charger.”

Annie stared at her while her facial expression said DUH.

Pearline laughed once and shook her head. “I went back and straight up asked him.”

The room grew quiet.

“I wanted to know if what I saw was real.”

Annie’s stomach tightened.

Pearline rubbed her palms against her jeans. “I asked Stack straight up.”

“What’d he say?”

“That Smoke and Jada wasn’t together.”

The answer came immediate. Like she’d replayed the conversation a hundred times already.

“He said they wasn’t serious. Said they wasn’t in no relationship.”

Despite herself, Annie almost laughed.

Pearline kept going. “I asked him twice.” The confession sounded pathetic now. “I kept askin’ different ways hopin’ he’d tell me somethin’ else.”

Annie looked away.

“Cause if he would’ve told me they was serious…” Pearline swallowed. “If he would’ve told me Smoke was in love with that girl or plannin’ a future wit’ her or somethin’ like that, I’d have told you right then.”

The words settled heavily between them.

“Shit, Annie, I would’ve told you before we even got to Cheryl’s house.” Pearline’s voice cracked slightly. “That’s why I didn’t know what to do.”

Annie stared at the floor because that sounded exactly like something Pearline would do—convince herself this was reasonable. It sounded exactly like something done with love that still managed to hurt anyway.

“You still didn’t let me choose.” 

The words came out quiet. 

Pearline’s shoulders dropped. For a second she looked as tired as Annie felt. Her mouth opened slightly before closing again. Whatever explanation she’d been holding onto all evening seemed to collapse beneath the weight of those six words.

Annie reached for another pile of clothes and shoved them into the suitcase harder than necessary. The zipper caught again. Frustrated, she yanked at it. Something beneath the clothes came loose, and a plastic case slid free, tumbling across the comforter before bouncing onto the floor near her feet.

Both women looked down.

The mixtape.

Not the mixtape Elijah made her all those years ago. Not the one she’d refused to listen to all those years ago, but somehow carried with her through college, breakups, apartments, and every version of herself she’d become after leaving Mississippi.

This was a new one.

The one she’d spent weeks putting together before coming home. The one hidden beneath folded shirts because she hadn’t been brave enough to admit why she’d packed it in the first place.

For a long moment neither woman moved. Then Annie bent down and picked it up. 

Pearline’s eyes followed the plastic case before lifting back to Annie’s face.

Something flickered there. Understanding. Somehow Annie hated that most of all, because now Pearline knew. 

Not that she still loved Elijah.

But how much.

The truth settled quietly between them. Annie wrapped her fingers around the mixtape, tucked it beneath her arm, grabbed the suitcase, and forced the zipper closed.

“Annie—”

“Fuck all y’all.”

Pearline took a step forward. “Annie.”

“No.” She wiped angrily at her face. “I came down here lookin’ stupid as fuck.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.” Her voice cracked hard enough to make her wince. “I did.”

The tears started again. Hot. Humiliating. Impossible to stop.

“And I blame you for lettin’ me.”

Pearline flinched.

Annie hated herself for saying it. Hated herself even more for not taking it back.

Then she grabbed the suitcase handle and headed for the door before Pearline could stop her.

Smoke kept his eyes on the house long after Annie disappeared inside.

Around him the cookout continued without interruption. Some old head at the dominoes table accused a young nigga of cheating. Again. Tired of hearing Aunt Cheryl fussing, Uncle Lewis stepped in and threatened to throw both of them out of the yard if they didn’t shut the fuck up. Children ran through the grass screaming while music drifted lazily from the speakers near the patio. 

The normalcy of it all felt strange considering how quickly the afternoon had changed. Ten minutes ago he’d been standing beside Annie listening to her laugh. Now she was inside the house and Pearline had gone after her wearing the same expression people wore when they already knew trouble was waiting on the other side of a door.

He replayed the last few minutes in his head whether he wanted to or not. Annie’s hand in his. Jada’s voice. The way Annie’s guard went up the moment she understood Jada wasn’t standing there as an old classmate. The look she’d given Pearline afterward stayed with him most. There had been hurt in it. Confusion too. But beneath both sat recognition, like she’d suddenly understood something nobody had bothered to explain to her.

Smoke didn’t know every piece of what had just happened, but he recognized the result. Annie thought he and Jada were together. Not casually seeing each other. Together-together. The certainty settled heavily in his chest because it explained the expression he’d seen on her face before she walked away.

What unsettled him wasn’t that she’d misunderstood the situation.

It was that seeing him with another woman had hurt her at all.

Somebody shoved a plastic cup into his hand.

Stack.

“The good shit,” his brother said before dropping back into his chair.

Smoke glanced down at the bourbon. Aunt Cheryl only brought it out for family and special occasions. Under different circumstances he probably would’ve appreciated it. Instead he took a swallow and tasted almost none of it.

A few minutes later he found himself reaching for a cigarette.

The lighter clicked.

Smoke took a slow drag and watched the front porch through a haze of smoke that did absolutely nothing to settle his nerves.

Beside him, Jada smoothed a hand over her blouse and adjusted her position in the chair.

“Thought you had a showing today.”

The question made her blink. “I did.”

“You said you wasn’t comin’.”

“I changed my mind.”

Smoke nodded once, but his attention had already drifted back toward the house. The answer sat wrong with him for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. She hadn’t called. Hadn’t texted. Some part of him couldn’t stop wondering whether things would’ve unfolded differently if he’d known she was coming. The thought irritated him. Jada hadn’t done anything wrong by showing up to a public cookout. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that the afternoon had veered off course the moment she stepped into it.

“You mad I’m here?”

That pulled his attention back to her.

“No.”

The answer came easily because it was mostly true. He wasn’t mad she came. He just couldn’t understand why she hadn’t mentioned it. Over the last year they’d fallen into routines. Nothing serious. Nothing that required explanations. Still, telling somebody you were showing up somewhere after saying you weren’t seemed like information worth sharing.

Jada studied him for a moment. “You ain’t really looked at me since I walked over here.”

The words were light. Teasing. At least they tried to be.

Smoke glanced at her. “What?”

“You keep starin’ at that house.”

His jaw tightened around the cigarette. The expression vanished almost immediately, but not before Jada caught it.

He knew she did. Over the last year she’d gotten good at reading him.  Unfortunately, Annie had always been better.

Before Jada could say anything else, Mary wandered over carrying a red cup and entirely too much satisfaction. Stack noticed her at the exact same time.

“There she go.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Oh Lord.”

“Nah.” Stack pointed directly at her. “Nah. Bring yo’ ass over here.”

Smoke looked between them. Mary suddenly became very interested in her drink. That alone made him suspicious.

“You ain’t change your mind.”

Jada’s eyes flickered. “Elijah—”

“You was already comin’.” The words landed quietly. “You could’ve told me.”

The silence that followed was answer enough.

Something tightened in his chest. He turned his attention to Mary. “What you do?”

“I ain’t do shit.”

“That’s a muthafuckin’ lie.” Stack exclaimed.

“It ain’t.”

Stack laughed. “Jada just magically decided to show up after tellin’ my brother she wasn’t?”

Jada’s head turned. Mary looked away. Smoke’s eyes narrowed. The silence lasted a little too long.

“Mary.”

“I was just talkin’.”

“There it is.” Stack threw his hands up. “There it is right there. That’s the shit I be talkin’ about. You stay runnin’ yo’ fuckin’ mouth.”

Mary looked offended. “How was I supposed to know she’d actually come?”

Stack stared at her. Then at Jada. Then back at Mary. “You serious?”

The pieces settled into place one by one. Smoke looked at Jada. Then Mary. Then back toward the house.

Something tightened in his chest.

Pearline still hadn’t come back outside. The front door remained closed. The upstairs windows remained dark. From where he sat, the entire house looked still. Meanwhile his mind kept returning to Annie’s face. Not the smile she’d forced before excusing herself. The look right before it. The moment she’d looked from Jada to him and then toward Pearline. The hurt in her eyes had been so quick most people probably would’ve missed it.

He hadn’t.

That was the problem. He hadn’t missed any of it. Not the confusion, the disappointment, or the moment it all clicked.

The feeling settled heavy in his stomach because he knew exactly what she’d seen. Maybe not every detail. Maybe not the history. But enough. Enough to think he and Jada were something they weren’t. Enough to believe she’d shown up in Mississippi only to discover he’d moved on.

The thought bothered him more than it should have.

Life kept moving around him, but Smoke couldn’t. Every few seconds his eyes found the house again. The cigarette burned down between his fingers. The bourbon now gone.

Stack watched him do it. Then he sighed. “You need to go talk to her.”

“Pearline with her.”

“For now.”

Smoke leaned back in his chair. “What that supposed to mean?”

“It mean Annie upstairs cussin’ Pearline the fuck out right now.”

Despite everything, a small smile threatened at the corner of his mouth.

Stack pointed toward the house. “You know I’m right.”

Unfortunately, he was.

The smile disappeared as quickly as it came.

Smoke rubbed a hand across his jaw and looked back toward the front door. The longer Annie stayed inside, the worse the feeling became. Something closer to dread. Annie had spent eight years running from difficult conversations. He knew because he’d spent eight years wishing she’d stayed for one.

Then the front door opened.

Every thought in his head disappeared at once.

Annie stepped onto the porch with a suitcase in one hand and a plastic case tucked beneath her arm.

Before he realized what he was doing, Smoke crushed the cigarette beneath his sneaker, set the cup on the nearest table, and started walking.

“Annie.”

Smoke was calling her name halfway across the yard before he realized people were starting to watch. At first it was only a few people. Aunt Cheryl paused beside the grill with the tongs still in her hand. Geneva lowered her cup. Maxine turned away from whatever story she had been telling. Then more heads began to turn because Annie was not exactly subtle carrying a suitcase through the middle of a family cookout, and neither was the look on her face. Even from thirty feet away he could see she had been crying, and the sight settled heavy in his chest before he could prepare himself for it. Pearline had barely made it back onto the porch behind her, wiping at her own face, and Stack was already moving toward her with concern written plainly across his. Whatever had happened upstairs had gone bad enough to leave both women in tears.

Smoke was not surprised. The moment Annie had looked at Jada, then at him, then at Pearline, he had known something was coming. What surprised him was how quickly everything had unraveled. Less than an hour ago she had been laughing beside him beneath the shade tree. Less than thirty minutes ago he had been standing there holding her hand without thinking about it. Now she was heading toward the driveway with a suitcase like she planned on disappearing before sunset, and the familiarity of that made something old and bitter twist inside him. Annie leaving before a conversation could catch her was not new. He knew that move. He had lived with the damage of it for eight years.

“Annie.”

She didn’t stop. The suitcase rolled awkwardly through the grass as she continued toward the driveway, and whether she genuinely hadn’t heard him or was pretending not to hear him didn’t matter. Smoke knew her too well to believe either would be enough to stop him.

“Anissa!”

That stopped her.

When she finally turned around, the look on her face hit him hard. The tears were obvious. The anger was not. That lived deeper, somewhere behind the red eyes and tight jaw, tangled up with something older and far more familiar. It was the same hurt he had caught a glimpse of before she disappeared into the house, only now it wasn’t masked anymore. The music still played behind them. Somebody laughed near the dominoes table before realizing nobody else was laughing. Children ran through the yard with a water guns bigger than them. Life kept trying to continue around them, but Smoke could feel the whole cookout slowly holding its breath.

“Can we talk?”

The laugh that left Annie wasn’t loud, which made it worse. Loud would have been easier. Loud would have given him something obvious to answer. Instead, she sounded tired, like someone who had finally run out of ways to be disappointed.

“Oh, now you wanna talk?”

The words landed uncomfortably because he knew exactly what she meant. Not the sentence itself. The accusation underneath it. When she finally called him after eight years. Eight years of missed conversations and assumptions. Eight years of silence neither one of them had been able to outrun. 

Smoke opened his mouth, but Annie was already shaking her head.

“No. Don’t do that.”

His brow furrowed. “Do what?”

“Act like this ain’t exactly what you wanted.”

Confusion flashed across his face before frustration followed close behind it. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

Annie stared at him as though she couldn’t decide whether he was lying or genuinely that oblivious. Then she laughed again, wiped angrily at her face, and pulled something from beneath her arm and threw it at him. The plastic case struck his chest hard enough that instinct took over before thought could. Smoke caught it automatically and looked down. For a moment, he didn’t understand what he was holding. Then his eyes moved over the case, the handwriting, the familiar shape of something he had once given her in another lifetime, and it dawned on him slowly.

Annie pointed toward it before he could speak.

“I made that for you.”

Smoke looked down at the plastic case.

The words came out sharper than she probably intended, not because she was trying to hurt him, but because she was already hurting and had nowhere else to put it.

“I spent two damn weeks makin’ that.” Annie laughed. The sound was ugly. “Ain’t that some shit?”

She wiped angrily at her face. “I’m twenty-five years old makin’ a mixtape.” Annie shook her head. “I brought it all the way from North Carolina.”

Her voice dropped. “I brought it because some stupid part of me thought…” The sentence died there.

Annie laughed again. “Never mind.”

Around them the cookout had grown noticeably quieter. Smoke was aware enough that Aunt Cheryl was no longer pretending to focus on the grill. Geneva had stopped mid-conversation and Maxine stood beside her with her mouth pressed into a tight line. He was aware enough that Mary suddenly looked like she regretted every decision she had made that afternoon, and Jada had gone completely still in her chair. Annie didn’t seem to notice any of them, or maybe she did and simply couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Go ’head,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the backyard. “Maybe you and your girlfriend can listen to it together.”

Smoke’s jaw tightened immediately. “Jada ain’t my girlfriend.”

The look Annie gave him was so full of disbelief it almost would’ve been funny under different circumstances. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Don’t.”

He took a step closer. “Don’t do that.”

The hurt in her face deepened, and Smoke knew before she even spoke that whatever came next had been sitting inside her for years.

“Oh, now we don’t wanna do that?”

The memory hit him before he could stop it. The conversation. The frustration. The moment he had shut something down instead of opening it, thinking silence would keep them from making things worse. Annie saw the recognition cross his face and nodded once, her eyes shining with a kind of hurt that made his stomach tighten.

“What happened to ‘we ain’t doin’ that, huh?’”

This time there was no laughter in her voice. No sarcasm either. Just eight years of hurt finally finding somewhere to go. Around them, the cookout kept trying and failing to pretend nothing was happening. Aunt Cheryl had completely abandoned the grill now. Geneva stood beside her with one hand pressed against her chest. Across the yard, Stack had reached Pearline and was asking questions she clearly was not answering. Even the dominoes game had stopped, the players still seated around the table with untouched tiles between them.

Annie wiped angrily at her face again and shook her head. The tequila had blurred the edges of her embarrassment enough to make honesty feel easier than silence, but Smoke could see the cost of it. She looked exposed. Furious about it. Hurt because of it. Still, she stood there with the suitcase in one hand and the rest of the cookout watching while years of silence crowded up behind her.

“You know what pisses me off the most?”

Smoke didn’t answer. The question felt rhetorical.

“Everybody knew but me.”

The words hung there longer than Annie intended. Once they left her mouth she couldn’t take them back. It felt like saying them out loud made the humiliation feel real in a way it hadn’t five minutes ago. She looked past Smoke toward the crowd gathered behind him. Pearline stood beside Stack with red eyes and a guilty expression. Aunt Cheryl had completely abandoned the grill. Geneva looked like she was debating whether to intervene or pray. 

Everybody.

Everybody had apparently known except the one person standing in the middle of it.

“Pearline knew. Stack knew. Mary’s ass obviously knew.”

“Why I gotta be in this?” Mary called from somewhere behind Smoke.

“Cause yo’ ass always in everythin’.”

The response came from so many directions at once that a brief burst of laughter rippled through the yard before disappearing just as quickly. Annie wasn’t laughing. The knot in her chest had only grown tighter. Every time she replayed the afternoon in her head she found something new to be embarrassed about. Every conversation. Every look. Every moment she’d spent thinking she was simply reconnecting with old friends while apparently everybody else was aware of something she wasn’t.

“I spent all day lookin’ stupid.”

“You wasn’t lookin’ stupid.”

The answer came immediate. Too immediate. Annie laughed and pointed at him. “There you go.”

Smoke frowned. “There I go what?”

“That thing you do.”

“What thing?”

“When I tell you somethin’ and you decide it ain’t true just ‘cause you don’t like hearin’ it.”

His jaw tightened. “Annie—”

“No.” Her voice cracked hard enough that she hated it. “You asked to talk. So let’s talk.”

The yard went quiet again. Annie looked at him for a long moment before shaking her head. “You know what makes this shit worse?”

Smoke waited.

Annie laughed without humor and glanced toward Jada. “Her.”

Jada visibly stiffened.

“Annie—”

“No. Cause ain’t nobody finna sit here and act confused.”

The alcohol had long since stopped making her feel better. Now it was just making honesty easier.

“Outta everybody, Elijah?” Her eyes landed on Jada again. “Her?”

Smoke frowned. “What that supposed to mean?”

Annie laughed. “See? That’s exactly what I mean.” She wiped at her face. “You ain’t even know.”

The words weren’t really directed at him anymore. “You never paid attention to none of that.”

Smoke’s brow furrowed deeper.

Annie shook her head. Her laugh sounded tired. “Why would you?”

The alcohol was doing most of the talking now. Not enough to make her incoherent. Just enough to lower every wall she’d spent years building.

“You don’t know what it felt like bein’ around her.”

Jada stiffened slightly.

Annie noticed. But kept going anyway. “Maybe she didn’t do nothin’. Maybe it was all in my head.” The words sounded doubtful even to her. “But every time she walked into a room, I felt it.”

She looked back at Smoke. “And now I come back home and find out you’re with her?”

The question hung between them.

For a while Annie wanted it to be about Jada. Wanted to be able to point at one woman and blame her for the way her chest hurt. But the longer she stood there, the harder it became to pretend Jada was the real problem.

Jada had simply been the thing that cracked everything open.

The hurt and the truth sat somewhere deeper than that.

The real truth was that seeing Elijah with anybody would’ve hurt. Him being happy and moving on with anybody else would’ve hurt. Seeing him living a life that no longer had room for her would’ve hurt.

Nobody spoke or moved. Everyone seemed to understand at the same time that Annie and Smoke were no longer talking about Jada, or the cookout, or the mixtape in his hand. They had moved backward without warning. Back into the years nobody in that yard had been able to touch for them.

Annie laughed again and shook her head. “You know what North Carolina was like?”

The question caught him off guard. For the first time since she had walked out of the house, uncertainty crossed his face because the answer was no. He didn’t know. Not really. He knew where she had lived. He knew the city she moved to. He knew she had graduated. He knew random pieces gathered over the years through social media, mutual friends, and accidental conversations he pretended not to care about. But he didn’t know what it had been like. Not the real version.

Annie looked away briefly before looking back at him. “I hated it.”

Smoke felt something in his chest twist because that was not what he had expected her to say.

“I hated every fuckin’ minute of it.” Her voice shook now, but she did not look away again. “I didn’t know nobody. I didn’t have Pearline, Aunt Cheryl, Stack. I didn’t have…”

She stopped long enough to swallow, and when she looked directly at him, the rest of the yard seemed to fade around them.

“I didn’t have you.”

Smoke wasn’t prepared for that. He had spent eight years telling himself she had moved forward because that was the only way to make sense of the silence. Annie in North Carolina had become a version of her he could survive imagining. Busy. Happy. Adjusting. Growing into a life that no longer had space for him. But standing in front of him now with tears on her face and a suitcase in her hand, she was telling him something completely different, and the new version did not fit into any of the places he had built for the old one.

For a moment Annie saw it.

Really saw it.

The years she had spent imagining Elijah untouched by her absence suddenly felt less certain. She could see the hurt sitting on him now. Not fresh hurt. Old hurt. The kind people carried so long they stopped noticing the weight of it.

And yet none of it changed what came next. Because understanding that he suffered wasn’t the same thing as knowing he had.

Annie laughed and immediately seemed to hate the sound of it.

Smoke blinked.

“So what, Elijah?”

The use of his name landed exactly the way she intended it to. A warning.

“You think I was supposed to know that?” she asked, pointing at him. “You think I knew what the hell you was feelin’?”

His jaw tightened. “You ain’t ask.”

“Neither did you.”

Stack looked away. Pearline closed her eyes. Smoke felt the hit land exactly where she meant for it to, and the worst part was that she wasn’t wrong. 

Annie wiped at her face again and shook her head, her voice breaking around the edges as the anger started turning into something less controlled.

“You keep standin’ here talkin’ like I wasn’t alone. You think I wasn’t drivin’ around a city I ain’t know? You think I wasn’t callin’ Pearline cryin’? You think I wasn’t sittin’ in my mama’s house every holiday wishin’ I was home?”

Smoke’s expression switched before he could stop it, and Annie saw it. Good, her face seemed to say. Let him hear it.

“You keep talkin’ like I chose all this.” The tears were coming faster now, and she stopped trying to hide them. “I was seventeen. I was seventeen, Elijah. I was a kid. I was scared!”

Smoke closed his eyes briefly, and Annie saw that too. Saw the way his face tightened. Saw something flicker across it before disappearing again. For the first time since this started, she understood that he was not angry because he did not care. He was angry because he did. Maybe because he always had. The answer should have made her feel better. Instead, it seemed to make her furious because if that was true, then eight years suddenly felt even more unnecessary.

“You know what I kept waitin’ on?” she asked.

Smoke didn’t answer.

“I kept waitin’ on you.”

Even Mary looked stunned by that. Annie looked away as soon as the words came out, embarrassment crawling up her throat too late to stop anything now. “I kept thinkin’ maybe one day you’d show up. Maybe one day you’d come get me.”

Smoke stared at her, and the disbelief moved across his face before he could hide it. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe she had waited. He couldn’t believe what she had been waiting for. Annie saw it. Saw exactly what he was thinking. Something passed between them then, heavy and terrible, and for the first time since she got off the plane, Annie looked like she was realizing neither of them had been waiting for the same thing. Neither of them had been telling themselves the same story.

Smoke stood there for several seconds without speaking. He could still hear the cookout somewhere around them. A baby started crying near the patio before someone scooped them up and carried them away. Music drifted from the speakers like it belonged to another yard entirely. Aunt Cheryl probably still standing beside that grill, food getting colder by the minute, but none of it felt real anymore. The only thing that felt real was Annie standing in front of him talking about waiting as though he had simply let her go without trying.

“You waited on me?”

The question came out quieter than he intended.

Annie laughed bitterly. “Yeah.”

Smoke looked away, dragging a hand across his jaw while the hurt he had been holding onto all afternoon changed into something sharper and older. Nothing about this conversation was unfolding the way he had imagined. Not once. Not in eight years. Not today. Not now.

“Annie…” His voice cracked slightly, not enough for most people to notice, but enough for Stack to notice. Enough for Pearline. Enough for Smoke himself. “You think I wasn’t tryin’?”

The confusion on Annie’s face stopped him cold. For a second neither of them moved, and then Smoke realized she genuinely didn’t know. She had never looked more honest or more confused, and the sight twisted painfully in his chest.

“You think I just let you go?”

Annie opened her mouth, then closed it.

“I called you every fuckin’ day.”

The words left him before he could stop them. Annie blinked once, then again, and the color seemed to drain from her face in real time.

“What?”

Smoke laughed, but the sound came out broken. “I called you every day.”

The memory came back all at once. His room. The phone. The ringing. The waiting. The voicemail. Again and again and again until the sound became part of the shape of those months. “I called so much my mama started askin’ if I was goin’ to pay the phone bill.”

The crowd around them seemed to understand at the same time that they were no longer listening to an argument. They were watching two people discover that they had lived through entirely different versions of the same heartbreak.

Smoke couldn’t stop now. Not after eight years. Not after hearing Annie say she had waited. “I wrote you.”

Annie stared at him. “What?”

“I wrote you.” His jaw tightened because the word sounded ridiculous now. Ancient and pathetic and still true. “Letters. Birthday cards. Christmas cards. I sent every fuckin’ thing I could think of.”

Annie looked like she had forgotten how to breathe. Smoke noticed. He simply could not stop anyway.

“You think I was sittin’ around muthafuckin Mississippi havin’ the time of my fuckin’ life?” His voice rose for the first time, not much, but enough. “You think I wasn’t lookin’ and waitin’ for you?”

Fresh tears started slipping down Annie’s face, confused now more than angry. Smoke saw them and kept going because the truth had finally cracked open, and if he stopped now, he was not sure he would ever say it again.

“Then one day you stopped answerin’.” His voice dropped again, the sentence wounded in a way anger could not cover. “You stopped callin’ back.”

Annie shook her head slowly like she could not understand what he was saying. “I never—”

“Yeah.” Smoke laughed again, rougher this time. “That’s what I thought too.”

For the first time all afternoon, fear appeared in Annie’s eyes. Not fear of him, but fear of the possibility that something had happened neither of them knew about, because suddenly neither version of the story made sense. Smoke could see her realizing it at the same time he was.

“I never got them.” Her voice was so quiet he almost missed it. “I never got those letters.”

Smoke stared at her, then slowly shook his head. “Yeah, you did.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You had to.”

“Elijah, I didn’t.”

The certainty in her voice chipped away at some of his anger. Not enough to erase it, but enough to confuse it. Annie wiped at her face, looking younger somehow. “My mama would’ve gave ’em to me.”

Smoke looked away because maybe she was right. Maybe she wasn’t. But the problem was that the possibility didn’t change what those years had felt like from his side.

“I called,” he said, quieter now.

“I know.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You don’t.”

At first she answered. He remembered that part too clearly. The strange phone calls where neither one of them knew how to speak naturally anymore but tried anyway. The pauses. The awkward laughs. The ache that settled in his chest every time they hung up. Annie remembered too; he saw it in the way her eyes closed briefly, the way guilt moved across her face before she could hide it.

“You answered,” he said. “Then you got busy. Then you started callin’ back less.”

The silence that followed was answer enough.

“One day I realized I was the only one still callin’.”

Annie flinched. The movement was small, but Smoke saw it, and some wounded part of him was glad she did. He still remembered exactly what that had felt like.

“I wasn’t doin’ it on purpose,” she said.

The defense sounded weak the second it left her mouth. Not because it was not true, but because the truth of it did not undo the damage. Smoke nodded slowly.

“I know.”

Annie frowned. “You know?”

“Yeah.” He looked at her for a long moment, and the anger she seemed to expect was not there anymore. “I know. You was seventeen. You was scared. You was in a new place. You was tryin’ to figure shit out.”

For a second she could not breathe because he was not describing her now. He was describing the girl she had been. The girl he had somehow understood all along. Then his eyes met hers again, and the hurt surfaced in him fully.

“And I knew every one of them reasons,” he said. “But they ain’t stop the shit from hurtin’.”

Everyone remained where they were. The whole yard seemed to understand that this was no longer an argument. This was grief. Eight years of it standing in the middle of Aunt Cheryl’s backyard.

“I kept makin’ excuses for you,” Smoke said, and the confession seemed to surprise even him. Annie’s face crumpled immediately, but he kept going. “I told myself you was busy. I told myself school was hard. I told myself you’d call tomorrow. And then eventually I had to stop tellin’ myself that shit.”

Annie had no answer for that. For the first time since she walked out of the house, she seemed unable to find one. The tequila was not helping her anymore. Whatever warm numbness she had been chasing upstairs had disappeared completely, leaving every emotion exposed and every memory sharper than before. She hated that everyone was watching and seeing her crying. Hated that Elijah was standing in front of her looking just as miserable as she felt. Most of all, she hated that some part of her believed him, because believing him changed things. Not everything, but enough.

“You could’ve came.”

The words left her before she could stop them. Smoke blinked, and Annie immediately looked away because the sentence sounded childish now. Stupid. Still, it was true. It had always been true.

“You could’ve came and got me,” she said, the hurt returning instantly, seventeen-year-old hurt and twenty-five-year-old hurt all tangled together. “You knew where I was.”

Smoke stared at her until the confusion on his face slowly gave way to recognition. Now he understood what she had been waiting for, and somehow that broke his heart worse than anything else she had said.

“You wanted me to come get you?”

Annie laughed through her tears, the sound cracking halfway out. “I don’t know. I just…” She shook her head, struggling to organize a truth that had probably never made sense outside her own chest. “I thought if you loved me bad enough, you’d come.”

The confession settled over them with the weight of something painfully young. Childish. Seventeen. The impossible expectation people place on love when they are too young to understand that love still requires words. The belief that if something is real enough, the other person will somehow know exactly what to do.

Smoke dragged a hand across his face, looking exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with the hour or the heat. “Annie,” he said, barely above a murmur. “I was seventeen too.”

The words hit her harder than anything else he had said. In every version of the story she had told herself, Elijah had always seemed older somehow. Stronger. More certain. More capable of handling things. But he was right—he had been seventeen too. Just as lost. Just as scared. Just as heartbroken.

“You keep talkin’ like I knew what to do.” Smoke laughed once, no humor in it, and a few people actually smiled despite themselves because it sounded like him. Real. Unfiltered. “I didn’t know shit. I didn’t know how to fix shit.” His eyes found hers again. 

“I didn’t know how to make you stay.”

The tears Annie had finally gotten under control started again because none of this was supposed to happen. She was supposed to come home, see old friends, survive one awkward conversation with Elijah, and go back to North Carolina pretending she had finally moved on. Instead she was standing in the middle of a backyard realizing neither one of them ever really had.

For one impossible moment, it felt like they were seventeen again. Not because anything had been repaired, but because they were staring at each other with the same unfinished ache they had carried out of high school and into adulthood, and neither one of them seemed to know what to do with it now that it had finally been named. 

Then Smoke broke eye contact, and Annie watched something change in his face. The softness that had been there moments earlier slowly disappeared beneath something older and far more dangerous. The understanding faded next, followed by the grief that had kept his anger tempered throughout most of the conversation. What remained was not rage. It was exhaustion. The kind that settled deep inside a person after carrying the same hurt for so long it stopped feeling separate from them.

Smoke looked at her for a long moment before finally shaking his head.

“You keep talkin’ like I left you.”

The words were not loud, and that made them worse. Annie froze because for the first time all afternoon, she was not sure what her response was supposed to be. Smoke laughed once under his breath and looked away, but nothing was funny. After everything they had just said, he still couldn’t believe they were standing here having this conversation.

“You keep tellin’ this story like I walked away.”

Annie opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Smoke looked back at her. His eyes were red now too, though she was not sure when that had happened. “You talk about North Carolina. You talk about missin’ me. You talk about waitin’.” He shook his head, his voice steady in a way that made every word harder to hear. “But every version of this story end the same.”

Annie tightened her grip around the suitcase handle.

“You leave.”

Smoke didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even sound angry. If anything, the absence of anger made the words harder to hear. They landed between them with the weight of something he had repeated to himself so many times it no longer felt like an opinion. To him it was simply fact. Annie left. Everything else had happened afterward.

“You leave,” he said again. “You stop answerin’. You stop callin’.”

Annie shook her head immediately. “It wasn’t like that.”

Smoke laughed, and the sound broke halfway through. “See?” His eyes closed briefly. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

Tears gathered again, blurring Annie’s vision. “I was seventeen.”

“SO WAS I!!!!!”

The response came so quickly it startled both of them. Years of hurt sat between them, heavier than anything either one had said before. Smoke dragged a hand across his face and looked away toward the house, toward the trees, toward anywhere but her. When he spoke again, his voice sounded rougher.

“Do you know what the fucked up part is?”

Nobody moved. Nobody interrupted. Stack stood beside Pearline with one hand hovering near her back. Aunt Cheryl had lowered her eyes. Mary had finally stopped fidgeting. Jada sat very still, watching a man she knew in one way grieve a girl he had clearly known in another.

Smoke looked back at Annie, and whatever she saw in his face made her stomach drop.

“All these years…” His voice cracked once before he caught it. “…I thought you knew.”

Annie stared at him.

Smoke laughed again, but this time there was nothing left in it to protect him. “I thought you knew how much I fuckin’ love you.”

The tears hit Annie instantly. Hot. Merciless. Impossible to stop. Smoke nodded slowly, like he had known this was going to hurt them both before he ever said it.

“And somehow…” He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving hers. “…you still look at me like I’m the one who left.”

The silence that followed didn’t t feel empty. It felt full of every year they had spent telling themselves stories that only held up because the other person had not been there to challenge them. Nobody spoke. 

Annie stared at Smoke, and Smoke stared back, and for the first time since she came home, she realized she had absolutely no idea what happens next.

End Note: I promise we are almost done....cause I can't take it. But let me know what you think in the comments, please! I love every one of your thoughts. 💜

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The summer before junior year felt endless. It was hot enough for the air to still stick to your skin long after the sun went down. Everybody knew who was having people over. Sometimes it was a cousin home from college. Sometimes a classmate whose mama was working the night shift. Music played way too loud in somebody's backyard while the neighborhood kids wandered in and out the gate like they lived there.

This one sat behind a small brick house a few streets over from the Moores’. Cars lined both sides of the curb. Music rattled the chain-link fence while people crowded around folding tables covered in chips, soda, beer bottles, and half-melted ice. Smoke from the little charcoal grill drifted thick through the yard along with the smell of lighter fluid and somebody’s cheap cologne.

Stack stood near the speakers arguing with two boys over what song to play next.

“Nah, y’all killin’ the vibe.”

“You always say that, bruh.”

“Cause y’all music trash.”

An older boy near the grill yelled for Stack to bring more charcoal and he finally wandered off still talking shit the entire way.

Pearline rolled her eyes from her lawn chair nearby. “Stack, shut up.”

He grinned immediately. “You so fine.”

“Boy.”

Annie laughed softly beside her, knees tucked up against the chair while she sipped from a warm Sprite Smoke handed her twenty minutes earlier. Her curls were pulled back loosely, thick around the edges from the heat and humidity. The silver hoops in her ears glinted in the afternoon sun.

Across the yard, Smoke leaned against the fence talking to one of the older boys from the neighborhood. Black tee. Long shorts. White Air Forces already dirty around the edges from summer. One hand hooked inside his pocket while the other held a sweating cup low near his thigh.

Jada watched him from across the yard.

Annie noticed first. “Mhm,” she muttered, nudging Pearline.

Pearline glanced over. “What?”

Annie tilted her head slightly toward the drinks table.

Pearline’s eyes moved automatically.

Jada stood near the coolers laughing loudly at something another girl said, honey-brown curls bouncing around her shoulders while her attention kept drifting back toward Smoke every few seconds. She was pretty. Everyone thought so. Curvy already, tube top, and tiny shorts showing off thick thighs every boy talked about when she walked passed. 

Except Smoke—he barely looked over there at all. Jada was pretty. He mostly remembered she laughed loud.

That should’ve made Annie feel better. Instead something still irritated her.

Pearline caught the look on her face instantly. “Girl…”

“I ain’t sayin’ shit.”

“You don’t gotta.”

Annie rolled her eyes hard and looked away first.

Across the yard Stack suddenly yelled—“ANNIE.”

He pointed dramatically toward the folding table. “Bring me a bag of chips.”

“You got two hands.”

“Please! You love me.”

“I actually don’t.”

Stack clutched his chest while everybody around him laughed.

Smoke looked over then and immediately found Annie. Every time. Didn’t matter how many people stood around her either. His eyes always landed there first. The look on his face changed too. Softer. Like seeing her settled something in him automatically.

Pearline saw that part and snorted quietly beside her. “Girl that boy obsessed with you.”

Annie tried not to smile. Failed a little anyway. She stood and headed toward the chips table near the drinks before Stack could start yelling again.

Pearline grabbed her cup and followed behind slower, already watching Jada out the corner of her eye.

Halfway there, Smoke peeled away from the fence and met Annie without saying much.

“You ate?”

Annie blinked at him. “Yes, Elijah.”

“You lyin’.”

She laughed immediately. “I had chips.”

“That ain’t food.”

He grabbed a paper plate off the table and started piling food onto it before she could argue again.

Annie leaned lightly against the table watching him move around the grill. “Why you keep makin’ me plates?”

Smoke shrugged once without looking up. “Cause you need to eat.”

“I eat.”

“Not enough.”

Annie rolled her eyes softly. “Smoke, I promise the world not gon’ end if I miss one plate.”

That finally made him look at her. His eyes moved over her once before settling back on her face again.

“Nah,” he said quietly. “But I might.”

Annie’s breath caught before she could stop it.

And right on cue—Stack gagged loud as hell behind them. “Mane, if y’all don’t leave each other alone for five minutes—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Smoke muttered.

Everybody near them laughed.

Smoke ignored all of it. That was the thing. He ignored everything when Annie stood close enough.

Jada came over to where they were a minute later with Mary and two other girls trailing behind her, all loud laughs and glossy lips beneath the fading summer light.

Pearline stood up straighter immediately. “This bitch…,” she muttered under her breath.

Mary waved dramatically the second she spotted Stack. “There go my man.”

Pearline rolled her eyes so hard Annie almost laughed. “Your man?” Pearline muttered. “Girl please. Stack flirt wit’ everybody.”

“Jealousy ugly on you, Pearl,” Mary called back instantly.

Pearline looked up slow and smiled. “Bitch, I can’t be jealous of community dick.”

Stack barked out laughing.

Mary’s mouth dropped open. “Community dick?!”

Pearline shrugged. “You ain’t special, ho.”

Stack barked out laughing before Mary walked over smacking his arm. Jada drifted easily toward the grill instead.

“Damn,” she said, looking down at the plate in Smoke’s hand before glancing toward her friends. “Smoke don’t do nothin’ but feed Annie.”

Stack barked out laughing instantly. “Cause that’s his girl.”

Smoke frowned slightly. “What?”

Jada smiled. “Nothin’.” But her eyes slid briefly toward Annie before looking back at Stack.

“I’m serious,” She continued. “He act like she the only girl out here.”

Stack opened his mouth immediately. “Cause to him she is.”

Smoke finally handed Annie her plate. “Move before Stack fat ass steal yo’ food.”

“Wow nigga,” Stack said. “You rude.”

Annie was focused very hard on balancing the paper plate in her hands even while warmth kept crawling up the back of her neck. Beside her, Pearline sucked her teeth quietly into her cup.

Jada laughed softly and reached for Smoke’s cup sitting on the table, taking a sip without asking.

Annie noticed immediately. So did Pearline.

Annie’s fingers tightened slightly beneath the paper plate, before she could stop herself, her body was leaning forward a fraction towards Jada. Pearline caught the reaction instantly, one hand touching Annie’s wrist beneath the excuse of reaching for a chip. Subtle. Quick enough nobody else seemed to notice.

Except Jada.

Smoke barely reacted—mostly because he was already looking at Annie again. “You want somethin’ else to drink?”

Jada lowered the cup slowly.

Annie saw that too, and suddenly the heat outside felt heavier than before. “I’m good,” she answered quietly.

“I been tellin’ y’all Smoke don’t talk to nobody but Annie,” Jada said, laughing lightly as she nudged Stack with her shoulder. “It’s weird.”

Mary snorted softly beside Stack, already watching the whole interaction unfold. “One hundred percent true,” Mary jumped in immediately.

Smoke looked genuinely confused. “I talk to y’all.”

Stack barked out laughing instantly. “Nigga no you don’t.”

Mary laughed harder. “You barely even looked over here.”

Annie looked away immediately before Smoke could catch her laughing.

Pearline covered her mouth instantly trying not to laugh because there it was. Exactly what she’d been saying. Smoke really did miss half the shit girls tried to do around him.

Jada looked thrown off for maybe half a second before recovering smoothly. “I’m sayin’ you act different with Annie.”

Smoke frowned like he genuinely didn’t understand the point. “That’s my girl.”

Simple. Certain.

Mary made a loud fake throwing-up noise while Stack nearly folded over laughing beside her.

Annie felt warmth crawl straight up her neck.

Jada laughed too, but this time it sounded tighter. Her eyes met Annie’s.

A small smile pulled at Annie’s mouth before she could stop it. Bitch.

Jada’s smile stayed in place.

But barely.

Present Day

The memory faded slowly beneath the low hum of Smoke’s truck engine.

Sunlight flashed through the windshield in uneven patterns as he drove, one hand loose against the steering wheel while warm air moved steadily through the cracked window beside him. His other hand tapped once against his thigh before going still again.

Then the truck speakers crackled softly.

Incoming call. Jada.

Her name spread bright across the dashboard. Smoke stared at it for a long second. Long enough for the phone to ring twice.

Three times. Then he hit ignore. Silence settled back inside the truck immediately afterward. Ever since Annie walked back into town, his thoughts hadn’t stayed where he put them. Eight years gone—and somehow seeing her again still felt too close to touching a live wire.

Aunt Cheryl’s house already smelled like seasoning and heat by the time Annie and Pearline finished getting dressed.

Music drifted through nearly every room. Beyoncé’s II Hands II Heaven played low from the Bluetooth speaker sitting on the guest bathroom counter. Outside, somewhere deep in the backyard, a blues guitar rolled through the open windows mixed with the sound of laughter, dominoes slamming against folding tables, and Aunt Cheryl’s husband Lewis loudly arguing with somebody over whether Bobby Womack was better than Marvin Gaye.

Pearline’s aunt—her mama Maxine’s younger sister, had always been the kind of woman whose house never really belonged to just her. Doors stayed unlocked more than they should. People were always sleeping over. Some needed a hot meal. Someone always got fussed at and fed in the same breath. Growing up, Annie had spent enough weekends there that people stopped asking whose child she was and started assuming she belonged to Cheryl.

Which, in a lot of ways, she had. 

Annie loved her mother. She did, but Aunt Cheryl had become the adult she ran to for things she didn’t know how to explain at home. The conversations that felt too embarrassing, too confusing, too complicated to say out loud to her own mama somehow came out easier sitting at Cheryl’s kitchen counter while she cut onions, folded laundry or fried fish. Crushes. Friend drama. College fears. Questions she couldn’t even ask properly yet.

Aunt Cheryl never pushed. She just listened. Then eventually she’d say something annoyingly simple that made Annie realize she already knew the answer.

Pearline’s family became Annie’s family so gradually she never noticed it happening. Holidays. Sleepovers. Last-minute rides. Summer afternoons. Somewhere along the way Aunt Cheryl stopped introducing her as Pearline’s friend and started introducing her as one of hers.

Right on cue her voice cut through the house. “AND WHO ATE MY DAMN DEVILED EGGS?”

“There go Cheryl,” Pearline muttered calmly.

“And turn that sad shit down!” another older voice yelled from somewhere outside.

Pearline rolled her eyes immediately. “…and there go mama.”

Annie laughed despite herself.

The whole house felt alive. They ended up staying the night at Cheryl’s after grocery shopping the evening before. Pearline originally planned to drop the food off and leave, but Cheryl took one look at the amount of prep still sitting untouched across the kitchen counters and shut that shit down immediately.

“Leave if you want to,” she’d said, snapping green beans into a bowl without looking up. “But yo’ mama gon’ talk so much shit about you tomorrow I might join in.”

Pearline groaned while Annie laughed.

So they stayed. Annie even ended up helping too despite Pearline repeatedly telling her to sit down because the cookout was technically for her. Cheryl ignored all of that. “Girl please,” she said, sliding a cutting board toward Annie. “You back home now. Slice them onions.”

And she did. Standing barefoot in Cheryl’s kitchen at nearly midnight while old school R&B drifted low through the house and women arguing lovingly over recipes felt strangely familiar. Like being dropped back into another version of herself she hadn’t touched in years.

By one in the morning, half the food was prepped. Uncle Lewis was asleep in the recliner in the family room with the TV still blasting low. Annie and Pearline ended up stretched across a queen size bed in the guest bedroom laughing quietly in the dark like they were teenagers again. For a few hours, it almost felt like no time had passed at all.

Currently, coolers crowded the hallway near the front door packed with beer, juice, bottled water, soda, and foil pans waiting to be carried outside. Younger cousins ran through the living room screaming before another auntie immediately yelled at them to stop running in the damn house. The kitchen smelled like barbecue sauce, fried fish, onions, and sweet baked beans while women moved around each other shoulder to shoulder arguing over seasoning.

Upstairs inside the guest bedroom, Annie had changed clothes four times.

Pearline sat stretched across the bed eating hot chips while watching the latest outfit reveal with growing amusement.

First it had been denim shorts and a tank top. Too casual. Then a black sundress. Too obvious. Then jeans. Absolutely not. Now half the room looked like a tornado touched down inside it while Annie stood in front of the mirror quietly questioning every decision she’d made since coming back home.

Pearline watched her for a little while before reaching toward the tequila bottle sitting beside Annie’s makeup bag.

“Aight,” she muttered. “Come here.”

Annie looked over immediately. “What?”

“You nervous as hell.”

“Not.”

Pearline snorted, already pouring two shots into plastic cups. “Sure.”

Annie laughed softly despite herself before walking over. The cups clinked together lightly.

“To Annie finally outside again,” Pearline said.

“That’s…dramatic.”

“And is.”

Annie laughed again before both of them tipped the shots back. The tequila burned all the way down, warm and sharp enough to make Annie squeeze her eyes shut briefly afterward.

“Shiiit.”

Pearline coughed once immediately after. “See? That’s why I don’t do dark liquor.”

“You literally bought it.”

“And?”

Annie shook her head laughing while Pearline shoved the open chip bag toward her.

“Eat somethin’.”

“I’m fine.”

“Aight. You gon’ be sweatin’ tequila and fucked up in Cheryl backyard if you don’t eat somethin’.”

“I won't.”

Pearline pointed at her immediately. “That’s exactly what drunk people say.”

Annie rolled her eyes smiling despite herself before turning back toward the mirror again.

After another ten minutes of changing her mind twice more, Annie finally settled on the striped halter dress mostly because Pearline threatened to physically pick something for her if she kept standing in front of the mirror sighing.

The dress was a soft knit material striped in deep blue, green, white, and pale lavender, the colors bright enough to feel summery without trying too hard. The halter neckline dipped low across her chest while the open back left most of her skin bare except for the tie sitting neatly behind her neck. Unfortunately or fortunately, the dress hugged her body tighter than she remembered when she bought it. The material curved around her hips, her thighs, the softness of her stomach. Her breasts sat high beneath the neckline, enough cleavage showing to make her immediately fold her arms the second she caught herself staring too long in the mirror.

Pearline crunched another chip slowly. “Girl.”

Annie didn’t look away from the mirror.  “What?”

“You know what.”

“It’s hot outside.”

“Mhm.”

“It is.”

Pearline’s mouth twitched.  “And apparently you tryna make Elijah Moore lose consciousness beside Cheryl’s potato salad.”

Annie groaned instantly. “Please shut up.”

“I’m serious.” Pearline pointed dramatically with another chip. “That man already looked halfway dead in Stack apartment yesterday.”

Annie narrowed her eyes finally turning away from the mirror. “Oh, so we not gon’ talk about YOU?”

Pearline blinked innocently. “What about me?”

Annie looked her up and down slowly.

Pearline’s red-and-white striped maxi dress clung to every curve she had, the soft material hugging her hips and thighs while the slit climbed just high enough along one leg to show smooth brown skin every time she moved. The open back exposed nearly her entire spine beneath her sleek ponytail, and somehow the dress still looked casual enough for a cookout despite the fact it was absolutely ruining the peace.

Annie folded her arms. “You look like summertime temptation.”

Pearline barked out laughing instantly. “But you got the nerve to talk about me?”

“This?” Pearline looked down at herself pretending to be confused. “Girl this comfortable.”

“Comfortable where?” Annie stared. “At a cookout or on somebody's son's prayer list?”

Pearline nearly choked on her chips laughing.

Annie shook her head. “You absolutely tryna make Elias act stupid outside.”

“Chile…,” Pearline continued, waving another chip dramatically, “Elias been stupid since tenth grade. That ain’t got nothin’ to do wit’ me.”

Annie laughed softly despite herself.

Pearline pointed immediately. “There it is again.”

“What?”

“That little happy-ass laugh.”

Annie’s face fell instantly. “Line…”

“I’m just sayin’.” Pearline’s expression softened slightly afterward. “I ain’t seen you like this in a long time.”

Annie’s face dropped instantly. Somehow that felt worse. She turned back toward the mirror too quickly afterward pretending to adjust the side of the dress while heat crawled slowly up her neck.

Pearline watched her quietly. That tiny hopeful look on Annie’s face hit harder than expected, because yesterday had been the first time Pearline saw her genuinely excited about something in a very long time. Hopeful. Pearline hated what she knew might ruin it. Her eyes flicked briefly toward her phone laying beside her on the comforter. Towards the memory of Smoke sitting beside Jada inside that restaurant booth. Towards Stack saying—He not bringin’ her. Pearline wanted to believe that.

Still…

Annie sighed. “I don’t even know why I care this much.”

Pearline knew why. Both of them did. But she let Annie keep pretending.

Annie sat near the foot of the bed smoothing nervous hands over the dress before glancing casually toward the open bedroom door. “You said Elijah came by already this mornin’?”

Pearline looked up. “Uh huh. Him and Uncle Lewis set the speakers up outside.”

Annie nodded slowly like that information didn’t matter nearly as much as it actually did. 

“Oh.”

Pearline watched her for a little too long.

Annie reached over stealing one of her chips casually. “He stay long?”

There it was.

Pearline smiled immediately. “You fishin’.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Annie rolled her eyes. “I’m askin’ a question.”

“Yeah, okay,” Pearline’s grin widened.

Annie threw the chip at her. Pearline laughed harder dodging it while Annie shook her head trying unsuccessfully not to smile too.

“So…is he?” Annie asked a second later, quieter this time.

Pearline’s laughter softened slightly. “He said he was comin’ back.”

Annie looked down too fast afterward, like she didn’t want her face caught reacting. 

Pearline watched the small smile trying to pull at Annie’s mouth before it disappeared again.

There it was again. Soft. Careful. Still alive somehow after all these years, and suddenly Pearline’s chest tightened, because now Jada pushed back into the front of her mind immediately afterward. Laughing. Too comfortable. Too familiar.

Pearline swallowed slowly. “Annie…”

Annie looked up immediately. “Hm?”

Pearline hesitated. She almost said it. Almost told her everything. That she saw Smoke with Jada. That nobody really knew what was going on between them. She didn’t want Annie walking outside blind, but then she smiled again. Tiny…nervous.

Suddenly Pearline couldn’t say it. Couldn’t bring herself to throw Jada between this fragile little piece of happiness Annie somehow found again. So instead she stood tossing the chip bag aside.

“Nothin’,” she muttered instead, standing too fast afterward. “Come on before Aunt Cheryl start cussin’ everybody out for standin’ around useless.”

Annie looked at her strangely for a second but stood anyway, smoothing her hands down the front of the dress one last time before glancing toward the mirror again.

The smile appeared again. Quick. Almost shy.

Hope looked strange on her now. Older. More careful. But still there. The realization unsettled her immediately. She had not come back to Mississippi expecting this. Didn’t come back expecting her stomach to flip every time Elijah looked at her. Or expect one awkward afternoon inside Stack’s apartment to crack open something she spent years forcing shut.

Outside, a car horn blared. Then another. Music swelled louder beneath a burst of laughter somewhere near the backyard.

Pearline groaned instantly. “That better not be Stack blowin’ that fuckin’ horn.”

As if summoned, her phone rang immediately afterward.

STACK.

Pearline answered, already irritated. “What?”

“Bring y’all asses outside,” Stack shouted loudly over music and voices in the background. “Everybody arrivin’.”

Annie’s stomach flipped hard enough to make her regret every sip of tequila she’d had while getting dressed.

Now it was real.

The second Annie stepped outside, the sound hit her first.

Music layered over more music. A blues record played somewhere deeper in the backyard while Frankie Beverly and Maze floated from another speaker closer to the patio. Laughter cracked through the humid air in bursts. Dominoes slammed hard enough against tables to sound competitive. People yelled for more ice. Kids tore across the grass shrieking while an older cousin threatened to spray them with the water hose if they knocked over another chair.

Aunt Cheryl’s property stretched wide behind the house, big enough for generations to spread out across it comfortably. Cars lined both sides of the road outside the gate already, more pulling up every few minutes. Folding tables covered in aluminum trays sat beneath two huge pecan trees while smoke rolled thick from the grill pits farther back near the fence line.

The smell nearly overwhelmed her immediately—charcoal, barbecue sauce, hot grease, sweet liquor, and fresh-cut grass baking beneath the Mississippi heat. Underneath all of it was that familiar Delta smell she never figured out how to describe properly after moving away. Warm earth. Humidity. River air somewhere nearby.

Home.

Her chest tightened unexpectedly.

“ANNIE BABY!”

Before she could process anything else, one of Pearline’s older cousins, Geneva, was already crossing the yard toward her.

Geneva had always occupied that strange space growing up where she never quite felt like a cousin. Five years older than Annie and Pearline, she’d been old enough to seem impossibly cool but young enough to still let them into her world. She was the cousin whose room they wanted to sit in when they were kids, whose clothes they wanted to borrow before they were old enough, who knew everybody and always had the gossip before anybody else. She gave them the best advice, defended them when adults got too loud, and slipped easily between big sister, best friend, and professional instigator depending on the day. If Geneva was going somewhere, they wanted to go too.

She looked exactly the same now—just grown into herself.

A striped maxi dress moved around her legs as she crossed the yard, the fabric light enough to catch every bit of warm Mississippi air. The colors softened against her caramel skin—cream with narrow lines of rust, black, and muted gold running vertically from neckline to hem. Thin straps framed her shoulders while the neckline dipped low. Big tassel earrings brushed her neck every time she moved, and a woven straw bag hung from one arm despite the fact she absolutely did not need a purse for a backyard cookout. Long straight hair fell over one shoulder and sunglasses rested on top of her head like she had somewhere more important to be later.

She reached Annie and immediately grabbed her face with both hands. “Lawd, look at my Annie.”

Before Annie could answer Geneva pulled her into a tight hug that smelled faintly of perfume, body oil, and summer heat before leaning back again to inspect her dramatically. “Bitchhh…you done got finer sittin’ up there in North Carolina.”

Pearline barked out laughing immediately. “‘Neva.”

Geneva ignored her completely, looking Annie up and down. “Nah, for real—look at all this ass.”

“GENEVA.”

“What?” She shrugged. “I got eyes.”

Annie laughed so hard she almost snorted, and just like that, some of the tightness in her chest loosened. For a second. Then others started calling her name. Then another.

“Oh shit—Annie?!” 

“When you get back?”

“Girl, look at you!”

Suddenly she was being pulled into hugs from every direction. More relatives. Old classmates. Women she hadn’t seen since before high school kissing her cheek and telling her she looked beautiful.  Questions came rapid-fire before she could even answer the last one.

How long you staying?You still in Charlotte?Yo’ mama good?You remember so-and-so?You workin’?

Annie smiled through all of it. Laughed through all of it. Answered each question. But underneath every conversation, every hug, every joke—she was looking for him. It happened automatically. Every car or truck door slamming outside the gate made her glance up. Every deep laugh somewhere across the yard tightened something low in her stomach before she realized it belonged to somebody else. Every time people moved around near the grills, her eyes moved there instinctively.

Pearline noticed every single time. “You look so nervous, friend,” Pearline muttered low beside her while accepting a beer her cousin handed her.

“I’m not nervous.”

“Right.”

Annie ignored her. Or tried to.

Outside, the heat wrapped around her immediately, making the halter dress cling softer against her skin the longer she stood there. Her long braids brushed warm against the open skin of her back every time she moved, humidity already settling along the base of her neck while sweat gathered slowly between her breasts beneath the neckline. Still somehow she became even more aware of her body because of him. Even without seeing him yet.

The music changed suddenly. Blues faded lower beneath newer bass while voices rose louder near the grill pits. Then a familiar voice carried across the yard.

“Move, nigga. Damn.”

Laughter erupted near the driveway immediately afterward. Annie froze. Her stomach dropped so fast it almost hurt because she knew that voice. Knew it down to muscle memory.

Annie turned before she could stop herself. Dark oversized shirt hanging loose over his frame, the deep brown fabric softening against the width of his shoulders and chest. Tattoos disappeared beneath the loose sleeves. Black shorts hung low against narrow hips, white and black Nike Dunks scuffing lightly against the pavement. A black cap sat low over his eyes, single gold chain glinting faintly against his throat.

“Smoke!” Stack exclaimed as he turned around from where he stood near the grill pit. “Bout time yo’ muthafuckin ass got here!”

“There he go,” a classmate named Mike laughed, already moving toward him.

Smoke lifted one hand in acknowledgment before pulling Stack into a quick dap and shoulder bump that looked practiced from years of repetition. Mike stepped in after that. Then another. Hands grabbing at him. Voices overlapping. Smoke laughed at something another said, head dipping slightly while one of his homeboys slapped his shoulder.

Laughter carried through the music.

Yesterday, inside Stack’s apartment, he felt almost unreal. Too close. Too quiet. Too heavy with history. But standing outside now beneath fading sunlight and backyard music with everybody surrounding him—Elijah looked dangerous again. Familiar. Beautiful. Like every version of the boy she used to love had grown all the way into a man.

Maybe it was the tequila talking, the heat, or eight years refusing to stay buried. But for one terrifying moment, Annie forgot how to breathe because Elijah Moore looked up and found her immediately. Like some part of him had already known exactly where she was.

Smoke forgot what Mike was saying halfway through the sentence. Something about a fight that happened outside Club Fusion last month. Cornbread laughed loud as hell beside him, while Isoo kept interrupting every five seconds adding details nobody asked for. Stack stood near the grill pit drinking beer and talking shit like always while Bo argued with Uncle Lewis over whether the ribs needed more sauce. The kind of evening Smoke usually moved through without thinking too hard. Then something shifted. Like pressure changing in the air. His eyes lifted automatically and found Annie. And everything in him suddenly went very still.

She stood near the patio beside Pearline surrounded by women talking over each other while music rolled through the yard behind them. The dress she had on wrapped around her body soft and close, pulling against curves he absolutely did not remember being that dangerous.

Jesus Christ.

Smoke’s jaw flexed once. Because yesterday inside Stack’s apartment had been too sudden. Too crowded with history and shock and confusion for him to really look at her the way he wanted to. But now? He could see everything.

The long braids falling down her back. The neckline dipping low enough to show the soft swell of her breasts beneath the summer light. Hips fuller than they used to be. Thicker through the thighs too. Ass sitting heavy beneath that dress in a way that made something low in his stomach pull tight immediately. 

Grown.

Annie had always been beautiful. But this? This felt unfair.

“And then this nigga gon’ say—” Cornbread stopped mid-sentence laughing at his own story while everybody around Smoke reacted.

Smoke barely heard any of it, but Annie looked up and there it was again. That feeling. Like the rest of the yard dimmed slightly every time their eyes locked. Want. Yearning. Recognition. All tangled together so tight it almost made his chest ache.

She looked away first. Not by much. Just enough to smile at Grace and Therise as they walked over toward her carrying babies, diaper bags and chaos with them. Smoke’s attention followed automatically. 

Grace balanced little Lisa against her hip while Therise waddled carefully beside her, one hand rubbing absentmindedly across her stomach while her boys ran circles around her legs screaming at each other. Annie’s entire face changed when she saw them, brightening instantly. Grace pulled her into a one-armed hug while Lisa immediately started reaching for Annie with grabby little hands.

“Look at her!” Grace laughed. “This girl doesn’t go to just anybody.”

Annie laughed softly, taking Lisa against her hip without hesitation. Natural. Easy. Like she’d done it a hundred times before.

Something inside Smoke twisted painfully, because for one stupid dangerous second—he saw it. Saw Annie standing in a kitchen holding his baby while music played low in another room. Saw little brown babies with her eyes and his attitude running through a backyard somewhere. Saw years he never let himself think too hard about. The image hit hard enough to steal the air from his lungs.

Stack noticed immediately. His eyes slid toward Smoke before following his line of sight across the yard. Then back again. Stack cleared his throat loudly. Sharp enough to snap Smoke partly out of his head.

“You hear this nigga, bruh?” Stack asked suddenly, shoving a beer into Bo’s chest hard enough to spill some. “Talkin’ bout he could beat me one-on-one right now.”

Bo frowned immediately. “Man, when I say that?”

But before Stack could keep the distraction going—Isoo looked up.

“Hold up.”

Everybody went still automatically because Isoo always talked the loudest right before saying something stupid.

“Where Jada at?”

Stack’s entire body stiffened instantly. “Shut the fuck up,” he muttered fast.

Too late.

Isoo blinked. “What?”

Stack cut his eyes sharply toward Annie across the yard before lowering his voice. “Nigga damn.”

Smoke didn’t say anything immediately. Instead he reached into his pocket. Pulled out his cigarettes. Tapped one loose. Stuck it between his lips. The lighter clicked once. Twice. Then caught. Smoke took a slow drag while the group went quiet around him. His jaw ticked once as smoke rolled out low through his nose.

Jada heard him talking to Uncle Lewis a few days earlier about borrowing speakers. She started asking questions—

“Y’all havin’ somethin’?”

“Who all gonna be there?”

Small smile.

“Sounds fun.”

Smoke didn’t think much of it. At the time, it was just a cookout. People came. People brought people. That was normal. So when she casually mentioned coming too…he never corrected the assumption.

Then yesterday happened.

He opened Stack’s apartment door and Annie was standing there.

By the time Smoke realized she was staying—realized she’d be at the cookout, something selfish inside him tilted immediately. Not because he was doing anything wrong or he owed Annie anything. But suddenly the idea of Jada coming with him to the cookout and standing beside him all day felt wrong in a way he didn’t wanna examine too hard.

He hated himself a little for how quick that feeling came.

Then this morning Jada left a voicemail.  Soft. Apologetic. 

“Hey…I won’t be able to come to the cookout. Danielle called out sick and I gotta cover a showing.” She laughed. “Bad timing.”

Smoke remembered listening. Waiting to feel disappointed. Instead his chest loosened. That bothered him more than anything. 

Another drag. Then finally—“She had to work.” His voice came out flat. Smoke flicked ash into the grass. “She ain’t comin’.”

Bo looked at Cornbread. Cornbread looked at Stack. Stack looked at Smoke.

Everybody knew.

Only Isoo stayed oblivious. His eyes drifted toward the patio. His eyes widened dramatically. “Aw hell nah.”

Smoke already felt irritation crawling up his spine.

“Bruh, I know that ain’t fine ass Annie over there.”

Stack closed his eyes briefly like he already knew where this was going.

“She back back?” Isoo asked. “Like for real?”

Nobody answered fast enough. Which was apparently answer enough for him. Isoo straightened immediately, adjusting his shirt. “Shiiit then. Lemme go say what’s up.”

Cornbread muttered, “Here this nigga go.”

Isoo started moving.  Actually moving. Straight towards Annie and suddenly Smoke understood very clearly how easy it would be to hit somebody with a folding chair.

The thought arrived calm. Instant. Violent enough to make his jaw tighten hard. Annie wasn’t his anymore. He knew that. Understood it. But watching another man walk toward her still felt wrong enough to make something ugly rise low in his chest anyway.

Stack saw it happen in real time. Saw Smoke’s posture change. Saw his grip tighten slightly around the cigarette. 

“Aye,” Stack said, quickly stepping sideways into Smoke’s path just enough to interrupt whatever terrible decision was forming. “Relax.”

Smoke’s eyes stayed fixed on the back of Isoo’s head.

“He grown,” Stack continued lower. “Don’t start actin’ crazy in Cheryl yard.”

Mike snorted immediately beside them. “Too late. That nigga already look homicidal.”

Cornbread started laughing into his cup.

But Smoke didn’t laugh. Didn’t move either, because across the yard Annie looked up just as Isoo reached her. Isoo hugged Annie. Too long. Then said something and Annie laughed. Easy. Warm. The way she laughed with everybody. Smoke felt something pull low in his chest anyway. He watched another a little longer. Took one last drag. Then held the cigarette away from himself and exhaled.

“Somebody pour me somethin’.”

Stack looked over immediately.

Bo’s mouth started twitching.

Cornbread snorted into his cup.

Smoke kept watching Annie. “Strong.”

Stack blinked once. Looked toward Isoo. Then back at Smoke. His eyebrows lifted slowly. 

“…Oh niggaaaa.”

“ANNIE?”

The voice pulled her attention away from Lisa tugging at one of her braids. She turned and immediately laughed. She recognized him instantly.

Isaac Carter aka Isoo.

Older now, broader. Still handsome in that easy unfair way he’d always been. Dark skin glowing beneath the late afternoon sun, close-cut beard filling in where a baby face used to be, smile still stupidly nice. Tall too. Taller than she remembered. Athletic without trying too hard. He was always laughing, always flirting, and somehow there was always at least one girl claiming she was done with him before ending up right back beside him the next weekend.

But somehow—never hers. 

He’d always been sweet to Annie. Never flirty…just easy to be around. Annie remembered he carried her backpack once in sixth grade because she had too many books. By freshman year he’d gotten taller and louder and started football with Smoke and Stack. She remembered him telling some boy to leave her alone at a game once before wandering off like it wasn’t a big deal.

Pretty. Friendly. Community-approved. Terrible for relationships. Her mama loved him. Smoke tolerated him. Which honestly should’ve been her first clue. Isoo reached her and immediately pulled her into a hug. Long enough to feel familiar. Not long enough to feel weird.

She laughed against his shoulder. “Well damn.”

He pulled back looking at her fully. “Look at you.”

Annie rolled her eyes immediately. “Boy bye.”

“No seriously.” He looked offended. “You been in North Carolina eatin’ money?”

She laughed. “Hi to you too.”

Isoo smiled bigger. “Nah for real though.” His eyes moved over her once. Respectful. Surprised. Then landed back on her face. “You good?”

Something softened in her chest. She nodded. “Yeah.”

He smiled, then immediately started talking asking questions, and catching her up on old classmates who moved where, who got married and even who got arrested. Stories. People. Names.

Annie laughed, answered and nodded, but she wasn’t really listening. Her eyes kept drifting back towards Smoke.

Smoke leaned near Stack now. Cup in one hand, cigarette in the other. He talked less than everybody else. Watching more, then he tipped the cup back. One swallow.

Finished.

Her stomach tightened immediately and her eyes narrowed.That seemed…intentional.

He lowered the cup and looked directly at her.

Annie blinked and looked away back to Isoo. “…and remember Mary used to swear Stack wanted her?”

Annie nodded automatically. “Yes, yes I do.”

Isoo kept talking.  “…and Sarita got four kids now.”

“Uh huh.”

“…and you still owe me for them chips.”

She blinked. “Wait, what?”

Isoo laughed immediately. “See. You not listenin’.”

Her eyes widened. “No I am!”

His smile softened. His eyes drifted past her. He smirked slightly.  “Oh.”

Annie frowned. “What?”

Isoo laughed under his breath. “Nothin’.”

She turned automatically and saw movement, Pearline, Grace, Therise, little Lisa, and the boys, all slowly migrating toward the grill pits where Stack, Smoke, and the other men were.

Annie immediately straightened. There it was—her out. She looked back at Isoo, smiled and pointed. “Oh they movin’.”

Isoo looked over then back at her. His smile widened immediately. “Aw damn.”

Annie laughed. “What?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Nothin’.” But his eyes flicked once—past her. Towards Smoke, then back again.

Suddenly Annie had the strange feeling she wasn’t the only person pretending not to notice things today.

Stack noticed Pearline before she noticed him, though he told himself he was only looking because Grace and Therise had started making their way toward the grill pit with the kids. That was almost believable for a minute. Grace had Lisa balanced on one hip, the baby’s fat hand reaching for every dangling necklace and plastic cup she passed, while Therise moved slower beside her, heavily pregnant and already threatening her boys through clenched teeth whenever they got too close to the food tables. But then Pearline stepped around a folding chair and Stack’s attention went straight to her. 

The red-and-white striped dress hugged her body in a way that made him forget whatever Cornbread had been saying about ribs, the slit opening with every other step to show the smooth brown line of her leg. Her ponytail brushed the open skin of her back, and the sunlight caught her hoops each time she laughed at something Grace said. 

Stack stared too long. He knew he had because Pearline caught him before she even reached the group, her eyes narrowing with that familiar warning that usually meant he was already in trouble.

“What?” she asked once she got close enough to be heard over the music. 

Stack took a sip from his beer and tried to look innocent. “Nothin’.” 

Pearline folded her arms, which only made the dress worse on him. “That was a look.” 

Grace immediately made a noise under her breath, delighted to have caught something. Stack ignored her and let his eyes move over Pearline one more time, slower than he meant to, before he shrugged. 

“You look good. That’s all.” 

Pearline’s face changed for barely a second, the smallest softening around her mouth before she rolled her eyes to cover it. 

“You drunk?” 

“Not yet,” he said, and that pulled a laugh out of her despite herself.

The laugh didn’t last long. Pearline’s gaze drifted past his shoulder towards Annie and Isoo, then towards Smoke, and the lightness left her face almost immediately. 

Stack saw it happen and sighed through his nose, already knowing where her mind had gone. She stepped closer so the music and voices around them swallowed the conversation. 

“She really ain’t comin’?” 

Stack didn’t ask who. He glanced at Smoke, who had been pretending to listen to the men for the last several minutes while watching Annie every chance he got, then looked back at Pearline. 

“She ain’t comin’.” 

Pearline looked away, but her exhale didn’t sound relieved enough. “I should tell Annie.” 

Stack frowned. “Tell her what?” 

The look she gave him answered before she did. 

Stack followed Pearline’s gaze toward Annie, who was still smiling at Isoo and pretending she wasn’t checking Smoke’s location every few breaths. 

“You worried for no reason,” Stack said quietly.

Pearline folded her arms tighter. “She deserves to know.” 

Stack studied her face, then shook his head. “If them two stop bein’ scary and actually talk, Jada gon’ become a memory real quick.” 

Pearline looked at him long enough for her expression to soften, but the guilt didn’t leave her face completely.  “…I hope you right.” 

Stack hated how small she sounded when she said it, so he reached out and hooked an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side before she could decide whether she wanted comfort or not. 

Pearline shoved at his chest immediately, but there was no force behind it. “Stack.” 

He only held on tighter, which was exactly when Grace saw them.

“Oooooh,” Grace said, loud enough to drag Bo’s attention from his cup and Cornbread’s from the grill. Therise smiled immediately, one hand on her stomach rubbing it in circles. 

“Look at the lovebirds,” Grace sang, pointing like she had discovered something scandalous instead of two people who had been circling each other since high school. 

Pearline groaned and tried harder to push Stack away while he grinned beside her. 

Bo nodded like he was witnessing history. “You finally wore her down, huh?” 

Pearline gasped. “Excuse me?” 

Stack, because he had no sense of self-preservation, nodded solemnly. “Persistence.” 

She shoved him again, and this time he actually laughed. 

Before Pearline could cuss him out properly, Aunt Cheryl’s voice cut across the backyard loud enough to make several conversations stop at once. 

“AIGHT! FOOD IS READY! OLD FOLKS FIRST, THEN KIDS, THEN EVERYBODY ELSE’S GREEDY ASSES!” 

The yard rearranged itself immediately. Chairs scraped across grass, kids ran toward the tables, aunties started directing traffic, and Cornbread stood up with an enthusiasm that made Therise stare at him in disgust. 

“Boys,” he called, and both of his sons appeared like he had summoned them. 

He pointed at himself proudly. “That’s us.” 

The crowd moved in that strange, ordinary way people always did once food got announced. Conversations broke apart mid-story. Somebody’s aunt called for kids that pretended not to hear. People started drifting toward the tables in loose groups with paper plates already in hand while others migrated toward shade and folding chairs to claim seats before the older folks took the good ones.

Pearline noticed Annie.

She looked up and caught her standing a few yards away with Isoo still beside her. Grace had already moved off toward the food with Bo and Lisa while Therise followed after Cornbread and the boys, one hand rubbing her stomach while fussing at her youngest to stop running. Mike had disappeared toward a group of women near the fence and somebody else called Isoo’s name from across the yard.

Pearline watched the moment happen in real time. Isoo looked toward whoever called him. Annie looked toward the grill. Isoo said something. Annie laughed politely. Then they split. Isoo peeled off into another conversation without much thought and Annie kept walking.

Stack followed Pearline’s line of sight and immediately understood.

Smoke hadn’t moved, but his attention already had.

Stack looked between them once before leaning slightly toward Pearline. “Oh.”

Pearline folded her arms. “…yeah.”

Annie slowed near the grill pit.

Smoke looked up. Nobody had orchestrated it or moved out the way on purpose. But somehow when everything settled—kids, plates, conversations, chairs—there wasn’t anybody left standing between them.

Stack looked over at Pearline. Pearline looked at him. Neither said anything. Stack smiled first. Quiet.

“Told you.”

Smoke looked at her first. Annie looked up a heartbeat later. The backyard stayed loud around them, all music and laughter and children whining for juice, but the space between them seemed to quiet anyway.

Annie smiled first, too quick and nervous, her fingers brushing one of her braids behind her ear. 

Smoke cleared his throat like the simplest word required effort.  “…hey.” 

Her smile softened.  “Hi.” 

The silence after that stretched just long enough for everybody close enough to notice and pretend they weren’t watching. 

Smoke’s eyes moved over her once, brief and controlled, but not brief enough.  “You look nice,” he said, voice lower than it had been with anybody else. 

Annie blinked, surprised by the directness, then looked at him with a warmth that made Stack glance away out of respect for what felt like an intimate moment between them.  “Thank you, so do you.”

For a moment neither of them moved. Then Smoke leaned in for a hug, careful in a way that made the gesture hurt more than it should have. His hand touched the bare skin of her back for less than a second before he seemed to remember himself and pulled away. Annie stepped back too quickly, smoothing her dress even though nothing had moved out of place. 

Smoke looked toward the grill. Annie looked toward the tables. 

Stack looked at Pearline, and Pearline looked right back at him. Neither of them said it out loud, but they both understood the same thing— 

If Smoke and Annie were going to survive the rest of this cookout, everybody else needed to get out of the way.

As they moved toward the food tables, the crowd gradually absorbed and rearranged around them in the familiar rhythm family gatherings always settled into once food got announced. 

An auntie passed by balancing a stack of paper plates against her stomach while still carrying on a conversation over her shoulder. Children threaded between folding chairs until their mother finally caught one by the arm and redirected him toward the drinks cooler. The buffet stretched beneath two long folding tables pushed end to end and covered in white plastic tablecloths already wrinkled from heat and elbows. 

Aluminum pans ran nearly the entire length of it, some covered in foil folded back halfway, others already opened and steaming into the humid air. Ribs sat dark and glossy beneath sauce collecting in the corners of the tray. Fried catfish rested in paper towel-lined pans beside golden chicken wings dusted with seasoning. Hot dogs rolled against each other near hamburgers wrapped loosely in foil to keep warm. Baked beans glistened thick with brown sugar and pieces of smoked meat, while macaroni and cheese sat heavy and golden around the edges where it had baked too long in the best way. Someone brought green beans cooked down soft with onions and turkey necks. And corn that sat shining looking like sunlight slathered in butter. 

The potato salad disappeared the fastest.

A pan of deviled eggs already looked picked over. Coolers lined the ground underneath, packed with bottled water, canned soda, wine coolers, beer, Capri Suns, and ice melting faster than people could replace it.

Annie found herself walking beside Smoke simply because everybody else had drifted off somewhere and neither of them seemed interested in making a thing out of separating.

The heat had settled differently now that the sun was lowering. It still sat heavy against her skin, but the sharpness had worn off and left everything softer around the edges. Her braids brushed against her back every time she moved, and she became hyper aware of things she hadn’t meant to notice.

Smoke still shortened his pace slightly whenever people crowded too close. He still moved to the outside of pathways without thinking. When one of Cornbread’s boys nearly collided with her carrying a dripping popsicle, Smoke placed a light hand at the center of her back and guided her around him before continuing forward. He didn’t seem aware he’d done it.

Uncle Lewis passed carrying another folding table under one arm and slowed long enough to nod toward Smoke.

“Smoke, appreciate you bringin’ them speakers and tables over.”

Smoke shrugged without looking up. “Ain’t nothin’.”

Lewis laughed and kept moving. “Easy for you to say. You got more room out there than all of us.”

Smoke shook his head once but didn’t answer and Lewis kept walking.

Annie watched him go before looking over.

“…more room?”

Smoke glanced at her. “At my house.”

She looked at him and waited for the rest of the sentence. When none came, she frowned slightly. “Your house?”

His expression switched immediately into confusion.

“…yeah.”

She stared at him long enough that he finally looked over fully. “What?”

Her eyebrows lifted, “you got a house?”

Now he looked confused that she was confused. Assuming she knew already. “Yeah.”

She looked at him harder. “What you mean ‘yeah’?”

His shoulders moved lightly. “I been there a few years.” Then after a second— “Built it.”

Her steps slowed enough for him to notice, just enough for something in his expression to soften as he looked over at her again.

She stared for another second. “You built it?”

He nodded once.

Her mouth opened slightly.“Oh my God.”

Smoke frowned. “What?”

She looked at him again, then laughed quietly. “You said that.”

His eyebrows pulled together. “Said what?”

She smiled and looked toward the food line ahead of them, but she wasn’t really seeing it anymore. The memory came back whole in the strange way old things sometimes did when one detail unlocked another. It had been junior year. Football season. Everybody sitting outside Mike’s house after practice because nobody wanted to go home yet. Stack had been arguing loudly about something nobody cared about and Smoke had been sitting back quieter than everybody else. Mike asked what they wanted to do when they got older and everybody gave normal answers first. But not Smoke.

She looked back at him. “You said if you ever had enough money you wanted your own place.”

His face stayed still.

She kept walking. “You said you wanted a house nobody could tell you to leave.”

His eyes stayed on her now.

She smiled. “You wanted land too.” Her smile widened slightly. “You said enough land that if you wanted to walk outside in your drawers and yell at people, nobody could stop you.”

That got an actual laugh out of him.

She noticed immediately. Then she continued. “You said you wanted a porch.”

Her voice softened naturally as more of it came back. “You said you wanted somewhere that felt yours.”

Smoke looked at her for a long moment before speaking. 

“…you remember that?”

The question surprised her enough that she looked at him fully.

She smiled. “Yeah.” Then she shrugged lightly. “I remember stuff people tell me.” Her eyes moved away briefly before returning. “Especially people I care about.”

She heard herself as soon as she said it. Her expression changed before she could stop it. Not because she regretted saying it. More because she realized she hadn’t filtered herself before speaking.

Smoke looked at her. It wasn’t the polite kind of looking people do while waiting for their turn to talk. He looked at her in a way that made her suddenly aware of how many things she still remembered that she had never meant to keep. Not birthdays or milestones or dramatic moments. She remembered conversations. Things said in passing. Dreams he admitted before they became real. The version of him that still existed before life hardened around them.

The feeling settled strangely in her chest.

Before either of them could sit inside it too long, a cousin farther back the buffet line shouted asking whether they planned on eating or standing there flirting all damn day while everybody else starved.

Everyone in the vicinity laughed immediately.

Annie smiled and looked away.

Smoke shook his head and stepped forward reaching for the plates and silverware, handing Annie hers first.

Annie grabbed rice first, then baked beans, one rib, and macaroni before lowering the spoon.

Smoke looked down at her plate. “That’s all?”

She looked over. “What?”

His eyes stayed on the food. “That ain’t enough..”

Before she could answer, he reached over and took the plate from her hands with a familiarity that surprised both of them. He added another rib, another spoonful of macaroni and baked beans, then a piece of chicken before handing it back.

Annie laughed. “Elijah.”

His hand paused for a second after she said his name. Then he nodded once. “Aight, aight.”

He didn’t remove anything.

She looked down at the plate, then back at him. Her smile stayed.

Together they moved down the line while someone behind them accused Cornbread of taking too many deviled eggs while Aunt Cheryl threatened to start assigning portions if people didn’t stop acting greedy.

The line moved slower than it looked from far away. Every plate became a conversation. A family friend wanted to know who made the potato salad. Another was trying to negotiate for corner pieces of macaroni before Aunt Cheryl caught them digging. An uncle argued loudly that people always forget the hot sauce until another aunt pointed at the bottle directly in front of him and called him an “old senile ass.”

By the time Annie and Smoke reached the end of the buffet, the noise had settled into that familiar cookout rhythm where nobody stayed in one place long but somehow everybody still knew where everybody else was.

Smoke took a step aside to let a man squeeze past carrying three overloaded plates and looked around while Annie adjusted her grip on hers. Every table seemed occupied. Not full exactly—there were open seats scattered around, but occupied in the way family gatherings always worked where every chair belonged to someone else whether they were sitting in it or not. Kids had abandoned half-eaten plates to run through the yard. Older people spread purses and keys across tables like territory markers. A guest had even turned a cooler into a seat. Another was eating standing up beside the fence.

Without saying anything, Smoke angled toward one of the folding tables beneath the pecan trees.

Annie followed automatically.

The table sat just far enough from the speakers that conversation didn’t require yelling but close enough that the music still carried. Empty paper plates and sweating drink cans crowded one end where people had clearly already eaten and moved on. Two chairs sat open.

Smoke reached the table first and pulled one out with his foot before sitting in the other.

The movement was small. Easy. So easy she almost missed it, but she didn’t. Her chest tightened unexpectedly. Not because he pulled out her chair. He didn’t. It was the assumption of it. The same quiet way he used to make room for her without asking.

She adjusted her dress beneath her legs before settling into the folding chair. Annie picked up her fork.

Smoke looked at her, looked at the plate, and then back up. His eyebrows lifted slightly.

She blinked. “What?”

Something flickered across his face—just enough.

She stared at him for another second. Then immediately laughed. “Oh my Go—I mean, forgive me Jesus.” She shook her head smiling. “Sorry.” She put her fork back down.

He watched her for a second before reaching across the table and taking one of her hands. Natural, like he’d done it yesterday instead of years ago.

His hand was warm. Calloused. Her breath caught for reasons she chose not to examine.

Smoke lowered his head slightly.

“Lord, thank You for this food. Thank You for bringin’ everybody together and lettin’ us see another day. Bless the hands that prepared it. Watch over everybody here and everybody we still waitin’ on. Keep us grateful for what You give and open to receive what You send.”

His thumb brushed once lightly against the side of her hand. Then— “And let Aunt Cheryl stop threatenin’ people over them damn deviled eggs.”

Annie laughed instantly.

Around them Aunt Cheryl yelled—“I HEARD THAT.”

Smoke smiled faintly, then finished quietly. “Amen.”

“Amen.”

He let go of her hand. Too fast. Annie looked at her hand before looking back at him. Her smile softened. “You still do that.”

Smoke frowned. “Do what?”

She looked down at her plate. “Pray before you eat.”

He shrugged. “You know who raised me.”

Annie smiled. No. That wasn’t it. His mama did raise him, but Smoke had always prayed. Quietly. Consistently. Even back then. She realized she remembered that too.

Smoke unfolded his napkin and laid it across his lap before immediately reaching for the hot sauce.

Annie watched.

He caught her looking. “What?”

She smiled. “Nothin’.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

She looked down at her plate. Then up at him again. “You still put hot sauce on everything.”

Smoke looked at the bottle in his hand, then shrugged. “Food be needin’ help.”

She laughed. His mouth twitched. That surprised her more than it should have.

For a while they ate in silence. The kind of silence that would’ve felt uncomfortable with anybody else, somehow didn’t here. Around them people moved in waves—some yelling for more napkins. Children screamed somewhere near the water hose. Latimore had turned into GloRilla and half the older crowd immediately started complaining. Smoke ate slowly. Methodically. Annie realized she remembered that too.

She looked down at her own plate, and then reached for her fork.

Smoke looked over. “That all you eatin’?”

She looked up. His eyes were already on her plate again. She laughed. “You already fixed my plate, Elijah.”

His eyebrows lifted. “You eat around stuff.”

Her hand paused. “What?”

He nodded toward the plate. “You ain’t touch the beans.”

She blinked. Then looked down. He was right.Her fork had worked around the baked beans completely.

She stared. Then looked back at him.  “…how you know that?”

Smoke looked confused. “You always did that.”

She laughed softly and shook her head.

That one got her. The fact he said it like it was obvious. Like eight years wasn’t enough time to forget she hated baked beans touching other food.

She picked up her fork again. “You remember weird stuff.”

He shrugged. “I remember regular stuff.”

Something about that landed heavier than she expected. She took another bite before smiling. 

“You still do that.”

His eyes lifted. “Do what?”

She nodded toward his plate. “Eat like somebody gon’ grade you on it.”

One side of his mouth moved. “What that mean?”

She laughed softly. “You eat real careful.”

His eyes dropped briefly to his plate. “That’s normal.”

She smiled. “No. Stack eat normal.”

Smoke glanced over automatically.

Stack stood near the grill eating the way he did everything else—too fast, talking too much, and one distracted moment away from ruining his shirt.

Smoke looked back. “…aight.”

That made her laugh harder. His mouth moved again into an almost smile. She leaned back in her chair and looked around.

The yard felt different sitting down. Slower. The sunlight filtering through the pecan trees had softened now, turning everything warmer. Smoke from the grill drifted lazily overhead. Lisa ran by holding a juice pouch bigger than her arm while Grace chased behind her. Therise sat nearby rubbing her stomach while Cornbread argued with one of his boys about eating vegetables.

Annie looked back at Smoke. “You really built it?” 

He looked up.

“The house.”

His expression softened slightly. “Oh.” He nodded. “Yeah.”

She rested her elbow lightly against the table. “How?”

He looked at her. Then looked out across the yard, like he had to decide where to start.

She realized she wanted to hear all of it. Not the short version people gave at reunions or the highlights. She wanted the real version. 

The one she would’ve gotten if she never left.

Smoke realized halfway through explaining it that he was talking more than he usually did.

At first he answered the way he answered everybody else when they asked about work. Short version. Practical version. He stabbed at his red velvet cake while he talked and kept his eyes mostly on his plate.

“Started doin’ framing after high school.”

Annie looked up.

He kept going. “One of Uncle Lewis’ friends needed people. Started residential first. Learned enough to move around.”

She nodded once, listening.

Smoke kept eating. “Then commercial work. Then started doin’ jobs myself.”

She tilted her head slightly. “How old were you?”

He thought about it. “Twenty-two? Twenty-three.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “That young?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t feel young.”

She smiled a little at that.

He noticed. Then kept going.

Somewhere between another bite of food and folks across the yard yelling about cheating at dominoes, he realized he stopped giving the short version.

He told her about working in summer heat until his clothes stuck to him by noon. About learning measurements by messing things up first. About figuring out pretty quickly he liked being outside more than behind a desk. He told her how one house became two and then somehow there were people working under him before he ever felt ready for that part.

He expected her to eventually stop listening. People usually did. They asked questions because they thought houses sounded impressive, then lost interest halfway through answers.

Annie didn’t. She kept asking strange questions. Questions nobody asked. “What’s your favorite part?”

Smoke looked up. “What?”

She shrugged and took a bite of her peach cobbler. “When you build.”

He stared at her, nobody ever asked that. He thought about it. Then answered honestly. “When it stop lookin’ like work.”

She smiled. “What that mean?”

He looked out toward the yard automatically. Trying to explain. “When you first start, it's just dirt.”

She watched him.

Then he continued. “Then wood and walls. Then eventually you standin’ in somethin’ that ain’t exist six months ago.”

She nodded immediately, like she understood.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

She smiled. “You always liked that part.”

Smoke looked at her.

Her fork paused halfway to her mouth. She blinked. “What?”

He stared.

“What?”

His voice came quieter. “How you know that?”

She looked confused, then looked down and laughed. Her shoulders lifted. “You used to draw houses.”

His eyebrows pulled together.

She kept talking. “Back of notebooks.”

His chest started tightening just enough to make breathing feel different.

She looked embarrassed suddenly. “I remember weird stuff.”

Smoke looked at her. Then shook his head. “Nah.”

She looked up.

His mouth moved slightly. “You remember regular stuff.”

Something changed in her face after that, something smaller than sadness. More careful. She looked down at her plate for a second before taking another bite.

He looked away first.

The yard kept moving around them.

Cornbread was chasing one of his boys holding a rib in each hand. The music somehow got louder. Aunt Cheryl yelled at people to throw their plates away. Little Lisa was crying somewhere and Grace sounded one second from laughing and losing patience at the same time.

Smoke looked back at Annie. She was eating slower now. She always did. Then he realized something. He’d been talking almost the entire time.

He frowned slightly. “What about you?”

She looked up.

He nodded once. “What you been doin’?”

Her expression changed immediately. He recognized that too. The small pause before she answered, like she was deciding what version to give.

She looked out at the yard, then back at him and started talking. Work first. Easy things. North Carolina. Her apartment. Her routine. People she’d met.

Stories.

While she talked, Smoke realized something he wasn’t prepared for. She still told stories the same way. Started in the middle. Circled back later. Used her hands when she got excited. Apologized when she thought she was talking too much.

He listened and somewhere between hearing about grocery stores, coworkers, apartment maintenance requests and how she still hated driving in Charlotte traffic—he realized something that settled low in his chest and stayed there.

He didn’t know this version of her. Not like before, but every few minutes she’d laugh a certain way, tilt her head, or remember something small and he’d recognize her again.

By the time people started slowing down on third plates and settling into the familiar rhythm of a Southern cookout—eating, arguing, walking, sitting back down just to stand up again five minutes later—the energy in the yard softened into something looser. The loud excitement of arrivals had worn off and settled into clusters. Older folks migrated toward shade and folding chairs, paper plates balanced on laps while conversations stretched across years and family trees. Kids had already abandoned actual meals in favor of popsicles, chips, and running themselves sick. The music changed again. Luther faded into Dru Hill for a minute before somebody protested and switched it back.

Geneva appeared carrying a clear plastic storage tub against her hip with the same expression she always wore before causing problems.

Nobody noticed at first, except Aunt Cheryl. She pointed immediately . “Ah hell nah.”

Geneva ignored her and kept walking.

Stack spotted the tub next and groaned. “Put them fuckin’ pictures back, mane.”

That got everybody’s attention. People started reacting before she even reached the tables.

“Not today.”

“Who got old pictures?”

“Geneva don’t start.”

Geneva dropped the tub onto an empty section of the buffet table between the leftover buns and a sweating pitcher of sweet tea. “I was cleanin’ closets.”

Nobody believed that.

The pictures came out anyway. 

It happened naturally after that. People stopped eating long enough to drift over and look. Hands started reaching. Some found an elementary school picture and immediately started roasting hairstyles. Someone else found old prom photos. A cousin started lying about ages and got corrected instantly. Kids kept trying to grab pictures and getting their hands smacked away before somebody else handed them disposable cameras from another pile to distract them.

Annie ended up near the table without meaning to. Smoke ended up there too beside her. Close enough, but nobody commented.

Geneva stood flipping through a stack while narrating to nobody in particular.“Lord look at this.”

“Oh this was ugly.”

“Who dressed us, the fuck?”

People leaned in and out around her shoulder. Grace had Lisa balanced against one hip while trying to steal bites off Bo’s plate at the same time. Therise sat lower in her chair rubbing absent circles over her stomach while one of her boys climbed halfway into her lap. Pearline had somehow inserted herself directly into the center of everything and Stack kept appearing over her shoulder anytime she laughed.

Geneva flipped one more. Stopped. Looked again and her face changed. Her eyebrows climbed and her mouth opened slightly before she made a low noise in her throat.

“Aww shit.”

That caught more attention than yelling would have. People turned.

“What?”

Geneva stared another second, and looked up. Her eyes moved once to Annie and Smoke, then back down. A sneaky ass smile started pulling at her mouth. She held the picture against her chest.

“Oh y’all thought y’all was slick.”

Immediately everybody wanted to see. Pearline reached for the picture, but Geneva pulled away. 

Stack tried to reach for it and again, Geneva pulled away.

Grace leaned forward laughing. “Move!”

Geneva laughed and finally handed the picture over.

Pearline took the photograph and immediately stopped smiling.

At first Annie thought she was joking, waiting for some exaggerated reaction or teasing comment, but Pearline just looked down at the picture for a long time. Her eyes moved once across the image, then lifted slowly toward Annie before drifting across the table toward Smoke and back down again. Something changed in her face—it wasn't a shock exactly, more recognition mixed with the satisfaction of finally having evidence for something she already suspected.

Her mouth stretched into a grin. “Oh y’all was bad.”

That was enough.

People started reaching automatically. Stack tried to take it and got smacked away. Bo leaned halfway across Grace to see. A cousin behind them started asking questions before they’d even seen it. The picture moved from hand to hand through overlapping reactions and commentary until eventually it ended up in Annie’s hands.

The photograph looked older than it actually was. Printed on glossy paper that had picked up faint bends and fingerprints over the years, the colors had softened just enough to make the whole thing feel warmer than real life. Like memory had edited it. 

Summer sunlight flattened everything into soft gold. Somebody’s backyard stretched behind them in a blur of folding chairs, coolers, and people half-cut out of frame. Stack stood in the background throwing up signs with his hands. Smoke sat in one of those cheap ass woven lawn chairs that somehow survived every cookout, stretched out in a white t-shirt and basketball shorts, looking mildly irritated that a camera was pointed in his direction.

And Annie—She stared. 

She was asleep, actually asleep.Her head rested against Smoke’s shoulder and her body had turned naturally toward him in the way people did when they trusted something enough to stop paying attention to it. One hand sat folded beneath her cheek. Her legs had curled in his direction.

But her attention kept returning to something she hadn’t noticed immediately. Smoke’s arm.

It rested around her side.

Not wrapped tightly, but it looked absentminded almost—his forearm curved behind her, hand resting lightly against her body as if steadying her had become automatic somewhere along the day and nobody thought enough of it to move. The thing that unsettled her most was that he wasn’t even looking at her. He’d been talking to somebody outside the frame. His expression looked normal. Like there was nothing unusual about any of it.

Annie stared harder. She remembered that cookout. She was fourteen at the time. She remembered being tired as hell. She remembered being hot and eating too much and probably complaining about something.

She did not remember this though.

Around her the conversation started unfolding the way family memories always did—not one person telling a story while everybody listened, but people remembering sideways together.

“Oh I remember that.”

“That was Barbara backyard. She done gone to Glory now.”

“She had worked that morning.”

“She fell asleep outside?”

Grace leaned farther in and laughed before pointing directly at Smoke.

“Wait. Why she sleep on you?”

Smoke looked once at the picture. His shoulders moved. “She was tired.”

That answer got a louder reaction than the picture itself.

Stack stared at him in disbelief. “That’s your defense?”

Smoke looked confused. “What else was she supposed to do?”

People started laughing harder.

Aunt Cheryl wandered over carrying sweet tea and looked down at the picture. Her face changed immediately. 

“Oh yeah.”

Everybody turned.

She pointed with her cup. “She passed out after she ate.”

Another cousin snapped her fingers. “Yes.”

Aunt Cheryl nodded once. “And Smoke wouldn’t let nobody move her.”

Annie looked up. Smoke looked away.

Another auntie laughed. “He carried her inside later.”

Smoke frowned. “No I didn’t.”

That got corrected immediately from three different directions. “Yes you did.”

Geneva pointed at the picture. “You carried her upstairs and put her in Barbara room.”

Another cousin jumped in. “You wouldn’t let nobody wake her.”

Smoke looked offended now. “That is not what happened.”

Uncle Lewis finally looked over from where he’d been eating and didn’t even pause before answering. “You said she wake up irritated and you ain’t want folks botherin’ her.”

The yard lost it.

Smoke looked personally betrayed. Geneva kept flipping. Another picture surfaced. Football game. Annie wearing a hoodie too big.  Smoke’s. Smoke beside her. Another cookout. Smoke fixing her plate. Another. School event. A group photo. People spread out across the frame. Except somehow Annie and Smoke were always touching. Shoulders brushing, knees angled together. Standing too close. Leaning or looking enough that once people started noticing it became impossible to stop.

Grace took one and looked down for a long second before slowly lifting her eyes. Her smile faded slightly. 

“Oh.”

Nobody answered.

She looked again. Then back up. “Oh y’all was together together.”

That quieted things more than the teasing had.

Aunt Cheryl looked over casually. “I always knew.”

People looked at her.

She shrugged. “What?”

Her eyes moved toward Smoke. “That boy looked for her before he did anything.”

Another auntie nodded immediately. “If Annie wasn’t outside he wasn’t stayin’ outside long.”

Someone laughed. Another added—“She sat beside him everywhere.”

Lewis pointed with his fork. “That boy built his whole schedule around her.”

Smoke immediately objected. “Mane, Unc—”

Stack started laughing immediately and pointed toward Uncle Lewis. “Nah, Unc—you right. You right.”

Smoke turned instantly. “Shut the fuck up, mane.”

Stack ignored him completely. “Practice over?” He nodded dramatically. “Where Annie.”

People started laughing harder.

Stack kept going. “Weekend?” Another nod. “Where Annie.”

He pointed toward Smoke with his cup. “Lunch?” Shrug. “Did Annie eat?”

Cornbread barked out laughing.

Stack looked around the group like he’d just solved a mystery. “Damn. This nigga ain’t have no hobbies.”

Annie looked over at Smoke. Smoke refused eye contact.

Aunt Cheryl took another sip and looked down at more photographs in front of her and began shaking her head. Her voice softened. 

“I really thought y’all was gon’ get married.”

Nobody laughed, because it didn’t shock them, she sounded sincere.

Her eyes moved between Annie and Smoke before settling back onto the pictures.

“Y’all was serious.” She smiled faintly. “Then Annie moved.”

The conversation didn’t stop after that. Somewhere behind them kids screamed over a water hose, others argued about ribs. Foil crinkled. But Annie looked back down at her fourteen-year-old self sleeping against Smoke and realized something she had never considered before.

They thought they had been private while everybody else had been watching them fall in love.

Aunt Cheryl took another sip of her sweet tea and continued casually—“I told yo’ mama to let you stay with me.”

The noise around the table kept moving for another second before it stalled.

Annie looked up. “Ma’am?”

Aunt Cheryl looked at her like she’d forgotten Annie didn’t know. “When y’all moved,” she shrugged lightly. “I told her leave you here with us so you could finish school.”

Smoke looked over, actually looked.

Pearline frowned. “You did?”

Before Cheryl could answer another voice floated over.

“She did.”

Everybody turned. Pearline’s mother Maxine stepped out from the house carrying a wine glass and one of those paper plates bending under too much food.

She looked between them. “We both did.” She sat down carefully. “We told your mama movin’ you your senior year wasn’t right if she didn’t have to.”

Annie stared.

Maxine shrugged. “Especially when you already basically lived over here.” She gave a small laugh. “You and…” she pointed toward Pearline.  “…Pea.”

Pearline groaned immediately. “Mamaaa, please stop callin’ me that.”

Maxine ignored her. “…came home cryin’.”

Annie blinked. “What?”

Aunt Cheryl nodded once. “You don’t remember?”

And suddenly she remembered. The memory came back the way it always did—through feeling first and details second. Cardboard boxes stacked against her bedroom wall. Her mother kneeling beside an open suitcase folding shirts with the kind of quiet focus that usually meant her mind was already somewhere else. Annie standing in the doorway pretending she wasn’t crying yet.

She remembered asking casually the first time. What if I stay with Pearline for the year?

Her mother hadn’t even looked up. No.

Annie remembered trying again later. Different day. Different approach. What if I stay with Aunt Cheryl?

That time her mother paused long enough for hope to show up where it shouldn’t have. Then— Baby, we already talked about this.

Annie remembered stepping farther into the room. I’ll come to North Carolina after graduation.

Her mother finally looked at her then. You comin’ with me.

Final.

Back then Annie thought that had been the whole conversation. She thought she asked, her mother said no, and life kept moving.

Sitting here now with a faded photograph in her hands and Aunt Cheryl looking at her over sweet tea, she realized there had been other conversations after she left the room. Adult conversations. Aunt Cheryl and Aunt Max offering. Them trying. People who saw her life here and tried to protect it in ways she never knew. And suddenly the ache sitting in her chest wasn’t about moving anymore. It was realizing she hadn’t imagined wanting to stay. 

She looked back at Aunt Cheryl. “…you asked?” 

Aunt Cheryl nodded.

Maxine took a sip. “She wasn’t hearin’ it.”

Nobody said anything more after that.

Annie looked down at the photograph again. Fourteen. Asleep on Smoke. Everybody thinking they had time. Her chest tightened worse. Not at her mother. Her mother had done what she thought was right, but suddenly—for the first time—she saw another version.

Senior year. One more year. Graduation. Prom. Football games. One more summer. One more year with him.

Her eyes lifted before she meant them to. Smoke was already looking at her. For the first time all afternoon—he looked surprised as well, like this changed something for him too.

Annie swallowed and set the picture down carefully.

Pearline looked up immediately. “Annie?”

Annie forced a small smile. “…I need a drink.”

She started walking away before she started mourning something she never realized she almost had.

Annie started moving before she fully decided to.

Her hand left the photograph and settled automatically against the edge of the table while her mind tried to reorganize itself around information she hadn’t known existed five minutes earlier. 

Around them the cookout continued uninterrupted. Mike asked where the hamburger buns went. Children ran past with wet shirts and popsicles staining their mouths. One of the older men near the domino table laughed so loudly the sound carried over the music. 

Normal.

The whole yard stayed normal. Which somehow made the ache sitting low in Annie’s chest feel sharper.

She smiled automatically and leaned her weight backward.

“I’m finna go get—”

Her voice stopped from surprise. Smoke’s hand had closed loosely around hers. For a second she looked at their hands before she looked at him.

He hadn’t moved otherwise. He was still standing near the table. Same expression mostly. But something had changed. The usual restraint she remembered in him had slipped somewhere while everybody talked. His face looked quieter now. Less guarded. Like he’d stopped paying attention to the people around them without realizing it.

When he finally spoke, his voice stayed low enough that she almost missed it beneath the noise.

“You asked to stay?”

She looked at him and suddenly she understood that he wasn’t asking for clarification. He was asking if what they said was true.

Her chest tightened.

She looked away first trying to find the right version of the answer. She gave a small laugh that disappeared almost immediately.

“Yeah.”

Her thumb stirred once beneath his hand.

“I asked.” She swallowed. “Then I asked again.” A small smile pulled briefly at her mouth. “And again.” 

Her shoulders lifted slightly. “Till she finally had to tell me stop askin’.”

Annie said it so lightly, like something she’d made peace with a long time ago.

But Smoke’s face changed. His eyes stayed on her longer than before and she felt his thumb move once against the side of her hand before he seemed to realize what he was doing and went still again.

When he spoke again his voice sounded different—honest in a way she wasn’t prepared for. 

“I thought you wanted to leave.”

Her head turned immediately in confusion. “What?”

His eyes dropped briefly before coming back to her. His jaw flexed once, then his shoulders moved in the smallest shrug. 

“I thought you was ready.”

Annie stared at him—something uncomfortable and sad opened inside her. Not because of what he said, but because she understood. She thought he knew. Thought he understood she didn’t want to go. Thought he knew she cried every night. All this time he thought she left and learned how to live without him.

Her eyebrows pulled together. Her answer came before she could edit it. 

“I never wanted to leave.”

Smoke looked at her the way people look when they realize they’ve been carrying the wrong version of a story for years and suddenly don’t know where to put it.

Neither of them moved or acknowledged they were still holding hands.

The yard kept moving around them anyway. Music changed. Coolers opening. Aunt Cheryl started yelling about sweet tea.

But something had changed. Not outside.

Between them.

Annie looked at him and realized she had been carrying guilt she never examined. Smoke looked at her and realized he’d been carrying rejection that wasn’t real. For one impossible second she wondered how many years they had both spent grieving two completely different versions of the same goodbye.

Then a voice came from in front of them.

Familiar.

Close enough that it belonged there.

“Hey...”

The moment broke. Smoke turned. Annie turned too.

Jada stood a few feet away with an expensive handbag in her hand and sunglasses pushed up into her curls. She looked like somebody who had arrived late to something ordinary.

Her eyes landed on Smoke first. Then lowered… stopped.

Annie followed her gaze.

Their hands.

Jada looked up again. This time at Annie.

Annie turned back toward Smoke automatically and for the first time all day she couldn’t read his face. He didn’t pull away and he didn’t tighten his grip either. If anything, he seemed to become aware of the moment at the exact same time she did. 

His eyes moved to Jada and stayed there for a second before coming back to Annie. She watched something pass across his face—surprise first, then something she couldn’t organize quickly enough to understand. His hand remained around hers for another second before his fingers eased away gradually, not dropping her hand, but releasing it carefully, almost reluctantly, like he had become aware of the touch at the same moment she had.

Annie looked down briefly before lifting her eyes again. The feeling that hit her wasn’t embarrassment or even disappointment. It felt stranger than that. For one impossible second she had forgotten there was a world outside of this conversation, and now it had returned all at once with names, history and context attached to it.

But underneath all of that sat another realization arriving slower than the others.

Jada didn’t look confused. She looked surprised to see Annie. Not surprised to see Smoke.

And suddenly Annie became aware of something. The ease in the way Jada approached them. The familiarity in her voice when she said his name. The way she stepped into his space without hesitation, like she already knew she had the right to be there.

Like she belonged there.

Nobody spoke. Then somewhere behind them at exactly the same time—

Stack said quietly—

“…oh shit.”

Pearline whispered—

“…fuck.”

End Note: Soooo....yeah. This chapter did NOT go as I planned. This was supposed to be the blow out, but I swear these characters have a mind of their own. They take me where THEY want to go. But I hope you liked this chapter and next chapter (I promise) is where it all goes down!

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The plane lands and Annie feels it in her chest before the wheels even settle, a quiet drop that has nothing to do with altitude. She stays seated, fingers curled around the strap of her purse. She hears the seatbelt signs ding, people stand, some stretch, others reach for their bags and fall into the aisle like this is routine.

Her carry-on sits in the overhead bin above her, untouched. She watches the passengers go. Row by row. Voice after voice fading toward the exit.

No rush. No urgency. Just movement she doesn’t join because as long as she’s still sitting here… she’s not really here yet.

The cabin empties around her. The noise dies down to something softer. Distant. A flight attendant murmurs something near the front. A bag wheel drags faint across the aisle, then disappears.

And then—it’s quiet.

Annie exhales slowly, her hand coming up to rest against the edge of the seat in front of her.

There’s nothing left to wait on.

She stands, reaching up for her bag, fingers closing around the handle without hesitation, but she still pauses once it’s in her hands. Just for a second—like this is it.

She steps into the aisle walking forward, and this time there’s nothing slowing her down but herself. It all feels too normal for something that didn’t feel small when she decided to do it. She tells herself it’s just a trip. A visit. Something quick. Something she can leave if it goes left. Her mouth presses thin at that, because she knows that’s not true. 

Not really. 

The airport air greets her the same way it always does, cool and overworked, carrying a faint mix of coffee, cleaning solution, and people moving in every direction at once. She walks with the crowd, not rushing, and not dragging either. She’s keeping pace until she reaches baggage claim. The carousel hums, metal groaning under the weight of suitcases circling over and over. Annie stands with her arms folded, eyes scanning without really seeing, her mind running ahead of her. Eight years. She says it again in her head as if it’ll sound differently the second time. 

It doesn’t.

Her suitcase comes around eventually, the one she packed late the night before, half her things folded, half thrown in when she started thinking too much. She grips the handle, pulls it down, and sets it upright beside her. For a second she considers calling Pearline asking where she is. Instead, she heads for the exit.

The doors slide open and the air outside hits different—warmer, heavier, carrying that familiar weight she hasn’t felt in years. It settles over her shoulders without asking. The sounds come with it, engines idling, horns tapping, voices calling out across the pickup lane. Annie steps off to the side, out of the main flow, her hand resting on the handle of her suitcase while she scans the line of cars pulling up and pulling off. Her heart beats a little faster than she wants it to, a quiet rhythm she can’t quite calm.

She checks her phone. No new messages. Of course not.

She exhales through her nose and looks up again just as a familiar voice cuts loudly through the noise. “There’s my bestie!!”

Annie turned at the sound. Pearline was halfway out of the car, door wide open, eyes locked on her with the biggest grin on her face. Her brown skin was warm under the light. Her edges laid clean, hair pulled back into a long, sleek ponytail that fell down her back. She wore a fitted tank and loose shorts sitting easy on her hips, her gold earrings gleaming in the sun. Everything about her gave effortless.