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Summary: A mixtape, a confession, a punch, and one very public cookout meltdown. Annie and Smoke finally tell the truth. Too bad the truth came with witnesses.
A/N: Be gentle with me and remember what Erykah Badu said about her shit! š«£
W/C: 11k
Annie laughed. The sound came out sharp.
āYou wanna know why?ā
Smokeās jaw tightened.
āWhy I look at you like that.ā Her grip tightened around the suitcase handle. āBecause the last time I saw you, you acted like you couldnāt wait for me to get the fuck outta Mississippi.ā
A murmur moved through the yard.
Smokeās head jerked back slightly. āWhat?ā
āYou heard me.ā The tears were coming faster now. āI came to yoā house so excited to see you.ā
She pointed at him. āI was nervous as fuck.ā She stepped closer. āBut you aināt even want me there.ā
The memory hit her all over again. Standing in that house. Sitting at the kitchen table. Trying to make conversation with him when he felt a million miles away despite being right in front of her.
āYou barely talked to me.ā
Smoke stared at her. āAnnieāā
āNo.ā Her voice cracked. āYou stood most of the time.ā
Another step.
āYou looked miserable.ā
Another.
āYou was more interested in whoever called your phone, than talkinā to me.ā
Something flashed across Smokeās face.Ā
Memory.
Finally.
āThen I told you I was leavinā.ā Her voice dropped. āAnd all you could say was āaight.āā
The yard went silent, because now they werenāt talking about the years after. They were talking about the last day. The last face-to-face meeting.
Annie laughed bitterly. āI said Iād call you.ā Her eyes burned. āYou aināt even act like you cared if I did.ā
She shook her head. āI wasnāt even halfway down them porch steps before you closed the fuckinā door.ā
Smoke just stared at her.Ā
Then he laughed.Ā
The sound wasnāt amused. It wasnāt even angry. It sounded exhausted. Like somebody reaching the end of their rope.
āYou really believe that delusional shit, huh?ā
Annie froze.
Smoke shook his head.
āI sent you letters.ā
His voice rose.
āI sent you birthday cards.ā
Another step.
āI sent you Christmas cards.ā
The hurt was gone now. This was frustration.
Years of it.
āAny fuckinā thing I could think of to get you to talk to me.ā
Smoke pointed at the mixtape still clutched in his hand.
āThat mixtape was the last fuckinā straw.ā
Annieās face faltered.
Smoke kept going. āI put everything I couldnāt say in that muthafucka.ā His chest rose sharply. āI told you I loved you in that shit.āĀ
The words cracked. āWithout sayinā the words.ā
Another step.
āAnd you still gave my ass nothinā.ā
Annie stared at him. Confused. Hurt.
Smoke laughed again. Broken this time.
āNo call.ā
Another breath.
āNo letter.ā
Another.
āNo card.ā
His eyes burned. āNothing.ā
The silence stretched tight between them.
Then his face hardened. āAnd when I finally did talk to yoā ass?ā
Annie felt her stomach drop.
Smoke nodded once. Slow. Deliberate. āYou got some nigga laughinā in the background.ā
The entire yard went still. Someone gasped.Ā
Annie blinked.
āWhat are youā?ā
āYou heard me.ā
His jaw clenched.
āI called.ā
Another breath.
āAnd some nigga in the background laughinā while Iām listeninā feelinā stupid as fuck.ā
Recognition flickered across Annieās face.
Finally.
Because heād been carrying that one for years.
āHow the fuck you think that felt, huh?ā
Annie opened her mouth. āElijahā¦ā
Smoke shook his head.Ā
Then finally answered the question sheād been asking this entire time. The one underneath everything else. The one about why he hadnāt begged.
Why he hadnāt chased.Ā
Why he hadnāt stopped her.
His voice dropped. Dangerously quiet.
āYou wanted me to tell you to stay?ā
Annieās eyes filled with tears instantly.
Smoke nodded.
āYou wanted me to tell you not to go?ā
The hurt surfaced one final time.Ā
Raw.Ā
Unprotected.
āHow was I to fight for you when I already thought you was gone?ā
The words landed between them with enough force to steal the air from her lungs.Ā
For the first time since she stepped back into Mississippi, Annie realized something she had never considered.
The last time she saw Elijah Moore, he wasnāt sitting across that kitchen thinking she was leaving.
He was sitting there thinking she had already left.
Jada couldnāt remember the last time she felt this invisible.
The strange part was that neither of them had forgotten she was there.
Annie had looked directly at her. Smoke had answered questions about her. Her name had been spoken more than once since this conversation started.
Yet standing here now, she had the uncomfortable feeling that she was watching something that had started years before she arrived and would continue long after she left.
Around them, the cookout had faded into background noise. Not literally. Mrs. Jones still stood beside the grill. The dominoes game remained abandoned. Children still tore through the yard with water guns while somebodyās uncle argued about football loud enough for half the neighborhood to hear.
But none of it seemed to matter to the two people standing in the middle of the yard.
They had stopped talking about her several minutes ago.
Maybe they had never really been talking about her at all.
The thought settled uneasily in her chest.
She had spent the last year believing she understood what existed between her and Smoke. He hadnāt promised her anything. If anything, he had been frustratingly honest from the beginning. He wasnāt looking for a relationship. He wasnāt making promises. More than once he had told her she deserved somebody capable of giving her more than he could.
At the time, she thought he was protecting himself.
Now she wasnāt so sure.
Now she stood here listening to Annie talk about North Carolina and loneliness and missing Smoke, and for the first time Jada found herself wondering if she had misunderstood the entire situation from the beginning.
Because whatever this was, it didnāt feel unfinished.
It felt⦠interrupted.
To make it worse she heard him sayā
āI thought you knew how much I fuckinā love you.ā
She felt the sentence before she fully understood it.
Her mind tried to correct what he had said. Tried to bend the words into something easier to survive. Loved. Had loved. Used to love. Any version that belonged safely in the past, where old heartbreaks and high school memories were supposed to stay. But Smoke hadnāt said it that way. He stood in the middle of Mrs. Jonesā yard with his voice cracked open, eyes fixed on Annie like nobody else existed, and said he loved her in the present tense.
Love.
It wasnāt nostalgia, regret or some unfinished thing he had outgrown, but never properly buried. Love. The kind of word Jada had spent the last year trying not to ask for because she already knew better. The kind of word Smoke had never offered her, not even accidentally, not even in one of their after-midnight moments when sometimes people said more than they meant to. He had been kind to her. Honest with her. Careful in his own way. But he had never been open.Ā
Not like this.Ā
Not exposed in front of half the town with his pride bleeding out at Annieās feet.
The pieces came together slowly at first, then all at once. Every dinner made sense. The silence after Annieās name came up. Every conversation he ended before it could become something more.Ā
Every moment she had mistaken for progress suddenly looked different.
She had spent a year telling herself Smoke was guarded, emotionally unavailable, too damaged by whatever had happened back then to let anybody all the way in. Standing here now, watching him look at Annie like the last eight years had never been able to touch the deepest part of him, Jada understood the truth with a humiliation so quiet it almost felt private.
He hadnāt been unavailable.
He was just unavailable to her.
She looked at Annie then, really looked at her. Tears were coming down her face so freely now that she didnāt seem aware of them anymore. The suitcase was still in her hand, though her grip had gone slack around the handle. She looked wrecked. Angry. Drunk enough to say too much and sober enough to feel every bit of it. Jada wanted to hate her for standing there holding the one thing Jada had spent years hoping for. But the anger wouldnāt hold the way it used to. Not now. Not while Annie looked like she had been bleeding from the same wound all along.
Then she looked at Smoke.
He wasnāt watching the crowd. Not Stack, Pearline, Mary or the dominoes table that had gone still behind him.Ā
He wasnāt even watching her.
The thought settled strangely in her chest because, despite everything, she knew things about Smoke. She knew how he took his coffee. Knew what kind of music he listened to when he thought nobody was paying attention.Ā
But standing here now, she found herself seeing how much of him had always remained just out of reach.
She knew his real name.
She had just used it not even an hour prior.
But standing here now, she realized there was a difference between knowing a name and belonging to it.
To most people he was Smoke. Even when they called him Elijah, it sounded like a substitute. A government name. Something official.
Annie said it differently.
Elijah when she was angry. Elijah when she was crying. Elijah when she wanted him to understand exactly how much he had hurt her.
And every single time she said it, his attention sharpened.
Friends had called him Elijah before. His family certainly had. But Jada couldnāt remember ever hearing another person say it and have him answer it so completely.
The realization settled quietly.
The name didnāt belong to Annie.
But somehow, the version of him that answered to it always had.
He was looking at Annie the same way he had looked past Jada in that parking lot freshman year. The same way he had looked every time Jada convinced herself she was imagining it, because the alternative meant admitting there had never really been a contest.
That was the part that finally settled.
There had never been a contest.
She had spent years wondering what Annie had that she didnāt. Beauty, softness, ease, some invisible thing people seemed to recognize before she could name it. She had treated the question like something she could solve if she studied it long enough. As though understanding Annie would somehow teach her how to be chosen over her. But standing there with Smokeās confession still hanging in the humid air, she realized the question had always been wrong.
It was never about what Annie had.
It was Annie.
It had always been Annie.
Standing in Mrs. Jonesās backyard, listening to Smoke confess a love he never stopped carrying, she finally understood.
It was Annie then.
It was still Annie now.
Stack should have felt surprised.
Instead, he felt like somebody had finally handed him the missing pages of a story heād been trying to understand for years.
Around him, nobody was pretending to mind their business anymore.
Aunt Cheryl had abandoned the grill entirely. The tongs sheād been carrying were long gone now, forgotten somewhere behind her. Uncle Lewis stood beside her with his arms folded across his chest, his expression unreadable beneath the evening light. Geneva and Max had drifted closer too. Even the dominoes game had dissolved. The men still sat around the table, but nobody was touching the tiles. The entire yard seemed suspended between one moment and the next, waiting to see what would happen.
He barely noticed any of it.
His attention remained fixed on Annie and Smoke.
For the first time since Annie came home, Smoke and Annie were finally talking. Really talking. Not the careful conversations theyād been having for the last two days or the polite versions of themselves they showed everybody else.Ā
This was the ugly shit. The buried shit. Shit both of them shouldāve said years ago, but never did.
Then Smoke said it.
āWhen I finally talked to yoā ass, I heard some nigga in the background laughinā.ā
The words settled over the yard.
He felt something click into place. He didnāt know exactly what Smoke was talking about, but suddenly he understood something he hadnāt understood in years.
Back then, heād known something happened. He just never knew what.
After Annie moved to North Carolina, Smoke had still talked about her at first. Not constantly. That wasnāt his style. But enough. Enough that he knew she stayed on his mind. Then one day it seemed like somebody flipped a switch.
Smoke stopped bringing her up. He wasnāt checking the mailbox on the regular. And he stopped looking at the phone every time it rang.
The change hadnāt happened at once. It was slow enough that most wouldnāt have noticed it.Ā
But he did.
They were sitting on the back patio steps one evening when heād finally gotten tired of pretending not to know something was wrong.
āWhat happened witā Annie?ā
Smoke didnāt answer. Heād kept staring out into the yard like he hadnāt heard the question.
āNothinā.ā
āCāmon bruh.ā
A long silence followed.
Then Smoke finally spoke. āMe and Annie done.ā
Stack remembered waiting for more. An explanation. A reason.
Anything.
None came.
Smoke stood, flicked his cigarette into the dirt, and walked inside.
That had been the end of it.
Every time Stack tried bringing Annie up afterward, the conversation died before it started. Smoke changed the subject. Left the room. Found something else to do. Looking back, Stack realized he hadnāt been protecting a secret.
Heād been protecting a wound.
Standing in Aunt Cherylās backyard now, listening to eight years of misunderstandings unravel in real time, he finally knew what heād been looking at back then.
Smoke hadnāt stopped talking because he stopped caring. He stopped talking because something convinced him Annie was already gone.
The knowledge of this sat heavy. He watched the two of them. Shit, the whole reason heād pushed Annie to come over that last time she was in town was because heād been hoping they would talk.Ā
He remembered practically forcing the issue. Telling her to stop being scary and come through. Watching her walk into the house carrying that overnight bag. Watching Smoke look up when she stepped through the door. Then leaving because heād thought privacy was all they needed.
Now he wanted to go back in time and knock both of them upside the fucking head.
Apparently theyād spent the entire visit doing exactly what they were doing before nowāavoiding conversations that mattered.
Annie thought Smoke had sent her a goodbye.
Smoke thought Annie had moved on.
Neither one of them said any of it.
Stack looked towards Pearline.
She stood with her arms folded tightly across her chest, her face still carrying traces of the argument sheād had upstairs. If there was anybody in the yard having a worse day than Annie and Smoke, it was probably her.
Between Annie cussing her out and Mary standing twenty feet away pretending she hadnāt started half this bullshit, Pearline was already hanging on by a thread. Add in the fact that Mary had slept with Stack while she and Stack were still trying to figure out whatever the hell they were becoming, and Pearline looked one inconvenience away from committing a felony.
Despite everything else going on, they both seemed to arrive at the same conclusion at exactly the same time.
These two had spent eight years makinā themselves miserable when all they had to do was open their muthafuckinā mouths and talk.
Annie stared at him.
For several seconds, she couldnāt make herself respond. Not because she had nothing to say, but because too many things arrived at once and crowded her throat before any one of them could become words. The heat in her face sharpened into something closer to embarrassment, then anger, then disbelief. She could see him standing there at eighteen with the phone pressed to his ear, hearing some boy laugh somewhere behind her and deciding the worst possible thing because hurt people were good at doing that.Ā
She could see it. That was the problem. She could finally see it, and seeing it didnāt make her less angry.
āThat was probably somebody from class,ā she said, her voice rough from crying. āI donāt know, Elijah. I had people around me.ā
Smoke laughed once, and the sound cut through what little softness had tried to form between them. āOf course you did.ā
Annieās eyes narrowed. āWhat the fuck that supposed to mean?ā
āIt mean exactly what it sound like.āĀ
His grip tightened around the mixtape without him seeming to realize it.Ā
āI been standinā here listeninā to you tell me what you thought, what you felt, what you needed, like I was supposed to know all that from three states away when half the time I couldnāt even get you on the fuckinā phone. I tried everything I could think of just to get you to talk to me. And you still gave me your ass to kiss.ā
The words hit hard enough to make someone in the crowd inhale sharply.Ā
Annie felt the force of them too, but pride rose before hurt could fully show. It crawled up her spine and locked her shoulders in place, the same stubbornness that had carried her through years of pretending she hadnāt spent half her life missing him.Ā
Across the yard, Pearlineās face tightened like she already knew Annie was about to say something she would regret.Ā
Maybe she did. Maybe everyone did. Maybe thatās why she started moving towards Annie.
Smoke kept going, his voice lower now but no less dangerous. āSo yeah, when I finally heard yoā voice and some nigga was in the background laughinā like he had a reason to be comfortable around you, I was done. By the time you came to my house, I already thought you was gone. Hell yeah I was distant. Hell yeah I didnāt know what to say. What the fuck you expect me to do, Annie? Sit there and beg you to stay after you had spent months showinā me you aināt wanna be kept?ā
Annie flinched before she could stop herself.
The reaction crossed Smokeās face quickly. Satisfaction didnāt follow it. If anything, he looked worse for having said it.Ā
Tired.Ā
Angry.Ā
Hurt enough to keep swinging because stopping would mean feeling the full weight of what he had just admitted in front of everybody.
āThatās what you thought?ā Annie asked.
āWhat else was I supposed to think?ā
āYou couldāve asked me.ā
Smokeās laugh was sharp. āOh, you wouldāve answered this time?ā
The words landed exactly where he aimed them.Ā
Annieās mouth parted, but nothing came out at first.Ā
Around them, the yard seemed to draw even closer. Aunt Cheryl had moved off to the side of them, Uncle Lewis beside her with a hand hovering near her elbow like he was not sure whether to hold her back or follow her in. Geneva and Aunt Max stood just behind them, their faces set with the kind of concern that understood this was no longer simply messy.Ā
This was two people cutting each other because bleeding alone had stopped feeling fair.
Annie swallowed hard, but her pride would not let her lower her voice. āSorry,ā she said, the word brittle enough to break. āI forgot who I was talkinā to.ā
Smokeās eyes darkened. āWhat that mean?ā
She laughed, and it came out uglier than she intended. āMr. Talkative. My fault. I forgot I was supposed to read your mind and listen to a mixtape witā no note, no explanation, no call, no nothinā, and somehow understand everything you were too fuckinā scared to say out loud.ā
Stackās hand came up toward his face, not quite covering his eyes but close enough. Pearline closed hers. Mary, who had been chewing on the inside of her cheek so hard she looked like she might draw blood, went completely still. Even Jada seemed to wince, though whether it was for Annie or Smoke, nobody could tell.
Smoke stared at Annie like she had reached over and put her hand directly on an old bruise.
āYou wanna talk about that day at my house?ā he asked.
Annie lifted her chin. āI been talkinā about it.ā
āNah.ā Smoke shook his head once, slow and controlled. āYou been talkinā about what you decided it was. You walked in there already thinkinā I had moved on, and everything I did after that, you made it fit.ā
Her eyes flashed. āAnd you didnāt?ā
The question stopped him for a moment, just long enough for Annie to see that it landed. She stepped closer before she could think better of it, the suitcase forgotten at her side, the tequila still moving through her blood in warm, reckless waves.
āYou stood there lookinā at your phone,ā she said. āThatās what you were doinā while I was sittinā there feelinā stupid. So since we talkinā about assumptions, what was I supposed to think? You thought I moved on, you did too?ā
Smokeās jaw clenched. āThat wasnātāā
āWasnāt, what, Smoke?ā she cut in.
The name landed wrong.
Everybody felt it.
Smokeās face changed immediately, the anger tightening into something sharper because she knew exactly what she had done. She always called him Elijah, and today dragging his real name out of him with every accusation and every confession, and now she had put Smoke between them like a door slamming shut.
Annie saw the reaction and kept going anyway.
āThat your phone wasnāt blowinā up? That you wasnāt waitinā on somebody else to call? What, you was fuckinā Jada back then too? Couldnāt wait to call her pick-me ass once I left?ā
Mary choked on whatever was in her cup. It came out half cough, half strangled laugh, and Aunt Max shot her a look sharp enough to cut. Jadaās face went completely still, all the earlier humiliation hardening into something colder as she looked from Annie to Smoke and back again. She didnāt smirk. She didnāt defend herself. She only shook her head once, small and tired, like even she knew this had stopped being about her a long time ago and somehow Annie had dragged her back into it anyway.
Smokeās voice dropped. āThat was my boss.ā
Annie blinked.
Smoke took a step closer. āThat phone you keep talkinā about? That was my boss tellinā me what job site to be at the next morninā.ā
For one humiliating instant, Annie felt the ground quake under her. She saw the kitchen again. Smoke glancing at the phone. Her stomach twisting. Her mind building a whole story out of one look because she had been scared enough to believe almost anything by then. The obviousness of it should have made her quiet.Ā
Instead, pride rushed in to save her from the shame.
āSure, Smoke.ā
His eyes narrowed. āDonāt do that.ā
āThe way you looked at that phone wasnāt no damn job site look.ā
āAnd Iām supposed to believe that nigga was just a classmate?ā Smoke fired back, his voice rising again. āNot with the way he was laughinā. Not with that little āoh, Annieā shit in the background like he knew somethinā I didnāt.ā
Recognition flashed across her face before she could hide it.
Smoke caught it.
āYeah,ā he said, the word rough. āI remember that part too.ā
Annieās stomach tightened because now she remembered it clearly enough to hate how messy memory could be. A study group. Somebody joking around. A boy from class who had been harmless and annoying and nowhere near important enough to have shaped eight years of pain. She couldnāt even remember his name. Could barely remember his face.Ā
Yet here Elijah stood, holding onto his laugh like evidence.
āAgainā¦you couldāve asked,ā she said through clenched teeth.
Smokeās laugh came fast and mean. āAgain⦠you wouldāve answered?ā
The yard flinched with her.
Annie took a step toward him, anger burning through the embarrassment now. āMaybe if you learned how to open your fuckinā mouth instead of sittinā around actinā like silence make you deep, we wouldnāt be here.ā
Stack moved before anyone else did. Not fully between them yet, but closer. Pearline reached for Annie at the same time, her hand closing around her arm just above the elbow.
āAnnie,ā Pearline warned softly.
Annie snatched her arm back without looking at her. āNo, donāt Annie me. Everybody wanna talk now, right? Everybody got all this shit to say now.ā
Smoke stepped forward too, and Stackās hand landed flat against his chest.
āBack up,ā Stack muttered.
Smoke didnāt look at him. āMove.ā
āNah, back up bruh.ā
Aunt Cheryl finally stepped into the center of it, and though her voice was not loud, it carried across the yard with enough force to cut through the shouting.Ā
āENOUGH.ā
Nobody moved at first.
She looked at Annie, then at Smoke, and the disappointment in her face somehow made both of them look younger. āYāall are beinā real damn silly right now, and I know both of yāall got more sense than this.ā
Annieās chest rose and fell too quickly. āIām leaving.ā
āBaby, donāt walk outta here like this,ā Aunt Cheryl said.
āI said Iām leaving.ā
āYou hear me talkinā to you?ā
Annie looked away because if she looked at Aunt Cheryl too long, she might break in a way anger could not hide. āI canāt be here.ā
Smoke laughed under his breath, and the sound made something in her snap before he even spoke.
āGo on then.ā
The yard went still.
Stackās head turned sharply toward his brother. āSmoke.ā
Smoke ignored him, his eyes locked on Annie. āRun away like you always do. Thatās what you good at anyway.ā
The words hit harder than anything else he had said, maybe because this one was not about old phone calls or letters or a mixtape or some boy laughing in the background. This one was about her. About the pattern he believed he knew.Ā
About the thing she feared might be true.
Annie moved before she thought.
Pearline caught her around the waist just as Stack caught Smoke by the shoulders.
āLet me go,ā Annie snapped.
āNo,ā Pearline said, voice shaking now. āNo, you not doinā this.ā
Smoke tried to shrug Stack off. āGet off me.ā
āBruh, chill the fuck out,ā Stack said, tightening his grip. āBoth of yāall look stupid.ā
The whole yard had shifted into motion now. Aunt Cheryl was yelling for everybody to back up. Uncle Lewis stepped between two cousins trying to get closer. Geneva had one hand pressed to her mouth while Aunt Max kept saying Annieās name like repetition might bring her back to herself.Ā
Cornbread stood near the edge of the yard with Therise tucked behind him, his eyes moving between Smoke and anyone who looked like they might be foolish enough to step in wrong. Bo hovered near the dominoes table, uncertain whether to help or stay out of grown folksā business. Mike and Isoo stood a little farther away with Grace beside them, all three looking like they had accidentally wandered into the part of a family gathering nobody was supposed to see.
Then Annie saw Isoo.
It happened fast enough that nobody could stop it and slow enough that everybody understood what she was doing.
Her eyes found him across the yard, and the expression on her face changed. It wasnāt soft or calm. Her expression changed into something petty, wounded, and desperate to regain control of a situation that had stripped her bare in front of all the people she knew.
āIsoo.ā
Smoke went still in Stackās arms.
Pearlineās grip tightened around Annie immediately. āAnnie, donāt.ā
Isoo looked caught off guard at first. Then he straightened, his gaze flicking from Annie to Smoke and back again. āUhh, yeah?ā
Annie wiped her face with the back of her hand, still breathing too hard. āWill you get me outta here? I donāt wanna be here no more.ā
A low sound moved through the yard.
Smokeās entire body moved forward, but Stack shoved him back hard enough to make him stumble a half step.
āDonāt,ā Stack said.
Smokeās eyes never left Annie. āYou serious?ā
Annie looked directly at him when she answered. āYeah.ā
Pearline turned her slightly, trying to make Annie look at her instead. āPlease donāt do this. Not like this.ā
Aunt Cheryl stepped closer. āAnnie, baby, you makinā a mistake.ā
āI already made plenty today.ā
āThen donāt make another one,ā Geneva said, her voice gentle but firm.
Annie heard them. She did. Somewhere underneath the hurt and the tequila and the humiliation, she heard every warning being offered to her. But hearing was not the same as stopping. Not when Smoke was still looking at her like he had been right about her all along.Ā
Not when the word run was still sitting in the air between them.
Isoo took a cautious step forward.
Mike immediately caught his arm. āBro, donāt do it.ā
Isoo looked at him. āShe donāt wanna be here, Mike.ā
āI said donāt do it.ā
āShe asked me for a ride.ā
Mikeās expression tightened because everybody knew it was more than that. Annie knew it too. So did Isoo. So did Smoke. The entire yard could see it, which only made it worse.
Smoke shoved Stackās hands off him hard enough this time that Stack had to step in front of him fully. āAnnie, you donāt gotta leave. Iāll go.ā
The words should have softened something.
They did.
For a second.
Then Isoo spoke.
āShe said she donāt wanna be here, Smoke. Let her go.ā
Smoke turned his head slowly.
The yard seemed to feel the change before anybody moved. Stackās hand went back to Smokeās chest. Mike stepped in front of Isoo. Aunt Cheryl said Smokeās name in a voice that should have stopped him.
It did not.
Isoo stepped around Mike and lifted his chin just enough to make the whole thing worse. āYou done said enough to her.ā
Smoke moved so fast Stack barely managed to get a hand on him.
It slowed the first step.
It didnāt stop the second.
The punch landed with a sick, clean sound that cut through the entire yard. Isoo stumbled backward into Mike, one hand flying to his mouth as Grace screamed and Cornbread cursed loud enough to shake the trees.Ā
Everything exploded at once.Ā
Stack grabbed Smoke from behind, dragging him back with both arms locked around his chest. Mike shoved Isoo behind him while Bo and Cornbread rushed forward. Aunt Cherylās voice rose above everybody else, furious and heartbroken all at once, but Annie barely heard it.
Annie stood frozen with Pearlineās arms still around her.
Because a minute ago she had wanted to leave.
A minute ago she had wanted to hurt him.
A minute ago she had wanted to prove she could walk away first.
Now Elijah stood several feet away, breathing hard, eyes still locked on hers while half the yard tried to keep him from doing something worse, and Annie realized with a sick, sinking feeling that the thing between them had not broken open.
It had finally broken all the way loose.
Stack didnāt stop walking until they were well past the edge of the cookout.
The music still carried through the trees, muffled now by distance. Every so often laughter drifted across the yard, strange and out of place after everything that had just happened. The farther they moved from the crowd, the easier it became to pretend the entire scene had happened somewhere else.
Smoke knew better.
His jaw still ached from how hard heād been clenching it. His knuckles hurt too. Every few steps he flexed his hand without realizing it, the sting settling deeper each time.
Neither brother spoke.
Not at first.
The silence between them wasnāt uncomfortable. It rarely was. Most people expected twins to talk constantly. Stack and Smoke had never needed to. Half the time they communicated through looks, shrugs, or the simple understanding that came from spending an entire lifetime beside somebody.
They stopped beneath the old pecan tree near the edge of the property.
The same tree theyād hidden behind as kids whenever Aunt Cheryl started handing out chores.
Smoke leaned against the trunk of the tree and reached into his pocket for a cigarette.
The movement felt automatic. Familiar. Something to do with his hands while his head tried and failed to catch up with everything that had happened over the last hour. His fingers found the pack easily enough, but when he reached for the lighter, the tremor hit immediately. Not enough for most people to notice. Enough for Stack.
The wheel clicked beneath his thumb.
Nothing.
Smoke frowned and tried again. This time a flame appeared before sputtering out. āFuck,ā he cursed under his breath as frustration tightened his jaw. Before he could try a third time, the lighter disappeared from his hand altogether.
He looked up.
Stack stood there holding it.
Neither brother acknowledged what had just happened. They didnāt need to. Stack flicked the wheel once and a steady flame appeared immediately. Smoke leaned forward, lit the cigarette, and took a long drag. The burn settled harshly in his lungs, but it gave him something to focus on besides the image of Annie standing in the middle of Aunt Cherylās yard with tears on her face, fire in her eyes, and a suitcase in her hand.
For a while neither of them spoke. The sounds of the cookout drifted through the trees in pieces. Somebody shouted something that earned a chorus of responses. Music floated lazily through the humid evening air. Life was already trying to move on from the scene they had left behind.
Smoke wasnāt.
His attention kept drifting toward the house. The porch. The front yard. The windows upstairs. Anywhere Annie might appear.
Stack followed his brotherās gaze and immediately understood what he was looking for.
Or rather who.
It sat heavily on his chest. Even after the argument, after the screaming. And even after the punch. Smoke was still checking to see if Annie had left.
Again.
Stack rubbed a hand across his jaw and sighed.
āYou know whatās crazy?ā
Smoke already hated where this was going.
āNo.ā
āYou punched the wrong nigga.ā
The cigarette paused halfway to Smokeās mouth. He turned slowly toward his brother, prepared to tell him exactly where he could go with that opinion, but the words never came. Stack wasnāt smiling. There wasnāt even a hint of amusement on his face.
That was how Smoke knew he was serious.
āIsoo aināt why you mad.ā
Smoke looked away.
Unfortunately, that only proved the point.
Stack watched him before his attention drifted downward. The mixtape was still in Smokeās hand.
That stopped him.
Because of what it represented. Because somehow, through the argument, the walk across the yard, and the fight, Smoke had never put the damn CD down.
āYou still got it.ā
Smoke frowned.
āWhat?ā
Stack nodded toward the plastic case.
āYou aināt even notice, did you?ā
For the first time Smoke followed his gaze. His eyes settled on the familiar handwriting stretched across the cover, and something tightened in his chest so suddenly it almost annoyed him.
Annieās handwriting.
Uneven.
Familiar.
The same handwriting heād spent years pretending didnāt matter anymore.
Two weeks.
Sheād spent two weeks making it. Two weeks choosing songs and recording tracks and carrying around thoughts she apparently never intended to say out loud. Then sheād brought it all the way from North Carolina just to throw it at his head in the middle of a family cookout.
The memory shouldāve irritated him. Instead, the corner of his mouth twitched.
Stack caught it immediately.
āThere he is.ā
Smoke rolled his eyes. āShut up.ā
āNah.ā A laugh escaped Stack before he could stop it. āThat girl been stressinā yoā ass out since freshman year.ā
The comment shouldāve been easy to ignore. Instead it pulled a memory loose.
Not a fight or an argument.
Something worse.
A Saturday afternoon at Maryās house nearly ten years ago.
The backyard had been packed with teenagers pretending they were older than they actually were. Music blasted from a speaker somebodyās cousin swore cost more than his first car. Folding chairs circled coolers full of drinks nobody was supposed to have. Half the boys spent the afternoon trying to look cool while half the girls pretended not to notice them trying.
Annie had been sitting on the hood of somebodyās car laughing so hard she nearly slid off the edge.
Stack remembered that part clearly.
The sunlight catching the gold in her earrings. Her hair pulled back. The way she laughed with her whole body when something genuinely caught her off guard.
Isoo stood nearby, running his mouth the way Isoo always did.
Talking.
Joking.
Trying to make everybody laugh.
For a while nobody paid much attention. Then Annie hopped down from the hood and wandered off toward the house with Pearline and a few other girls.
The conversation turned naturally after that.
At least until Isoo looked in the direction sheād disappeared and shook his head.
āMaaaannn, Annie get any thicker and somebody gonā have to do somethinā about it.ā
A few of the boys laughed. Stack remembered laughing too.
At first.
Isoo grinned. āYāall laughinā, but Iām serious.ā
More laughter.
Mike threw a chip at him. āShut yoā dumb ass up.ā
Isoo caught it and kept talking anyway. āLandry act all shy and innocent, bet it wonāt take much to get in them pants.ā
The laughter died just enough for the guys to start looking at each other. Enough for Mike to stop smiling and for Stack to notice Smoke. Because Smoke had gone completely still. Not the usual version everybody knew.Ā
This was different.
The kind of stillness that felt dangerous.
Isoo either didnāt notice or didnāt care.
āWhat?ā he laughed. āYāall know Iām right.ā
Nobody answered.
Stack remembered watching Smoke set his drink down.
Slowly.Ā
Carefully.
The way people did when they were trying very hard not to break something.
Or someone.
āAight.ā
The single word cut through the conversation.
Isoo looked over. āWhat?ā
Smokeās face gave away nothing. āAight.ā
The backyard had gone completely silent by then. Even the music seemed farther away.
Isoo laughed nervously. āWhat?ā
Smoke took one step forward. āDonāt do that.ā
The smile faded from Isooās face. āDo what?ā
āTalk about Annie.ā
The answer came calm. Too calm.
Stack remembered exchanging a look with Mike. Both of them already knew where this was headed.
Isoo tried to laugh again. It didnāt sound nearly as confident this time. āMan, I aināt say nothinā.ā
Smoke took another step. āThen keep it that way.ā
Nobody spoke. The tension sat thick enough to touch. Then Mike stepped between them before either one of them could do something stupid.
āEverybody chill.ā
Smoke didnāt take his eyes off Isoo. Isoo didnāt take his eyes off Smoke. Eventually somebody changed the subject. Somebody turned the music up.Ā
The moment passed.
At least on the surface.
Later that night Stack finally asked about it. āYou really donāt like Isoo?ā
Smoke hadnāt even looked up from whatever he was pretending to focus on. āI tolerate him.ā
Stack remembered laughing. āWhat the hell that mean?ā
āIt mean I tolerate him.ā
That had been the end of the conversation.
At least until now.
Standing beneath the pecan tree nearly ten years later, the memory came back so clearly Stack almost laughed.
Almost.
Because looking at Smoke now, looking at the bruised knuckles, the cigarette hanging from his mouth, and the mixtape still clutched in his hand, Stack finally understood something he probably shouldāve understood a long time ago.
Smoke never got over anything when it came to Annie. Not the comments. Not the misunderstandings. Not the silence. And definitely not her.
The memory hit Stack hard enough that he started laughing all over again.
Smoke shot him a glare. āWhat?ā
āYou serious?ā
āWhat the fuck so funny?ā
Stack shook his head. āMan.ā
āWhat?ā
āNigga, you almost fought Isoo over Annie before she was even yoā girl.ā
Smoke frowned. āThat aināt what happened.ā
āThatās exactly what happened.ā
āIt aināt.ā
Stack laughed. āNigga, you been holdinā a grudge against that man for almost ten years.ā
Smoke dragged on the cigarette and looked away.
Which was answer enough.
Stack laughed one final time before the amusement faded from his face. Something more serious settled into its place as his eyes looked back towards the house. Somewhere behind them Aunt Cheryl was probably still fussing. Pearline was probably trying to keep Annie from doing something sheād regret. Mary was probably regretting every decision that led her to this afternoon.
Eventually Stack sighed. āYou know what really got you tho?ā
Smoke didnāt answer.
Stack kept going anyway. āShe was leavinā.ā
The words hit home.
Smokeās shoulders tightened.
Stack noticed.
āThatās what this really about.ā
The cigarette burned quietly between Smokeās fingers as he stared toward the trees.
āYou thought she was stayinā.ā
Silence.
āAnd then she grabbed that suitcase.ā
The image came back instantly. Annie walking across the yard. Suitcase in one hand. Mixtape tucked beneath her arm.
Leaving.
Again.
The feeling that followed made Smokeās stomach turn.
Stack saw the exact moment it happened. Saw the way his brother looked away. Saw the way his jaw tightened.
āYou aināt punch Isoo because Annie asked him to get her outta there.ā
His voice came quieter now.
More careful.
āYou punched him because she grabbed that suitcase again and the first person she reached for wasnāt you.ā
The truth settled heavy between them.
Smoke stared out toward the trees and, for once, had absolutely nothing to say. Because his brother was right.
And they both knew it.
After a while Stack nodded toward the mixtape still resting in Smokeās hand.
āYou gonā listen to it?ā
Smoke looked down.
The handwriting seemed heavier now somehow. Not because it had changed, but because he finally understood what it cost her to make it. The physical proof that Annie had loved him enough to create something. Loved him enough to carry it across state lines. Loved him enough to spend eight years holding onto pieces of him she shouldāve left behind a long time ago.
āI donāt know.ā
Stack snorted. āThatās a lie.ā
Smoke glanced up.
Stack shook his head. āYou been listeninā to Annie for damn near ten years.ā
The words lingered beneath the pecan tree long after neither brother said anything else. Smoke looked down at the mixtape again and, for the first time all day, allowed himself to consider the possibility that everything he thought he knew about the last eight years mightāve been wrong.
The yard didnāt go quiet after Stack dragged Smoke away, but something in it changed. The music still played from the speakers near the patio, and the children eventually started running again once the adults stopped looking like somebody might get knocked into the grass next. A few people returned to their plates because food was food, even when the family business had just embarrassed everybody in a twenty-foot radius.Ā
But nobody really went back to normal.Ā
The dominoes table remained half-abandoned. Aunt Cherylās grill smoked unattended. Uncle Lewis stood near the center of the yard with his hands on his hips, looking at everybody like he was daring one more person to act a fool. The whole cookout felt bruised.
Annie stood in the middle of it with Pearlineās hand still wrapped around her arm and realized, slowly and then with a sickening drop in her stomach, that she had done exactly what she swore she hated.Ā
She had made everybody watch her hurt.Ā
She had dragged Pearline into it. Jada into it.
And now Isoo.Ā
Elijah was dragged into the worst, ugliest parts of herself and then stood there shocked when he bled too.Ā
The anger that had carried her across the yard and into the argument had started to burn out, leaving behind humiliation, tequila, and the awful clarity of consequences. Across from her, Isoo stood with Mike beside him, rubbing his jaw while pretending the punch had not landed as hard as everybody heard it land.
Annie swallowed around the knot in her throat and pulled herself out of Pearlineās hold. For a moment Pearline tightened her fingers like she thought Annie might do something else, but Annie only shook her head and stepped toward Isoo. The movement made several people pause, including Mike, who immediately stepped halfway in front of his cousin like he didnāt trust this day to stop being stupid on its own. Annie could not blame him. She barely trusted herself.
āIām sorry,ā she said, and the words felt too small for the amount of damage sitting around them.
Isoo blinked at her like he had not expected to be included in her regret. āFor what?ā
Annie almost laughed, but the sound would have come out wrong, so she looked down instead. āFor pullinā you into this. For askinā you to take me away from here when I knew exactly what I was doinā.ā Her voice thinned slightly on the last part because saying it out loud made it real in a way thinking it had not. āYou aināt deserve to get hit because I was tryinā to make him mad.ā
Mike made a sound under his breath that sounded suspiciously like agreement, but Isoo lifted a hand before he could start. There was still irritation in his face, and there shouldāve been, but there was also enough understanding to make Annie feel worse. āYeah,ā he said after a moment, rubbing his jaw again. āYou kinda did put me in the middle of the shit.ā
āI know.ā Annie nodded, blinking back tears she was tired of shedding in public. āAnd Iām sorry.ā
Isoo looked past her toward the side of the house where Stack had taken Smoke, then back at her. āYou good?ā
That almost broke her. It wasnāt because she was good, it was because Isoo asking after taking a punch from the man she had actually been trying to hurt made her feel about two inches tall. āNo,ā she admitted, barely above a whisper. āBut that still wasnāt fair to you.ā
Behind her, Aunt Cheryl gave a low hum that said she approved of the apology but not nearly enough to be finished with Annie.Ā
That sound alone made Annieās shoulders drop. She knew what was coming before she turned around. Aunt Cheryl had moved closer, Aunt Max and Geneva with her, and Pearline stood slightly behind them with her arms crossed tight against her chest and dried tears still on her face. The four of them together looked less like comfort and more like judgment with earrings on.
Before Aunt Cheryl could speak, movement near the driveway caught Annieās attention. Jada was standing beside her car with her keys in one hand and her purse tucked beneath her arm.Ā
For a minute she simply stood there, looking towards Annie with an expression Annie couldnāt fully read. Not smug, angry or defeated exactly. Just tired in a way that made Annieās own anger toward her feel suddenly old and useless.Ā
Their eyes met across the yard, and neither woman said anything. There was too much history and not enough relationship for words to do anything helpful. Jada gave the smallest nod, not a forgiveness or friendship nod, but a nod of acknowledgment. She then opened her car door and left without turning the moment into anything bigger than it needed to be.
Mary, unfortunately, was not nearly as graceful.
āI just wanna sayāā
The collective groan that rose around the yard cut her off quickly.
Pearline laughed. The sound held no amusement whatsoever.
āNo.ā
Mary blinked. āNo?ā
āNo.ā The exhaustion in Pearlineās voice somehow made the word sharper.
For one stunned moment she simply stared at Mary. The woman had spent the entire afternoon looking uncomfortable, defensive, confused, and mildly offended depending on who happened to be talking to her. Right now she looked all four at once.
Mary folded her arms. āI was just tryna help.ā
That made Pearline laugh again.
This time several people looked over.
āHelp who?ā
āAnnie.ā
āBy doinā what?ā Pearline asked. āHaving Jada show up so you could embarrass Annie?ā
Mary opened her mouth. Closed it. Then shrugged. āHow was I supposed to know she didnāt know about Jada?ā
Pearline stared at her for a long moment. The anger sheād been carrying around shifted into something else.Ā
Disbelief maybe.
Because that answer wouldāve meant a lot more if Mary hadnāt spent years inserting herself into situations that had absolutely nothing to do with her.
āFunny.ā
Mary frowned. āWhatās funny?ā
āYou suddenly worried about other peopleās feelings besides your own.ā
A few people nearby winced.
Maryās expression hardened immediately. āOh, here we go.ā
āYeah. Letās go.ā Pearline folded her arms across her chest. āYou knew Stack and I was tryinā to work on our shit.ā
The tension in the yard changed, because now they werenāt talking about Annie and Smoke anymore. Now they were talking about something else.
Mary rolled her eyes. āPearlineāā
āNo.ā
The answer came quick.
Firm.
āYou knew.ā
Mary looked away briefly.
Pearline shook her head. āI knew Stack had a reputation. Shit, the whole county knew Stack had a reputation.ā
That earned a snort from somewhere behind her.
Probably Cornbread.
She ignored it. āI knew what I was signinā up for. I knew me and him wasnāt together.ā Her eyes settled on Mary. āBut you knew too.ā
Maryās jaw tightened.
The silence stretched just long enough for everybody to understand what Pearline was really saying. Mary didnāt owe her loyalty nor did she steal anything.
But Mary knew and still did it anyway.
Movement near the side of the house pulled several heads around.
Stack had reappeared.
He walked back into the yard from the direction heād taken Smoke, hands shoved into his pockets and irritation written plainly across his face. One look at the group gathered around Mary and Pearline told him exactly where the conversation had gone while he was gone.
Unfortunately for him, when Pearline saw him, her eyes narrowed.
āHere come Satan himself.ā
Stack sighed immediately. āMaaaannn.ā
Mary looked relieved to see him. Pearline looked anything but.Ā
Stack stopped a few feet away. āWhat happened now?ā
Pearline pointed at Mary. Then pointed at him. Then pointed back at Mary. The gesture somehow communicated an entire argument without requiring a single additional word.
Stack understood every bit of it.
Unfortunately.
Mary looked toward Stack as though he might somehow rescue her from the argument. āTell her.ā
The request earned a sharp laugh from Pearline. āTell me what?ā
Mary threw her hands into the air, visibly frustrated by the fact that nobody seemed interested in helping her case. āThat yāall wasnāt even together when Stack and I hooked up.ā
From where Annie stood, she watched something flicker across Pearlineās face. It didnāt look like anger. Not exactly. More like exhaustion. The kind that came from having the same conversation too many times with somebody determined not to understand it.
The problem had never been whether Mary and Stack were technically together.Ā
Everybody knew they werenāt.
That wasnāt the point.
Apparently Stack had finally reached the same conclusion.
āShe know that.ā
Mary frowned immediately. āThen why she actinā likeāā
āBecause that aināt what she mad about.ā
The interruption landed hard enough to stop her.
Annie watched Mary blink. Then stare. Then look at Stack like heād suddenly switched sides in the middle of the game.
Stack sighed and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. The gesture reminded Annie of Elijah. Not because they looked alike. It was the way both brothers seemed to reach for their necks whenever they were about to say something they didnāt particularly want to say.
āThe point aināt whether me and her was together.ā
Mary folded her arms. āThen what is it?ā
Stack looked directly at her. āThe point is you knew me and Pearline was tryna figure somethinā out.ā
The yard seemed to settle around the statement. Enough for Annie to see Maryās expression change, and to see Pearline stop looking angry and start looking hurt. Enough for everybody listening to understand exactly what Stack meant.
Mary opened her mouth as if she intended to argue. Nothing came out.
Stack nodded once. āAnd so did I,ā he added quietly. āAnd I still did it anyway.ā
That seemed to surprise everybody.
Including Pearline.
The admission lingered in the air longer than Annie expected. For most of the afternoon people had been defending themselves. Explaining themselves. Finding ways to make their mistakes belong to somebody else. Stackās words carried none of that. No excuses or an attempt to soften the edges.
He owned it.
Annie watched Pearline look away first. Whatever answer she had been expecting from him clearly wasnāt that one.
Stackās attention followed her immediately. āPea.ā
Pearlineās eyes found him almost against her will. āWhat?ā
The answer came sharp enough to draw a few smiles from the people standing nearby.
Stack accepted it without complaint. āYou right.ā His jaw tightened briefly before he continued. āWe wasnāt together.ā
Pearline rolled her eyes so hard Annie almost laughed. āStack.ā
āLet me finish.ā
Pearline crossed her arms. The look she gave him suggested she was considering several forms of violence.
Still, she stayed quiet.
Stack took a slow breath. āWe wasnāt together,ā he repeated. āBut I knew how you felt.ā
Something changed in Pearlineās face. Small. Quick. Easy to miss if Annie hadnāt been watching.
The crowd seemed to fade away. For one brief moment it looked like only the two of them existed.
āAnd if Iām beinā honest,ā Stack continued, āI knew how I felt too.ā
The confession seemed to make him uncomfortable almost immediately.
Good. Annie thought he deserved it.
Stack shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced toward the ground before looking back at Pearline. āI shouldāve never did it.ā
The words came rougher now.Ā
Real.
āIām sorry I hurt you.ā
The entire yard seemed to pause, because Stack rarely apologized. Not without being forced.
Pearline stared at him for so long Annie started wondering if she intended to leave him hanging.
Then she shook her head. āYou really practiced that and still sounded stupid.ā
The laugh that escaped Aunt Max came out so suddenly she nearly choked on her drink.
A few other people joined in.
Even Stack smiled.Ā
Briefly.
āProbably.ā
āDefinitely.ā
That earned another round of laughter. Some of the tension that had been suffocating the yard all afternoon finally loosened. Not completely. There were still too many wounds walking around for that. But enough for people to breathe again.
Annie smiled despite herself.
Pearline was making a joke out of it because that was easier than standing in the middle of a cookout and admitting sheād been waiting to hear those words for months.
But Annie knew what she was really saying.
I heard you.
Iām still mad.
But I heard you.
Aunt Max pointed immediately. āGood. We done here.ā
Several heads turned toward her.
She pointed directly at Pearline next. āAnd stop cussinā.ā
Pearline stared at her. āI only said one bad word.ā
āThat was enough.ā
A few people laughed.
Including Pearline.
Finally.
Aunt Cheryl, who had spent most of the exchange watching everybody with the patience of a woman entirely too old for the foolishness surrounding her, pushed herself away from the grill and dusted her hands together.
āAlright.ā
The single word cut through every conversation happening nearby.
People stopped talking.
Aunt Cheryl pointed directly at Mary. āMary, go on home.ā
Mary blinked and pointed at herself. āMe?ā
āYes, you.ā Aunt Cherylās expression never changed. āTake your pale ass home before you āaccidentallyā ruin somebody elseās relationship.ā
The yard erupted. Even Uncle Lewis laughed.
Mary looked genuinely offended. āEverybody actinā like Iām the reason all this happened.ā
The gasp that left Pearlineās mouth was so dramatic Annie actually turned toward her.
āOh, this bitchāā
āPEA.ā
āI know!ā
Pearline threw her hands into the air.
āI know!ā
Unfortunately, Mary kept talking. āLike I got magical powers or somethinā.ā
Annie saw Pearline start forward before she fully committed to it. She also saw Stack recognize the danger immediately.
āDonāt.ā
āIām not.ā
āPearline.ā
āIām not!ā
She absolutely was.
As soon as she took another step, Stack wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her backward.
Pearlineās protest echoed across the yard. āLET ME GO.ā
āNo.ā
āJust one.ā
āNo.ā
āStack.ā
āNo.ā
The entire exchange happened so fast Annie barely had time to process it. Pearline twisted in his grip and pointed toward Mary, who had stopped beside her car to watch the chaos sheād created.
āPLEASE LET ME FIGHT HER.ā
The request sent half the yard into laughter. Aunt Max bent over so suddenly Annie worried she might actually fall.
Mary looked offended. āFight me for what?ā
Pearline pointed harder. āTHAT.ā
Stack dropped his forehead against Pearlineās shoulder because he was laughing too hard to stay upright.
āJust one punch,ā Pearline begged. āOne slap. Somethinā.ā
āAbsolutely not.ā
āPlease.ā
āNo.ā
āPlease.ā
āPea.ā
She groaned loudly. āThis is why women be choosinā violence.ā
Aunt Cheryl closed her eyes. āLord.ā
Before Pearline could argue again, Geneva spoke up from behind them.
āGo on.ā
The yard went quiet.
Pearline blinked. āā¦What?ā
Geneva pointed toward Maryās car. āMy auntie said go.ā
Everyone watched Geneva, waiting to see what she would do next. Even Stack lifted his head.
Geneva folded her arms. āEverybody else wanna be mature about this shit, coddling this ho. But Iām ābout to slap this bitch if she donāt get the fuck on.ā
The entire yard erupted.
Aunt Max nearly folded in half laughing.
Mary looked horrified and glanced around the yard as though searching for a single ally.
Nobody volunteered.
Not one person.
āWhatever, Iām outta here.ā She exclaimed as she turned on her heels and left.
āDrive safe, ho,ā Geneva called.
The laughter got louder.
Even Annie found herself smiling despite everything.
By the time Mary finally climbed into her car and drove away, the yard felt lighter than it had all afternoon.Ā
Aunt Cheryl stared off into the yard a little while longer before looking back at Annie. āNow you. Come inside.ā
Annie wanted to argue. Wanted to say she was grown, that she didnāt need to be summoned like a child, that she had already been embarrassed enough for one afternoon. But Aunt Cherylās tone left no room for any of that. And more than anything, Annie was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of crying. Tired of standing in the yard while everybody looked at her like they had watched her come apart and were now trying to decide how much of her could be put back together before dinner.
The kitchen felt cooler than the yard, but not any easier to breathe in. Annie sat at Aunt Cherylās table with a glass of water she had not asked for and couldnāt make herself drink. Pearline sat across from her, still quiet in that dangerous way that meant the hurt hadnāt gone anywhere. Geneva leaned against the counter with her arms folded, soft-eyed but not soft enough to let Annie hide. Aunt Max stood near the stove, shaking her head every few seconds like she was replaying the whole scene and finding new foolishness each time. Aunt Cheryl remained standing at the head of the table, which somehow made Annie feel even more like she had been called into the principalās office.
For a while nobody said anything. That was worse than yelling. Annie stared into the water and watched the surface tremble slightly every time her fingers brushed the glass. The tequila had left her with a warm, dull ache behind her eyes, but the buzz was fading fast enough to be cruel. Without it, every choice she had made in the last hour stood in front of her with perfect clarity.
Aunt Cheryl finally sighed. āBaby, I love you. I do. But you acted a damn fool out there.ā
Annie closed her eyes.
āAnd before you start,ā Aunt Max added, pointing at her, āyes, Smoke acted a fool too. We aināt takinā sides and he aināt sittinā at this table right now. You are.ā
That made Geneva glance down, but she didnāt disagree.
Annie wiped at her cheek, even though there were no fresh tears there yet. āI know.ā
āNo,ā Pearline said quietly. āI donāt think you do.ā
Annie looked at her and the guilt from upstairs came back so quickly it nearly stole her breath. Pearlineās face was still tender from everything Annie had thrown at her. Not physically, but emotionally. The words had landed. Annie could see that now. She had wanted Pearline to hurt because she had been hurting, and that thought sat inside her like something rotten.
āIām sorry,ā Annie said.
Pearline looked away, pressing her lips together. āI know you are.ā
āI shouldnāt have said all that to you.ā
āNah, you shouldnāt have.ā Pearlineās voice remained even, which somehow made it worse. āAnd I shouldnāt have kept what I knew from you. Both can be true.ā
Annie nodded, but Pearline was not finished.
āYou hurt me, Annie. I get why you was mad. I do. But you looked at me like I brought you down here to humiliate you on purpose.ā Pearlineās voice cracked slightly, and she swallowed before continuing. āI was wrong. I shouldāve told you from the minute I saw him with Jada. But I wasnāt tryinā to make you look stupid. I was tryinā to protect some little piece of hope because I knew you still had it, and I knew he did too.ā
The kitchen went quiet again.
Annie stared at her hands.
Geneva moved from the counter and sat beside her, close enough that her knee brushed Annieās. āThatās the part you keep missinā. You keep talkinā like you was the only one everybody could see hurtinā. But we saw him too.ā
Annieās throat tightened.
Genevaās voice softened. āYou really didnāt know, did you?ā
Annie shook her head, and this time the tears came with no fight left behind them. āNo.ā
Aunt Max huffed, not unkindly. āChile, that boy loved you so loud for somebody who barely opened his mouth.ā
Despite herself, Pearline let out a broken little laugh. Geneva smiled sadly.Ā
Aunt Cheryl didnāt smile at all.
āHe loved you,ā Aunt Cheryl said. āAnd from what I just saw out there, he still do. But love aināt worth much if all yāall do is use it to hurt each other.ā
That one landed deep.
Annie covered her mouth with one hand, trying to hold something in that was already breaking loose. She had spent eight years telling herself Elijah hadnāt loved her enough to come after her, only to find out he had been reaching in every way he knew how. Letters. Calls. Cards. A mixtape. All these pieces she had not seen or had not understood, scattered behind them like evidence from a life neither of them had been able to explain.Ā
And even after learning all of that, even after hearing him say love in the present tense, she had still found a way to pick up the sharpest thing near her and swing.
Aunt Cheryl pulled out the chair across from Annie and sat down at last. That scared Annie more than when she had been standing. āYou spent eight years waitinā on that boy to come get you,ā she said, her voice quieter now. āThatās what you told him out there. You waited for him to show up, say the right thing, fight for you the right way, know what you needed without you ever havinā to say it plain.ā
Annie could not look away from her.
āBut what if itās your turn now?ā Aunt Cheryl asked. āWhat if the thing you been waitinā on him to do is the thing you gotta do for him?ā
The words moved through Annie slowly, then all at once.
Her chair scraped against the floor before she fully realized she had stood. Pearline looked up, and something like relief crossed her face. Genevaās hand fell away from Annieās arm as though she had known this was coming. Aunt Max stepped aside before Annie even reached the doorway.
āGo,ā Pearline said.
Annie did.
She moved through the living room with her heart pounding so hard it made her chest hurt. The sounds of the cookout rushed back the moment she opened the front door, humid evening air wrapping around her as she stepped onto the porch. A few people looked over. Someone called her name. She didnāt stop. She took the steps too fast, nearly stumbled at the bottom, caught herself, and kept going across the yard, past the folding tables, past the abandoned plates, past Mike and Isoo sitting near the cooler.
She ran because walking felt impossible.
The driveway seemed longer than it had earlier. The road beyond it stretched under the fading Mississippi sun, quiet except for the distant hum of cicadas and the sound of her own breathing. Annie reached the edge of the gravel and looked both ways, searching for his truck, for taillights, for dust lifting off the road, for any sign that she had not waited too long this time.
There was nothing.
No truck.
No Elijah.
Only the empty road stretching ahead of her, wide and indifferent.
Annie stood there breathing hard, one hand pressed to her chest as the truth settled over her with a cruelty she had earned.Ā
For eight years she had waited for Elijah to come after her. For eight years she had told herself that if he loved her enough, he would find a way to show up.
Now she had finally gone after him.
And he was already gone.
End Note: I wanted to get this out to y'all as soon as possible, because the next chapter is going to take me some time. It will be HEAVY Smoke, possibly all Smoke. So I have to get my mind right to get into his mind as he listens to Annie's mixtape. šæš„¹ But let me know what you think about this chapter.
Annie, an 18-year-old from New Orleans, moves to Clarksdale with dreams of building a life all her own. There she meets Smoke, a 21-year-old war veteran with a dangerous reputation. What grows between them is sweet, sticky, and Southernā a smoldering love set against a world of bootlegging, Hoodoo, and blues.
Chapter 5
Contains: Explicit language, slow-burn/build romance, church respectability politics
Word Count: 13.3k
Masterlist
The train came to a stop with a sharp, metallic squeal. The Pullman porters stepped off first, men in tailored black uniforms and matching hats, setting up steps and opening cargo latches on the sides of the train cars. Cicadas buzzed, their screeching lullaby heard all the way from the trees that loomed over the tracks at the isolated train stop, just an hour outside of the busy Y & M.V. depot in Clarksdale. There were no musicians or folks hanging around here, just a small clapboard-sided building with a segregated ticket window, a single employee, and a dilapidated outhouse.Ā
The conductor stepped off the train to relieve himself. The comptroller made himself comfortable in the crew cabin while the station master strolled out of the ticket office, whistling and swinging his pocket watch in one hand. Watching. Waiting.Ā Ā
One of the porters, a 19-year-old kid from Clarksdale slipped out from the back of the freight car and spotted Stack whose truck sat idling by a small loading dock just beyond the tracks that was hidden well by the tall blades of pale green prairie grass fluttering in the autumn breeze.Ā
Stack stood at the back of his truck like sin dressed in silk. He wore a sharp suit, a cream colored silk shirt underneath with a double chain hanging from his neck. Satin pocket square. Double holster secured just above his waist. He held a lighter in one hand and an unlit cigarette in the other. His cologne was strongā something clean with a hint of clove, the spice lingering in the air around him.Ā
He stood by closely while crates were loaded into the back of his truck one by one, the dry wood creaking underneath the weight of what was inside. Black newspapersāChicago Defender, Voice of the Negro, Indianapolis Freeman, New York Amsterdam Newsāpublications that the sheriff didn't like distributed around Clarksdale because they told the truth. Bottles of liquorārum, whiskey, gināall packed tight and padded up tighter so they wouldnāt clink together on the backroads, and some ammunition and military-grade firearms from up north. All packed under and between pounds of heavy textiles.Ā
Another porter was helping passengers off the forward cabins when he caught a glimpse of Stack and his coworker in the distance. He was younger than other porters, a bit more wide-eyed and curious. He strolled to the back, dust kicking off his boots. He leaned on the edge of the freight car flipping a coin between his fingers.
āNeed somethinā?ā Stack asked, lighting his cigarette. He raised a brow, taking a deep pull and letting the smoke blow towards him.Ā
The second porter shook his head, āNo.āĀ
āWell, you can help then,ā Stack shot back, holding up a crisp one dollar bill between his index and middle finger.Ā
The second porter went to grab it but he pulled his hand back, taking another drag of his cigarette. āYou know what this mean, right?ā he asked, holding the bill up again.
āNo, sir.ā
āIt means you aināt hear nothinā and you aināt see nothinā ā understand?āĀ
āYes, sir.āĀ
āYou heard of the SmokeStack twins?ā
āYes, sir,ā the second porter said again.
āIām Stack.āĀ
He put his hand on his hip to pull his suit jacket back, revealing the pistol sitting in its holster. The gesture made the kid straighten up where he stood. Stack looked him over thoroughly. He was sweating, no doubt caused by the heat and his stiff uniform and not nervousness. Stackās gaze drifted over to the other porter who reassured him with a nod. He slowly lowered his hand, allowing the kid to take the bill from his hand.
Stack looked around while the crates were loaded. The station master lingered on the platform a moment, his gaze drifting over to Stackās truck. He met his eyes, holding him there for just a moment. Stack didnāt flinch, in fact he flashed him a smile. A wide one at that. All golds, gums, and Southern charm. The station master turned on his heel back to his office just as the conductor walked back to the engine room none the wiser.Ā
Stackās smile dropped instantly once he turned around.Ā āYāall almost done?ā
āThis the last one.ā
āGood,ā he said, holding out a two dollar bill. āGot a tight schedule today. Got places to be.ā He pulled out the handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the sweat from his forehead.Ā
When the porters were done loading, they covered the back of his truck with a loose tarp and tied the ropes down tight. Stack straightened his suit jacket out and slinked into his car before peeling out of the train station and making the short journey back to Clarksdale.
First stop was the houses by the swamp. The ones with leaning porches and rotting clapboard siding that he had to walk on foot down muddy dirt paths to reach. Then the shacks on the plantations and the churches there. After that, he moved into the town. He stopped by the Chowās, the cash store, the jukes, the barbershop, the drug store, the undertaker, the library, the Colored Knights of Pythias lodge and the gentlemanās supper club. The last stop was Luellaās Dressing Room to drop off the textiles.Ā
By the time he left town and headed home he only had his and Miss Dellaās crates left, but the stack of money in his coat pocket had quadrupled in size. When he got back to the house, all that was left was Miss Dellaās crate and a few others for the folks who would have to come find him themselvesāthe farmers, the planters, and folks from the smaller, surrounding counties.
Smokeās truck was gone when Stack pulled up to the house, the modest cottage was quiet when he stepped inside. The spice of the smothered neckbones from lunch earlier still stuck to the walls. The meal that Smoke took the time to cook earlier that day when he just so happened to drop by the house and find little Miss Annie sitting at their table.Ā
Hmm.Ā
After lighting some incense and propping open a few windows, he walked out through the back of the house to the still that was partially hidden by the tree line. He checked the coil, stoked the fire, made sure the lid was set, and walked back into the house. He poured himself a drink, pulled out his ledger from the bookshelf and his stacks of cash and did what he did best. He started counting.
The front windows of Miss Dellaās caught what little remained of the fading sun. A small glimmer of light reflected off the thick glass windows, piercing through the windshield of Smokeās truck, cutting right through the passenger seat cushion. He put the car in reverse, watching the same sliver of light cut through the space he left behind as he backed out of the narrow alleyway, before thinning out completely.Ā
It wasnāt just the kiss that sat on his mind.Ā
It was the breath before.Ā
The hesitation.Ā
The way her lips lingered on his skin for a moment longer. The softness against his stubble.Ā
The single bead of sweat that trickled down between her cleavage.Ā
The crinkle in her bottom lip when she pulled it between her teeth.Ā
The way her eyes flicked up at him.
The way she climbed the porch stairs with that slow, hypnotizing swing of her hips that she probably didnāt even realize she was doing. He licked his bottom lip and shook his head trying to shake the thought of it. He couldnāt.Ā
Night spread across the sky as Smoke drove the short distance to his home in the Mississippi countryside. The sound of swamp frogs and the rotting, earthy, iron-tang of the Sunflower River reached in through his open windows like overgrowth claiming something abandoned.
When he reached his house, he cut the engine, the headlights of his truck blinking off with a cooling tick. The surrounding land went dark. Not the same type of darkness that cloaked the town with its street lights and candles in the window to soften the edges of night. The light from their porch lantern was nearly swallowed by the depth of pitch blackness that laid claim to the woods after the sun set.Ā
He kept the windows down. Reaching behind his ear, he brought the cigarette to his mouth. The lighter flickered to life. Open flame dancing in the darkness. He let the ember burn bright before he tapped the excess off on the outside of his truck door. He took a deep inhale of the tobacco blend Bo got him, then exhaled through his nose. He let his head fall back into the headrest and closed his eyes.Ā
When Smoke stepped through the door, Stack was still up. He found him at the kitchen table, sleeves rolled, two fingers of something brown on the table next to him. A red leather-bound ledger was spread open beside a candle burning low while he counted a stack of bills, writing numbers down in between.Ā
āStation?ā Smoke asked, toeing his boots off at the door.Ā
Stack counted each bill meticulously, wetting his thumb in between. āClean,ā he replied quickly.
āStops?ā
He stopped to write down a number in the ledger, āSmooth.āĀ
Smoke crossed the room, sinking into the couch. āWho brought it in?āĀ
āSame kid. Jones.ā
Smoke nodded once. āAnyone watchinā?āĀ
āAnother kid looked curious,ā Stack replied, nodding toward the bookshelf where stacks of crates draped in thick cloth sat on the floor. āAināt look stupid though.ā
āCurious turn into brave real quick, when a white man start askinā questions.ā
Stack kissed his teeth, āAlready handled it.ā He finished his count, shuffled the money together neatly, and wrapped them in a rubber band. Then he stood, moving towards the back of the house to their stash. āAināt no problem.āĀ
Smoke crossed the room to the backshelf and grabbed the newspaper on top. He flipped through the pages as he walked back to the couch, relaxing back with a sigh.Ā
Stack walked back in the room, swiping the glass of whiskey from the kitchen table and sitting across from Smoke in a straight back chair.Ā
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, brown liquid catching the dim light in the room, a sly smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.Ā
He was ready to give his brother shit.
About Annie.Ā
About whatever happened while she was there.Ā
The remark was right on the tip of his tongue.
Then something made him pause, the glass of whiskey in his hand stopping mid-air.Ā
Silence sat between them for a moment. Silence that made Stackās eyes narrow.
He looked at his brother. Really looked at him, his eyes sweeping over him thoroughly like he was checking for injuries after a fight.Ā
Thatās when he noticed his jaw.
It wasnāt clenched.Ā
And his shoulders.
They werenāt wound up tight with tension like they always were.
Even the permanent crease that usually sat above his brow was softened.
He lookedā¦relaxed.Ā
āYou good?ā He asked. His voice wasnāt soft, but the usual sarcasm it held wasnāt there.
āIām straight,ā he replied. He flipped the newspaper to the next page.
Stack raised an eyebrow. There was another beat of silence. This one was loud.
Smoke finally looked up, locking eyes with his twin.Ā
A second passed. Then two. Then he looked back down at the paper, and flipped to the next page.Ā
Stackās smirk didnāt just returnā it widened slowly like sunrise. It was a long, mischievous thing, one that showed off the gold on the side of his mouth.
He stood abruptly, the chair legs scraping against the floor, taking the rest of the whiskey to the head, and letting the liquid trickle smoothly down his throat until he could feel the burn everywhere like a fire lit deep in his chest.Ā
Annie stood in the doorway as the warmth of the house wrapped around her. It was a cozy space. Candles and oil lamps burned openly, their light tracing the shadows of the lodgers sitting in the front room. She took her boots off at the door, immediately dropping her basket and purse.
Her lips still tingled from where she kissed him. The taste of his skin lingered on her lips longer than the time it took to do it. She didnāt even mean to. It just happenedā her body reacting before her mind could reel it back in.
The smell of molasses and whiskey brought her back into the room where the low hum of conversation hung in the air, the aroma of cornbread sitting heavy, and underneath it all, something slow-cooked and personal. She walked towards the warmth emanatingāin both smell and feelingāfrom the kitchen.
āAnd I told him straight up,ā she heard a man say, his voice drifting easily through the air like a Sunday morning. He leaned back into his chair casually, the wood groaning under his weight. āFaith aināt always loud. Sometimes it sit quiet, waitinā on folks to catch up.āĀ
Aunt Della hummed softly from across the table, hands laced around a cup of something.Ā Deep violet in color with a ruby red undertone, the drink shimmered in the kitchen, the hint of gold from its honey infusion catching the dim light.Ā
The man leaned back where he sat, his head tilted towards the front door. His eyes shifted sharply at her entry, landing on Annie like heād sensed the exact moment sheād stepped through the door.Ā
āThis hereās Reverend Carter. Reverend Carter, this hereās my great-niece. Annie.āĀ
He tipped his hat. He wore a thin silver band with a figurehead on his middle finger that he rubbed slowly with his thumb. āCall me Carter.āĀ
āNice to meet you, Carter.āĀ
Something sparked there. Not romance. Not attraction. Not really.
Familiarity. A deep one. The kind that made her gut twist.Ā
Annie walked over to the wash basin and dipped her hands. She grabbed the bar of lye soap to create a small lather, moving the suds over her knuckles and under her fingernails. She felt the warm familiar tail of Felix wrapping around her ankle, his purring a calming vibration against her ankle.Ā
Supper was a warm mix of familiar and new faces, and light conversation. Every so often, Aunt Dellaās eyes landed on Annie.Ā
āHow was your day, baby?āĀ
Annie nodded between bites. āIt was good. Lots of roots to sort through.ā
āHmm,ā she hummed, passing the cornbread down the table.Ā
āHeard a car pull off when you came in.āĀ
āYeah, Smoke dropped me off,ā she replied quickly, forking collard greens into her mouth. She felt her auntās eyes on her. āHe was just beinā nice.āĀ
āMmmhmm,ā Aunt Della replied sharply, but she couldnāt hide the grin that pulled at the corner of her lips.Ā
Neither could Annie.Ā
Supper ended quietly and while some of the lodgers played cards in the front room, Annie made her way to the bathtub to wash up quickly before bed.Ā
Freshly bathed, hair oiled, and belly full, she said her good nights to Aunt Della and made her way to the staircase. It was a rugged, narrow thing, with steps that creaked loudly no matter how light you were on your feet. She shut the door to her bedroom and plopped on the bed. She quickly drifted off into a satisfied sleep, looking forward to what the next day would bring.Ā
Sunday morning.Ā
It arrived like it was dressed in white.Ā
Not the actual color whiteābut the respectability of it all, polished to a shine and worn proudly, like spiritual armor. Complete with neatly pressed linen, fancy shoes, and gloves folded in careful hands, this part of the morning held its own ritual.
Annie stood in front of the mirror in Aunt Dellaās room while she pinned the last stubborn piece of her hat in place. It was a honey-colored straw-woven hat with faded blue grosgrain ribbon circling the crown that tied into a soft bow on the right side. A singular silk flower was stitched near the ribbon, small enough to feel sweet. The brim of the hat curved gently at the edges, casting a soft shadow over her eyes. Her hair underneath it was pinned carefully in a low bun at the nape of her neck with two loose curls on each side to frame her face.Ā
āHold still.ā
āI am,ā Annie replied, although she was clearly fidgeting.
āNo you aināt,ā Aunt Della said, playfully smacking the side of her arm.
Annie huffed softly through her nose but clasped her hands in front of her while Aunt Della stepped back to inspect her work.
āJust beautiful,ā she breathed.
Annie wore a pale lavender Sunday dress with a lace collar, the cotton light enough for the Mississippi heat that still lingered at the edges of early October. It was clean and proper, the hem falling modestly just below her knees. Her ileke beads were pressed into the skin of her collarbone, tucked delicately under the dress. Her stockings stretched around her skin, her white gloves folded and resting beside her Bible on the bed. It was a modest oneā small and leather bound. The cover was worn down to the hide that peeked through at the edges with little strings from the binding sticking out at the spine. The pages were almost see-through from time and use, with little notes scribbled in the margins like a glimpse back in time. It had belonged to her great-grandmother, a gift she gave Annie before she passed away.
āWait,ā Aunt Della said, stepping forward again to fuss with the collar of her dress once more. She exhaled, then nodded. āOkay. There. You look just darlinā.ā
āThank you,ā Annie said, looking at herself fully in the mirror.Ā
Aunt Della turned, smoothing the front of her own cream-colored dress, her church hat already perched high and proud like it had seniority over everybody in town.
āYou got your letter?ā
āOh!ā Annie exclaimed, already retreating to her room. āThank you. Canāt forget that.ā
āMhmm. Get it, and Iāll meet you on the porch.āĀ
Outside the town was already moving.
Rickety wagons, the occasional Model-T, and a sea of people moved along the streets. Church folk spilled onto the sidewalks in twos and threes, women balancing hats and children, men in suspenders and polished shoes, all of them heading in the same direction like a pilgrimage. The air held the smell of wet grass, pressed hair, and somebodyās breakfast frying three doors down.Ā
The building sat at the edge of Fourth Street like a symbolā a mark of authority, tradition, and refuge for the Black community. First Baptist Missionary Church rose from the soil like something determined to be seen and impossible to miss. Dark red brick looked brighter against the morning light, wide front steps worn smooth by generations of Sunday shoes, and tall windows thrown open to let in the heat and the Holy Ghost. A giant steeple with a brass bell sat on the top like a punctuation mark, towering over the modest faded wood and clapboard businesses surrounding it.
Ushers in matching suits flung the doors open.Ā
Voices, laughter, and the sound of a tambourine rattling somewhere in the back spilled outside, the low hum rising like the heat.Ā
Aunt Della walked beside Annie with the ease of somebody who had been making this walk for most of her life. Annie kept pace, eyes forward even while she felt others burning holes through her. She held a pan of bread pudding sheād made the night before firmly in her grasp. It was snug in a glass pan, wrapped in a kitchen towel embroidered with daisies.Ā
Women stood beneath shade trees, letting their conversations bend just slightly as they passed.Ā
A pause too long.Ā
A glance held a second past politeness.Ā
One older woman leaned toward another, saying something behind the fan pressed to her mouth.Ā
Annie kept her face forward.Ā
This wasnāt New Orleans.Ā
New Orleans was loud, fast, easily distracted. People there noticed, then quickly moved on.Ā
Clarksdale noticed.Ā
And it remembered.
āSmile,ā Aunt Della murmured behind clenched teeth, without looking at her.Ā
Annie forced a smile. It wasnāt wide, her mouth parted just enough that Aunt Dellaās jaw unclenched.
At the church steps, greetings came easy.Ā
Aunt Della answered what she wanted and ignored what she didnāt, moving with a grace that commanded respect above all.Ā
Annie stood beside her, shaking hands that came out to greet hers, nodding politely as she let herself be looked over like produce at a market.Ā
Eyes scanned her over, some genuine, some judgemental, all quietly judging the young woman in front of them.Ā
Was she pretty enough?Ā
Proper enough?Ā
Was she a perfect puzzle piece or a square trying to fit into a circle?
āCome on now, letās get inside,ā Aunt Della said, leading her from the steps.Ā
The back room of the church felt like a different world than the sanctuary. The sanctuary was all pressed linen and polished shoes. But this room was a space where women could laugh loudly and speak freely without too much judgment. The area was small, crowded, and smelled like perfume, powder, and wood polish.Ā
Annie stepped in carefully with the pan of bread pudding balanced in both hands, the dish still warm through the towel wrapped around it.Ā
āSet it there, baby,ā Aunt Della said, as she moved near the long prep table arranging serving spoons like she was preparing for battle instead of Sunday service. āAnd if Miss Bernice asks, no, you did not use rum.ā
āBut I did,ā Annie chimed in.Ā
āThen lie.āĀ
That earned a quiet laugh from somewhere close. Annie turned to her right. There, three young women stood near the side table, church gloves and hats firmly in place.Ā
One leaned against the wall. She was pretty and looked sharp. Her dark green dress was pressed neat, her eyes bright with the kind of trouble that wore makeup.Ā
āWell,ā she said. āIs this her?āĀ
Annie blinked. āIām sorry?ā
The girl folded her arms. āEverybody been talkinā about Miss Dellaās Louisiana niece like you descended from heaven in stockings.ā
One of the other girls sighed loudly, āGigi.āĀ
āWhat?ā
Annie fought back a smile. āItās me,ā she said, setting the dish down where her aunt instructed her. āIn the flesh.āĀ
Gigi grinned. āOh, I like you already.āĀ
Beside her stood another girl, softer in the face but no less present, adjusting the cuff of one of her white lace gloves with the careful precision of somebody raised to know exactly how women were expected to be seen. Her wedding band caught the light when she reached for a serving spoon.
āIām Pearline,ā she said warmly. āIgnore her. She think beinā loud is her birthright.āĀ
āI aināt loud, I just donāt mumble like some quiet little church mouse,ā Gigi fired back. āIām GeorgiaāGigiāand that thereās Nellie.āĀ
She paused. āShe real quiet,ā she whispered loudly. āLike a little church mouse.ā
āI heard that,ā Nellie shot back.
āThat was the point, dumplinā.āĀ
Nellie stood closest to the long table, fixing church fans into a neat stack like the fate of the congregation relied on symmetry. āVery nice to meet you, Annie.āĀ
āNice to meet you too.ā
āSo,ā Gigi said, stalking towards Annie with a mischievous grin. āTell us all about New Orleans.ā
The sanctuary held heat differently. It trickled down from the corners of the vaulted ceiling, stretching across the congregation like morning dew. The air inside was thick with the scent of wood polish and old hymnals. Sweat and perfume. Talcum powder and fresh flowers near the pulpit trying their best to mask it all. Sunlight spilled through the stained-glass windows in long jewel-toned slants, catching dust in the air like holy hands.
Aunt Della moved them towards the middle pews, where women with strong perfume and tight lipped smiles greeted her with warmth only reserved for a woman like her. Annie followed behind, her eyes moving about the room subtly. Once to the left, then the right, then the back. She didnāt know why she expected him to be there. Maybe because church felt like the kind of place a town would require of a man like him. Maybe because after yesterday, some foolish part of her thought she might see him anywhere now. But Smoke wasnāt there, and neither was Stack. The absence sat with her longer than it should have, louder than his presence would have been.
She lowered herself into the pew, smoothing her skirt over her knees. Her Bible rested in her lap, her purse settling to her side.
Aunt Della opened her fan with a practiced snap. āYou alright?ā she asked, fanning herself.
Annie blinked. āYes, maāam.ā
Aunt Della gave her a look that said she didnāt fully believe that, but Sunday morning wasnāt the place for an interrogation.Ā
At the front of the church, Carter stood near the pulpit speaking quietly with Deacon Lewisāthe standing pastor. He wore a dark suit, pressed sharp, that same signet ring catching the light that poured in the windows whenever he lifted his hand. Even from across the sanctuary, something about him felt too familiar, and the unease from the night before crept through her like a tangible thing, making her frown where she sat.Ā
The organist struck a chord.Ā
Deacon Lewis raised his hands from where he stood at the pulpit, the room rising with them. The organ sounded again, the sound rising slow at first, then all at once. Voices layered over it, some young, some old, some skeptical, some certain. Aunt Della sang beside Annie in a clear alto that sounded older than the room itself, pitch perfect but haunting, like something ancient, and passed down came out without her trying.Ā
Annie stood perfectly still with her hymnal open in her hands, though her eyes barely touched the page. Her voice joined where it needed to, soft and practiced, but her attention kept drifting. To the strange feeling sitting just beneath her ribs like a second heartbeat. It felt both new and like a memory she hadnāt asked for.
The hymn ended in a rustle of old pages and the sound of bodies settling. Fans opened again like angel wings. A baby cried once and was swiftly carried outside.Ā
The deacon began the first prayerā¦
ā¦and just kept on going.Ā
He prayed long and loud enough to make up for every sin committed in Clarksdale that week.Ā
Heads bowed and amens sounded when the prayer finally came to an end, shoes shifted across loose floorboards trying to shake out sleeping limbs from standing in one place too long.Ā
Deacon Lewis used his handkerchief to dab his sweat pooling on his brow, the droplets beading in the creases of his forehead. āPlease be seated.ā
Linen and cotton whispered against the old wood pews that creaked under the weight of generations. Fans clacked open, their methodical flutter echoing against the walls of the sanctuary.Ā
Deacon Lewisās voice was like fire and brimstone, melodic and daunting all at once.Ā
āIāve been hearinā about a young preacher man,ā he started.Ā
A soft Mhmm! Came from the crowd.Ā
āHeard he brought out great crowds, white and Colored, SAINTS AND SINNERS, men and women, all stations of life, the merchant prince and sons of toil, for one of the greatest old time fire and Holy Ghost revivals ever witnessed in this country.āĀ
āAmen!ā
āWell, I found him. Brought him to the good town of Clarksdaleā¦to lead the most MIGHTY spiritual awakening this town will ever see.ā
More shouts from the crowd, a few stomps and tambourine jingles.Ā
āCan I get an amen?ā
āAMEN!ā
āPlease rise, for the esteemed reverend. Give him a hand.ā
The congregation erupted. Stomps, shouts, and hands flew up as Reverend Carter stepped forward with unhurried ease. He set his Bible down on the pulpit and let the room settle around him first, like his silence had its own authority.
āNow tell āem who you are,ā Deacon Lewis said, his voice booming from the side. āWhere you from.ā
Carter paused. āGood morninā, church.āĀ
āGood morninā Reverend!ā A wave of greetings met him in response.Ā
āMy name is Reverend Dr. Thelonius Carter. Born and raised in Houston, Texas.āĀ
Another wave of Hey Reverend Carterās and grunts of acknowledgement filled the air.
āGot ordained at the First Missionary Baptist Church in Handsboro,ā he continued.Ā
Aunt Dellaās fan slowed once.Ā
Then resumed.
At the pulpit, Carter opened his Bible, then smoothed the crease gently with his palm.Ā
āNow, I been told yāall feed a preacher real well in this town,ā he said, adjusting his cuffs. He rolled each side twice, slowly before he continued. āSo, if this sermon run a little long, just know Iām workinā for my supper.āĀ
Laughter moved through the room. Aunt Della smiled. So did Annie.
He rested one hand against the pulpit. āBut this morninā, I wanna talk about paths. Purpose.ā
The congregation stilled.Ā
Carter continued, voice smooth as river water. āNow, everybody in here like to talk about blessings. Everybody like to testify about what the Lord brought āem to. But folk get mighty quiet when it come time to speak on what He brought āemā¦through.āĀ
He paused dramatically.
A few congregation members hummed in agreement. A sharp āthatās rightā came from a church mother sitting on the stage next to Deacon Lewis.
āSee, purpose aināt always someā¦dramatic declaration.ā He waved his hands around for emphasis.Ā
āIt aināt always thunder and lightninā.ā
āTalk to āem!ā Someone shouted from deep in the pews.Ā
Sometimes itās like a regular olā Tuesday morninā, like a path you done walked a hundred times.ā
āUntil one day, it aināt the same path no āmo.āĀ
āUntil that pathā¦become a crossroads.ā
Annieās gloved fingers tightened around the Bible in her lap.Ā
He held a finger to his lips, his eyes darting around the congregation. āSometimes the Lord place a thing in your path,ā Carter kept preaching. āAnd your spirit know it before your mind catch up.ā
He grabbed the edge of the pulpit with both hands. āBut we stubborn creatures, aināt we?ā
Sounds of agreement came from the crowd.
āWe like proof. Permission. We like to pretend we aināt heard what was already said.ā
More scattered laughter flowed through the room, softer this time.Ā
Annieās eyes stayed in place. Forward. Not scanning the room. Fixed. On the pulpit. On Carter. On how he pulled the crowd in like he was bewitching them. How he used eye contact like a weapon. On how he knew exactly when to whisper and when to shout.Ā
Carter smiled faintly, turning to a page in his Bible.Ā
āBook of Jeremiah. Chapter six, verse sixteen.āĀ
Pages turned instantly. The shuffle of delicate paper fluttering against leather and the sound of clearing throats and quiet coughs made its way through the church. Carter stood, patiently waiting for the sound to settle.
āThus saith the Lordā say it with me.āĀ
The congregation joined in.Ā
āThus saith the Lord, stand ye in the ways, and see, and ask for the old paths, where is the good way, and walk therein.āĀ
He stopped, waited for the congregation voices to die out. Then continued, emphasising each word individually, his voice booming over the sound of the crowd. āAnd ye shall find rest for your souls.ā
His finger tapped once against the page as a round of grunts, hums, and amens filled the air.Ā
Carter looked up, holding up a hand. The congregation went quiet.Ā Ā
āOh, I aināt done,ā he teased, a slight smirk on his face.Ā
āFolk hear that and think it mean safe. Easy.āĀ
His eyes flicked around the room. āIt donāt,ā he said flatly.Ā
āVerse sixteen goes on to say,ā he started. āBut they said, we will not walk therein.āĀ
āThe right path will ask somethinā of you. Might cost you comfort. Might cost you pride. Might cost the version of you, you most committed to protectinā.āĀ
A soft murmur moved through the church.
Carter leaned forward slightly on the pulpit. āAnd some of yāall,ā he said, voice dropping lower. Gentler somehow. āSome of yāall already know exactly what path Iām talkinā about.āĀ
Silence fell over the crowd. Not an empty silence, but one that felt full. Knowing. One that felt less like preaching and more like being told something you didnāt want to admit. He let the silence sit. Let a smile spread on his face. Easy. Disarming.Ā
āBut Iām just a guest in this here church, and Miss Della already threatened me if I kept yāall too long, so Iāma leave the rest between yāall and the Lord.āĀ
The room finally broke. Laughter, a sound that felt like relief at the moment, echoed through the rafters. Carter stood at the pulpit, smile flashing across the sea of people like a man whoād done nothing at all.
Aunt Della leaned over just enough to murmur behind her fan, āThat man dangerous.ā
Annieās nose wrinkled. āHow come?āĀ
Aunt Dellaās fan snapped once, the crack echoing in the laughter that had begun to settle into an earned silence. āCuz he aināt preachinā. He prophesyinā.āĀ Ā
They stood for the final hymn. This one much shorter and softer than the first, like an exhale instead of a held breath. It let the sermon settle into the congregation. Let folks turn Reverend Carterās words over in their heads quietly while they sang, so they could decide which parts would stay with them and which parts they planned to leave in the sanctuary.Ā
Annie stood beside Aunt Della, voice light, eyes fixed on the hymnal, her fingers toying with the edge of her glove until the seam pressed into her thumb.Ā
The hymn ended. Benediction followed. Hands lifted. Heads bowed. And just like that, holiness settled into a regular old Sunday afternoon.
The sanctuary came alive in a rush. Children were letting out pent-up energy by weaving through pews. Women adjusted the pins that kept their hats secure. Men rolled their shoulders loose under their shirts like salvation itself weighed heavy on them.Ā
Aunt Della was pulled into conversation before the final amen had fully landed. A small crowd of women formed around her, laughing as they traded gossip back and forth. Annie smiled politely and took a step back to relieve herself from the haze of heavy perfume and pettiness. Her eyes moved around the sanctuary. Towards the sides, the front, the back room.Ā
No Smoke. Not that she expected him now. Service was over.Ā
Still.
The absence still sat there anyway.Ā
āLookinā for somebody?ā The voice came smooth beside her.Ā
Annie started to turn quickly, then slowed herself down. Carter stood there, hat in one hand, the other extended politely toward one of the church mothers getting up from her pew.Ā
āNo,ā Annie said too fast.Ā
One corner of his mouth moved. It wasnāt a smile, just a flicker of amusement. Or satisfaction. āMm.ā He let the silence sit between them just long enough for her to hear herself in it. Then he rescued her from it himself. āYou sing pretty.ā
Annie blinked, tilting her head. āYou couldnāt even hear me.āĀ
āI heard you. Loud and clear.ā
Annie let out the smallest laugh despite herself.Ā
āMy aunt say you talk too much,ā Annie blurted out. She folded her arms across her chest.
Carterās eyebrows lifted. āYour aunt is a wise woman. I been tryna tell people that all day.āĀ
āShe also say you dangerous,ā she added, immediately wishing sheād kept that remark to herself.
That made him smile fully, intrigued now. The silver teeth on the bottom row of his mouth gleamed in the light. āDid she now?ā
He adjusted his hat beneath his arm and leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping lower, but somehow gentler. āWhat you think?āĀ
āI think,ā Annie said carefully. āYou ask a lot of questions for somebody who already know the answers.āĀ
Carter looked down at his hand, pressing his thumb once to the face of his ring, then he looked up at Annie again.Ā
Aunt Dellaās voice cut across the room. āAnnie!ā
She turned on her heel. āExcuse me.ā
She crossed the room towards her aunt in a few long strides, feeling his gaze leave her slower than it should have. Aunt Della was gathering her gloves in one hand, her fan in the other. She was engaging in conversation with a woman in a butter yellow dress with a ruffled lace collar. āYou got that letter?ā
Annie half-jumped, reaching in her purse for the envelope. āOh! Yes.ā
āMiss Loretta works for the postal service. Her husband owns the Blackbird Cafe.ā
āNice to meet you, Miss Loretta,ā Annie said, eyes warm. She shook her hand before handing Loretta the letter and a coin for the postage. āCan you tell Mr. Hightower that Iād like to accept the position at the cafe? I can start tomorrow.ā
Loretta received her warmly, letting her land linger on hers for a moment. āIāll let him know. And Iāll make sure your letter gets back home.āĀ
āThank you,ā Annie said emphatically.Ā
Aunt Della took Annie, looping their arms through each other as she guided them to the churchās backyard.
Outside, the sun climbed higher. Brighter. More unforgiving. It pressed heat into the townās Sunday best where it lingered, creeping into the seams of collars and where made sweat slick underneath stockings. Men loosened their ties like Jesus was no longer watching now that church had let out, and children ran wild in their Sunday shoes, shamelessly staining the polished toes with grass and Mississippi mud.Ā
The backyard of the church was set up with tables neatly covered with lace tablecloths that had been passed down and mended neatly throughout the years. Dishes covered the tablesā fried chicken and fish hot off the grease under dish towels, deviled eggs dusted with paprika, macaroni and cheese and collard greens steeping in deep bowls. Sweet tea and iced water sat sweating in glass pitchers. Annieās bread puddingāa rich combination of dark brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg and the heavy sweetness of whiskey and rum-soaked raisinsāsat at the end of the table, keeping the other desserts company.Ā
Annie stood behind the food table with a serving utensil and an anxious smile. Her gloves had come off, her Bible tucked away in her purse. The only thing left from the sermon was a full belly and sore cheeks. Her new acquaintances stood along her, Gigi, Nellie and Pearline spread out behind the long table of food, the line in front of the serving tables stretching nearly halfway across the church yard.Ā
Gigi slid another piece of fried catfish onto a plate while Pearline scooped greens beside it.Ā
āYou keep givinā Brother Jenkins portions like that, we gonā run out befoā the deacons eat,ā Gigi murmured under her breath.Ā
Brother Jenkins, hard of hearing and entirely too closely hovering over the food, grinned despite not hearing a word Gigi said.Ā
āWhat was that?ā
Gigi smiled sweetly. āI said enjoy your meal.āĀ
Nellie snorted so loudly, sweet tea always flew up her nose. āYou gonā burn in hell,ā she mouthed.Ā
Gigi passed another plate down the table calmly. āProlly. āLeast I wonāt be hungry.āĀ
Annie bit back a laugh as she reached for another serving spoon. The rhythm of the line settled into something easy. Scoop. Pass. Smile. Repeat. There were the occasional outliers. Church women with their judgment and heavy perfume. Children begging for an extra slice of cake. Men flirting horribly. Annie, Gigi, Nellie, and Pearline worked around all of it.Ā
Enter Claudine Thompson. She was a viper of a woman, with a daring smile that never actually meant that she meant well. She wore a frilly peach colored dress, a powder blue Sunday hat, and matching powder blue gloves. She stepped in front of Annie, who offered her a slice of her bread pudding.Ā
āYou settlinā in fast, aināt you?ā She asked, voice dipped with poison as Annie put a generous helping on her plate. The women around her laughed softly. Not cruel enough to challenge, but not kind enough to ignore.Ā
āIām tryinā.āĀ
Claudine nodded slowly, eyes traveling over her hat, her gloves, the way she stood. āWe noticed,ā she hummed.Ā
Annie tilted her chin a little higher. āWell,ā she said, voice even. āIād probably be worse off if I wasnāt.āĀ
Claudine lips moved into a thin line, a rather reluctant smile. She looked Annie up and down again. āCute,ā she said with a slight dip of one of her shoulders.Ā
Before Annie could decide whether that was a praise or a warning, Aunt Della appeared at her elbow like she was summoned. āBe gone, Claudine. She donāt need no supervision. Especially not from you.āĀ
The silence that followed was brief. Then Claudine laughed like it had all been friendly banter. āLord, Delilah,ā she said, waving her hand. āCanāt say nothinā round you.ā
āAnd yet,ā Aunt Della replied. āYou keep tryinā,ā she said with a head tilt and a sharp look.
The women laughed again. Claudineās eyes snapped sharply to them before turning on her heel and stomping away.Ā
āNever think you need to explain yourself to a woman like that,ā Aunt Della said as she helped herself to a generous serving of macaroni and cheese. āThey donāt be askinā cuz they want answers. They tryna check your temperature.āĀ
Annie exhaled through her nose. āI noticed.ā
āGood,ā she replied firmly. āMeans you learninā.āĀ
āOr maybe it just means church women are miserable and need hobbies,ā Gigi said from a little ways down the table.
āGeorgia.āĀ
āYes, maāam.āĀ
Aunt Della shot her a look before leaving to sit with the deacon. āBehave.ā
āAlways.ā
Gigi leaned against the table while Annie cut another square of bread pudding. āSo Louisiana,ā she started. āYāall really got people walkinā around speakinā French down there?ā
Annie nodded once. āAnd Creole.āĀ
āSay somethinā.āĀ
Annie laughed softly. āWhy?āĀ
āBecause church almost killed me from boredom and this heat ābout to finish the job.ā
āWhat? Reverend Carter fine self already saved my soul this morninā. I can say what I want ātil Wednesday.āĀ
Annie shook her head, smiling to herself before saying something low and quick in Creole.Ā
āWell damn,ā Gigi said.Ā
Pearline sighed softly, scooping another healthy serving of greens on a plate. āThat sounded pretty.ā
Gigi pointed at Annie with a pair of tongs. āIf I learn another language, Iām only usinā it to insult people.āĀ
āYou already insult them in English,ā Nellie muttered.
āThatās because the Lord made me honest.ā
āAnd loud,ā Pearline added.
The four of them dissolved into laughter again.
Another older church mothers drifted past the table slowly enough to make her presence known. āWell,ā she said pleasantly, while Nellie poured her a glass of sweet tea. āYāall certainly lively today.ā
Gigi smiled instantly, the kind of smile that matched Sister Claudineās a bit earlier. āYes maāam,ā she replied sweetly. āWe still young enough to enjoy life.ā
Annie and Nellie gasped underneath their breath. The church motherās lips tightened almost invisibly before she moved along the line.Ā
āYou gonā say the wrong thing to the right person one day,ā Pearline said, letting out a breath through her nose.
āOne day the right person gonā ask the wrong question.ā
Annie looked between the two of them quietly.Ā
āWhat?ā
āYou donāt get nervous talkinā to church mothers like that?ā
Gigi shrugged. āThey already decided who I am to them. Might as well enjoy myself.ā
The line in front of the serving tables had dwindled down now that most people were settling into the slow part of the afternoon. Behind the table the girls had switched positions, Annie refilling a glass of sweet tea, while Pearline cut a square of bread pudding with practiced care. Nellie was in charge of the fried chicken and fish which were almost gone, and Gigi dished out the sides.Ā
Nellie leaned forward suddenly, her eyes narrowing toward the far side of the church yard.Ā
āOh Lord,ā she muttered under her breath.
Gigi squinted, following her gaze. āWhat?ā
Nellie nodded subtly towards a man standing near the pecan tree laughing with two deacons and a church mother, āLeroy.āĀ
āHe over there sweatinā right through that tired ass gray suit.āĀ
Annie and Pearline looked up, following their gaze. The man was handsome. Deep brown skin gleaming beneath the afternoon heat. His collar loosened just enough to show the thick line of his throat. His suit fit well across his shoulders. A little too well. And every time he laughed, a silver tooth flashed near the back of his mouth.Ā
āHe do got a nice laugh,ā Pearline said softly.
āAnd a wife,ā Gigi corrected.Ā
āThat donāt mean I canāt look,ā Nellie chimed in. āLord gave me eyes for a reason.āĀ
Annie raised a brow.Ā
āHe also gave you discretion,ā Pearline muttered while stacking clean plates. āAnd respectability.ā
Nellie rolled her eyes. Gigi did, too. Annie laughed quietly to herself.Ā
āOh, donāt act innocent, Louisiana. I know you got your eye on somebody already.ā
āI never said I didnāt.āĀ
āAlright then. Who?ā
āNever said I did either.ā
āWell whatās your type?ā
Annie shrugged. āAināt got one. I like what I like.ā
āHypotheticallyā¦.ā
āHere we go,ā Nellie said, scratching her head.
āHypothetically. Lookswise. Do you find any of these men attractive?āĀ
Annie blinked. āSure.ā She could already tell where this was going.
āSo pick one.ā
āPick what?ā
āA man.ā
Pearline groaned. āWe really ābout to play this game,ā she muttered.
Annie huffed. āYou want me to pick a random man? For what?āĀ
āJust a man you think is cute.ā
Annie sucked her teeth.
āOk hear me out. Iāll go first.ā A group of young men passed nearby carrying folding chairs back towards the church building, Gigiās eyes locked on one of them. He was tall. Dark brown skin. Slim waist beneath his suspenders, white shirt clinging damply to his back from sweat. It outlined the clean movement of muscle beneath it every time he lifted another chair onto his shoulders. āMhmm,ā she hummed approvingly. āThat one right there.ā
āYou donāt even know him,ā Nellie sighed.Ā
āI know enough.ā
āWhat enough?ā
āLook at how he carry weight.āĀ
āWell, if we beinā honest,ā Pearline said, pointing discreetly towards the far tables where an older man stood near the barbecue pit speaking with Reverend Carter. He was thick in the chest and shoulders, suspenders pulled low against his stomach. His hair was beginning to gray at the temples, his face carrying deep smile lines that deepened when he spoke. He looked solid. Steady. āThatās my husband.ā
āSee now Pearline,ā Gigi said, her face twisting up like she just ate a lemon. āEvery time you point him out I get sad.ā
Pearline rolled her eyes. āWhy?āĀ
āāCause he look like he read the almanac before bed every night.ā
Nellie and Annie burst into laughter so suddenly they made heads turn towards them. Annie covered her mouth quickly.Ā
āHeās a nice man,ā Pearline said, a little bit wounded.Ā
āIām sure he is,ā Gigi replied. āI aināt say he wasnāt.āĀ
Pearline sighed and rolled her eyes again. āHe take care of me.ā
āI bet he do,ā Gigi said, giggling under her breath and nudging Annie gently with her elbow. She laughed too.
āYour turn, Louisiana.āĀ
Annie shook her head, trying to hide the smile tugging at her mouth as she glanced out across the way. Men stood in clusters throughout the church yard. In their dark slacks and rolled sleeves, leaning easy against trees smoking cigarettes, or arguing over baseball stats loud enough for the whole congregation to hear. Her eyes drifted until they landed on a man sitting near the edge of the folding tables.Ā
He looked tall from where she could see him. His suspenders stretched across a white shirt that had gone soft with wear. His sleeves were rolled neatly up to his elbows, revealing long forearms darkened by the sun. He sat tipped back in his chair, balancing dangerously on its back two legs while he listened to somebody talk, one hand lazily rubbing across his broad chest. His eyes glimpsed towards Annie and she looked away quickly, but not before Gigi caught who she was looking at.Ā
āOhh, she like the quiet ones.ā
āDo not.ā
āDo too.āĀ
Pearline leaned to the side to look. āMmm,ā she hummed. āHe is handsome, though.āĀ
āThatās Isaiah,ā Nellie said, barely looking up. āWorks for the railroad.āĀ
āLook at lilā Nellie knowinā every manās occupation like she work for the census.āĀ
āWhat can I say? I like men with jobs.ā
āAnd I like men who fine enough to ruin my life,ā Gigi shot back. āJust a little.ā
Annie barked out a laugh. āThatās how women end up cryinā on porches.āĀ
āOr men end up gettinā a root put on them.āĀ
Nellie snorted into her glass of lemonade. Annie shook her head smiling. āYou always this dramatic?āĀ
Gigi leaned in towards her. āOnly in public.āĀ
Annie found herself laughing harder than she had since sheād been in Mississippi.
After the buzz from the church, her newfound acquaintances, and Sunday dinner wore off, Annie found herself just looking for a peaceful place to sit. She padded to the porch, equipped with a few sheets of paper and her foraging basket.
Her shoulders sank when she got there. Men were out there slapping dominos, drinking, playing the harmonica. The sounds of late summer floated down the steps and onto the street that was alive with the after-church crowd.Ā
Way too crowded. She needed quiet.Ā
She sighed, rounding the front porch until she found a spot. She found one under the big magnolia tree whose branches scratched her bedroom window when the wind blew at night.Ā
She spread out her blanket in the grass. From her basket she took her roots, flowers and herbs and spread them out, organizing them by types. Then she went to the backyard and pumped a small bucket of water for cleaning. She started with the roots. Trimming and peeling back bits and pieces that werenāt useful. Running a damp cloth over them to clean, then laying them out carefully.Ā
Smoke stood on the porch of Miss Dellaās boarding house with a crate full of her things and heat on his neck. He stepped into the front room, letting the screen door slap behind him. In the crate were copies of the Black publications sent down from up north and a small box that he promised Della him and Stack would pick up from Memphis.Ā The slap of the screen door caught Dellaās eye and she nodded towards the lean-to in the back. He followed her outside. Once the door was closed, she lifted up the entrance hidden in the floorboards and guided him down the stairs.Ā
The space was expansive. Cooler than the surface. Della lit a series of oil lamps as she made her way through the underground space that was the length of the entire house. The walls and floors were lined with stone and mortar to keep the damp out, the floors smoother in the middle from constant wear.Ā
Shelves lined the walls from top to bottom, loaded with peaches, plums, oranges soaked in sugar and rum. Vanilla beans in moonshine. Nuts dipped in chocolate. Delicaciesā pickled savory treats, candied sweet ones. Preserves and jams. Jars dusted with time stacked on top of each other. A thick, deep-purple syrup dripped from honeycombs into molds. Infused with a special blend of rum, it would harden into crystallized candy sticks and small square hard candies, or melt effortlessly into a smooth liqueur to stir into drinks. Small bottles with oils and dried flowers stood throughout the space too, along with some root vegetables and dried herbs. Cases of liquor, shelves of wine with bottles so old theyāre covered in dust and cobwebs.Ā
Smoke put the crate in the corner by one of the rooms in the back. He took out the newspaper bundles and brought them to Della who instructed him to bring them upstairs with him. She looked over them for a second before patting him on the shoulder and looking him in his eyes.Ā
āThank you for watching out for my girl yesterday.ā
Smokeās breath hitched a bit, enough for Della to notice. She gave him a little grin, āMhmm. She āround here somewhere if you wanna say hi. Try some of her bread pudding. Itās in the kitchen,ā she said as she moved around him and disappeared up the stairs.Ā
Back upstairs, Smoke enjoyed a serving of bread pudding topped with sticky rum sauce while he looked out on the porch for Annie. She wasnāt there. He finished his dessert, putting the dish in the wash basin before washing his hands and rounding the back to finish his search. He stepped out to the backyard and circled around to the side where a little patch of grass fanned into a grassy alleyway. The area was small but plush, the sun hitting it just right. A wire fence separated the boarding house and the house next to it. A magnolia tree stood in the middle, tall and proud, its branches hanging low like a veil over Annieās head. She sat underneath it on a patchwork quilt, its colors vibrant, stitched with heat and history.
Annie was sitting with a quiet focus, tracing the edges of a plant on a piece of paper. She wrote the name at the bottom with a little detail about it on the side. She wore a sleeveless lace patterned dressā long, to her anklesāwith a tan work apron overtop. A pair of brown ankle boots, scuffed at the toes, laced up her feet. A large floppy mesh hat crowned her head of coils, keeping the heat and sweat away. Her ileke beads sat tucked underneath the neckline of her dress, completing the look. Smoke approached her slowly, the grass flattened beneath his boots as he walked closer. He watched the side of her mouth curve up like she already knew he was there.Ā
āCanāt sneak up on me today.ā
āWasnāt tryinā to.ā
āSmoke.ā
āAnnie.ā
She dusted the dirt off her hands as he held out his hand to help her stand up. He looked put together. Effortless. Dark trousers and a faded shirt with the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. The sunlight caught the gold-brown of his skin in soft flashes between the shadows of the magnolia tree.Ā
āYou hidinā?ā he said finally, his eyes briefly drifting towards the quilt.Ā
Annie huffed out a quiet laugh, āMaybe.āĀ
He nodded once. He understood that completely.Ā
āDidnāt see you at church today,ā she said, crossing her arms under her chest.
āLittle busy.āĀ
āYou too busy for the Lord?ā She asked teasingly.
āNah,ā he said, stretching his arms. āHe too busy for me.āĀ
āHe aināt never too busy for hisā¦children.āĀ
āI aināt on that list.āĀ
āNah, I think you right at the top. Next to Peter and Paul,ā she said, turning around to drop her blade down on the quilt.Ā
āDefinitely aināt no saint,ā he said to the side.Ā
āThat donāt make you a sinner, Smoke.ā
A silent beat passed between them. A breeze blew by, making the windchimes on the front porch let out a low jingle.Ā
āThat happen a lot?ā
Smoke narrowed his eyes, āYou got a lot of questions.āĀ
āAnd you answer almost none of āem.āĀ
A low hum, almost a laugh, left his chest. āGotta keep you on your toes.ā
āCanāt threaten me with a good time.āĀ
Smoke looked down at Annie, his gaze dropping to her lips briefly, then back up to her eyes.
āMe and Stack went to my uncleās church.ā
And they did. Macedonia Missionary Baptist, their uncle Jedidiahās church right on the edge of the Sunflower plantation. It was a small rickety building, white-washed with high wooden ceilings and low pews. They sat in the back row, in their whitest whites like they always did. After service, they helped distribute the allotment of wine their uncle got from the county every month for communion. Since prohibition started, heād sell some off on the side for extra money to offset the quota that he wouldnāt fulfill, even with all the little ones he and his wife, Ruthie, had.
āOh,ā she said, surprised. āSo your uncleās a preacher?āĀ
āThatās what he say, anyway.ā
āAre yāallā,ā Annie started to ask before noticing his jaw clench suddenly, āā nevermind.āĀ
She tilted her head at him. āWhy donāt you come to one of the services in town?āĀ
āHabit.ā
āMakes sense.āĀ
He paused. Took a breath, his eyes drifting to the quilt again then back up. āI used to go to the services in town. Before my uncle became a pastor,ā he started.
Annie watched him carefully. āWhenād he become a pastor?ā
āFew years back. āFore the war.ā
āOh,ā she said, letting the sound of her voice fade into silence while he continued.
āWe went every Sunday before then. Stack liked the singinā. I liked the quiet after.āĀ
The confession surprised her. Not because it was ground-breaking, but because he gave one. At all. āWhat changed?āĀ
Smoke got quiet like he was searching for the right words, his gaze shifting towards the road beyond the fence. āPeople.āĀ
Annie swallowed hard. People. Something about the way he said it made her chest ache unexpectedly. He pivoted quickly, like he could feel it too.
āAnnie?ā
āYeah?ā
āWhatās all this?āĀ
āDrawings,ā Annie said, sitting back down on the quilt, drawings spread out evenly across the fabric. Smoke cleared his throat, then lowered himself down beside her with the same quiet heaviness that accompanied everything about him.Ā
The sun was dipping low, throwing a veil of gold over the landscape. The sound of a guitar floated over from Fourth Street. Folks were sitting on their porches, enjoying the slight drop in temperature.
āI know that,ā he tutted. āWhat they for?āĀ
Annie pulled a knee to her chest, absentmindedly tracing her fingertip along one of the quilt seams. āHelps my memory. Drawinā things. Writinā them down.ā
āSo you remember what they look like?ā
āKinda. So I remember what they for,ā her voice drifted off as a loud buzzing sound got closer.Ā
A hummingbird.Ā
Its sharp beak poked at the gardenias clustered by the fence, their petals still closed. It floated from one flower to the next, searching for sugary nectar it could feed on.Annieās hand touched a vial of water that sat on the quilt next to her legs. She picked it up, pointing the tip at her outstretched finger.Ā
āWatch this.ā
A hummingbird hovered overhead, the flapping of its wings a dull buzz. It floated to her finger that she held up, its long beak piercing through the cap of the vial. Smoke flinched a little at the rapid movement of its wings, but quickly recovered.Ā
āHow you get them to come to you?ā
Annie shrugged her shoulders slightly. āThey like the sound of my voice.āĀ
Smokeās gaze went from the bird perched on her finger up to Annie. Her grin, her delicate finger, the way her chest moved with her breathing. The way the setting sun smiled on her skin. Smoke watched her as she watched pieces of sunlight flicker across the yard through the leaves.Ā
A breeze moved through the magnolia branches overhead carrying the faint floral scent down with it that mixed with the smell of freshly laundered cotton from the sheets hanging in the backyard, swaying gently in the breeze.Ā
Annie smelled sweetālike sugary vanilla, cinnamon, and rum from baking. Her sweetness wrapped around his senses, pulling him in like the song of a siren. He used to hear tales about them during the war. With their eyes and the sweet, sultry sound of their voices that were known to lure soldiers into a watery grave.Ā
Smoke didnāt believe in any of that shit.Ā
Not in ghosts, not in magic, and definitely not in no tall tales. But he couldnāt help but feel time slow down around her. At this very moment, right next to him, she lookedā
āSmoke?āĀ
His vision snapped back into focus. He cleared his throat, swallowing the words he really wanted to say. āHmm?āĀ
āYou okay? Look like you were somewhere else for a second,ā she remarked.Ā
Smoke comes back to himself. āJust thinkinā bout that bread pudding you made.ā
Lie.
āYou had some?ā
āMhmm. Earlier. Your aunt gave me some.ā
āYou liked it?ā
Smoke shrugged his shoulders, āIt was aight.ā
āUgh!ā Annie tutted, smacking Smokeās shoulder playfully. āThatās how I know you a damn lie.ā
āI thought you not supposed to be cussinā on a Sunday.āĀ
āNot when you out hereā¦insulting my cookinā.āĀ
āI was just playinā,ā Smoke teased, his lips flattened to suppress the grin that was quickly spreading across his face.
The evening heat wrapped around them, creeping slowly up their necks. Smoke picked at a loose thread near the edge of the quilt while Annie studied him quietly. The roughness of his hands resting against the quilt. The slight tremor in his right palm. The heaviness he carried in his shoulders even when he wasnāt moving. The stillness. The tension underneath the stillness. For the first time, she realized how much of him always seemed braced for something. At this very moment, spread out on a quilt under a magnolia tree.Ā
The thought sat strangely in her chest. āYou look like you always ready for somethinā,ā she said softly before she could stop herself.
Smoke looked at her, immediately focusing on her face in a way that made Annie almost regret what she said. He didnāt look angry. Didnāt look defensive. The expression flashed behind his eyes before disappearing just as quickly as it had arrived.
Vulnerable?
Not quite.
Not in a dramatic way. But just enough to realize she was watching him. Had been watching him. And for Smoke? That landed hard. Because he hadnāt realized she was paying attention. Not like that. For a long moment neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. Smoke looked away first, gaze dropping towards the quilt between them then back to her.Ā
āThat so?ā he asked, his voice quieter now.
Annie nodded once, āLike you never reallyā¦let yourself settle.ā āOr be settled,ā she said, voice just above a whisper.Ā
The magnolia branches stirred overhead again, their shadows moving slowly across the grass beneath them.Ā
Smoke spoke again. This time, his voice carried something new and unknown in it. āMost people donāt notice.āĀ
āMost people donāt sit still long enough to notice a lot of things.āĀ
Smoke paused for a beat. This time it stretched longer. The cicadas screamed louder for a moment, filling the silence neither of them seemed interested in breaking. Annie looked towards the back of the house when she sensed movement. She relaxed when she saw somebody moving past one of the kitchen windows. Thenā
āAnd you do?ā Smoke asked finally.
Annie turned to face him. She shrugged softly, āSomebody got to.ā
A faint smile pulled briefly at the corner of his mouth.Ā
The sun dipped deeper into the horizon. The sky darkened further. It was a smooth shade of black with a twinge of gold from the warmth spilling out of the neighborhood windows that caught against Smokeās face. He leaned back on one arm, gazing up towards the sky. His hand drifted next to where hers was on the quilt. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the heat of him on her skin.Ā
āWhat you got goinā on this week?ā His tone was almost hesitant, like he shouldnāt be asking this kind of question, but decided to do it anyway.
āI start at the cafe in town tomorrow.ā
āBlackbird?ā
āYep.ā
Smoke nodded in approval. āWhat time?ā
āNine.ā She took a breath. āWhy? You cominā by tomorrow?āĀ
Her eyes widened. The question slipped out before she could catch herself. Again.
Smoke watched her for a second, āMaybe.āĀ
The kitchen window above where they were sitting slid up suddenly.Ā
āAnnie!ā
Aunt Dellaās voice.Ā
Both of them looked up. āYou left these dishes sittinā on my counter like they pay rent!āĀ
Smokeās mouth twitched. Annie groaned softly under her breath, her head dropping back dramatically, āShe sooooā¦ā she groaned, already reaching to pack her things.
āShe family. I gotta go anyway,ā Smoke said. Like something came over him, his hand rose to find the small of her back, his hand moving up and down gently.Ā
The sudden burst of fragrance from the night-blooming jasmine that laced through the fence like roots and moonflowers that hung like little white bells wafted towards them as the crickets began their rhythmic chirping and the cicadas changed rhythm.Ā
Annie stopped what she was doing. The warmth of Smokeās hand on her back made her turn towards him slowly, her face close enough to his that she could feel his breath on her collarbone and smell the scent of tobacco and spice that clung to his shirt. They locked eyes. Smoke held hers a second, not long enough to call it anything but long enough to feel it anyway. He licked his lips, leaned in, and kissed her cheek. His warm, wet lips lingered softly against her skin, sending shivers down her spine and warmth beneath her ribs. The silence after that stretched in a way that made it feel loud. Louder than the crickets. Louder than the heartbeat that thumped violently in her chest.Ā
Smoke shook his head. āIām sorry.ā
āDonāt be,ā Annie said quickly.Ā
Their faces were still close. He leaned in again and this time brushed his lips against hers. Just enough for Annie to feel the pressure of his mouth. Annieās lips followed his, giving back that pressure so he knew she was feeling the same way. Their lips separated slowly, pulling away with a soft, wet smack.Ā
āIāll see you tomorrow.āĀ
āOkay,ā she said. Voice warm but with a hint of something else behind it.Ā
He stood up, grabbing her things for her while she folded up her quilt.
āGoodnight, Annie,ā he said, walking towards the front of the house where his truck sat parked on the street. The side gate creaked open as he walked through it.Ā
āGoodnight,ā she sighed softly as he disappeared from her view.Ā
Aunt Dellaās voice cut through the romantic haze bubble that had her staring dreamily at the street.Ā
Annie made her way past the hostess stand to the back room. Mr. Hightower stood near the kitchen doorway, broad-shouldered and already sweating through his collar despite the early hour. His suspenders stretched over a white button-up rolled at the sleeves, a freshly laundered apron in his hands, his expression serious in a way that older men often wore when they were actually amused.Ā
āGo change, washroomās in the back. Then Iāll show you around.ā
āOkay.ā
Annie padded to the washroom. She wrapped the uniform apron around her waist and stared at herself in the mirror. Her forehead was still shiny from oil Aunt Della had anointed her with that morning. She wiped a small crumb from the curve of her mouth from the tea biscuit she had earlier, slathering vaseline balm on her lips before making her way to the kitchen for Mr. Hightower.Ā
The kitchen was hotter than the rest of the building by at least ten degrees. Two women worked the stove already, moving around each other like it was a song and dance theyād been doing all their lives. One of them glanced up briefly at Annie before returning to the skillet.
āThatās Loretta,ā he said, putting his hands on the cookās shoulders. āSheās head chef. Loretta, this Annie.āĀ
āHeyyy, Miss Annie,ā Loretta said amusingly, tossing a skillet of onions and peppers together.Ā
āNice to meet you, Loretta.ā
āAnd this,ā he said, moving to the woman thinly slicing tomatoes, āthis Sheila. Sheila ā Annie.āĀ
āNice to meet you, Sheila.āĀ
āMm,ā Mr. Hightower remarked. āTry not to scare her off before the lunch rush.ā
āAint you Dellaās girl?ā Loretta asked.
āMhmm, niece.ā
Sheila snorted. āShe from New Orleans, sheāll be aight.ā
Mr. Hightower pointed as he talked, moving quickly like he expected people to keep up. āCoffee station here. Tea there. Carry plates confidently, even if you scared. Folks tip better when you check on them often.ā He pointed out towards the swinging doors that led from the kitchen to the dining area, āAnd donāt let them blues men flirt you into forgettinā things.ā
āBlues men?ā Annie repeated.
āMusicians,ā Sheila corrected. That earned a laugh from Loretta.Ā
The dining area looked different once people started to fill in. By noon, smoke curled thickly near the ceiling fans, dominoes slapped against tabletops near the windows where men argued over cards, and the low sound of a guitar rolled through the room, soft as heat from the jukebox near the wall.Ā
Annie moved carefully through the cafe at first. Coffee pot full of freshly brewed chicory coffee in one hand, plates balanced in the other. She listened more than she spoke and watched how the room moved before taking action, observing closely which customers wanted conversation, which wanted speed, and which wanted to be left alone with their thoughts.Ā The work settled into her body quicker than she expected. There was a rhythm to it here, a sort of dance. Not a graceful one, but something practiced and practical. Not only with the customers, but between the other servers as well.Ā
āBehind you!ā
āDoor!ā
Annie learned those phrases quickly, at one point narrowly avoiding a clash with another server when she didnāt register the meaning quickly enough. By the second hour, she stopped hesitating before moving through crowded tables. By the third, sheād identified who were regulars and who were just passers-by.Ā
āYou catch on quick.ā
Annie looked up from wiping down a booth. One of the younger waitresses, a girl named Felicia, stood beside her with a tray against her hip and a smile on her face.
āI got six brothers. Iām used to chaos,ā Annie answered.Ā
Felicia barked out a laugh, āOh, you definitely gonā fit in here.ā
Over by the stage, a guitarist plucked a few lazy notes while setting up for the later crowd. The sound rolled through the cafe, settling low and heavy in the air. Outside, Fourth Street buzzed beneath the muggy Delta heat. Inside, Blackbird Cafe dishes clattered, voices did too, and the sound of the blues drifted slowly through cigarette smoke.Ā
By three, the cafe had settled into its late afternoon lull. Annie wiped down the counter one last time before untying her apron. Mr. Hightower glanced up from his ledger near the till. āSee you tomorrow, Annie.ā
Annie folded the apron over her arm. āTomorrow.ā She smiled to herself, satisfied, as she headed towards the back door. Just as she reached it, Mr. Hightowerās booming voice made her pause.Ā
āAnnie?ā he asked, peeking around the corner.Ā
āYes sir.ā
āYou did good today.ā
Annie smiled faintly, āThank you.āĀ
The sky began its slow shift into gold. The evening air wrapped around her warm and damp, carrying the smell of riverwater, fried food, and dust. Annie adjusted the strap of her bag against her shoulder and started down the sidewalk.Ā
A feeling started to hit her all at once.Ā
Exhaustion.Ā
She tried to wind her mind down, but her body was still acting like she was at the cafe. Moving quickly around corners and slower around blind spots, her mind counting things automatically.Ā
But beneath all the tiredness in her limbs sat something else, too.Ā
Pride.Ā
She made her way down Fourth Street, past men leaning in doorways, women talking on shaded porches, and children chasing each other barefoot through red dirt near the edge of the road. One man tipped his hat as she passed by. A man right next to him catcalled something ridiculous enough to earn a laugh. She walked past both of them without breaking stride.
She turned off Fourth and onto Issaquena.Ā
The sign hung just ahead.Ā
Luellaās.Ā
It was a worn, weathered sign that hung over the sidewalk from a wrought iron bracket and chains that swayed gently in the breeze. Pastel paint peeled slightly at the edges of the rectangular wooden plaque with carefully painted gold lettering in the center. A gold frame was tacked on sometime later to make the sign look more polished. Warm light glowed through the front windows, and inside were bolts of fabric, sequined accessories, and hanging garments of every color imaginable swaying faintly in the breeze that flowed through the window like they were alive.Ā
The floorboards creaked under the weight of Annieās feet as she stepped through the door and walked down the stairs leading into Luellaās Dressing Room, bringing with her a whirlwind of humid Mississippi air.Ā
There were a few customers lingering, some by the spools of ribbon, some in the front where bolts of fabric were lined on shelves and piled on top of the large wooden workspace in the center of the shop. Curtains hanging in front of the store windows kept the sun from dulling their vivid coloring, along with bulbs hung from the ceiling that created a cozy, buzzing atmosphere. Glass displays with accessoriesāgloves, purses, stockings, shoesā lined the walls that were decorated with fashion plates and fading photographs as Annie made her way to the back of the shop.Ā
The heels of her Mary Jane pumps clicked against the wooden floors as she crossed the room to where Luella was looking at a dress posed on a mannequin, her glasses perched at the tip of her nose. She wore a chatelaine around her waist with small measuring tools hanging from the hooks, and stood with a tape measure slung over her shoulders, her expression perking up as soon as she heard the groan of the floorboards coming her way.Ā
āAnnie,ā she said, instantly wrapping her hands around Annieās middle.Ā
āMiss Luella,ā Annie replied warmly. āIām here to get my measurements taken.āĀ
āGimme a second, baby. Lemme finish up pinninā this dress.āĀ
The back room was fitted with two dressing stalls, a three-way floor-to-ceiling mirror, and a few velvet chairs and a settee for guests. Annie made herself comfortable on one of the chairs, taking a peppermint twist from the jar on the table next to it.Ā
After a few minutes, she was ushered through a narrow corridor leading to a private alcove flanked with damask velvet drapes, a small platform, and a set of mirrors. The smell of rose scented perfume hung heavily in the air, a pair of Dressmakersā mannequin sat off to the side, displaying sequined fabric held up by pins.Ā
Luella gave her a robe, a washcloth and towel, then pointed her to the washroom where a basin full of warm, soapy water was waiting for her. When the door finally shut behind her she sighed. She stripped naked then lathered and dragged the soapy washcloth across her body, scrubbing away the smell of grease and exhaustion from the day. Once she was done, she shrugged the robe on, the feel of satin cool against her skin.Ā
She stepped out of the washroom freshly oiled with the scent of lavender on her skin and stood on the platform while Luellaās assistant, a quiet, young girl, took her measuring tape while Luella took the measurements down.Ā
āHips 46.ā
āGood child-birthing hips,ā Luella remarked.
āBust 44,ā her assistant continued.
āAnd they just gonā get bigger once you start poppinā out babies.ā
āWhat kind of neckline you want, sugar?āĀ
āSomethinā I can tuck my beads into,ā Annie replied.Ā
āGonā need a little bit extra to hold these up,ā she teased.
Annie laughed quietly and looked at herself in the mirror as she felt the measuring tape tighten around her ribs. The breeze from the small fan by the curtains hit her exposed skin, the sudden chill giving her goosebumps.
āWaist 33.āĀ
āWe usinā that fabric you picked out last time?āĀ
āYes maāam.āĀ
Luella moved in front of Annie with a finger on her cheek in contemplation. āYou sure?ā
āIām sure.ā
She tapped her cheek with her finger. Once, twice. āWait here. Iāll be right back.ā
Annie looked at her assistant through the mirror who shrugged. Luella disappeared into the store, then returned excitedly with a bolt of a lush dark green velvet fabric.
āI was thinkinā a straight drop waist, hem just below the hips. Plunging neckline. Maybe some scalloped detailing to frame it. Have them titties sittinā up high. Decorate it with some silver fringe at the bottom. Like one of them flapper dresses. What you think?āĀ
āI donāt have theāā
āDonāt worry ābout the money. Your auntie said you can get whatever you want. Plus I been dyinā to get someone in here so I can practice sewinā a push-up bra.āĀ
āPush-up bra?ā
āMhmmāsupposed to push āem in and up,ā Luella said with a sly look, gesturing with her hands.
āSo, you in?ā
Annie nodded once, āIām in.ā
Luella clapped her hands, āIāll even gift you a necklace and a coin purse to wear with it.āĀ
āAā¦necklace?ā she asked, her hand instinctively going to her beads.Ā
āYou canāt wear this olā thing,ā she said, her face softening when she saw Annie slowly trace a bead with her fingertips.Ā
āItās just for a night,ā she said softly.Ā
āOkay,ā Annie replied with a smile.Ā
āYou should wear your hair down. Finger waves. I can sew a decal in the middle here a few inches above the hem. Mhmm, let the fringe hang from the bottomā¦.āĀ
Luellaās voice began to fade away as Annie stood in front of the mirror. Her assistant continued taking measurements and writing things down while they circled around her, narrating her entire look for the harvest party. A twinge of nervous energy fluttered in Annieās belly. Her gaze dropped to her stomach, the few rolls on her upper torso and pudge that sat underneath her belly button. She pulled at it through the robe, sucking in her stomach a bit and smoothing a hand down her torso before just letting it be.Ā
Sheād always been taught to love her body, and she did. But this was Clarksdale, a small town with a lot more small people than she was used to, and she towered over a lot more men here than at home.Ā
What would a dress made for a short, skinny woman even look like on a tall woman like her?Ā
What would people say?Ā
Would they laugh?Ā
Would they sneer?Ā
Luellaās gentle hand rubbing her arm soothingly pulled her out of her thoughts. She had pulled a fashion plate from the wall of her shop and brought it over for Annie to look at.Ā
āWhatās wrong, sugar?ā she asked, handing Annie the sketch of the dress inspiration.
Annie looked over it carefully, then traced the edges with her fingertips. āDonāt you think Iām tooā¦tall to be wearinā stuff like that?ā
Luella looked at Annie like she knew what she really meant to ask. āDonāt worry, sugar,ā Luella whispered with a wink. She rubbed her arms from behind. āYou gonā be the prettiest one in the buildinā.ā
Annie, an 18-year-old from New Orleans, moves to Clarksdale with dreams of building a life all her own. There she meets Smoke, a 21-year-old war veteran with a dangerous reputation. What grows between them is sweet, sticky, and Southernā a smoldering love set against a world of bootlegging, Hoodoo, and blues.
Chapter 4
Word Count: 7k
Masterlist
Note: SORRY FOR THE DELAY IN POSTING THIS!! I wanted to post this last week, but work and life got in the way.
Contains: Explicit language, slow-burn/build, mentions of Hoodoo, brief mention of war
A thick wax candle burned unevenly in the dark. Tiny dancing shadows flickered against the thin walls of the bedroom, the soft light catching the glimmer of oil on Annieās arms still warm from her bath.Ā
She sat at her desk. Her eyebrows furrowed in concentration while her pencil moved across the page.Ā
She drew a curve.Ā
Then another one.
She angled the pencil to flatten the tip.Ā
Shaded.Ā
Used the pads of her fingers to soften that.Ā
The line blurredānot right.Ā
She scoffed under her breath, erased, and tried again, this time squaring off at the base where the hand felt broader than she expected.Ā
Her eyes fluttered shut.Ā
A shape appeared. Then another one, right on top to give it dimension.Ā
Shade. Mark. Smudge. Eraseāuntil the sides of her hands were stained with graphite.Ā
She paused at the knuckles, pressing the tip of her pencil down just a little harder, roughing them in before softening the edges with her finger.Ā
For a moment she felt like she was back at home. Watching her grandmother in the apothecary, sketching the detail of her skirt on any scrap of paper she could find.Ā
She set her pencil down, letting it roll to the edge of the table as she looked down at her half-finished product.Ā
Stillāsomething in it didnāt quite feel right.Ā
She pressed her thumb lightly over one of the lines, then stopped. Folded it up. Tucked it in the drawer of her desk. Closed the drawer carefully.Ā
A few moments passed. A few shallow breaths.Ā
She listened to the sounds of the boarding house. Heavy snores. An occasional throat clearing. The house cat purring gently just outside her bedroom doorālegs tucked, eyelids heavy, ears always alert.Ā
Outside, the chickens were settled in their coop. A chain-link fence rattled somewhere down the road, where a fox lingered behind it, watching them restlessly.Ā
Annie opened the drawer again, this time to pull out a clean sheet of paper. She grabbed her pencil from the edge, dated the letter, then began to write.Ā
Mama, she started.Ā
Skipped a line.Ā
Paused.Ā
I made it to Clarksdale, she continued. Itāsā
She paused again, tapping the pencil on her cheek.Ā
Tap.
Tap.Ā
Tap.
Thunder rumbled outside, slow and dangerous, like a rolling boil. Her gaze followed the sudden sound. Lightning followed, finding the shadows that clung to the corners of her room. She turned back to her letter.Ā
ā¦different. Skipped another line.
The Delta got demons.
She could already hear what her mama would say. āWhat she mean by that?ā She imagined them all thereāmama, daddy, grandma, brothersā standing around her while she sat reading it to them. Arms crossed, eyebrows raised, faces scrunched up.
At this point she didnāt even know what she really meant. Smaller, obviouslyābut they knew that. She knew that. They knew that she knew that.Ā
Clarksdale was less spooky than New Orleans, but somehow more haunted. Life here hummed along while something else lingered quietly in the shadows.
Outside, storm clouds hung high and heavy, waiting for their moment to break open. Rainfall started slowly, just a light pitter-patter at first, then more steadily, drumming the streets, the land, the roofs.
Annieās pencil hovered over the paper.Ā
I got a job in town to save for my shop, she wrote. On the colored side, so donāt go worrying.Ā
I aināt looked at any places. But if Aunt Della can have something of her own, so can I.Ā
She blinked twice, hesitating. Thenā
Send grandma, daddy, and my siblings all my love. I hope yāall can come see me soon.Ā
Love,Ā
Annie
P.S. Aināt found good fried catfish yet.Ā
Annieās gaze lingered on the letter for a moment. She folded it neatly, pressing a gentle kiss in the center like an invisible seal. The chair scraped against the floorboards as she stood, thunder crashing just as she blew out the candle. Her room was blanketed in near darkness until the flash of lightning lit up the shadows again. She tiptoed to her bed. The creak of the iron frame was silenced by the sounds of the storm as she sat down in the middle, bringing her knees to her chest. She looked outside, her mouth twisting into a sleepy, satisfied smile. The wind whistled through the cracks of the siding, carrying raindrops along with it, smearing them across the windows in long streaks. She cracked it, leaving it slightly open with a small block of wood, before laying down and tucking herself under the covers.
Outside blurred into sheets of rain. Inside, the room blurred into a sheet of darkness as Annieās eyelids started to feel like lead.Ā
All of a sudden she was in the kitchen, the house held under its familiar morning hush.
A fire crackled faintly in the stove, smoldering low just like it was left.Ā
She set the kettle on top, reaching for her special blend in the cupboard. Her fingertips brushed the shelves, gliding over jars, vials, canisters, mismatched mugs with chipped rims, and something soft tucked in between, until they landed on an empty spotā the one where her favorite mug usually lived.Ā
She turned. Her eyes searched the roomā the table, the shelves, the door, the wash basin next to itā until they landed on it. Her face relaxed slightly, perking up again when the kettle let out a deafening whistle.Ā
Annie grabbed the mug from the wash basin, the lingering warmth on the handle making her pauseājust for a second. She relaxed again as she took a slow sip, testing the heat on her tongue.Ā
Somewhere in another room, in a house that never settles, a floorboard creaked.
Water trickled. Then ran smoothly.Ā
The floorboard creaks got heavier. Closer.Ā
A shadow darkened the threshold. Her eyes followed it.Ā Thenā
Rain hammered the tin roof of the boarding house as night dragged on.Ā
A silver stream of moonlight sliced sharply through the darkness in Annieās room. She was staring at the ceilingājolted awake by a loud boom of thunder that shaken her out of her sleep. The storm had thinned out to a familiar, early fall rain.
She listened to the echo of crickets through the window. They chirped low, mimicking her heartbeatā a rapid, arrhythmic flutter.Ā
She squeezed her eyes shut and slowed her breathing.
Didnāt work.Ā
Annie scoffed, sitting up to lower her window some, careful not to close it completely.Ā
The outside noise had fadedā crickets, rain, animals. Gone. Mostly. Annie tucked herself in again, her eyes slowly beginning to close.Ā
In a few minutes they were back open.Ā
Because it wasnāt the night that was too loud.Ā
A gentle wind slipped through the crack of the window, bringing with it the earthy smell of rainā but the breeze did little to cool the heat that crept through her body.Ā
Her hand moved along the curve of her, stopping at her right ear where her fingertips grazed the side. It was hot to the touch, like his breath, his voice, his words were right there.Ā Ā
Her breath hitched when she realized the turn her mind had taken, her hand snapping to her side as that heatāfroze.Ā
Chill.Ā
Sharp and sudden, a shiver slid down her spine before disappearing just as fast.Ā
She rolled to her side suddenly, pulling the covers tighter, squeezing her eyes harderā pleading.Ā
The rain tapered off, now reduced to an audible drip from the edge of the roof by her bedroom. Slow. Methodical. Taunting.Ā
Her eyes didnāt snap open this time. She didnāt get flustered. She just laid on her side facing the window, watching the sky like she knew what to expect.Ā
Because she did.Ā
And dawn was approaching.
It arrived as it always did, a gentle, pale wash of color that slowly softened the edges of darkness.Ā
Annieās body moved ahead of her mind, her legs sweeping over the edge of the bed as she stood to her feet. She was tracing the outline of her ileke beads with her fingertips when she realizedā it was Saturday.Ā Ā
Which meant today would be easy.Ā
Breakfast chewed slow, coffee sipped slower. Everything a little lazier, a little less urgent. She could get out of the house, take a walk by the river, follow it to the place Chayton showed herāa spot he said the grass was tall and honeysuckle grew sweeter.Ā
After washing up, she slipped on a dress made for sunlightāa green wrap dressāand practically floated toward the staircase until she heard movement downstairs. She tiptoed down the stairs, turning the corner slowly to find Aunt Della in the kitchen, rolling biscuit dough, her movements deliberate, unrushed.Ā Ā
āWhere you think you goinā?ā She asked without looking up.Ā
Annie set her bag beside the woven basket on the table by the door. āOut to the woods.āĀ
āThis early?āĀ
āMhmm.ā
āWhere?ā
āThat place Chayton took us to the other day.ā
āHmm. Well, stay off the roads. Stay to the side and donāt be out there daydreaminā. Keep your ears open.āĀ
Aunt Della clapped her hands free of flour, then pulled something from her pocket. She approached Annie, grabbing her hand and putting it firmly in her palm. Annie looked down at it. It was a switchblade, small, foldable, with a bone handle and a sharp, serrated blade. Her thumb grazed the inscription carved into the handleā Seven Sisters.Ā
āKeep this on you,ā Aunt Della said firmly. āAlways.āĀ
āYes, maāam,ā Annie said, slipping on her work apron, then slipping the knife into her apron pocket.
āCome here,ā Aunt Della insisted, grabbing her arm. āHave some tea first āfore you go.āĀ
Annie slid into a stool in the kitchen as Aunt Della poured boiling water over a pack of herbs. The smell rose quickly. Jasmine, sassafras and mint. She stirred a spoonful of honey in, the spoon clinking against the insides of the ceramic cup.Ā
āI wrote a letter,ā Annie said as Aunt Della slid the cup towards her on the table. āTo mama.ā
āMmm?āĀ
āWas hopinā you knew how to get it to her.āĀ
Annie sipped from her cup, letting the tingle of warmth wash over her. A familiar feeling found her ankle. The gentle brush of the house catās coat.Ā
āTsk tsk tsk,ā she tutted. āCoucou, Felix,ā she lulled. The cat purred, the sound a deep rumble against her skin. He contorted his slender body against her like a long wave, then sat at her feet, his tail stroking her leg every other breath.
Aunt Della took a sip of her own tea before placing the cup down in its saucer. āBring it with you,ā she said. āTo church.ā
āDonāt let me forget,ā she said quietly, staring at her aunt with pleading eyes.Ā
She reached over to touch Annieās hand where it rested on the table. The warmth from the tea cup lingered like a pulse between them. āI wonāt, baby,ā she said softly, reassuring.Ā
āWe leave for church a little after first bell. Just before the night clears.āĀ
Annie took another sip of her tea. āWhenās that reverend due to come in?āĀ
āBefore supper.āĀ
āAnd heās preachinā tomorrow?ā
āMhmm. Got a big followinā,ā she said, stirring her tea with her finger. āThey say heās one of the most successful soul winners in the country,ā she added, emphasizing every word sarcastically.Ā
āHmm,ā Annie hummed, putting her teacup down. She stood, dodging Felix still curled up at her feet, and took it to the wash basin.Ā Ā Ā
āIāll be back before supper,ā she said while rinsing her cup. āProbably little after lunch.ā
āBe careful, Annie,ā Aunt Della insisted, as she slipped into her boots and grabbed her things by the door.Ā
The screen door shut firmly behind her, the porch steps still damp from morning dew and last nightās storm. Annie walked down them carefully, dodging puddles and pools of mud in the front yard.Ā
The road painted a picture of the night it had suffered throughā wet, soft and dark. Annie walked with purpose when she stepped onto the packed dirt, keeping to the sides of the road, partially hidden by shrubs. One arm was hooked through the handle of her basket, the other found its place in her pocket firmly palming her switchblade.Ā
She looked at her surroundingsā fall was approaching Clarksdale.
Leaves of all shades, burnt amber to pale green, lay along the packed dirt road like an offering. Cicadas still screeched from their treetop lairs while Spanish moss swayed elegantly in the early morning breeze. Little bits of milkweed seed blew gently through the air, leaving small blossoms in her coils like little white stars. She left behind a trail of jasmine and river water, like a midnight garden blooming in the crisp morning air behind her.
Annie was just to the riverbend when she felt a chilling stillness that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. The same feeling from her first day in town when they passed the white section, that tightness around her throat. It made her stop suddenly in her tracks.Ā
Then she heard it, the sound of an exhaust pipe sputtering and wheels crunching up the road.
āShit,ā she hissed under her breath.Ā Ā
The road sloped downwards into the woods surrounding both sides. She ducked off into the brush, boots sliding over the slick mud at the top of the bend.Ā
The brakes let off a lingering squeal as the wheels slowed, then stopped completely.Ā
A door opened, a rusty creak of a sound that echoed in the silence of the morning. It shut carefully, with a quiet click.
Her heart kicked against her ribs.Ā
She stepped over a fallen log to find cover behind a large oak tree, the fallen leaves rustling underneath her careful steps.Ā
It was silent for a beat, her heartbeat hammering in her ears as a mix of anticipation and dread took over.Ā
āAnnie?ā
Annie squeezed her eyes shut when she heard the familiar voice. Relief washed over her like a cooling balm on a burn. But she didnāt move. Not yet.
āAnnie,ā the voice said, louder, more firm.Ā
She peeked out from behind the tree slowly. Just her head.Ā
Smoke stood at the top of the bank, peering down into the trees. He wore only trousers and suspenders, a simple undershirt clinging tightly to his muscles in his broad chest.Ā
āWhat you out here for?āĀ
Annieās mind went blank for a second. Smoke raised a brow in response.Ā
āWork,ā she said finally. āJust doinā work.ā
He tilted his head, his hands flexing at his sides. āWhat kinda work?ā
āForaging.ā
āRight here?ā
āNo,ā she said, nodding towards the road, āa lilā further up.ā
He sighed. āAnnieāā
Annie stepped out from behind the tree, slowly. Her voice echoed off the trees. āIām fine, Smoke. Really.ā
Smoke scanned the treeline before he spoke, jaw tight. āThese roads aināt safe to be walkinā alone.ā
A pause.
āIāll take you.ā
She gasped under her breath. āYou aināt gottaāā
āI said,ā he interrupted. āIāll take you.āĀ
Annie exhaled slowly. Something in his gaze took the fight out of her.
He held out his hand to her to help her up the bank, looking down at her face that was tilted up at him. Her eyes were lighter here. Bigger, somehow. A warm chocolate brown with a flicker of gold in the irises where the sun touched them.
Annie looked down at Smokeās hand, then back up to his face. Up close, his features softened. Or maybe it was just the way the sun hit them.Ā
Either way, she held her hand out, accepting his help as she stepped out of the brush.Ā
The wind whispered delicately around them, Annieās skirt blowing slightly in the gentle breeze, exposing the swell of her thigh. Smokeās jaw tightened at the movement, his eyes dropping to where the fabric lifted. His hand hesitated for a moment, before smoothing the side of her skirt down.Ā
āThank you,ā Annie said softly.Ā
Smoke held her gaze for a moment before rounding the front of the truck to the driverās side door.Ā
The drive was quiet except for the light tap of Smokeās thumb against the steering wheel. Annie rested her right arm out the window as the landscape moved past her in flashes of muted orange, green and brown. The land was dead, or at least thatās what the color of it told her, the once green shrubs and brush shedding like snakeskin, baring itself for winter to swallow it whole.
āSo what you lookinā for?ā Smoke asked, cutting through the near silence.Ā
āSome herbs. Roots and such,ā she replied plainly.
āSo youāā he said, then hesitated. He swallowed, then continued. āYou like your aunt? Do all that hoodoo stuff?āĀ
Annie smiled, just faintly. āYeah,ā she said, looking over. āThat stuff.āĀ
āYou believe in all that?ā he asked, eyes fixed on the road.
āBelieve in what?āĀ
He paused before he spoke. āMagic.ā
Annie smoothed her hands down her skirt, setting them on her lap gently. She looked out the window. āI believe in people. Whatās passed down from āem,ā she answered. Paused. Then, āWhat you believe in?ā
Smokeās head turned to the side, tilting. āMoney. Respect.ā
Annie hummed in acknowledgement, turning her head back towards the window.
āWhat exactly you need?ā Smoke probed.Ā
āStuff you can find in the dirt. Plants. Herbs.ā
A quiet sigh escaped from Smoke, making Annie turn her head again. She arched her brow. A silent prodding.
āI know that. What kind?āĀ
Annie looked at Smoke skeptically. āWhy?ā
Smoke shrugged his shoulders slowly, āJust wanna know.āĀ
Annie faced forward. Exhaled. Took her time with her answer. āComfrey. Honeysuckle. Mugwort. Stuff like that.ā
āI know a place,ā he said, looking over briefly before turning his attention back to the road. āIf thatās okay with you.āĀ
Silence settled for a beat before Annie realized Smoke wasnāt driving in the direction she pointed him towards. She looked over her shoulder then back to Smoke, then back over her shoulder again. Her face twisted, but not with panicā curiosity. āThis aināt whereā¦Smokeā¦where we goinā?āĀ
āI told you, I know a place,ā he said simply.Ā
Annie sat forward in the seatāskepticalāher eyes tracing the side of Smokeās face. āWhere is it, Smoke? Where you takinā me?āĀ
āThereās a spot,ā he said, clearing his throat. āIn the woods. Itās safe. Nobody goes out there but us.āĀ
āUs?ā
āMe and Stack,ā he clarified. āThat okay with you?ā he said a bit louder, looking over to meet Annieās gaze once more.Ā
Annieās hand tightened in her lap. āIf itās not?ā
āI turn around, take you to your spot.āĀ
Annie considered for a moment, then nodded.Ā
āOkay.ā
ā
Smoke pulled up to a stretch of land, split in two by a rough dirt path.Ā
The ancient oak and sweetgum trees were tall surrounding it, bent over almost as if they were in reverence.
Smoke ushered Annie out of his truck, holding her steady by the waist so she wouldnāt fall victim to the uneven earth that made up the path.Ā
Leaves brushed the walkway, crunching underneath their boots as they made their way further into the forest. Smoke walked just ahead of Annieā sure in his steps, leading the way, looking behind him every so often to make sure she was still there.Ā
Annieās eyes darted from the oak trees, to the blanket of fallen leaves beneath it, to the tiny animals that scurried in the thicket.Ā
The cicadas screeched above them, dulling the trickle of the creek just ahead of themā but Annie still felt the current.Ā
āRight here,ā Annie said, stopping in her tracks, kneelingā her bare knees burrowing in the rich dirt where she landed.Ā
She brushed away the few leaves that laid over the spot, hands hovering over the earth.Ā
Then she dug.Ā
Smoke stopped when he didnāt feel her behind him. He turned around to find her completely absorbed in the ground.
Annie planted her hands in the dirt, soil instantly collecting under her fingernails. Her fingertips wrapped around a plant rooted deeply underneath the surface.Ā
She paused before pulling it towards her, pressing her other hand into the soil to steady herself.Ā
She stopped.Ā
Pulled the switchblade from her apron pocket, and made a clean cut at the root.Ā
Then she whispered something under her breathā not loud, just audible enough for Smoke to hear it. Her eyes squeezed shut, focusing on the plants, the soil, her own instinct.Ā
Smoke kept his eyes on Annie as the cicadas went quiet.Ā
The rustle of leaves faded.Ā
The silence of the woods lingered before it started to feel deafening.Ā
He took a step towards her before crouching down. Not interrupting, just giving into a sudden urgency that seemed to overtake his instinct.Ā
He balanced himself, his palm pressing into the soil next where Annieās hand was firmly planted.Ā
A moment of silenceāalmost like he knew better than to interruptāpassed between them.Ā
āYou good?ā he whispered suddenly.Ā
Annie looked up towards Smoke, her hand pressing deeper in the soil.Ā
āYeah,ā she replied, her voice almost a whisper. She finished pulling the root, brushing dirt from her hands. āIām good.āĀ
Smoke didnāt move right away. Neither did Annie.Ā
His hand flexed once in the soil, his thumb pressing into the dirt like he needed the touch.Ā
āOkay,ā he replied, standing when pressure built in his ears that had his eyes scanning the woods. He cleared his throat, flexing his hands as he took a step back.Ā
āIām right here,ā he said, pointing to the outline of a house a ways down the dirt path.
Annie nodded again, turning back to her work as the sound of Smokeās footsteps disappeared down the trail.
Time felt like it stood still.
It was afternoon now, the rays of sun that peeked through the trees the only indication of the day passing.Ā
Annie worked slowly, reverentlyāpulling, dusting and stacking in her basket until she felt like she collected enough.Ā
She sat on her knees, exhausted, wiping a small bead of sweat from her temple.Ā
Then she pulled out her paper and pencil.
She smoothed the paper as much as she could as it curved over her legs. It found the dips and grooves in her skin and the wrinkles in the fabric of her dress.
The tip of the pencil hovered for a moment before touching down. She drew a line, light at first. Then another, curving off it without closing. She paused, glancing at the ground, then back to the page.Ā
The roots pushed through the dirt the way they wanted, twisting under the surface before breaking through. She followed that with her pencil, letting the line bend where it needed to. It dragged slightly where the soil had been packed down. She smudged that part with her thumb.Ā
Light cut across the page unevenlyā patches of it catching, others falling into shadow. She tilted the paper just slightly, filling in those parts with softer strokes.Ā
The lines didnāt come together cleanly. They spread, overlapped, smudged, and shaded, fading into one another until something like a moment took shape on the page.Ā Ā
She looked at it for a minute longer, then slid the pencil back into her apron pocket. She folded the paper up until it was just a small square, and tucked that into her purse.Ā
Then she was back in the dirt.
Pressing soil back into place, covering what had been disturbed, working her hands until the ground looked just as sheād found it.Ā
ā
Annie was gathering her things when she heard him in the distance. She perked up, her head craning over her shoulder.Ā
Her eyes narrowed as the bright afternoon sun blinded her from the sight walking up the path in the distance, but she could hear boots crunching against the bed of fallen leaves.
Smoke.
She raised a hand to block out the sun, her eyes sweeping up his frame until they landed on his.Ā
āGot lunch if you want some.ā
She nodded once, moving to push herself up to her feet in one swift motion. Smoke caught her mid-motion on the arm, helping her stand all the way up. āThank you,ā she said, wiping her hands against her apron to shake off the dirt.Ā Ā
Smoke turned, motioning his head for Annie to follow him. They walked side by side, the occasional birdcall or soft snap of twigs beneath their feet the only sounds between them. The house came into full view through the trees, a modest, well-preserved shotgun on cinderblocks.Ā
They stopped at a wash basin outside where she scrubbed her hands clean before moving to the porch. It was wide, slightly sagging, with sun-scorched floorboards that lifted on one side. Annie stepped through the door slowly, her eyes moving without hurry.Ā
The smell hit her first. The savory aroma of meat. Something smothered, simmered low and cooked slow. And spice. Enough to make your nose tingle, but not enough to make you sneeze.
The inside of the house was warm, but not in temperature. It was cozyāa neat space maintained with care.Ā
The space was deep, one long room sectioned off into separate areas. Two cots at the front behind a divider, and two heavy, metal trunks with rusted latches stood at the foot of each bed. The living area was just beyond that, decorated with bookshelves along the walls and a brown striped fabric couch in the center covered in plastic. By the back door was the kitchenā a wood-burning stove, table and chairs, and wooden shelving along the walls.Ā
Everything had its place, but not in a way that felt stiff. Stacks of clean dishes in the kitchen, neatly folded blankets on the couch, a slew of medals arranged carefully on a bookshelf, set apart from the other items in a way that made Annie pause.Ā
Smoke saw her glancing at them, but said nothing. The silverware clinked where he began to set them on the table.
āWhat are these?ā Annie asked, pointing. She took a step towards them, careful not to touch. They were held inside a velvet box, displayed on a bed of faded cream-colored satin.
Smoke shrugged. āShit from the war,ā he muttered, moving past her to pull out glasses and plates like the question didnāt need much more than that.
Annie narrowed her eyes, leaning in just enough to read. Her lips moved faintly over the inscription.
Smoke exhaled sharply, setting a plate down harder than he meant to. āThatās who we fought with.āĀ Ā
Annieās brows pulled together. āWhat you mean?ā
Smokeās jaw ticked. āWe foughtā¦with the French army.ā
āWhy?ā
That made Smoke pause.
āJim Crow.āĀ
Annie didnāt say anything back. She had heard the stories. Knew them intimately. One of her own brothers was packed up and shipped out of Hoboken. Six months later, they sent word he was accidentally shot. Didnāt say how or why a man in the engineering battalion was subject to gunfire.Ā
They wouldnāt even send his body back. Said they wouldnāt pack it on a ship with the bodies of white men.Ā
All on account of Jim Crow.Ā
She slowly turned back to the medals. Green and red striped fabric affixed with brass stars sat at the top, at the bottom was the medal, its color a dull bronze. A round, raised figurehead sat in the center, intersected by two overlapping swords and four triangular spokes alternating between them.Ā
It looked delicate. It looked dangerous. It looked like something earned with blood, bone, and brutality.
āYou speak it?ā Smoke threw over his shoulder.Ā
Annie took her time to answer. She was still looking over the medals, drawn in by the detail. āHuh?āĀ
āFrench.ā
āYeah,ā she said slowly, still looking at the medals. āI do.ā
A beat passed. Annieās eyes moved to the row of bound notebooks on the shelf next to the medals. Threadbare bindings, some canvas, some leatherā all neatly aligned. On their spines were neat handwriting. Precise, thin, cursive, written in a deep, onyx ink.Ā
āWhere you learn that?ā
His voice came suddenly. Deeper. Closer. Right there next to her ear, just like in Chowās.
Annieās eyes fluttered shut, then snapped back open. She sighed, then twisted her neck over her shoulder to look Smoke in the eye.Ā Ā
āYou shoā do live up to your nickname,ā she drawled, squinting.
Smoke tilted his head. He had a twinkle in his eye and half a smirk on his lips. āWhat you mean by that?ā
āYou have a habit of sneakinā up on people.ā
He tilted his head to the other side, huffing a quiet laugh under his breath. āAināt sneakinā if you payinā attention, Miss Annie,ā he teased.
āWho said I wasnāt payinā attention,ā she fired back, her Louisiana lilt wrapping around more than just her words.Ā
Smokeās eyes flicked down slowly, following the curve of her face before landing on the pulse in her throat. It was steady. Too steady. His eyes flicked back up.Ā
Annie turned, fully facing him and crossing her arms lazily under her chest in one smooth move. āBack in Louisiana,ā she answered, holding his gaze. āEverybody there know some kind of French.āĀ
Smoke answered with a grunt. Annie answered back with a hum, then moved around him to the kitchen. She sat at the table, easing herself into a chair that faced where he was still standing. Smoke let her go. He didnāt follow herābut his eyes did, body twisting slightly, hands flexing once at his sides.Ā
āYou learn any?ā She asked, leaning forward a little. āFrom the war?āĀ
Smoke turned until he was facing her where she was sitting across the room. Slowly. Not like he wanted to make a show out of it, just like her voice pulled him there. He walked back into the kitchen where cups and plates were stacked haphazardly on a row of shelves. He grabbed two glass mason jars, looking them over for a second before turning towards the table with them. āLittle bit.āĀ
Annie tilted her head, something playful in it. āLike what?ā
Smoke set the glasses down, one in front of Annie, the other directly across the table. āHi. Bye.ā
Annie smiled. āThat it?ā
āMhm.ā
She leaned back slightly in her chair, looking at him like she didnāt believe that for a second. āWhat else?ā
Smoke paused for a second. Then shook his head. āNah, nothinā.āĀ
Annieās smile curved into something sly. āTell me.āĀ
āNah.ā Smoke shook his head again. āNothinā a lady need to hear.ā
She let out a soft laugh, fingers curling on the table. āSmoke, I got brothers,ā she sassed. āAināt much I aināt heard.āĀ
āThat donāt meanāā He paused abruptly, cursing under his breath. Whatever was starting to curve up on his face flattened into a straight line.
He could hear it in the distance, the rumble at the edge of the dirt road that led the path to their home. The tread of tires crunching over leaves and fallen branches. The roar of an engine. The sudden cutoff. Then bootsteps. Familiar, unhurried, confidentā like a walking permanent smirk.Ā
Smoke didnāt look up.Ā
The screen door reared back and slammed shut just as fast. In with it came the sweltering Mississippi heat like an unwelcome guestāand Stack. He stepped through the threshold casually like he owned the room, jacket hanging loose on his shoulders.Ā Ā
āSmell somethinā decent for once. Thought I was cominā to the wrong houāāĀ
He paused, standing in the doorway. His eyes moved quickly out of habitā from Annieās hands resting lightly in her lap, to Smoke leaning over the table, then back to Annie.
āWell, Iāll be damned,ā he said with a grin.Ā
Smoke looked up then, meeting his brotherās eyes. Something quick and quiet passed between them, making Stackās brow rise a fraction. Just barely. Stack looked at Annie, her eyes darting between the two of them curiously.Ā
āHey, Annie,ā Stack said warmly.
Annieās mouth curved, just a little. āHey, Stack,ā she replied just as warmly.
āThought you was goinā out,ā Stack remarked to his brother as he moved further into the room.Ā
Smoke reached for the pitcher of tea, pouring it into glasses like nothing in the air had shifted. āChange of plans.ā
Stack pulled out a chair and sat, leaning back like he was settling in to watch something play out. He nodded towards Annie. āYou settlinā in alright?ā
āYeah,ā she replied, taking a sip of her tea. āStill learninā my way around.ā
āMm,ā he hummed. āAināt too much to it. Youāll get used to it just fine.āĀ
Annie nodded, considering. āIāll keep that in mind.ā
Stackās eyes swept the room again. Table set. Two glasses. Two plates. Smoke at the counter, reaching for a third. Annie at the table. āYāall ate?ā Stack asked, leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees.Ā
āāBout to,ā Smoke replied.Ā
āGood,ā he answered with a grin. āCame home at the right time, then.āĀ
Smoke uncovered the heavy pot on the stove. The savory scent of smothered neckbones filled the airā even more fragrant now. The aroma mingled with the sharp scent of bay leaf from the rice on the burner next to it.Ā
Smoke set Annieās plate down in front of her, then set Stackās plate down on the table and slid it to him, before setting his own down.
They ate their meal quietly, just the clinking of plates, occasional clearing of a throat, and hum of satisfaction that came with a good meal.Ā
Annie took slow bites, her eyes flicking between Smoke and Stack every so often, before drifting over to parts of the room she could see without turning her head.Ā
Smoke took slow, deliberate bites of his foodā eyes much more steady, finding Annie where she sat across from him, then over to Stack where he was looking between the two of them with a glint of something in his eyes.Ā
Stack took a healthy bite of rice and meat, then set his fork down. He grabbed the mug in front of him, took a large audible gulp of tea, then set it on the table a little harder than necessary. He wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand and cleared his throat dramatically, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest.Ā
Smoke didnāt react. Annie paused for half a second before returning right back to her food.
āSo what yāall been doinā all day?ā He asked.
Annie looked across the table mid-bite at Smoke, who spoke up first.
āMiss Della asked me to give Annie a ride,ā he said, looking at her while he spoke. āSo she could do some work.āĀ
Stackās eyes lingered on his brother before looking over at Annie, then back over to Smoke. āThat right?āĀ
Smoke turned his head, looking Stack dead in the eyes. āThatās right.āĀ
Stack leaned forward, elbows on the table. āWhy she aināt ask me? I was already in town.āĀ
Smoke shrugged casually, his eyes still locked on his brotherās. āGotta ask her.āĀ
They shared a lookā whatever passed between them this time made Stack stand down. He leaned back in his chair, still smirking, eyes still sharp. āWhat work you doinā, Annie?ā
āShe tryna eat, Stack,ā Smoke said firmly. āHer basket by the door since you so curious.āĀ
Stack put his hands up in a playful surrender. āMy bad. Shit.āĀ
Annieās legs swung under the table as she reached for her tea. She took a sip. Set the cup down, then cleared her throat. āThis a nice place yāall got.āĀ
Stack rubbed the rim of his glass with his fingertips and looked up.Ā
Smoke rose from the table, taking his plate and Annieās with him. āThank you.āĀ
Annie stood up. She walked around the room slowly, eyes focusing on everything and nothing at all. āItās just yāall two?ā She asked, fingertips grazing a stack of quilts folded neatly, piled high on the couch.Ā
Annie could feel the tension with her back turned. She didnāt push.Ā
āWhat ābout you?ā Stack asked. āMiss Della the only family you got in Mississippi?ā
āMhmm,ā Annie responded. āShe the only one who left Louisiana.ā
āNobody else left?ā Smoke asked.
āNah,ā she replied with a shake of her head.
āWhy not?ā Stack asked.Ā
āMy family been there since we crossedā¦you know. We got land there. History. Guess they donāt want it fallinā in the wrong hands.āĀ
āMakes sense,ā Stack replied.Ā
Stack was still sitting at the table. Smoke was standing by the wash basin, arms crossed. They were both looking at her.
āI should get back,ā she sighed, turning around. āAunt Dellaās probably wonderinā where I am.āĀ
Smoke nodded, pushing himself off the counter. He crossed the room and grabbed his hat, keys, and Annieās basket by the door, holding it open for her. āReady?āĀ
āYeah,ā Annie said quietly. She stopped towards the door and paused. āNice to see you again, Stack.āĀ Ā
āGood seeinā you, Annie,ā Stack said as she slipped out the door. His golds flashed. Smoke looked back at him once before stepping out behind Annie, giving Stack a look that made him grin a little wider just as the door shut behind them.Ā
ā
The air outside felt like an exhale. The rays of sunset bled through the trees, splaying a single streak of gold across Annieās shoulder where her top had shifted slightly. She walked just ahead of Smoke to his truck. She took a second to look back at him, just to find him already looking at her. She smiled a little, almost instinctively, before turning forward again.Ā
āThank you, again,ā she said as they reached the truck, her back flush to the passenger door. āFor today.ā
Smoke said nothing. He tilted his head down at her. Took a step closer. Then his gaze dropped. His hands rose, hovering over her shoulders. They hesitated for a second. Then they lowered, fingers hooking underneath the straps of her dress. He pulled it over her shoulders where it had slipped from them. Patted them gently, like his touch would make the fabric stay in place. Only then did he look back up at herā just before reaching behind her to slowly open the passenger side door.Ā
Annie didnāt exhale again until he rounded the front.Ā
The truck roared to life underneath them, bouncing over grooves and holes that the storm had made slick. The transition from countryside to town was quick, but that didnāt make it any less quiet. The sound of cicadas was traded with wagon wheels and commotion on the street. In one place it was just the land that watched, but the closer they got to Fourth, the more it felt like the town had eyes too.Ā
Annie hung gently out of the passenger side window, watching the scenery go by. Old equipment lay discarded in vines and weeds until the countryside gave way to wooden buildings and wire fences. Livestock turned into faces that stared back intently. She waved at some people she recognized out of instinct. Some she remembered from Chowās, others from Luellaās and everywhere in between. They paused for a moment, whispering to one another. Their wave finally came, but it was a second too late. The feeling it carried with it was a little too stiff. Annie noticed it allāthe hesitance, the whispers.Ā
She didnāt react all at once.Ā
First it was her arm. It moved from the window down to her lap.Ā
Then her head. It went from looking out the window to looking down.Ā
Then her shoulders slumped. Just slightly.Ā
Smoke looked over to the passenger side. To Annieās hands gripping the hem of her apron, fingers fiddling with a loose string at the edge. She wasnāt looking out the window anymore. Smile was gone. Her head was down, her lips moving slightly, but no words were coming out. She almost looked smaller like this. Not dramatically, just enough for him to notice.Ā
But that wasnāt even what really bothered him.Ā
His hands tightened on the wheel. āAye,ā he said. āDonāt pay āem no mind.āĀ
Annie kept her eyes on the loose string, her fingers flicking it around.Ā
āYou hear me?ā Smoke asked as they came to a stop. He cut the engine, leaving them with only the sound of their own thoughts.Ā
Annie straightened up a little. āIām good,ā she replied.Ā
Smoke raised a brow, one hand on the wheel. āGood. Cuz we still gotta schedule our lesson.ā
āLesson?ā
He tilted his head down, looking at Annie under his lashes. āOur French lesson.ā
Annie chuckled, crossing her arms gently. āFrench lesson?āĀ
She blinked slowly, her long, thick lashes framing them delicately. āI thought I was too much of a lady for you to tell me what you learned over there, what changed?āĀ
Smoke gripped the wheel a little tighter. āInstead of me teachinā you, I reckon you can teach me.ā
āTeach you?ā she asked incredulously. āWhat makes you so interested in French all of a sudden?ā She continued, eyes wide.Ā Ā
He looked over to the boarding house, then back over to Annie. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping a fraction. āI like the way you say it.āĀ
Annieās eyes narrowed. āI said two words, Smoke.āĀ
āAnd I like the way you say it,ā he said slower.Ā
Annie blinked, slowly, hands still crossed over her chest. āHmm.ā
He paused for a moment, eyes searching hers.Ā
āYou sure you good?ā He asked again.
Her breath caught. āYeah,ā she replied earnestly. āIām okay.āĀ
āPeople āround here always got somethinā to say about me, my brother. Especially people who aināt even had a conversation with me. Donāt let that bother you none.āĀ
Annie felt her heart beat a little faster. His words, the care they carried with them, settling into her skin. Her eyes sparkled, that edge from a few moments earlierā softened a smidge.Ā
She hesitated first, then leaned over, planting a quick, innocent kiss on his cheek.Ā
āBonne nuit,ā she said gently.Ā
Smokeās breath hitched.Ā
He heard the creak and thud of his truck door opening, then closing.
Watched Annie as she made her way up the steps of the boarding house.
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an: hey guys:) kinda long time no see but i am here lol. this lowkey some god awful writing but i tried to switch it up. hope you enjoy and happy readingšš¤š½
aneika bounced her leg fast as she sat in an unmarked car made to be hidden in plain sight. smoke was two minutes behind schedule. in any other situation a few minutes wouldnāt have mattered but now it did. she clutched the gun tighter with sweaty palms and grimaced when she thought over their current situation.
they had been on the run for six weeks. six weeks since they had to leave behind the home they built from the ground up. the roots and connections made in a city annie was beginning to love. all over a spur of the moment decision smoke made to save his brother. stack had gotten caught up. it was supposed to be a standard run. in and out. he had been meeting with the same business partner for months now. he didnāt pick up on the signs of the man being a fed.
but smoke did. elijah hardly ever missed a detail, he even paid attention to the smalls one. which was exactly how he ended up in this mess. it started off small: cars making the exact same turns, at the exact same time. then it picked up. money coming up missing, people who didnāt usually look twice suddenly asking too many questions. elijah took note of it all. knew when to be in place when the raid happened. played as his brother during questioning. they were twins after all. he could mirror mannerisms without a second thought.
and when he came to aneikaās door telling her he had to dip out for a while. she packed a bag and emptied her safe without another word. she knew it was dumb but smoke was all she knew. and if he was going, she was riding too.
he told her the plan: they would only be moving for a few weeks. laying low while also not being sitting ducks. cash payments only, they couldnāt afford to be tracked. not when the feds were on their tails and the devil was knocking at their door. and no matter what, he would never leave her behind. not then and not now.
annie played the plan back in her head. smoke was a man of his word. so if he said something annie had no choice but to trust it.
annie was so locked into her thoughts that she almost missed the passenger side door cracking open. almost. the intensity of the situation had her on high alert. her head snapped up quickly. smoke slid in stealthily while throwing two duffles bags into the backseat before the door even closed. she pulled off from the bank without another word.
they both chose to ignore the faint sound of sirens as they pulled off of the 2nd block from the bank. they had put enough distance between themselves for smoke to finally lift the ski mask from his face. sweat sliding down his temple. half from the cali heat and half from the adrenaline.
the car cruised into a smooth motion as they blended into the ongoing traffic. smoke peeped it off rip. a car unmarked just like theirs making the same turns, at the same speed. he felt a tingle go down his spine.
āspeed up a lil bit maā he tapped her thigh to gain her focus. she floored the pedal. weaving in and out of cars on the busy street. elijah stayed calm to not scare her as a heavy feeling creeped into his stomach.
aneika knew what the look on his face meant. someone was catching up to them. she shifted her mind off of him and back onto the packed highway, only a few more miles until the interstate. they could make it. she had been training for moments like this one since the day she met smoke and became a permanent part of his world.
her heartbeat echoed loudly in her ears. she could hear it over the sound of hot tires gliding over worn down roads. smoke felt the unease as if it were his own body creating the sensation. he lifted a hand to rub the back of her neck soothingly.
āwhatever happens itās me and you babyā he said emotion weighing down his words. annie blinked back tears. for some reason his words sounded like a goodbye. the exit for the interstate glowed like a small sun in front of the coupleās eyes.
she moved lanes smoothly. the exit she took was deserted, a sweet reprieve from the fast paced city they just left behind. elijah let out a deep sigh. everything felt too good to be true.
as they neared the end of the street, aneika blinked rapidly. lined up in front of them were swat cars stretching from end to end in a pool of flashing lights. then she heard it. the whooshing noise of helicopters circling above the roof of the car.
the car came to a halt in the middle of the empty road. smoke gripped her hand tightly and pulled her in for a breath taking kiss. every memory they shared together played on a loop in their heads.
āSTEP OUT OF THE VECHICLEā was just background to smoke and annie.
sneaking into each otherās dorm rooms to share cold chinese food.
āFINAL WARNINGā the chief sounded off again.
wedding vows whispered quietly before they faced the noise.
āFIREā was the last thing the couple heard before rounds let off.
elijah and aneika had been through many things together and they were ending it with a bang.
the desire to pretend white women are simply always victims and groomed into fascist movements instead of being willing participants is by design, u have been taught ur entire life that white women are dainty angels that have to be lead and protected and no harm they do is fault of their own, thats why u think literal nazi women are just confused harmless babies, itās designed that way on purpose
an: hey guys:) kinda long time no see but i am here lol. this lowkey some god awful writing but i tried to switch it up. hope you enjoy and happy readingšš¤š½
aneika bounced her leg fast as she sat in an unmarked car made to be hidden in plain sight. smoke was two minutes behind schedule. in any other situation a few minutes wouldnāt have mattered but now it did. she clutched the gun tighter with sweaty palms and grimaced when she thought over their current situation.
they had been on the run for six weeks. six weeks since they had to leave behind the home they built from the ground up. the roots and connections made in a city annie was beginning to love. all over a spur of the moment decision smoke made to save his brother. stack had gotten caught up. it was supposed to be a standard run. in and out. he had been meeting with the same business partner for months now. he didnāt pick up on the signs of the man being a fed.
but smoke did. elijah hardly ever missed a detail, he even paid attention to the smalls one. which was exactly how he ended up in this mess. it started off small: cars making the exact same turns, at the exact same time. then it picked up. money coming up missing, people who didnāt usually look twice suddenly asking too many questions. elijah took note of it all. knew when to be in place when the raid happened. played as his brother during questioning. they were twins after all. he could mirror mannerisms without a second thought.
and when he came to aneikaās door telling her he had to dip out for a while. she packed a bag and emptied her safe without another word. she knew it was dumb but smoke was all she knew. and if he was going, she was riding too.
he told her the plan: they would only be moving for a few weeks. laying low while also not being sitting ducks. cash payments only, they couldnāt afford to be tracked. not when the feds were on their tails and the devil was knocking at their door. and no matter what, he would never leave her behind. not then and not now.
annie played the plan back in her head. smoke was a man of his word. so if he said something annie had no choice but to trust it.
annie was so locked into her thoughts that she almost missed the passenger side door cracking open. almost. the intensity of the situation had her on high alert. her head snapped up quickly. smoke slid in stealthily while throwing two duffles bags into the backseat before the door even closed. she pulled off from the bank without another word.
they both chose to ignore the faint sound of sirens as they pulled off of the 2nd block from the bank. they had put enough distance between themselves for smoke to finally lift the ski mask from his face. sweat sliding down his temple. half from the cali heat and half from the adrenaline.
the car cruised into a smooth motion as they blended into the ongoing traffic. smoke peeped it off rip. a car unmarked just like theirs making the same turns, at the same speed. he felt a tingle go down his spine.
āspeed up a lil bit maā he tapped her thigh to gain her focus. she floored the pedal. weaving in and out of cars on the busy street. elijah stayed calm to not scare her as a heavy feeling creeped into his stomach.
aneika knew what the look on his face meant. someone was catching up to them. she shifted her mind off of him and back onto the packed highway, only a few more miles until the interstate. they could make it. she had been training for moments like this one since the day she met smoke and became a permanent part of his world.
her heartbeat echoed loudly in her ears. she could hear it over the sound of hot tires gliding over worn down roads. smoke felt the unease as if it were his own body creating the sensation. he lifted a hand to rub the back of her neck soothingly.
āwhatever happens itās me and you babyā he said emotion weighing down his words. annie blinked back tears. for some reason his words sounded like a goodbye. the exit for the interstate glowed like a small sun in front of the coupleās eyes.
she moved lanes smoothly. the exit she took was deserted, a sweet reprieve from the fast paced city they just left behind. elijah let out a deep sigh. everything felt too good to be true.
as they neared the end of the street, aneika blinked rapidly. lined up in front of them were swat cars stretching from end to end in a pool of flashing lights. then she heard it. the whooshing noise of helicopters circling above the roof of the car.
the car came to a halt in the middle of the empty road. smoke gripped her hand tightly and pulled her in for a breath taking kiss. every memory they shared together played on a loop in their heads.
āSTEP OUT OF THE VECHICLEā was just background to smoke and annie.
sneaking into each otherās dorm rooms to share cold chinese food.
āFINAL WARNINGā the chief sounded off again.
wedding vows whispered quietly before they faced the noise.
āFIREā was the last thing the couple heard before rounds let off.
elijah and aneika had been through many things together and they were ending it with a bang.
an: hey guys:) kinda long time no see but i am here lol. this lowkey some god awful writing but i tried to switch it up. hope you enjoy and happy readingšš¤š½
aneika bounced her leg fast as she sat in an unmarked car made to be hidden in plain sight. smoke was two minutes behind schedule. in any other situation a few minutes wouldnāt have mattered but now it did. she clutched the gun tighter with sweaty palms and grimaced when she thought over their current situation.
they had been on the run for six weeks. six weeks since they had to leave behind the home they built from the ground up. the roots and connections made in a city annie was beginning to love. all over a spur of the moment decision smoke made to save his brother. stack had gotten caught up. it was supposed to be a standard run. in and out. he had been meeting with the same business partner for months now. he didnāt pick up on the signs of the man being a fed.
but smoke did. elijah hardly ever missed a detail, he even paid attention to the smalls one. which was exactly how he ended up in this mess. it started off small: cars making the exact same turns, at the exact same time. then it picked up. money coming up missing, people who didnāt usually look twice suddenly asking too many questions. elijah took note of it all. knew when to be in place when the raid happened. played as his brother during questioning. they were twins after all. he could mirror mannerisms without a second thought.
and when he came to aneikaās door telling her he had to dip out for a while. she packed a bag and emptied her safe without another word. she knew it was dumb but smoke was all she knew. and if he was going, she was riding too.
he told her the plan: they would only be moving for a few weeks. laying low while also not being sitting ducks. cash payments only, they couldnāt afford to be tracked. not when the feds were on their tails and the devil was knocking at their door. and no matter what, he would never leave her behind. not then and not now.
annie played the plan back in her head. smoke was a man of his word. so if he said something annie had no choice but to trust it.
annie was so locked into her thoughts that she almost missed the passenger side door cracking open. almost. the intensity of the situation had her on high alert. her head snapped up quickly. smoke slid in stealthily while throwing two duffles bags into the backseat before the door even closed. she pulled off from the bank without another word.
they both chose to ignore the faint sound of sirens as they pulled off of the 2nd block from the bank. they had put enough distance between themselves for smoke to finally lift the ski mask from his face. sweat sliding down his temple. half from the cali heat and half from the adrenaline.
the car cruised into a smooth motion as they blended into the ongoing traffic. smoke peeped it off rip. a car unmarked just like theirs making the same turns, at the same speed. he felt a tingle go down his spine.
āspeed up a lil bit maā he tapped her thigh to gain her focus. she floored the pedal. weaving in and out of cars on the busy street. elijah stayed calm to not scare her as a heavy feeling creeped into his stomach.
aneika knew what the look on his face meant. someone was catching up to them. she shifted her mind off of him and back onto the packed highway, only a few more miles until the interstate. they could make it. she had been training for moments like this one since the day she met smoke and became a permanent part of his world.
her heartbeat echoed loudly in her ears. she could hear it over the sound of hot tires gliding over worn down roads. smoke felt the unease as if it were his own body creating the sensation. he lifted a hand to rub the back of her neck soothingly.
āwhatever happens itās me and you babyā he said emotion weighing down his words. annie blinked back tears. for some reason his words sounded like a goodbye. the exit for the interstate glowed like a small sun in front of the coupleās eyes.
she moved lanes smoothly. the exit she took was deserted, a sweet reprieve from the fast paced city they just left behind. elijah let out a deep sigh. everything felt too good to be true.
as they neared the end of the street, aneika blinked rapidly. lined up in front of them were swat cars stretching from end to end in a pool of flashing lights. then she heard it. the whooshing noise of helicopters circling above the roof of the car.
the car came to a halt in the middle of the empty road. smoke gripped her hand tightly and pulled her in for a breath taking kiss. every memory they shared together played on a loop in their heads.
āSTEP OUT OF THE VECHICLEā was just background to smoke and annie.
sneaking into each otherās dorm rooms to share cold chinese food.
āFINAL WARNINGā the chief sounded off again.
wedding vows whispered quietly before they faced the noise.
āFIREā was the last thing the couple heard before rounds let off.
elijah and aneika had been through many things together and they were ending it with a bang.
After holding on to this set for 2 years, it will finally have a new home. I initially wanted to sell it buuuuuuut I didnāt want to turn my hobby into a job. So I just kept it until I realized my coworker can fit it (she wasnāt my coworker when I made it)! Goodness, I thought Iād have this forever! š
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Annie, an 18-year-old from New Orleans, moves to Clarksdale with dreams of building a life all her own. There she meets Smoke, a 21-year-old war veteran with a dangerous reputation. What grows between them is sweet, sticky, and Southernā a smoldering love set against a world of bootlegging, Hoodoo, and blues.
Chapter 8
He didnāt need to know what was said.
Didnāt 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 wasnāt 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.Ā
Sunlight cut across the empty desks, catching the chalk dust that still hovered in the air. The classroom was quiet, but it wasnāt 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.Ā
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.
āDemetria.ā Smokeās voice was cold too, which wasnāt out of the ordinary. It usually was. But this kind of cold was more resolve than anything.Ā
āSmoke,ā she said back.Ā
āWe need to talk.ā
āWell, hello to you too,ā she said sharply.
āHey,ā he said. āWe need to talk,ā he repeated, tone flat.
She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. āAbout?ā she asked with a challenge in her tone.
āUs.ā
The word made her lean forward on her elbows.Ā
āI just came to say weāre done. For good this time,ā he said firmly. He opened his mouth, then closed it, like he had something more to say but decided against it.Ā
āThatās it?ā The look on her face went from amusement to surprise to something else in the span of a few seconds. āThatās all you have to say to me?ā
āIām sorry it took so long for me to say out loud. I should have said it sooner. Thatās on me. But we been done a while. You know that.ā
āYou always did think silence was kinder than the truth,ā she fired back.Ā
Smoke hung his head. Because she wasnāt wrong. Her anger, he could take on the chest. He at least owed her that.Ā
āLook, I donāt know whatās been said or who you been sayinā it to,ā he started. āBut whateverās been said, Iām here to put it to rest.āĀ
Something flashed across her face and left just as quickly. Recognition. And the sinking feeling of dread. āYou must got somebody you care about a whole lot, to come all the way over here just so you could say it plain,ā she said. āShe know about me?āĀ
āIām sayinā it now,ā he said, voice low.Ā
āDoes she know about me?ā She asked again. A little louder this time.
Smokeās jaw ticked.Ā
āSo there is somebody else,ā she said carefully.
Smoke didnāt answer.Ā
She studied his face for anythingā 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 didnāt. But she put her dignity back on anyway.
āWell,ā she said, almost breathless. āThere it is.ā
Smoke nodded once. Demetria looked at him like she couldnāt 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.
āYou take care.ā
āOr not,ā 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.
āMwen kontan.āĀ
She said it in such a sultry, whispery tone. Not on purpose, thatās just how Annieās voice sounded to Smoke. Alluring and fragrant, like the scent of the magnolia blossoms scattered around them on the ground.Ā
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 Annieās sketchbook and the tips of her fingers.
āHold on,ā Smoke fussed. āYou gotta say it slower.āĀ
Annie chuckled. āMweh con-tan,ā 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.Ā
āWhat that mean?āĀ
āIt means Iām happy.ā
āMwen-kun-tin,ā he tried.
Annie winced. āClose, butā¦just try it again,ā she urged.
āNo,ā Smoke said flatly.
āWhy not?ā
āI said it just how you said it.ā
āNo,ā Annie shook her head. āYou didnāt.āĀ
Smokeās mouth twitched. He looked away before it could fully turn into a smile. āSounded close enough to me,ā he grumbled.Ā
āMweh con-tan,ā she said slower.
āMwen kun-tan,ā he repeated.
Annie bit the inside of her cheek. He was doing it on purpose, with his stubborn self.Ā
āYou laughinā at me?ā Smoke asked bitterly.
āNo.ā
āYeahā¦you are.ā
āAm not.ā
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 heād crush it in his hands.Ā
āSay it again.ā
āYouāre enjoyinā this too much,ā he huffed.
āAnd you beinā difficult on purpose.ā
āMm.ā
āMm,ā 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 heād pushed a nasal sound outward instead of dropping it down.
Smoke shifted closer by a fraction, looking down to the sketchbook curiously. āCan I see?ā
Her fingers tightened around it out of instinct.Ā
āYou aināt got to.ā
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 wasnāt 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. Heād seen her sketch of the outside of her shop before. But this one was different.Ā She pulled it out from where it was wedged and placed it in her lap.Ā
Bundles hanging from the ceiling on one side.Ā
A long counter in front.Ā
A curtain that led to other rooms.Ā
Small jars lined up neatly on shelves.Ā
He took in every section, every detail.Ā
āYour shop,ā he said finally.
āOne day,ā Annie replied shyly.Ā
āOne day, when?āĀ
Annie looked up. āWhen I got enough saved. When I know enough,ā she listed off. āWhen Aunt Della thinks Iām ready. Whenā¦ā she huffed out a breath softly. āWhen the world lets me, I guess.ā
Smokeās jaw worked.Ā
āIt wouldnāt just be remedies,ā she said, rushing to fill the quiet before it got too loud. āIād sell teas, salves, tonics, food, too. It wouldnāt just be a shop,ā she continued, searching for words that would land. āItād be somewhere people can come when they got things they aināt ready to say out loud, but they ready to stop lettinā it hurt them.āĀ
Smoke kept quiet beside her.Ā
Annie took a deep breath. āMy grandma had an apothecary. Nothinā fancy,ā she said softly. āJust a place where people came in whisperinā and left breathinā easier.ā
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.Ā
āI want that. Somethinā with my name on it. Somethinā I know how to keep.āĀ
He looked at her again. āYou will,ā he said firmly.Ā
The certainty in his voice made her go still. āYou sound sure.ā
āI am.ā
āYou donāt know that.ā
āI know you.ā
Annie tucked the drawing away and closed her sketchbook halfway, her hand smoothing over its cover. āYou know some of me.ā
Smoke nodded once. āI know enough.ā
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. āAnnie.ā He said her name and she felt her heart thump hard in her chest. She couldnāt figure out why. Heād said her name a million times, but heād never said it quite like this.
āYes?ā she replied.Ā
āI talked to your aunt.ā
āAbout what?ā
āYou.ā
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.
āI told her I wanna court you. Proper.ā
āYou did?ā
āI did.ā
āAnd now?ā she asked quietly.
āNow Iām cominā to you.āĀ
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes piercing. āI aināt askinā you for nothinā you donāt wanna give,ā he said. āAnd I aināt askinā you to stop what you been showinā me.āĀ
Annieās throat tightened. āThat matter to you?ā
Smokeās eyes moved to the sketchbook, then back to her. āIt matters to you,ā he said plainly. āIt matters to me.ā
āI thought you aināt believe in all that stuff,ā she said. āHoodoo.āĀ
āI donāt.ā He shrugged. āI believe in you.āĀ
Annie drew in a small breath, tilting her chin up a little. āWhat does courtinā mean to you?ā
Smoke took his time to answer.Ā Ā
āIt means I come correct. I donāt sneak around corners with you. Donāt have folks guessinā what you mean to me.Ā It means if I spend time with you, itās cause Iām serious about you.āĀ
āYou are?āĀ
āI am.ā
She looked at himā a silent urge to keep talking, like he wasnāt already undoing her under this magnolia tree.
āI aināt sayinā I got everything figured out. I donāt. I got work that aināt clean. I got Stack.ā His mouth tightened faintly. āAnd I got things I still need to make right before I can ask for more than this.ā
He sighed. āBut I know what I mean,ā he said. āAnd I donāt mean to waste your time.āĀ
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 āhe wanted to be part of them.Ā
She looked back at him. āIf I say yes,ā she said slowly. āI want my shop. I want my work. I wantā¦I wanna be somebody outside of who Iām with.āĀ
āYou already are,ā he said, voice low.
Annie blinked.
His voice stayed low. āI aināt askinā to make you smaller.ā
Annieās breath caught. āThen what you askinā?ā
He paused for a moment, thenā āTo walk beside you while you grow.āĀ
The silence that sat between them wasnāt empty. It was so full that Annie had to look away just so she could breathe.Ā
Thatās when she felt it.
A nervous laugh.
It rose up in her throatā 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.
āYou laughinā at me?ā
He noticed. Of course he did.
āNo!ā
Smokeās mouth twitched. āYes you are.ā
āNo Iām not!ā
āYou a bad liar.ā
āI'm not lyin'...you just...makinā me nervous right now,ā she admitted softly.
His eyes softened. āYou can take your time to think about it.ā
Annie shook her head immediately. āNo,ā she said. āI donāt need time,ā she assured him.Ā
His eyes got serious again.
āIāll let you court me.ā
Something moved across his face. Not quite a smile. Something much more dangerous to her composure. āYeah?ā
Annieās lips curved into a fully encompassing smile that spread gently across her face. āYeah.āĀ
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 didnāt 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.Ā
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.Ā
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.Ā
The scent of tobacco, peppermint, and bay rum floated through the screen door. Slowlyālike 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.Ā
Annieās 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.Ā
The second thing she noticed were the flowers in his hand. Two separate arrangementsā 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 didnāt 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.
āGood morninā.āĀ
Annie smiled up at him, a sight that beamed brighter than the morning sun. āGood morninā.ā
Smoke took a step closer, then two, and with one hand grabbed the white bouquet out of his other and extended them towards Annie. āFor you.ā
āThank you,ā she said, inhaling their scent.Ā
Smoke nodded once, then looked around the room. āWhereās your aunt?ā
āSomewhere out back,ā she said breathily, taking another sniff of the flowers.Ā
āThese for her.ā
āAwww, aināt you sweet?ā
āDonāt tell nobody,ā he said in that low register that made her skin tingle, with a timbre that told her he wasnāt joking even though the corner of his mouth lifted when he said it.Ā
He proceeded into the kitchen then out the back door, leaving Annie with her own thoughts and the absence ofā¦him. His presence stayed in the room even though he was gone, and it wasnāt 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?
āWhat we doinā today?ā He asked as he stepped back into her space.
Annieās breath stuttered.
Aunt Della listened in from the kitchen, looking entirely pleased with herself.Ā
Annie cleared her throat and shut her mouth that had opened at Smokeās words. Not because she wasnāt used to him being forward. But because the look in his eye told her he was dead serious when he asked her that question.
āI gotta stop by Chowās,ā she started, to which he acknowledged with a nod. āThen the drugstore,ā she continued. She listed things off until she stopped to look down at what she needed to do before anything else. āI gotta wash up first. Change.āĀ
āIāma be right here,ā he assured her, sinking deep into the couch, putting his head back, and spreading his legs.Ā
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.Ā
Except one piece that just wouldnāt lay flat.Ā
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.Ā
āWhat am I doing?ā she asked like the walls could talk back.Ā
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.Ā
Her fingers werenāt 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.Ā
Then she picked up her hairbrush again. Went over the same spot. Got the same result.Ā
She threw her hairbrush down with frustration, flustered.Ā
All of a sudden she felt very alone. More alone than sheād 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.Ā
She missed her friends from home.Ā
She missed her family.Ā Ā
She didn't expect this. Didnāt expect him.Ā
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 wasnāt making him emotional seeing his little girl stepping into her role as a woman.
Maybe it was a sign.Ā
She didnāt know what she was doing. She couldnāt 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 hadnāt 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.Ā
And maybe, just maybeā¦.if it fit just right, she could keep it.
Her stomach fluttered.Ā
She didnāt know what came after she said yes.
Sheād heard stories from her friends back home, but she was never in the thick of it to look around and see how it felt.Ā
She didnāt know how close she was supposed to stand beside him, what folks would hear if he said her name too soft. Didnāt know if holding his hand would feel natural or if sheād overthink every step. She didnāt 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 nervesā¦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 didnāt leave room for her to argue with herself about it.
She wanted to know what Smoke looked like when he didnāt 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.Ā
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 Smokeās 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.Ā
His gaze moved over her.Ā
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.
āYou look nice.āĀ
āThank you.ā
āReal nice.ā
Annieās cheeks warmed.Ā
āReady?ā he asked.
Annie smiled once she got to the bottom of the staircase. āIām ready.āĀ
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. āYāall donāt have too much fun out there,ā she smirked. āAnd watch my baby,ā she said to Smoke.
āI will,ā Smoke said as he put his hat back. He opened the door for Annie and stepped back to turn to Aunt Della. āAlways.āĀ
Aunt Della shook her head playfully and turned back to the kitchen, arms still folded but a grin on her lips.Ā
The ride over to Fourth Street was quickājust two short blocks. People in front of Chowās 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 Boās 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.Ā
āBaby,ā Smoke started, exchanging a look with Bo. āI need to go holler at Bo real quick.ā
āOkay,ā 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.
āHow you been, man?ā Bo asked.
āGood, good,ā Smoke said. He greeted him with a firm handshake, then pulled back to get a good look at him. āDamn, fatherhood huh?ā
āI look that bad?ā
āYou look like shit.ā
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. āTired as hell. But Iām happy,ā he nodded. āWe happy.āĀ
āIām happy for you, Bo.ā
āThanks man,ā Bo replied, shaking Smokeās shoulder. His eyes flicked over the store. āDellaās girlā¦thatās you?ā
āYou mean Annie,ā Smoke corrected.Ā
Surprise overtook Boās face and he raised an eyebrow. A question. āYeah, I mean Annie.ā
āYeah,ā he answered. Firm. āShe mine.ā
Bo clapped Smoke on the shoulder, looking at him with a sense of shock and awe. āOh shit,ā he exclaimed, putting a fist in front of his mouth. āLook at you, fixinā to be in my shoes soon, Smoke.ā
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.Ā
A father.
He shook the thought away just as quickly when they became poisoned by thoughts of his own father.Ā
That felt like a metaphor for his own lifeā 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 didnāt rush. He knew exactly where Annie was.Ā
Annie was still reeling.Ā
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.Ā
āWhy she want this when we got it in the backyard?ā She fussed.Ā
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.
āHey stranger.ā
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.Ā
Her lips tightened into a line, that same odd sense of familiarity crept up on her again and made her insides tumble with unease.Ā
āHey.ā She adjusted the strap of her purse around her shoulder.
A grin spread across his face. āHow you been?ā
āGood,ā she nodded. āYou?ā
Carter nodded like he was choosing his words carefully. āIāve been doinā just fine,ā he said slowly.
Annie shifted her weight. āSo youāre back?ā
āFor a little.āĀ
She blinked. āWhere you speakinā at this time?ā
āChurch off Yazoo,ā he said quickly.
She frowned for a second, then relaxed her face.Ā
Carter chuckled under his breath. āWhatās wrong?ā he asked.
āYou stayinā at the house?ā
He smirked to the side then looked back. āIām stayinā with the pastor.ā
āMakes sense.āĀ
āYeahā¦makes perfect sense.ā
His eyes dropped to her ileke beads, then back up. The glance was quick, barely even noticeable. But she did. The hand that wasnāt holding her basket rose to touch her beads protectively.Ā
Smoke noticed it too.Ā
He was at the top of the aisle, watching.
He saw Carterās eyes dip to her chest. It was just a brief second, but the flicker made his chest tighten.Ā
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.Ā
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 movedābut she didnāt move so much as melt. She relaxed back into Smokeās touch, folding easily into him. His fingers curled around her hip, but his eyes didnāt leave Carterās.
āAfternoon,ā 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 Carterās. No nod. No acknowledgement. Just a cold, tactical assessment.
Carter blinked. āYāall goinā to the Harvest Party next month?ā
āYeah,ā Annie replied quickly. She felt Smokeās grip tighten on her hip.āWeāā
āWhat business a preacher got at a juke joint?ā Smoke asked, voice flat.
āI aināt goinā,ā Carter said, rubbing his signet ring. He looked down at it, then looked back up at them. āJust tryna make conversation.ā
Smoke and Annie glanced at each other out of the corner of their eyes.Ā
āWell,ā he said, tipping his hat. āYāall have a good rest of your day.āĀ
Then he walked away.
The bustle of Chowās went on around them but they didnāt hear itā 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.Ā
āYou good?āĀ
āMhmm,ā 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.Ā
āBehave,ā 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 Chowās 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 Dellaās order in his other hand like it weighed nothing. He watched a shiver run down Annieās spine that she tried to hide.
āCold?ā
āA little.ā
āHere.ā
Smoke shrugged off his jacket and laid it over Annieās shoulders as they walked towards his truck. The smell wafting from Kingās 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. āHungry?āĀ
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.Ā
Smokeās mouth twitched. āCome on.ā He shifted the sack higher beneath his arm and stepped towards the stand. āHow many you want?āĀ
āOne.ā
āJust one?ā
Smoke looked towards the tamale man. āWeāll take four.ā
Annie blinked. āFour?ā
Smoke looked back at Annie. āIām hungry, too.āĀ
The man behind the stand grinned like heād seen this before. āTwo for the gentleman, one for the lady now, and one for when she gets hungry later.ā
āExactly,ā Smoke agreed.
Annie scoffed, looking away before a smile broke out on her face.
āHot?ā the man asked.
Smoke looked back at Annie again. She lifted her chin, offended despite herself. āHot.ā
Smoke looked back to the grinning man and nodded once. āHot.ā
āYou think I wouldnāt like hot?ā
āI didnāt know thatās why I asked.ā
āYou forget where Iām from?ā
āI remember.ā
The tamales came wrapped in paper, steam rising as the man passed them over to Smoke. He paid, coins dropping clean in the manās palm. āEnjoy,ā he said as they turned down the sidewalk.Ā
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 Dellaās 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.Ā
āThat good?ā
āMhmm.ā He took another bite.Ā
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.Ā
āWhat?ā she asked.
āYou makinā a face.ā
āIām thinkinā.ā
Smokeās brows knit together. āAbout a tamale?ā
āMhmm.ā
His mouth curved. āThat so?ā
āAbsolutely.ā
She took another bite, slower this time. āItās good.ā
Smoke nodded but kept his eyes trained on her for theā
āBut.ā
āI knew it.ā
Annie smiled faintly. āIt could use a lilā more depth.ā
āDepth?ā
She nodded. āDepth.ā
Smoke looked down at his half-eaten tamale then back up at Annie. āItās a tamale.ā
āAnd?ā
Smoke looked amused now. He tilted his head. āWhat would you do to it?ā
Annie shifted her weight. āIād give it somethinā to round out the pepper,ā she said. āSo it donāt just sit on top.ā
Smoke just looked at her. āYou always this particular?ā
āWith food? Yes.ā
āAnd everything else?ā
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. āI know what I like.ā
Smokeās gaze hadnāt left her. āGood.ā 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.
āYou starinā.ā
Annie blinked. āAm not.ā
āWhat you lookinā at then?ā
āYou got somethinā on your face.ā
He ran a hand through his beard. āFor real?āĀ
āItās gone now.ā
He couldnāt ignore the mirth in her eyes. She looked away, unwrapping the last tamale with more attention than it needed. The corner of Smokeās mouth lifted.Ā
āWhere Iām from, folks put more life into they food,ā she said, turning back to him.
āMore life?ā
āYep.ā
āWhat that mean?ā
āIt meansā¦ā she said, looking towards the street like she could find the words there. āFood should taste like somebody remembered where they came from when they made it.ā
āYou sayinā the people who made thisā¦forgot where they came from?ā
āNo.ā She smiled into her food. āThey just knew wherever they was goinā didnāt like it hot!ā
Smoke huffed a laugh. Fourth Street moved around them, unconcerned. And the tension from inside of Chowās softened into something easier. Something with steam, spice, and a little more kick.Ā
āIāll make sure to let King know.ā
Annie swatted his chest. āSmoke, donāt you dare!āĀ
When they were done eating, Smoke gathered Aunt Dellaās 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.Ā
They left their items from Chowās locked in Smokeās truck, which he left in front of the grocery store at Annieās insistence. Annie enjoyed the scenery as they walked leisurely towards the next stop on her list of errands. Smoke enjoyed the scenery tooā 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 couldnāt explain and didnāt want to.Ā
They neared the crossroad where Fourth Street met Issaquena, the street lined with shops for personal and grooming services. Luellaās Dressing Room & Alterations, Ritzyās Beauty Salon, Brownās 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 Luellaās and Ritzyās stood across from the barbershop. Or maybe it was just the noise in Annieās 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 sidewalkā 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.Ā
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 insideā 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.Ā
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.Ā
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.Ā
Then the cornet solo hit.
Annie stilled entirely.Ā
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.Ā
āAnnie?ā he asked, voice low. He touched the small of her back.
Once she caught her breath, she whispered, āYeah.ā
āYou okay?ā
āYeah,ā she replied, blinking back the tear that threatened to drop from her left eye. āJust reminds me of home.ā 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. āMy great-grandmama,ā she said a little softer. āBefore she passedā¦she loved listening to the cornet. I donāt know why but that was the only instrument that made her face light up no matter how out of it she was.ā
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.Ā
āThatās the thing about music,ā he said. āIt has a way of bringinā you back to somebody, even after they long gone.ā
Annie exhaled sharply. She went through the Vaudeville records but she wasnāt really looking. Smoke stood by her side, facing her, waiting.Ā
āWe lost her to the hurricane. Back in ā15.āĀ
āIām sorry.ā
āShe wouldnāt leave.ā Her voice cracked.Ā
āWhat you mean?ā
Annie took a deep breath.
āShe lived deep in the bayou. Water filled with gators,ā she chuckled, shaking her head. āShe knew the storm was cominā before it did. Said if the waterās fixinā to take her she aināt gonā run.āĀ
Annie looked towards the window like the memory called her there for some reason. āShe said she had somebody on the other side waitinā on her.āĀ
āNo,ā she said. āShe was sold downriver āfo she could remember anyone.ā
āDamn,ā Smoke whispered.Ā
She smiled. It was faint, like it was pushing through the grief. āShe was alone her whole lifeā¦ātil she started having babies.ā
āHow many?ā
āFourteen.ā
Smoke whistled low.
Annie hummed. āShe was somethinā else.ā
The memory of her great-grandmother flashed quickly through her mind like a blur. Eyes that looked differentā¦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.
āWhat was her name?ā
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.Ā
āAntoinette,ā 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.Ā
Annie put a hand on his chest, leaning into his touch.Ā
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.
āAnyway,ā she said finally, pulling herself together. āLetās get what I came here for.ā Her fingers walked the records in search of the ragtime one Aunt Della wanted.
āWhat kinda music they listen to, over there in France?ā
āThey liked a lot of the stuff we brought over.ā
āReally?ā
āYeah. Our regiment had a band and everything.āĀ
āWere you in it?ā She teased.
His mouth twitched. āNah.āĀ
The musician testing out guitars hit a chord with a slider that made Smokeās hand tap once against the record box before he caught himself. He looked at Annie and she was already looking at him.Ā
āWhat?ā he asked.
Annie arched her brow. āYou like that?ā
āItās nice.ā
āWhy?ā
Smoke exhaled. āItās slow. Got a little ache to it.ā
Annie chuckled low.
The guitar player took his slider off and played something a little louder, a little faster, a deep Blues riff.
āYou like this one, too?āĀ
āThis more Stackās style.ā
āMmmhmmm.ā
āWhat?ā
āItās more Stackās style but your hand been tappinā away since he started playinā.āĀ
Smoke looked down at his hand then back to Annie. āDonāt mean I canāt enjoy it.ā
āYou right,ā she smirked. āBut you tappinā along like you know this song by heart.ā
āI do.āĀ
Annie frowned. āFrom where?ā
āMy daddy.ā He paused. Looked down. Sighed. āHe played the guitar.ā
āOh,ā 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. āBack thenā¦ā he drifted off. āThe music felt kinder than the man.ā His eyes found her again.
āIām sorry,ā 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. āElijah,ā she whispered up to him.
His name on her lips felt as warm as her hand on his chest.Ā
āHmm,ā he answered, looking off into the distance.
She rubbed his back. āYou alright?ā she asked quietly.
He looked down at her, then wrapped his arms around her tighter.Ā
āYeah,ā he said into her hair. He inhaled her scentājasmine, 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 motherās 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.
āIāma get an earful on Sunday ācause of you,ā Annie joked, lacing her fingers with the ones hanging over her shoulder.
āThey need to mind they own business,ā 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.
āWhat?ā
āLord,ā she mumbled. āYou was just tellinā me to behave and you out here talkinā crazy.ā
āTell the truth, shame the devil. Aināt that what they say?ā
āSmoke!ā 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 couldnāt stop a grin from spreading on her face.
āNuh-uh,ā his voice dropped low, right by her ear again. āYou know my name.ā
Her breath hitched.
āMhmm,ā he drawled.
They stepped to the register.Ā
āFind everything you were lookinā for?ā The clerk asked.Ā
The words sat between them. Smoke looked at Annie.
āYeah,ā Annie said. āJust this.ā
āThis a good record,ā he remarked. āClassic.ā He set the W.C. Handy record in its sleeve, then wrapped it twice in newspaper.
Annie listened.
āHis band still play around town, in Tutwiler, and down in Mound Bayou.ā
Smokeās jaw clenched, then unclenched. Annie saw it. Saved it for later.
āBayou?ā she asked.
āMound Bayou. All black town, just a little ways south of here,ā the clerk remarked.Ā
Annie nodded curiously.
The clerk slipped the record in a brown paper bag. āThatāll be 75 cent.āĀ
Smoke had it in the manās 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. Thatās all she needed to see to keep her hand right where it wasā wrapped tightly in his.Ā
Smoke kissed her hand again before grabbing the bag.
āYāall have a nice day,ā the clerk said.
They turned to leave a few minutes later, bags between them as they fell in step beside each other. They didnāt 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 didnāt 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 sheād have to get a bigger one, she thought to herself. And find another hiding place.
Annieās lessons with Aunt Della continued behind padlocked doors.Ā
Dress fittings at Luellaās became less frequent as her Harvest Party look came together.Ā
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 didnāt need to feign usefulness.
Meetings under the magnolia tree became their ritual. Every Sunday when the afternoon stretched its arms out into evening heād come around back. Like clockwork, heād show up, the side fence creaking open before he stepped through. Theyād sit outside and talk until the mosquitos got too bad.
It became a place where they shared pieces of themselves.Ā
A place where ordinary conversation became sacred.Ā
Nellie, Pearline and Gigi squealed when she finally told them about Smoke. And time with them became more frequent too ā nights, afternoons, or mornings in town before the roads got too crowded.Ā
As long as it didnāt touch Sunday night.Ā
Those belonged to Smoke.
āLouisiana,ā Gigi started. Casual, like she was just asking about the weather. āYou aināt mounted that horse yet?āĀ
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 wasnāt bothered. In fact, she was a little amused. This wasnāt a new question.
The four of them were sitting around the kitchen table after congregating at Nellie's house following their weekday bible study. Nellieās 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.Ā
She sighed softly. āNo.āĀ
āWhy not?āĀ
āShe said she aināt ready, yāall,ā Pearline chimed in for her. āShe say this every time yāall ask this question.ā Then quieter. āIt aināt always like what them singers be goinā on about.ā
āMaybe not for you,ā Gigi rebutted. āBut you aināt mountinā a stallion.ā
āMore like a donkey,ā Nellie joked.
Annie snorted. Even Pearline laughed under her breath.Ā
āSo yāall just been kissinā?ā Gigi probed.
āMhmm.ā
āYou let himā¦touch you?ā The question came from Nellie.
Her body flushed warm at the thought. Annie looked over to Nellie. āNo.ā
āShame,ā she sighed. āHe look like he know what to do with his hands.āĀ
āMhmm,ā Gigi agreed.
āHe should know,ā Pearline said matter-of-factly. āHim and his brother done ran through half the town.ā
āMore than half,ā Nellie muttered.
Annie sighed. Rolled her eyes.
āStack more than Smoke,ā Nellie confirmed.Ā
āDonāt I know it,ā Annie replied.
āI heard Stack got a mean appetite,ā Gigi said slyly.
That made Pearline gasp. āGigi!āĀ
āWhat?ā Gigi asked incredulously.Ā
āPlease,ā Pearline insisted in a hushed tone.
Annie shook her head. āOh my God,ā she protested. āI donāt need to hear this about my manās brother.ā
āI heard Smoke manhood so big, it touches your soul,ā Nellie said.
Annieās head turned towards Nellie. āWho told you that?ā
Nellie shrugged. āIs it true?āĀ
Annie shrugged.
āEvery woman in town want a piece of them twins, Iām just surprised you aināt took a bite yet.āĀ
āNot even a nibble?ā Gigi asked. She looked shocked.
Annie chuckled low. āNot even a nibble.ā
āBut you seen it, though? Felt it? Backed up on him and let it poke you a little?ā
āNo,ā she said. āI aināt seen it.ā
āBut you felt it.ā Gigiās eyes grew wide. āItās big aināt it?āĀ
āHe walk around like itās big,ā Nellie said plainly.
The room exploded with laughter, squeals, and giggles. Annie fumbled with a pea.Ā
āWhatās big?ā A voice rang out from the other room.
Nellie froze, then groaned and rolled her eyes when she realized who was talking.
āAwww donāt sound too happy to see me lilā sis,ā 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 wasnāt supposed to.
Nellie rolled her eyes again and kept on shelling peas. āHey Verity,ā she said flatly. She looked up and her eyes softened when she saw her niece and nephew. āLook at how big you are!ā she exclaimed.Ā
āAunt Nellie!āĀ
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.Ā
āBaby,ā Verity said calmly with that mom warning underneath, āgonā and help your daddy outside.ā
The little boy rushed out the front door, leaving just the girls in an awkward silence before they quickly changed the subject.Ā
āHey Verity,ā Gigi and Pearline said together. Verity greeted them back, staring curiously at the stranger sitting at her motherās kitchen table.Ā
āVerity,ā Nellie started. āThis is Annie, sheās new, from Louisiana. Annie, this is my sister Verity. Sheās in town from Chicago.āĀ
Annie wiped off her hands on her apron and held out her hand to shake. āNice to meet you, Verity.ā
āNice to meet you too, Verity. My goodness, youāre so pretty.āĀ
āThank you,ā Annie beamed.
Verity looked around the room. At each womanās face individually. āWhat was yāall in here talkinā about?ā She asked like sheād already heard too much.
āNothing,ā Nellie said firmly.
Verityās eyes narrowed.
āMen,ā Gigi admitted bluntly.
Nellie shot her a look, to which she just shrugged and kept shelling her peas.
āWhat about āem?ā Verity asked as her baby grabbed the collar of her dress. She untangled her fingers carefully while waiting for someone to say something.
āAnnie here got herself a suitor already,ā Nellie called out. āSmoke Moore.ā
The look on Verityās face said that she was busy putting a name to a face before it finally clicked. āOh, one of the twins!ā She wiped drool off her babyās lips before it dripped on her clothes. āSo they both came back from the war,ā she remarked. āThatās good.ā
Nellie rolled her eyes. āShe done forgot about everybody she grew up with.āĀ
āDid not! Theyāre both so much younger than me.ā
āYouāre only 27.ā
āAnd I been in Chicago for the past seven years,ā she quipped. āHow old are they now?ā
ā21,ā Gigi answered.
āBabies,ā she whispered, pinching her daughterās cheek.
āAnyway, do you mind? Us babies,ā Nellie said sarcastically, ātryna talk here. About somethinā you donāt need to know nothinā about.āĀ Ā
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.Ā
Sheād moved to Chicago and was met with a different type of perspective. The social scene was different, much different, probably something thatād 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.Ā
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 sisterās 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.
Nobody replied. The air in the tiny kitchen held an uncomfortable type of tension. But it wasnāt anything unique. It was generational. A hesitance that usually exists in the gap between women just becoming and women whoād already been in their shoes.Ā
āHowās your husband, Pea?āĀ
Pearline cleared her throat. āHe good,ā she responded. She kept her head down while Verity looked at her knowingly.Ā
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.Ā
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 Verityās dress like a lid to a pot. He flashed a smile and damn near every woman at the table gulped hard.Ā
He waved his hand to greet everyone. āHey yāall.ā His voice was deep and gruff. A hint of southern twang in it, like the South had somehow rubbed off on him but he wasnāt born and bred here.Ā
āHey,ā everybody said back.Ā
Verity smiled, clearly unshaken by his presence because this was her husband.Ā
āCan you take the baby? She gettinā fussy and Iām tryna help the girls with supper.ā
āSure.ā He crossed the room to the kitchen and planted a kiss on her waiting forehead, then grabbed his daughter from her lap.Ā
āThank you.ā
āHey sugar plum,ā 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.
āThatās your husband?ā Gigi asked breathlessly, looking towards the hallway like she needed him to reappear out of thin air. āGirl he is too fine!ā
Verity grinned. āThatās my man,ā she said proudly.
āWhere you find him at?ā Gigi continued. āAnd do he have any brothers?ā
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 didnāt show it to anybody but her. The way heād 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 Gigiās remarks and shook her head. āHe do, but heās the only good apple in the bunch.ā
āLord,ā Annie chuckled.
Verity looked over at her expectantly.
āI got nothinā but brothers,ā she explained. āGot one, maybe two of them decent. The rest aināt got the sense God gave a goose.āĀ
Everyone at the table laughed, the tension easing into something more relaxed.Ā
āIt would take God and all his disciples to drill some decency into āem,ā Pearline let slip out.
āPearlie!ā 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 didnāt stand up perfectly straight someone would come behind her with a ruler to put her back in line.Ā
She shrugged casually, clearly pleased with herself.Ā
āGigi,ā Annie kept on shelling peas. āYou ever see Will again?ā
Gigi made a sound like she was vomiting and Annie broke out in laughter.Ā
āVerity,ā she looked at her. āThis man had the worst smelling feet Iāve ever smelled in my life!ā
āNot smelly feet.ā
āA horseās hoof smells better than that manās feet,ā she grimaced. āBesides,ā she smirked like her face held a secret sheād been dying to tell. Her voice got low. āIāve been keepinā company with Rodney again.ā
āNot surprised,ā Nellie mumbled.
āWhoās Rodney?ā Annie asked.
Nellie answered for her. āJust the man she been stuck on since we was kids.ā
āOhhā¦.āĀ
āI aināt stuck. Heās just familiar.ā
āMore like that hmmhmmā she gave the table a knowing look, āis familiar.ā
āAināt nothinā wrong with goinā back to an olā reliable.ā Annie whipped her head around. The voice came from Verity.
āThatās right,ā Gigi agreed smugly.
āAnnie aināt even done nothinā with that twin of hers yet.āĀ
Annie rolled her eyes. āHere we go.ā
āWhy not?ā Verity asked.
She huffed a small breath out her nose. āJust waitinā for the right time.āĀ
āYou waitinā til the party huh?ā Gigi asked with a grin. āAll that liquor runninā through you will loosen you right on up,ā she teased.
Annie shook her head, laughing.
Pearline spoke up quietly. āDonāt let the liquor make you do anything you donāt wanna do.ā
āI aināt,ā Annie said.
āYou keep it for yourself until you good and ready to give it away.ā
āExactly,ā Pearline said. āAnd if he really cares, he wonāt mind. Not one bit.ā
āMy husband waited a whole year for me to let him in. Didnāt pressure me. Didnāt make me feel bad. Didnāt make it ābout his needs,ā Verity recalled. āWhat matters is what he does when wantinā you, means he gotta take it slow.ā
Her words landed.Ā
āDo he know?ā Her voice was small. Pearlineās. āThat you a virgin?ā
Annie exhaled sharply. āI aināt told him,ā she confessed.Ā
āWe aināt been alone like that,ā she said softly while fumbling with the hem of her apron. āAnd I aināt found the right time to tell him yet.ā
āHe gonā wear you out once he get his hands on you,ā Gigi said dramatically. āYou know that right?ā
āI believe it.ā And she did.
āWhew, chile,ā Nellie drawled. āIāma say a prayer for you. And for yourāāĀ
āEleanor!ā Verity snapped.
Annie snorted.
Verity looked over at Annie, eyes warm. āYouāll find the right time,ā 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.Ā
āDo you want toā¦you know, with him?ā 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.Ā
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 hadnāt 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 himā¦it felt right.Ā
Heād touch her gently. Carefully. Like he was holding onto something fragile. But even the slightest contact sent shivers down her spine.Ā
A hand at the small of her back.
Heād lean in close when he needed to say something to her. Always did.
But sometimes heād drop his mouth right by her ear just to hear her gasp under her breath.
Heād wrap his hands around her waist and she swore she forgot how to breathe.Ā
But she didnāt move away.
His desire for her was palpable.Ā
He was hungry.Ā
She could see it in his eyes and feel it in his restraint.Ā
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.Ā
Her thoughts usually stopped there because they were too overwhelming.Ā
Kissing wasnāt new to her. Desire wasnāt either. Not entirely.Ā
Sheād heard things. Sensed them. She wasnāt naive in an ignorant way.Ā
But as the baby of the family, and the only girl, sheād 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.Ā Ā
Then Smoke came along. He unsettled her because he didnāt hover. He waited. With his quiet attention and something deeper that sat underneath the surface.Ā
He listened.
He chose her.Ā
He made space for her to choose herself.Ā
And for a girl who spent her whole life being guarded, space felt dangerous.Ā
It felt like freedom.Ā
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.Ā
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 wasnāt 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. Sheād wake up in a mess of her own makingānightgown clinging to her curves, sheets damp. Then sheād 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.Ā
Summary: In the middle of Aunt Cherylās backyard, with half of Clarksdale watching, eight years of silence finally cracks open and neither of them is prepared for what comes spilling out. Neither of them has been telling themselves the same story. For the first time though, they're finally forced to compare notes.
W/C: 14k
A/N: Be gentle with meā¦. š«
Jada Wilson wasnāt the type of girl who liked to lose.Ā
It wasnāt because she was mean, and it wasnāt 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.Ā
It felt earned.
That was probably why Anissa āAnnieā Landry irritated her so much.
She didnāt 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 didnāt 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 anybodyās face. If she had, Jada mightāve 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 āSmokeā Moore.Ā
She had World History with him and Stack, and found herself gravitating toward him. It wasnāt 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 wasnāt even sure when curiosity became attraction. She started looking for him in crowded hallways and listening for his laugh across cafeterias. Which wouldāve been embarrassing if it hadnāt happened to half the girls at school. It was the fact that he didnāt 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 āquiet reputationā people gave him wasnāt entirely true. Smoke wasnāt shy. He just didnāt waste words. So when he did speak, people listened. There was a steadiness to him she didnāt find in other boys their age.Ā
Mike was sweet.Ā
Isoo was funny.Ā
Stack wasā¦Stack. Impossible to ignore.Ā
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 sheād never admit to out loud. Lingering after class. Choosing seats closer to him when she could. Finding reasons to continue conversations that shouldāve 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 heād been rude, she probably wouldāve gotten over her crush on him.Ā
Instead, he was kind.Ā
And kindness left far more room for imagination than rejection ever could.
If somebody had watched them from a distance, they probably wouldāve assumed he liked her. Hellā¦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.Ā
Then something happened. Something that anybody else wouldāve overlooked. It shouldāve been forgettable. Instead it became one of those memories that stayed rent free in her mind for years.Ā
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 wouldāve missed it, but she didnāt. 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 wasnāt flirting. She wasnāt loudly trying to get anyoneās attention. In fact, she looked completely unaware that Smoke was even looking hee way at all.Ā
Jada glanced back toward him and felt something in her chest tighten unexpectedly. His expression hadnāt changed much. There was no grin. No obvious reaction or giveaway that wouldāve made the answer easy. What she saw instead was interest. Pure interest. The kind that settled naturally and comfortably, like heād found exactly what he was looking for without meaning to. When Jada looked back, Annie looked up. Her and Smokeās eyes met for barely a second before surprise crossed her face in that honest, unguarded way people managed when they werenāt 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 hadnāt just rearranged something inside her.
And Jada couldnāt stop thinking about what sheād just seen.Ā
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 wasnāt in the temporary way crushes came and went every few weeks. He liked her. Liked her.
The part Jada couldnāt understand wasnāt that Smoke liked somebody. It was that the somebody was Annie. Annie wasnāt louder than anybody else. She wasnāt 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?Ā
The question stayed with Jada long after that afternoon ended. Not because she thought Annie wasnāt pretty, smart, or worth liking. Annie was all of those things. What bothered her was that she couldnāt figure out what Annie had that made Smoke look at her differently.Ā
The more she watched them over the following months, the more that question followed her around, and the harder it became to pretend she didnāt already know the answer. Once she noticed it, she started seeing it everywhereāin 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 wouldāve overlooked and a hundred more that Jada couldnāt stop noticing.
At some point she started testing it. Nothing obvious or anything she couldnāt explain away afterward. A comment here. A joke there. Sitting a little closer than necessary. One time at a party she picked up Smokeās cup and took a sip while she was talking, mostly because she could. Smoke didnāt notice. Annie didnāt react the way she envisioned. The conversations kept moving. At first she thought sheād proven nothing. Later she realized sheād proven exactly what sheād 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 wasnāt because people sat around talking about her every day, but because certain stories suddenly stopped being told. People changed.Ā
Smoke most of all.
Jada noticed that too.
The version of Smoke everybody knew after Annie left wasnāt 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 sheād 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 hadnāt 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 hadnāt possessed in high school. She didnāt 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.
āWhatever happened to Annie?ā Jada asked.
The reaction was immediate. Something closed. Smoke took a drink and looked away. āShe live in North Carolina.ā
Jada laughed. āI thought yāall wouldāve been married with twenty kids by now.ā
Smoke didnāt 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.
āNo.ā
āYou lookinā?ā
āNo.ā
The answer shouldāve discouraged her. Instead she smiled. āWell, lucky for you, neither am I.ā
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.Ā
He didnāt want a relationship.Ā
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 shouldnāt let him stand in the way of it.Ā
Jada heard every word.Ā
The problem wasā¦she kept hoping.Ā
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 wasnāt. 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 wasnāt smiling anymore.
āBitch, Annieās back!ā
Suddenly all those years she hadnāt 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.
āThe cookout at Pearlineās aunt house⦠itās a party for Annie coming back home.ā
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 Maryās voice asking her what she was going to do became distant as another thought slid immediately into place.Ā
For the first time since hearing Annieās name, she wasnāt thinking about high school anymore.
She was thinking about Smoke.Ā
He had been acting strange. Distracted. Quieter than usual. Looking at his phone more than normal. Now she understood exactly why he hadnāt seemed like himself. Some old shit came back upā¦. I aināt 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 Cherylās yard, she already knew who she was looking for. The problem was she hadnāt expected to find them standing together.
And she for damn sure hadnāt expected to find them holding hands.
Smoke was holding Annieās hand.Ā
On its own, that didnāt mean anything.Ā
People touched, hugged, and got caught up in conversations and forgot who was watching.Ā
What unsettled her was everything wrapped around the gesture.Ā
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 sheād walked into the middle of something already in progress.
For a moment nobody said anything.Ā
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 didnāt quit acting stupid. The music changed somewhere behind her. Life continued moving.Ā
Yet standing there, looking between Smoke and Annie, Jada couldnāt shake the feeling that sheād interrupted a conversation neither of them had wanted to end.
The hand didnāt bother her nearly as much as Smokeās face had. Over the past year sheād seen him tired, irritated, amused, distracted, and halfway asleep after a fourteen-hour workday. Sheād seen him fresh off job sites and fresh out of the shower. Sheād seen him after bad days and worse weeks. What sheād just seen standing across from Annie felt different.
There had been a lightness to him she couldnāt remember seeing, as though some invisible weight had disappeared without warning. Now the distracted silences, the moments heād 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 hadnāt.
It was subtle. Most people wouldāve missed it. Smoke wasnāt 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?Ā
The expression wasnāt warm.
It wasnāt guilty either. It looked closer to frustration. Like sheād walked into the middle of something he wasnāt finished with yet.
The realization settled heavily in her chest. She recognized that look too.
From high school.
Back when sheād stand beside him talking and catch him looking over her shoulder at Annie. When sheād convince herself she imagined it.Ā
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.Ā
āAnnie.ā Her voice came out warm and easy, exactly the way it was supposed to. āItās been a long time.ā
Annie smiled back automatically, but there was a delay to it that immediately caught Jadaās attention. She looked like somebody still trying to catch up to a conversation everyone else had already started. āYeah. It has.ā
āWhen did you get in town?ā
āThursday.ā
āNo kidding.ā Jada adjusted the strap of her purse and glanced briefly toward Smoke before looking back at Annie. āSmoke didnāt tell me you were back.ā
The sentence left her mouth easily enough, but she knew exactly why sheād said it.
She wanted to see.Ā
So Jada watched Annie carefully. The confusion arrived first, then recognition. Then something else.Ā
Jada recognized that look because sheād 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 wasnāt 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 sheād been in high school. Whatever the reason, she couldnāt 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 wasnāt it. Jada watched her expectations crumble behind her eyes and Jada immediately felt guilty for her own smugness that followed. It wasnāt Annieās confusion she enjoyed. It was the confirmation that she wasnāt invisible. For years sheād 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 everybodyās problem.
āNo kidding... Smoke didnāt tell me you were back.ā
Annie wasnāt 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.
āThen again, he aināt really been himself lately.ā
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 hadnāt stopped, but something in his posture had changed. His shoulders were tighter now. His expression quieter. Like he was listening to a conversation he couldnāt quite hear but already knew he wasnāt 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.Ā
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 couldnāt seem to ignore. The ease in Jadaās posture. The familiarity in her voice. And now that one sentence kept replaying itself in Annieās head.
He aināt really been himself lately.
It wasnāt what Jada had said. It was how sheād said it. Like she knew what normal looked like. Like sheād been close enough to notice the difference.
But Elijah wasnāt looking at Jada at all. Every time Annie glanced up, his eyes found her again. Concern. Like he could see something growing and didnāt know how to stop it.
Annie couldnāt process that at the moment. She couldnāt 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 wasnāt visiting Elijahās world. She was already a part of it.
āMississippi must seem different now,ā Jada said with a small laugh.
Annie looked at her. āWhat?ā
Jada smiled. āI said Mississippi must seem different now.ā
āOh.ā Annie forced a smile. āYeah.ā
The conversation continued around her, but Annie found herself looking past Jada and toward Pearline. The glance was brief. It didnāt need to be longer. Something flickered across Pearlineās 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 hadnāt 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.Ā
He wasnāt really talking anymore. Stack had said something. Mary laughed. Jada answered somebodyās question. Elijah hadnāt 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.Ā
What she couldnāt handle was standing here feeling exposed.Ā
Feeling foolish.Ā
Feeling like the only person who hadnāt known what was happening.Ā
The humiliation crept in quietly, attaching itself to every memory sheād made since getting off the plane. Every conversation. Every question. Every moment sheād allowed herself to hope for something she had never said aloud. By the time she finally spoke, her voice sounded perfectly normal.
āExcuse me.ā
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 didnāt give him the chance.
āYāall enjoy yourselves.ā
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 werenāt 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.Ā
The world hadnāt 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 sheād created. Nothing about it resembled packing. The blue sundress sheād rejected earlier that morning still hung over the chair near the window. Seeing it there brought back the memory of standing in front of Pearlineās mirror for nearly an hour while her friend laughed and told her she looked fine. At the time sheād told herself she was nervous about coming home. Looking at the dress now, she realized that hadnāt been entirely true.Ā
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 sheād 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.
Jadaās face remained exactly where Annie had left it.
So did the sound of her voice.
Smoke didnāt tell me you were back.
That was the problem.Ā
Jada had said them the way people said ordinary things, the way people spoke when they werenāt thinking twice about what they were revealing. There had been familiarity in the statement. History. Conversations Annie hadnāt 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 couldnāt 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 wasnāt married. He wasnāt 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 sheād 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 couldnāt 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 sheād 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 wasnāt fair. Elijah didnāt know any of that.
Not really.
He knew Jada the same way everybody knew Jada. Funny. Smart. Beautiful. He hadnāt been standing beside Annie during those hallway conversations. He hadnāt seen the looks. He hadnāt felt the subtle edge hiding beneath the smiles.
Still, the thought lingered.
Did he know?
Annie stared back out the window.
Didnāt he know how she felt about Jada? Didnāt he know sheād never really trusted her? Didnāt 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 didnāt like her?
The idea was absurd. Annie knew it was absurd. Yet somehow that didnāt stop it from hurting.Ā
The truth was she hadnāt spent the day grieving what Elijah had with Jada. Sheād spent the day imagining what might still exist between her and Elijah. That was the part she couldnāt forgive herself for.Ā
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.Ā
The warmth of his hand around hers.Ā
None of those moments wouldāve mattered if some part of her hadnāt 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 sheād changed out of three times. The suitcase sheād never fully unpacked. The mixtape buried somewhere among her things. She hadnāt come to Mississippi looking for closure.Ā
Sheād come looking for possibility, and now she felt stupid for pretending otherwise.
Another swallow of tequila disappeared before she realized sheād 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.Ā
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 shouldāve known better than to trust.Ā
None of those moments had felt strange when they happened. Looking back now, they felt different. Heavier. Like pieces of a puzzle she hadnāt realized she was assembling.
Annie stared at the bedroom door and tightened her grip on the bottle. She didnāt know exactly how long sheād been sitting there, but she knew Pearline well enough to know what would come next.Ā
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 shouldāve prepared her.Ā
Instead it made the hurt settle deeper.Ā
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 didnāt 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. Pearlineās eyes moved from the open suitcase to the tequila bottle resting beside Annieās 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 wasnāt real. Annie knew it. Pearline probably knew it too. Sheād managed to put three shirts into the suitcase and somehow remove four. Every few minutes she found herself folding the same piece of clothing sheād already folded before throwing it into a different corner of the room.
āHow much of that you done drank?ā
Annie glanced down at the bottle. āEnough.ā
Pearline sighed and stepped inside, closing the door behind her.
The sound made something tighten in Annieās chest.
āYou aināt finna leave.ā
Annie laughed under her breath and reached for another shirt. āThe hell Iām not.ā
āYou drunk.ā
āIām buzzed.ā
āAnnie.ā
āIām grown.ā
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 sheād even been allowed to be upset.Ā
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 sheād reached for it.
Pearline watched her struggle with the suitcase for another minute before speaking again.
āI was gonna tell you.ā
Annie stopped. She couldnāt help it. The words settled somewhere deep enough to hurt.
Slowly she looked up. āNo you wasnāt.ā
āI was.ā
āWhen?ā
Pearline opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
Annie laughed. The sound wasnāt pleasant. āExactly.ā
āI didnāt know how.ā
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.Ā
Outside Annie could hear laughter. She hated them for laughing.Ā
āYou couldāve started with the truth.ā
āI didnāt know what the truth was.ā
Annie took another swallow from the bottle. The burn was gone. āWhat truth?ā
Pearline hesitated. āThem.ā
The word sat between Annie and Pearline.
āI thought they was just fuckinā.ā
Pearline shifted from foot to foot. āIt didnāt look serious.ā
Didnāt. Past tense. Annie heard it. Her stomach dropped.
āWhat changed?ā
Pearline froze.
The hesitation told Annie almost everything.
āWhat changed, Pearline?ā
For a second it looked like Pearline might refuse to answer. Then she sighed. āI saw them Thursday.ā
Annie frowned.Ā
Thursday.
The word rolled around in her head before settling into place. The restaurant. That strange feeling sheād had all night. The uncomfortable certainty that somebody familiar was nearby. The way sheād 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. āHe was there.ā
Pearline didnāt answer.
āHe was there with her.ā
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 sheād stopped counting. Her face felt warm. Her thoughts felt loud. Every emotion sheād spent the last eight years carefully suppressing seemed determined to show up all at once.
āYou saw them and still said nothinā.ā
āI wanted to.ā
Annie laughed.
The sound came out sharp enough to make Pearline flinch.
āNo you didnāt.ā
āI did.ā
āYou didnāt, ācause if you did, you wouldāve.ā
āI really did, Annie.ā
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.
āFuck, Pearline, I couldāve handled him messinā with ANYBODY else.ā
Pearlineās face changed immediately.
āAnnieāā
āNo. Iām serious.ā She laughed again and wiped at her eyes. āI couldāve handled some random girl.ā The words tumbled out before she could stop them. āSome girl from Jackson. Memphis. Atlanta. Hell, California.ā
Pearline stayed quiet.
āBut Jada?ā Annie shook her head. āJada of all people?ā
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.
āYou shouldāve told me from jump.ā Annie looked down at the bottle in her hand. āYou shouldāve told me the second you saw them.ā
Pearline sighed. āShe aināt hate you, Annie.ā
āDonāt do that shit.ā The warning came fast. āPlease donāt sit up here and act like you donāt know what Iām talkinā about.ā
Pearline looked away.
Exactly.
āThatās what I thought.ā Annie laughed and immediately wished she hadnāt, because now she sounded bitter.
Maybe she was.
āI know it sound stupid.ā Her voice cracked. āI know he donāt owe me shit.ā Another laugh. Smaller this time. āAnd I know he got every right to move on.ā She stared toward the window. āBut for some reason hearinā itās Jada make me sick to my fuckinā stomach.ā
The confession hung between them. Raw. Embarrassing.
Honest.
āAnd thatās why Iām mad at you.ā
Pearline frowned.
āCause you knew that.ā Annie looked back at her. āYou knew exactly how that was gonna hit me.ā
Annie sank onto the edge of the bed and looked down at the shirt in her hands. At some point sheād 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 wasnāt 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.
āYou know what the crazy part is?ā
Pearline looked up. āWhat?ā
Annie laughed, but there wasnāt any humor in it. āI still wouldāve came.ā
For a minute neither of them said anything.
Annie picked up the shirt and started folding it. Then unfolded it. āI wouldāve still got on the plane.ā
The words surprised her because she hadnāt realized they were true until sheād said them out loud. She wouldāve come for Aunt Cheryl and Uncle Lewis. For Geneva and Auntie Max. For Pearline. For Stack. For the cookout. For every piece of home sheād spent years pretending she didnāt 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. āThatās the part that got me.ā She looked down at the bottle. āYou shouldāve told me anyway.ā
Pearline lowered her eyes. āI thought if yāall talkedāā
āThere you go.ā The words came out tired more than angry. Annie shook her head. āThatās the part you keep missinā.ā
Pearline started to talk, then stopped.
Annie looked toward the window where the sounds of the cookout drifted in through the screen. āYou keep tellinā me what you thought.ā
Her voice cracked. āWhat about me? What about what I wanted?ā
Pearlineās face tightened immediately.
Annie hated herself a little for saying it. The regret didnāt make it less true. āYou knew.ā The words came quieter now. Which somehow made them worse. āYou knew and watched me get off that plane.ā
Silence.
āYou knew and watched me talk about him.ā
Pearline looked away.
āYou knew and sat on this bed while I changed clothes fifty fucking times.ā
The tears finally came. Hot. Embarrassing. Impossible to stop.
āAnd you still brought me here.ā
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.Ā
āYou watched me hope.ā
The room seemed to shrink around them as Annieās 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.
āYou think I wanted this?ā
Annie looked away.
āYou keep talkinā like I sat around plottinā on how to hurt you.ā
āI aināt say that.ā
āYou donāt gotta say it.ā Pearline wiped at her face with the heel of her hand before crossing her arms tightly over her chest. āFor two fuckinā days Iāve been watchinā this happen knowinā eventually you was gonna look at me exactly like this.ā
Annie didnāt answer because she was looking at her exactly like that.
āYou think it was easy watchinā you get off that plane smilinā?ā Pearline laughed once, but there wasnāt any humor in it. āYou think I didnāt know why you was really nervous?ā
āPearlineāā
āNo. Let me finish.ā The words came out sharper than anything sheād said all evening. āYou wasnāt nervous about no cookout and you know it.ā
Annie looked down at the shirt twisted in her hands.
āYou talked about him the whole ride from the airport.ā Pearlineās voice softened again. āYou talked about him while you unpacked.āĀ
Another breath. āYou talked about him when we went to breakfast.ā Another. āYou talked about him every time his name came up like you was tryinā real hard to convince yourself it didnāt matter.ā
The tears Annie had been fighting rose all over again.
Pearline shook her head. āAnd every time I thought about tellinā you, Iād look at your face and think maybe I was wrong. Maybe Smoke and Jada wasnāt serious. Maybe they wouldāve ended whatever they had goinā on by now. Maybe yāall could finally sit down and talk.ā
Annie swallowed hard. The words shouldāve 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.
āI was hopinā too, Annie.ā
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 sheād been trying very hard not to look at. Pearline hadnāt 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. āRemember when I told you I left my charger at Stackās apartment?ā
Annie frowned. The question felt random enough to pull her briefly out of her own misery. āYeah.ā
āI aināt leave no damn charger.ā
Annie stared at her while her facial expression said DUH.
Pearline laughed once and shook her head. āI went back and straight up asked him.ā
The room grew quiet.
āI wanted to know if what I saw was real.ā
Annieās stomach tightened.
Pearline rubbed her palms against her jeans. āI asked Stack straight up.ā
āWhatād he say?ā
āThat Smoke and Jada wasnāt together.ā
The answer came immediate. Like sheād replayed the conversation a hundred times already.
āHe said they wasnāt serious. Said they wasnāt in no relationship.ā
Despite herself, Annie almost laughed.
Pearline kept going. āI asked him twice.ā The confession sounded pathetic now. āI kept askinā different ways hopinā heād tell me somethinā else.ā
Annie looked away.
āCause if he wouldāve told me they was seriousā¦ā Pearline swallowed. āIf he wouldāve told me Smoke was in love with that girl or planninā a future witā her or somethinā like that, Iād have told you right then.ā
The words settled heavily between them.
āShit, Annie, I wouldāve told you before we even got to Cherylās house.ā Pearlineās voice cracked slightly. āThatās why I didnāt know what to do.ā
Annie stared at the floor because that sounded exactly like something Pearline would doāconvince herself this was reasonable. It sounded exactly like something done with love that still managed to hurt anyway.
āYou still didnāt let me choose.āĀ
The words came out quiet.Ā
Pearlineās shoulders dropped. For a second she looked as tired as Annie felt. Her mouth opened slightly before closing again. Whatever explanation sheād 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 sheād refused to listen to all those years ago, but somehow carried with her through college, breakups, apartments, and every version of herself sheād become after leaving Mississippi.
This was a new one.
The one sheād spent weeks putting together before coming home. The one hidden beneath folded shirts because she hadnāt been brave enough to admit why sheād packed it in the first place.
For a long moment neither woman moved. Then Annie bent down and picked it up.Ā
Pearlineās eyes followed the plastic case before lifting back to Annieās face.
Something flickered there. Understanding. Somehow Annie hated that most of all, because now Pearline knew.Ā
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.
āAnnieāā
āFuck all yāall.ā
Pearline took a step forward. āAnnie.ā
āNo.ā She wiped angrily at her face. āI came down here lookinā stupid as fuck.ā
āYou didnāt.ā
āI did.ā Her voice cracked hard enough to make her wince. āI did.ā
The tears started again. Hot. Humiliating. Impossible to stop.
āAnd I blame you for lettinā me.ā
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 didnāt shut the fuck up. Children ran through the grass screaming while music drifted lazily from the speakers near the patio.Ā
The normalcy of it all felt strange considering how quickly the afternoon had changed. Ten minutes ago heād 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. Annieās hand in his. Jadaās voice. The way Annieās guard went up the moment she understood Jada wasnāt standing there as an old classmate. The look sheād given Pearline afterward stayed with him most. There had been hurt in it. Confusion too. But beneath both sat recognition, like sheād suddenly understood something nobody had bothered to explain to her.
Smoke didnāt 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 heād seen on her face before she walked away.
What unsettled him wasnāt that sheād 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.
āThe good shit,ā 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 wouldāve 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.
āThought you had a showing today.ā
The question made her blink. āI did.ā
āYou said you wasnāt cominā.ā
āI changed my mind.ā
Smoke nodded once, but his attention had already drifted back toward the house. The answer sat wrong with him for reasons he couldnāt quite explain. She hadnāt called. Hadnāt texted. Some part of him couldnāt stop wondering whether things wouldāve unfolded differently if heād known she was coming. The thought irritated him. Jada hadnāt done anything wrong by showing up to a public cookout. Yet he couldnāt shake the feeling that the afternoon had veered off course the moment she stepped into it.
āYou mad Iām here?ā
That pulled his attention back to her.
āNo.ā
The answer came easily because it was mostly true. He wasnāt mad she came. He just couldnāt understand why she hadnāt mentioned it. Over the last year theyād fallen into routines. Nothing serious. Nothing that required explanations. Still, telling somebody you were showing up somewhere after saying you werenāt seemed like information worth sharing.
Jada studied him for a moment. āYou aināt really looked at me since I walked over here.ā
The words were light. Teasing. At least they tried to be.
Smoke glanced at her. āWhat?ā
āYou keep starinā at that house.ā
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 sheād gotten good at reading him.Ā 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.
āThere she go.ā
Mary rolled her eyes. āOh Lord.ā
āNah.ā Stack pointed directly at her. āNah. Bring yoā ass over here.ā
Smoke looked between them. Mary suddenly became very interested in her drink. That alone made him suspicious.
āYou aināt change your mind.ā
Jadaās eyes flickered. āElijahāā
āYou was already cominā.ā The words landed quietly. āYou couldāve told me.ā
The silence that followed was answer enough.
Something tightened in his chest. He turned his attention to Mary. āWhat you do?ā
āI aināt do shit.ā
āThatās a muthafuckinā lie.ā Stack exclaimed.
āIt aināt.ā
Stack laughed. āJada just magically decided to show up after tellinā my brother she wasnāt?ā
Jadaās head turned. Mary looked away. Smokeās eyes narrowed. The silence lasted a little too long.
āMary.ā
āI was just talkinā.ā
āThere it is.ā Stack threw his hands up. āThere it is right there. Thatās the shit I be talkinā about. You stay runninā yoā fuckinā mouth.ā
Mary looked offended. āHow was I supposed to know sheād actually come?ā
Stack stared at her. Then at Jada. Then back at Mary. āYou serious?ā
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 hadnāt 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 Annieās face. Not the smile sheād forced before excusing herself. The look right before it. The moment sheād looked from Jada to him and then toward Pearline. The hurt in her eyes had been so quick most people probably wouldāve missed it.
He hadnāt.
That was the problem. He hadnāt 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 sheād seen. Maybe not every detail. Maybe not the history. But enough. Enough to think he and Jada were something they werenāt. Enough to believe sheād shown up in Mississippi only to discover heād moved on.
The thought bothered him more than it should have.
Life kept moving around him, but Smoke couldnāt. 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. āYou need to go talk to her.ā
āPearline with her.ā
āFor now.ā
Smoke leaned back in his chair. āWhat that supposed to mean?ā
āIt mean Annie upstairs cussinā Pearline the fuck out right now.ā
Despite everything, a small smile threatened at the corner of his mouth.
Stack pointed toward the house. āYou know Iām right.ā
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 heād spent eight years wishing sheād 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.
āAnnie.ā
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.
āAnnie.ā
She didnāt stop. The suitcase rolled awkwardly through the grass as she continued toward the driveway, and whether she genuinely hadnāt heard him or was pretending not to hear him didnāt matter. Smoke knew her too well to believe either would be enough to stop him.
āAnissa!ā
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 wasnāt 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.
āCan we talk?ā
The laugh that left Annie wasnāt 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.
āOh, now you wanna talk?ā
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.Ā
Smoke opened his mouth, but Annie was already shaking her head.
āNo. Donāt do that.ā
His brow furrowed. āDo what?ā
āAct like this aināt exactly what you wanted.ā
Confusion flashed across his face before frustration followed close behind it. āWhat the hell are you talkinā about?ā
Annie stared at him as though she couldnāt 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 didnāt 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.
āI made that for you.ā
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.
āI spent two damn weeks makinā that.ā Annie laughed. The sound was ugly. āAināt that some shit?ā
She wiped angrily at her face. āIām twenty-five years old makinā a mixtape.ā Annie shook her head. āI brought it all the way from North Carolina.ā
Her voice dropped. āI brought it because some stupid part of me thoughtā¦ā The sentence died there.
Annie laughed again. āNever mind.ā
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 didnāt seem to notice any of them, or maybe she did and simply couldnāt bring herself to care.
āGo āhead,ā she said, gesturing vaguely toward the backyard. āMaybe you and your girlfriend can listen to it together.ā
Smokeās jaw tightened immediately. āJada aināt my girlfriend.ā
The look Annie gave him was so full of disbelief it almost wouldāve been funny under different circumstances. āPlease.ā
āPlease what?ā
āDonāt.ā
He took a step closer. āDonāt do that.ā
The hurt in her face deepened, and Smoke knew before she even spoke that whatever came next had been sitting inside her for years.
āOh, now we donāt wanna do that?ā
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.
āWhat happened to āwe aināt doinā that, huh?āā
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.
āYou know what pisses me off the most?ā
Smoke didnāt answer. The question felt rhetorical.
āEverybody knew but me.ā
The words hung there longer than Annie intended. Once they left her mouth she couldnāt take them back. It felt like saying them out loud made the humiliation feel real in a way it hadnāt 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.Ā
Everybody.
Everybody had apparently known except the one person standing in the middle of it.
āPearline knew. Stack knew. Maryās ass obviously knew.ā
āWhy I gotta be in this?ā Mary called from somewhere behind Smoke.
āCause yoā ass always in everythinā.ā
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 wasnāt 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 sheād spent thinking she was simply reconnecting with old friends while apparently everybody else was aware of something she wasnāt.
āI spent all day lookinā stupid.ā
āYou wasnāt lookinā stupid.ā
The answer came immediate. Too immediate. Annie laughed and pointed at him. āThere you go.ā
Smoke frowned. āThere I go what?ā
āThat thing you do.ā
āWhat thing?ā
āWhen I tell you somethinā and you decide it aināt true just ācause you donāt like hearinā it.ā
His jaw tightened. āAnnieāā
āNo.ā Her voice cracked hard enough that she hated it. āYou asked to talk. So letās talk.ā
The yard went quiet again. Annie looked at him for a long moment before shaking her head. āYou know what makes this shit worse?ā
Smoke waited.
Annie laughed without humor and glanced toward Jada. āHer.ā
Jada visibly stiffened.
āAnnieāā
āNo. Cause aināt nobody finna sit here and act confused.ā
The alcohol had long since stopped making her feel better. Now it was just making honesty easier.
āOutta everybody, Elijah?ā Her eyes landed on Jada again. āHer?ā
Smoke frowned. āWhat that supposed to mean?ā
Annie laughed. āSee? Thatās exactly what I mean.ā She wiped at her face. āYou aināt even know.ā
The words werenāt really directed at him anymore. āYou never paid attention to none of that.ā
Smokeās brow furrowed deeper.
Annie shook her head. Her laugh sounded tired. āWhy would you?ā
The alcohol was doing most of the talking now. Not enough to make her incoherent. Just enough to lower every wall sheād spent years building.
āYou donāt know what it felt like beinā around her.ā
Jada stiffened slightly.
Annie noticed. But kept going anyway. āMaybe she didnāt do nothinā. Maybe it was all in my head.ā The words sounded doubtful even to her. āBut every time she walked into a room, I felt it.ā
She looked back at Smoke. āAnd now I come back home and find out youāre with her?ā
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 wouldāve hurt. Him being happy and moving on with anybody else wouldāve hurt. Seeing him living a life that no longer had room for her wouldāve 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. āYou know what North Carolina was like?ā
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 didnāt 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 didnāt know what it had been like. Not the real version.
Annie looked away briefly before looking back at him. āI hated it.ā
Smoke felt something in his chest twist because that was not what he had expected her to say.
āI hated every fuckinā minute of it.ā Her voice shook now, but she did not look away again. āI didnāt know nobody. I didnāt have Pearline, Aunt Cheryl, Stack. I didnāt haveā¦ā
She stopped long enough to swallow, and when she looked directly at him, the rest of the yard seemed to fade around them.
āI didnāt have you.ā
Smoke wasnāt 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 wasnāt the same thing as knowing he had.
Annie laughed and immediately seemed to hate the sound of it.
Smoke blinked.
āSo what, Elijah?ā
The use of his name landed exactly the way she intended it to. A warning.
āYou think I was supposed to know that?ā she asked, pointing at him. āYou think I knew what the hell you was feelinā?ā
His jaw tightened. āYou aināt ask.ā
āNeither did you.ā
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 wasnāt wrong.Ā
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.
āYou keep standinā here talkinā like I wasnāt alone. You think I wasnāt drivinā around a city I aināt know? You think I wasnāt callinā Pearline cryinā? You think I wasnāt sittinā in my mamaās house every holiday wishinā I was home?ā
Smokeās expression switched before he could stop it, and Annie saw it. Good, her face seemed to say. Let him hear it.
āYou keep talkinā like I chose all this.ā The tears were coming faster now, and she stopped trying to hide them. āI was seventeen. I was seventeen, Elijah. I was a kid. I was scared!ā
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.
āYou know what I kept waitinā on?ā she asked.
Smoke didnāt answer.
āI kept waitinā on you.ā
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. āI kept thinkinā maybe one day youād show up. Maybe one day youād come get me.ā
Smoke stared at her, and the disbelief moved across his face before he could hide it. It wasnāt that he didnāt believe she had waited. He couldnāt 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.
āYou waited on me?ā
The question came out quieter than he intended.
Annie laughed bitterly. āYeah.ā
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.
āAnnieā¦ā His voice cracked slightly, not enough for most people to notice, but enough for Stack to notice. Enough for Pearline. Enough for Smoke himself. āYou think I wasnāt tryinā?ā
The confusion on Annieās face stopped him cold. For a second neither of them moved, and then Smoke realized she genuinely didnāt know. She had never looked more honest or more confused, and the sight twisted painfully in his chest.
āYou think I just let you go?ā
Annie opened her mouth, then closed it.
āI called you every fuckinā day.ā
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.
āWhat?ā
Smoke laughed, but the sound came out broken. āI called you every day.ā
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. āI called so much my mama started askinā if I was goinā to pay the phone bill.ā
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 couldnāt stop now. Not after eight years. Not after hearing Annie say she had waited. āI wrote you.ā
Annie stared at him. āWhat?ā
āI wrote you.ā His jaw tightened because the word sounded ridiculous now. Ancient and pathetic and still true. āLetters. Birthday cards. Christmas cards. I sent every fuckinā thing I could think of.ā
Annie looked like she had forgotten how to breathe. Smoke noticed. He simply could not stop anyway.
āYou think I was sittinā around muthafuckin Mississippi havinā the time of my fuckinā life?ā His voice rose for the first time, not much, but enough. āYou think I wasnāt lookinā and waitinā for you?ā
Fresh tears started slipping down Annieās 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.
āThen one day you stopped answerinā.ā His voice dropped again, the sentence wounded in a way anger could not cover. āYou stopped callinā back.ā
Annie shook her head slowly like she could not understand what he was saying. āI neverāā
āYeah.ā Smoke laughed again, rougher this time. āThatās what I thought too.ā
For the first time all afternoon, fear appeared in Annieās 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.
āI never got them.ā Her voice was so quiet he almost missed it. āI never got those letters.ā
Smoke stared at her, then slowly shook his head. āYeah, you did.ā
āNo, I didnāt.ā
āYou had to.ā
āElijah, I didnāt.ā
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. āMy mama wouldāve gave āem to me.ā
Smoke looked away because maybe she was right. Maybe she wasnāt. But the problem was that the possibility didnāt change what those years had felt like from his side.
āI called,ā he said, quieter now.
āI know.ā
āNo.ā He shook his head. āYou donāt.ā
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.
āYou answered,ā he said. āThen you got busy. Then you started callinā back less.ā
The silence that followed was answer enough.
āOne day I realized I was the only one still callinā.ā
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.
āI wasnāt doinā it on purpose,ā 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.
āI know.ā
Annie frowned. āYou know?ā
āYeah.ā He looked at her for a long moment, and the anger she seemed to expect was not there anymore. āI know. You was seventeen. You was scared. You was in a new place. You was tryinā to figure shit out.ā
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.
āAnd I knew every one of them reasons,ā he said. āBut they aināt stop the shit from hurtinā.ā
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 Cherylās backyard.
āI kept makinā excuses for you,ā Smoke said, and the confession seemed to surprise even him. Annieās face crumpled immediately, but he kept going. āI told myself you was busy. I told myself school was hard. I told myself youād call tomorrow. And then eventually I had to stop tellinā myself that shit.ā
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.
āYou couldāve came.ā
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.
āYou couldāve came and got me,ā she said, the hurt returning instantly, seventeen-year-old hurt and twenty-five-year-old hurt all tangled together. āYou knew where I was.ā
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.
āYou wanted me to come get you?ā
Annie laughed through her tears, the sound cracking halfway out. āI donāt know. I justā¦ā She shook her head, struggling to organize a truth that had probably never made sense outside her own chest. āI thought if you loved me bad enough, youād come.ā
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. āAnnie,ā he said, barely above a murmur. āI was seventeen too.ā
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 rightāhe had been seventeen too. Just as lost. Just as scared. Just as heartbroken.
āYou keep talkinā like I knew what to do.ā Smoke laughed once, no humor in it, and a few people actually smiled despite themselves because it sounded like him. Real. Unfiltered. āI didnāt know shit. I didnāt know how to fix shit.ā His eyes found hers again.Ā
āI didnāt know how to make you stay.ā
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.Ā
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.
āYou keep talkinā like I left you.ā
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 couldnāt believe they were standing here having this conversation.
āYou keep tellinā this story like I walked away.ā
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. āYou talk about North Carolina. You talk about missinā me. You talk about waitinā.ā He shook his head, his voice steady in a way that made every word harder to hear. āBut every version of this story end the same.ā
Annie tightened her grip around the suitcase handle.
āYou leave.ā
Smoke didnāt raise his voice. He didnāt 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.
āYou leave,ā he said again. āYou stop answerinā. You stop callinā.ā
Annie shook her head immediately. āIt wasnāt like that.ā
Smoke laughed, and the sound broke halfway through. āSee?ā His eyes closed briefly. āThatās what Iām talkinā about.ā
Tears gathered again, blurring Annieās vision. āI was seventeen.ā
āSO WAS I!!!!!ā
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.
āDo you know what the fucked up part is?ā
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.
āAll these yearsā¦ā His voice cracked once before he caught it. āā¦I thought you knew.ā
Annie stared at him.
Smoke laughed again, but this time there was nothing left in it to protect him. āI thought you knew how much I fuckinā love you.ā
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.
āAnd somehowā¦ā He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving hers. āā¦you still look at me like Iām the one who left.ā
The silence that followed didnāt 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.Ā
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.
Ā Ā Ā
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. š
Summary: At the cookout, Annie discovers that memory is a dangerous thing. Old photographs surface. Family members tell stories nobody realized they remembered. Smoke and Annie spend an entire afternoon remembering each other. Unfortunately, the present eventually shows up.
A/N: This chapter did NOT go as I planned. But I hope ya'll still like it!
W/C: 14+
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 Mooresā. 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 somebodyās cheap cologne.
Stack stood near the speakers arguing with two boys over what song to play next.
āNah, yāall killinā the vibe.ā
āYou always say that, bruh.ā
āCause yāall music trash.ā
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. āStack, shut up.ā
He grinned immediately. āYou so fine.ā
āBoy.ā
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. āMhm,ā she muttered, nudging Pearline.
Pearline glanced over. āWhat?ā
Annie tilted her head slightly toward the drinks table.
Pearlineās 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.Ā
Except Smokeāhe barely looked over there at all. Jada was pretty. He mostly remembered she laughed loud.
That shouldāve made Annie feel better. Instead something still irritated her.
Pearline caught the look on her face instantly. āGirlā¦ā
āI aināt sayinā shit.ā
āYou donāt gotta.ā
Annie rolled her eyes hard and looked away first.
Across the yard Stack suddenly yelledāāANNIE.ā
He pointed dramatically toward the folding table. āBring me a bag of chips.ā
āYou got two hands.ā
āPlease! You love me.ā
āI actually donāt.ā
Stack clutched his chest while everybody around him laughed.
Smoke looked over then and immediately found Annie. Every time. Didnāt 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. āGirl that boy obsessed with you.ā
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.
āYou ate?ā
Annie blinked at him. āYes, Elijah.ā
āYou lyinā.ā
She laughed immediately. āI had chips.ā
āThat aināt food.ā
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. āWhy you keep makinā me plates?ā
Smoke shrugged once without looking up. āCause you need to eat.ā
āI eat.ā
āNot enough.ā
Annie rolled her eyes softly. āSmoke, I promise the world not gonā end if I miss one plate.ā
That finally made him look at her. His eyes moved over her once before settling back on her face again.
āNah,ā he said quietly. āBut I might.ā
Annieās breath caught before she could stop it.
And right on cueāStack gagged loud as hell behind them. āMane, if yāall donāt leave each other alone for five minutesāā
āShut the fuck up,ā 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. āThis bitchā¦,ā she muttered under her breath.
Mary waved dramatically the second she spotted Stack. āThere go my man.ā
Pearline rolled her eyes so hard Annie almost laughed. āYour man?ā Pearline muttered. āGirl please. Stack flirt witā everybody.ā
āJealousy ugly on you, Pearl,ā Mary called back instantly.
Pearline looked up slow and smiled. āBitch, I canāt be jealous of community dick.ā
Stack barked out laughing before Mary walked over smacking his arm. Jada drifted easily toward the grill instead.
āDamn,ā she said, looking down at the plate in Smokeās hand before glancing toward her friends. āSmoke donāt do nothinā but feed Annie.ā
Stack barked out laughing instantly. āCause thatās his girl.ā
Smoke frowned slightly. āWhat?ā
Jada smiled. āNothinā.ā But her eyes slid briefly toward Annie before looking back at Stack.
āIām serious,ā She continued. āHe act like she the only girl out here.ā
Stack opened his mouth immediately. āCause to him she is.ā
Smoke finally handed Annie her plate. āMove before Stack fat ass steal yoā food.ā
āWow nigga,ā Stack said. āYou rude.ā
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 Smokeās cup sitting on the table, taking a sip without asking.
Annie noticed immediately. So did Pearline.
Annieās 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 Annieās wrist beneath the excuse of reaching for a chip. Subtle. Quick enough nobody else seemed to notice.
Except Jada.
Smoke barely reactedāmostly because he was already looking at Annie again. āYou want somethinā else to drink?ā
Jada lowered the cup slowly.
Annie saw that too, and suddenly the heat outside felt heavier than before. āIām good,ā she answered quietly.
āI been tellinā yāall Smoke donāt talk to nobody but Annie,ā Jada said, laughing lightly as she nudged Stack with her shoulder. āItās weird.ā
Mary snorted softly beside Stack, already watching the whole interaction unfold. āOne hundred percent true,ā Mary jumped in immediately.
Smoke looked genuinely confused. āI talk to yāall.ā
Stack barked out laughing instantly. āNigga no you donāt.ā
Mary laughed harder. āYou barely even looked over here.ā
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 sheād 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. āIām sayinā you act different with Annie.ā
Smoke frowned like he genuinely didnāt understand the point. āThatās my girl.ā
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 Annieās.
A small smile pulled at Annieās mouth before she could stop it. Bitch.
Jadaās smile stayed in place.
But barely.
Present Day
The memory faded slowly beneath the low hum of Smokeās 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 hadnāt stayed where he put them. Eight years goneāand somehow seeing her again still felt too close to touching a live wire.
Aunt Cherylās house already smelled like seasoning and heat by the time Annie and Pearline finished getting dressed.
Pearlineās auntāher mama Maxineās 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.Ā
Annie loved her mother. She did, but Aunt Cheryl had become the adult she ran to for things she didnāt 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 Cherylās kitchen counter while she cut onions, folded laundry or fried fish. Crushes. Friend drama. College fears. Questions she couldnāt even ask properly yet.
Aunt Cheryl never pushed. She just listened. Then eventually sheād say something annoyingly simple that made Annie realize she already knew the answer.
Pearlineās family became Annieās 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 Pearlineās friend and started introducing her as one of hers.
Right on cue her voice cut through the house. āAND WHO ATE MY DAMN DEVILED EGGS?ā
āThere go Cheryl,ā Pearline muttered calmly.
āAnd turn that sad shit down!ā another older voice yelled from somewhere outside.
Pearline rolled her eyes immediately. āā¦and there go mama.ā
Annie laughed despite herself.
The whole house felt alive. They ended up staying the night at Cherylās 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.
āLeave if you want to,ā sheād said, snapping green beans into a bowl without looking up. āBut yoā mama gonā talk so much shit about you tomorrow I might join in.ā
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. āGirl please,ā she said, sliding a cutting board toward Annie. āYou back home now. Slice them onions.ā
And she did. Standing barefoot in Cherylās 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 hadnāt 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 sheād made since coming back home.
Pearline watched her for a little while before reaching toward the tequila bottle sitting beside Annieās makeup bag.
āAight,ā she muttered. āCome here.ā
Annie looked over immediately. āWhat?ā
āYou nervous as hell.ā
āNot.ā
Pearline snorted, already pouring two shots into plastic cups. āSure.ā
Annie laughed softly despite herself before walking over. The cups clinked together lightly.
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.
āShiiit.ā
Pearline coughed once immediately after. āSee? Thatās why I donāt do dark liquor.ā
āYou literally bought it.ā
āAnd?ā
Annie shook her head laughing while Pearline shoved the open chip bag toward her.
āEat somethinā.ā
āIām fine.ā
āAight. You gonā be sweatinā tequila and fucked up in Cheryl backyard if you donāt eat somethinā.ā
āI won't.ā
Pearline pointed at her immediately. āThatās exactly what drunk people say.ā
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. āGirl.ā
Annie didnāt look away from the mirror.Ā āWhat?ā
āYou know what.ā
āItās hot outside.ā
āMhm.ā
āIt is.ā
Pearlineās mouth twitched.Ā āAnd apparently you tryna make Elijah Moore lose consciousness beside Cherylās potato salad.ā
Annie groaned instantly. āPlease shut up.ā
āIām serious.ā Pearline pointed dramatically with another chip. āThat man already looked halfway dead in Stack apartment yesterday.ā
Annie narrowed her eyes finally turning away from the mirror. āOh, so we not gonā talk about YOU?ā
Pearline blinked innocently. āWhat about me?ā
Annie looked her up and down slowly.
Pearlineās 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. āYou look like summertime temptation.ā
Pearline barked out laughing instantly. āBut you got the nerve to talk about me?ā
āThis?ā Pearline looked down at herself pretending to be confused. āGirl this comfortable.ā
āComfortable where?ā Annie stared. āAt a cookout or on somebody's son's prayer list?ā
Pearline nearly choked on her chips laughing.
Annie shook her head. āYou absolutely tryna make Elias act stupid outside.ā
āChileā¦,ā Pearline continued, waving another chip dramatically, āElias been stupid since tenth grade. That aināt got nothinā to do witā me.ā
Annie laughed softly despite herself.
Pearline pointed immediately. āThere it is again.ā
āWhat?ā
āThat little happy-ass laugh.ā
Annieās face fell instantly. āLineā¦ā
āIām just sayinā.ā Pearlineās expression softened slightly afterward. āI aināt seen you like this in a long time.ā
Annieās 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 Annieās 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 sayingāHe not bringinā her. Pearline wanted to believe that.
Stillā¦
Annie sighed. āI donāt even know why I care this much.ā
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. āYou said Elijah came by already this morninā?ā
Pearline looked up. āUh huh. Him and Uncle Lewis set the speakers up outside.ā
Annie nodded slowly like that information didnāt matter nearly as much as it actually did.Ā
āOh.ā
Pearline watched her for a little too long.
Annie reached over stealing one of her chips casually. āHe stay long?ā
There it was.
Pearline smiled immediately. āYou fishinā.ā
āIām not.ā
āYou are.ā
Annie rolled her eyes. āIām askinā a question.ā
āYeah, okay,ā Pearlineās grin widened.
Annie threw the chip at her. Pearline laughed harder dodging it while Annie shook her head trying unsuccessfully not to smile too.
āSoā¦is he?ā Annie asked a second later, quieter this time.
Pearlineās laughter softened slightly. āHe said he was cominā back.ā
Annie looked down too fast afterward, like she didnāt want her face caught reacting.Ā
Pearline watched the small smile trying to pull at Annieās mouth before it disappeared again.
There it was again. Soft. Careful. Still alive somehow after all these years, and suddenly Pearlineās chest tightened, because now Jada pushed back into the front of her mind immediately afterward. Laughing. Too comfortable. Too familiar.
Pearline swallowed slowly. āAnnieā¦ā
Annie looked up immediately. āHm?ā
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 didnāt want Annie walking outside blind, but then she smiled again. Tinyā¦nervous.
Suddenly Pearline couldnāt say it. Couldnāt 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.
āNothinā,ā she muttered instead, standing too fast afterward. āCome on before Aunt Cheryl start cussinā everybody out for standinā around useless.ā
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. Didnāt come back expecting her stomach to flip every time Elijah looked at her. Or expect one awkward afternoon inside Stackās 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. āThat better not be Stack blowinā that fuckinā horn.ā
As if summoned, her phone rang immediately afterward.
STACK.
Pearline answered, already irritated. āWhat?ā
āBring yāall asses outside,ā Stack shouted loudly over music and voices in the background. āEverybody arrivinā.ā
Annieās stomach flipped hard enough to make her regret every sip of tequila sheād 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 Cherylās 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 immediatelyācharcoal, 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.
āANNIE BABY!ā
Before she could process anything else, one of Pearlineās 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, sheād 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 nowājust 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 skinācream 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. āLawd, look at my Annie.ā
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. āBitchhhā¦you done got finer sittinā up there in North Carolina.ā
Pearline barked out laughing immediately. āāNeva.ā
Geneva ignored her completely, looking Annie up and down. āNah, for realālook at all this ass.ā
āGENEVA.ā
āWhat?ā She shrugged. āI got eyes.ā
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.
āOh shitāAnnie?!āĀ
āWhen you get back?ā
āGirl, look at you!ā
Suddenly she was being pulled into hugs from every direction. More relatives. Old classmates. Women she hadnāt seen since before high school kissing her cheek and telling her she looked beautiful.Ā Questions came rapid-fire before she could even answer the last one.
How long you staying?You still in Charlotte?Yoā mama good?You remember so-and-so?You workinā?
Annie smiled through all of it. Laughed through all of it. Answered each question. But underneath every conversation, every hug, every jokeāshe 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. āYou look so nervous, friend,ā Pearline muttered low beside her while accepting a beer her cousin handed her.
āIām not nervous.ā
āRight.ā
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.
āMove, nigga. Damn.ā
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.
āSmoke!ā Stack exclaimed as he turned around from where he stood near the grill pit. āBout time yoā muthafuckin ass got here!ā
āThere he go,ā 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 Stackās 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 himāElijah 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.
Smokeās jaw flexed once. Because yesterday inside Stackās 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.Ā
Grown.
Annie had always been beautiful. But this? This felt unfair.
āAnd then this nigga gonā sayāā 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. Smokeās attention followed automatically.Ā
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. Annieās 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.
āLook at her!ā Grace laughed. āThis girl doesnāt go to just anybody.ā
Annie laughed softly, taking Lisa against her hip without hesitation. Natural. Easy. Like sheād done it a hundred times before.
Something inside Smoke twisted painfully, because for one stupid dangerous secondāhe 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.
āYou hear this nigga, bruh?ā Stack asked suddenly, shoving a beer into Boās chest hard enough to spill some. āTalkinā bout he could beat me one-on-one right now.ā
Bo frowned immediately. āMan, when I say that?ā
But before Stack could keep the distraction goingāIsoo looked up.
āHold up.ā
Everybody went still automatically because Isoo always talked the loudest right before saying something stupid.
āWhere Jada at?ā
Stackās entire body stiffened instantly. āShut the fuck up,ā he muttered fast.
Too late.
Isoo blinked. āWhat?ā
Stack cut his eyes sharply toward Annie across the yard before lowering his voice. āNigga damn.ā
Smoke didnāt 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 questionsā
āYāall havinā somethinā?ā
āWho all gonna be there?ā
Small smile.
āSounds fun.ā
Smoke didnāt 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 tooā¦he never corrected the assumption.
Then yesterday happened.
He opened Stackās apartment door and Annie was standing there.
By the time Smoke realized she was stayingārealized sheād 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 didnāt wanna examine too hard.
He hated himself a little for how quick that feeling came.
Then this morning Jada left a voicemail.Ā Soft. Apologetic.Ā
āHeyā¦I wonāt be able to come to the cookout. Danielle called out sick and I gotta cover a showing.ā She laughed. āBad timing.ā
Smoke remembered listening. Waiting to feel disappointed. Instead his chest loosened. That bothered him more than anything.Ā
Another drag. Then finallyāāShe had to work.ā His voice came out flat. Smoke flicked ash into the grass. āShe aināt cominā.ā
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. āAw hell nah.ā
Smoke already felt irritation crawling up his spine.
āBruh, I know that aināt fine ass Annie over there.ā
Stack closed his eyes briefly like he already knew where this was going.
āShe back back?ā Isoo asked. āLike for real?ā
Nobody answered fast enough. Which was apparently answer enough for him. Isoo straightened immediately, adjusting his shirt. āShiiit then. Lemme go say whatās up.ā
Cornbread muttered, āHere this nigga go.ā
Isoo started moving.Ā 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 wasnāt 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 Smokeās posture change. Saw his grip tighten slightly around the cigarette.Ā
āAye,ā Stack said, quickly stepping sideways into Smokeās path just enough to interrupt whatever terrible decision was forming. āRelax.ā
Smokeās eyes stayed fixed on the back of Isooās head.
āHe grown,ā Stack continued lower. āDonāt start actinā crazy in Cheryl yard.ā
Mike snorted immediately beside them. āToo late. That nigga already look homicidal.ā
Cornbread started laughing into his cup.
But Smoke didnāt laugh. Didnāt 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.
āSomebody pour me somethinā.ā
Stack looked over immediately.
Boās mouth started twitching.
Cornbread snorted into his cup.
Smoke kept watching Annie. āStrong.ā
Stack blinked once. Looked toward Isoo. Then back at Smoke. His eyebrows lifted slowly.Ā
āā¦Oh niggaaaa.ā
āANNIE?ā
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 heād 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 somehowānever hers.Ā
Heād always been sweet to Annie. Never flirtyā¦just easy to be around. Annie remembered he carried her backpack once in sixth grade because she had too many books. By freshman year heād 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 wasnāt a big deal.
Pretty. Friendly. Community-approved. Terrible for relationships. Her mama loved him. Smoke tolerated him. Which honestly shouldāve 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. āWell damn.ā
He pulled back looking at her fully. āLook at you.ā
Annie rolled her eyes immediately. āBoy bye.ā
āNo seriously.ā He looked offended. āYou been in North Carolina eatinā money?ā
She laughed. āHi to you too.ā
Isoo smiled bigger. āNah for real though.ā His eyes moved over her once. Respectful. Surprised. Then landed back on her face. āYou good?ā
Something softened in her chest. She nodded. āYeah.ā
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 wasnāt 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 seemedā¦intentional.
He lowered the cup and looked directly at her.
Annie blinked and looked away back to Isoo. āā¦and remember Mary used to swear Stack wanted her?ā
Annie nodded automatically. āYes, yes I do.ā
Isoo kept talking.Ā āā¦and Sarita got four kids now.ā
āUh huh.ā
āā¦and you still owe me for them chips.ā
She blinked. āWait, what?ā
Isoo laughed immediately. āSee. You not listeninā.ā
Her eyes widened. āNo I am!ā
His smile softened. His eyes drifted past her. He smirked slightly.Ā āOh.ā
Annie frowned. āWhat?ā
Isoo laughed under his breath. āNothinā.ā
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 wasāher out. She looked back at Isoo, smiled and pointed. āOh they movinā.ā
Isoo looked over then back at her. His smile widened immediately. āAw damn.ā
Annie laughed. āWhat?ā
He shoved his hands in his pockets. āNothinā.ā But his eyes flicked onceāpast her. Towards Smoke, then back again.
Suddenly Annie had the strange feeling she wasnāt 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 babyās 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 Stackās attention went straight to her.Ā
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.Ā
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.
āWhat?ā she asked once she got close enough to be heard over the music.Ā
Stack took a sip from his beer and tried to look innocent. āNothinā.āĀ
Pearline folded her arms, which only made the dress worse on him. āThat was a look.āĀ
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.Ā
āYou look good. Thatās all.āĀ
Pearlineās face changed for barely a second, the smallest softening around her mouth before she rolled her eyes to cover it.Ā
āYou drunk?āĀ
āNot yet,ā he said, and that pulled a laugh out of her despite herself.
The laugh didnāt last long. Pearlineās gaze drifted past his shoulder towards Annie and Isoo, then towards Smoke, and the lightness left her face almost immediately.Ā
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.Ā
āShe really aināt cominā?āĀ
Stack didnāt 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.Ā
āShe aināt cominā.āĀ
Pearline looked away, but her exhale didnāt sound relieved enough. āI should tell Annie.āĀ
Stack frowned. āTell her what?āĀ
The look she gave him answered before she did.Ā
Stack followed Pearlineās gaze toward Annie, who was still smiling at Isoo and pretending she wasnāt checking Smokeās location every few breaths.Ā
āYou worried for no reason,ā Stack said quietly.
Pearline folded her arms tighter. āShe deserves to know.āĀ
Stack studied her face, then shook his head. āIf them two stop beinā scary and actually talk, Jada gonā become a memory real quick.āĀ
Pearline looked at him long enough for her expression to soften, but the guilt didnāt leave her face completely.Ā āā¦I hope you right.āĀ
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.Ā
Pearline shoved at his chest immediately, but there was no force behind it. āStack.āĀ
He only held on tighter, which was exactly when Grace saw them.
āOooooh,ā Grace said, loud enough to drag Boās attention from his cup and Cornbreadās from the grill. Therise smiled immediately, one hand on her stomach rubbing it in circles.Ā
āLook at the lovebirds,ā Grace sang, pointing like she had discovered something scandalous instead of two people who had been circling each other since high school.Ā
Pearline groaned and tried harder to push Stack away while he grinned beside her.Ā
Bo nodded like he was witnessing history. āYou finally wore her down, huh?āĀ
Pearline gasped. āExcuse me?āĀ
Stack, because he had no sense of self-preservation, nodded solemnly. āPersistence.āĀ
She shoved him again, and this time he actually laughed.Ā
Before Pearline could cuss him out properly, Aunt Cherylās voice cut across the backyard loud enough to make several conversations stop at once.Ā
āAIGHT! FOOD IS READY! OLD FOLKS FIRST, THEN KIDS, THEN EVERYBODY ELSEāS GREEDY ASSES!āĀ
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.Ā
āBoys,ā he called, and both of his sons appeared like he had summoned them.Ā
He pointed at himself proudly. āThatās us.āĀ
The crowd moved in that strange, ordinary way people always did once food got announced. Conversations broke apart mid-story. Somebodyās 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 Isooās 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 Pearlineās line of sight and immediately understood.
Smoke hadnāt moved, but his attention already had.
Stack looked between them once before leaning slightly toward Pearline. āOh.ā
Pearline folded her arms. āā¦yeah.ā
Annie slowed near the grill pit.
Smoke looked up. Nobody had orchestrated it or moved out the way on purpose. But somehow when everything settledākids, plates, conversations, chairsāthere wasnāt anybody left standing between them.
Stack looked over at Pearline. Pearline looked at him. Neither said anything. Stack smiled first. Quiet.
āTold you.ā
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.Ā
Smoke cleared his throat like the simplest word required effort.Ā āā¦hey.āĀ
Her smile softened.Ā āHi.āĀ
The silence after that stretched just long enough for everybody close enough to notice and pretend they werenāt watching.Ā
Smokeās eyes moved over her once, brief and controlled, but not brief enough.Ā āYou look nice,ā he said, voice lower than it had been with anybody else.Ā
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.Ā āThank you, so do you.ā
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.Ā
Smoke looked toward the grill. Annie looked toward the tables.Ā
Stack looked at Pearline, and Pearline looked right back at him. Neither of them said it out loud, but they both understood the same thingāĀ
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.Ā
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.Ā
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.Ā
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 hadnāt 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 Cornbreadās 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 didnāt seem aware heād done it.
Uncle Lewis passed carrying another folding table under one arm and slowed long enough to nod toward Smoke.
āSmoke, appreciate you bringinā them speakers and tables over.ā
Smoke shrugged without looking up. āAināt nothinā.ā
Lewis laughed and kept moving. āEasy for you to say. You got more room out there than all of us.ā
Smoke shook his head once but didnāt answer and Lewis kept walking.
Annie watched him go before looking over.
āā¦more room?ā
Smoke glanced at her. āAt my house.ā
She looked at him and waited for the rest of the sentence. When none came, she frowned slightly. āYour house?ā
His expression switched immediately into confusion.
āā¦yeah.ā
She stared at him long enough that he finally looked over fully. āWhat?ā
Her eyebrows lifted, āyou got a house?ā
Now he looked confused that she was confused. Assuming she knew already. āYeah.ā
She looked at him harder. āWhat you mean āyeahā?ā
His shoulders moved lightly. āI been there a few years.ā Then after a secondā āBuilt it.ā
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. āYou built it?ā
He nodded once.
Her mouth opened slightly.āOh my God.ā
Smoke frowned. āWhat?ā
She looked at him again, then laughed quietly. āYou said that.ā
His eyebrows pulled together. āSaid what?ā
She smiled and looked toward the food line ahead of them, but she wasnāt 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 Mikeās 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. āYou said if you ever had enough money you wanted your own place.ā
His face stayed still.
She kept walking. āYou said you wanted a house nobody could tell you to leave.ā
His eyes stayed on her now.
She smiled. āYou wanted land too.ā Her smile widened slightly. āYou said enough land that if you wanted to walk outside in your drawers and yell at people, nobody could stop you.ā
That got an actual laugh out of him.
She noticed immediately. Then she continued. āYou said you wanted a porch.ā
Her voice softened naturally as more of it came back. āYou said you wanted somewhere that felt yours.ā
Smoke looked at her for a long moment before speaking.Ā
āā¦you remember that?ā
The question surprised her enough that she looked at him fully.
She smiled. āYeah.ā Then she shrugged lightly. āI remember stuff people tell me.ā Her eyes moved away briefly before returning. āEspecially people I care about.ā
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 hadnāt filtered herself before speaking.
Smoke looked at her. It wasnāt 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. āThatās all?ā
She looked over. āWhat?ā
His eyes stayed on the food. āThat aināt enough..ā
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. āElijah.ā
His hand paused for a second after she said his name. Then he nodded once. āAight, aight.ā
He didnāt 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 didnāt 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 āold senile ass.ā
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 exactlyāthere 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 didnāt 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 didnāt. Her chest tightened unexpectedly. Not because he pulled out her chair. He didnāt. 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. āWhat?ā
Something flickered across his faceājust enough.
She stared at him for another second. Then immediately laughed. āOh my GoāI mean, forgive me Jesus.ā She shook her head smiling. āSorry.ā 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 heād 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.
āLord, thank You for this food. Thank You for bringinā everybody together and lettinā us see another day. Bless the hands that prepared it. Watch over everybody here and everybody we still waitinā on. Keep us grateful for what You give and open to receive what You send.ā
His thumb brushed once lightly against the side of her hand. Thenā āAnd let Aunt Cheryl stop threateninā people over them damn deviled eggs.ā
Annie laughed instantly.
Around them Aunt Cheryl yelledāāI HEARD THAT.ā
Smoke smiled faintly, then finished quietly. āAmen.ā
āAmen.ā
He let go of her hand. Too fast. Annie looked at her hand before looking back at him. Her smile softened. āYou still do that.ā
Smoke frowned. āDo what?ā
She looked down at her plate. āPray before you eat.ā
He shrugged. āYou know who raised me.ā
Annie smiled. No. That wasnāt 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. āWhat?ā
She smiled. āNothinā.ā
His eyes narrowed slightly.
She looked down at her plate. Then up at him again. āYou still put hot sauce on everything.ā
Smoke looked at the bottle in his hand, then shrugged. āFood be needinā help.ā
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 wouldāve felt uncomfortable with anybody else, somehow didnāt here. Around them people moved in wavesāsome 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. āThat all you eatinā?ā
She looked up. His eyes were already on her plate again. She laughed. āYou already fixed my plate, Elijah.ā
His eyebrows lifted. āYou eat around stuff.ā
Her hand paused. āWhat?ā
He nodded toward the plate. āYou aināt touch the beans.ā
She blinked. Then looked down. He was right.Her fork had worked around the baked beans completely.
She stared. Then looked back at him.Ā āā¦how you know that?ā
Smoke looked confused. āYou always did that.ā
She laughed softly and shook her head.
That one got her. The fact he said it like it was obvious. Like eight years wasnāt enough time to forget she hated baked beans touching other food.
She picked up her fork again. āYou remember weird stuff.ā
He shrugged. āI remember regular stuff.ā
Something about that landed heavier than she expected. She took another bite before smiling.Ā
āYou still do that.ā
His eyes lifted. āDo what?ā
She nodded toward his plate. āEat like somebody gonā grade you on it.ā
One side of his mouth moved. āWhat that mean?ā
She laughed softly. āYou eat real careful.ā
His eyes dropped briefly to his plate. āThatās normal.ā
She smiled. āNo. Stack eat normal.ā
Smoke glanced over automatically.
Stack stood near the grill eating the way he did everything elseātoo fast, talking too much, and one distracted moment away from ruining his shirt.
Smoke looked back. āā¦aight.ā
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. āYou really built it?āĀ
He looked up.
āThe house.ā
His expression softened slightly. āOh.ā He nodded. āYeah.ā
She rested her elbow lightly against the table. āHow?ā
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.Ā
The one she wouldāve 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.
āStarted doinā framing after high school.ā
Annie looked up.
He kept going. āOne of Uncle Lewisā friends needed people. Started residential first. Learned enough to move around.ā
She nodded once, listening.
Smoke kept eating. āThen commercial work. Then started doinā jobs myself.ā
She tilted her head slightly. āHow old were you?ā
He thought about it. āTwenty-two? Twenty-three.ā
Her eyebrows lifted. āThat young?ā
He shrugged. āDidnāt feel young.ā
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 didnāt. She kept asking strange questions. Questions nobody asked. āWhatās your favorite part?ā
Smoke looked up. āWhat?ā
She shrugged and took a bite of her peach cobbler. āWhen you build.ā
He stared at her, nobody ever asked that. He thought about it. Then answered honestly. āWhen it stop lookinā like work.ā
She smiled. āWhat that mean?ā
He looked out toward the yard automatically. Trying to explain. āWhen you first start, it's just dirt.ā
She watched him.
Then he continued. āThen wood and walls. Then eventually you standinā in somethinā that aināt exist six months ago.ā
She nodded immediately, like she understood.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
She smiled. āYou always liked that part.ā
Smoke looked at her.
Her fork paused halfway to her mouth. She blinked. āWhat?ā
He stared.
āWhat?ā
His voice came quieter. āHow you know that?ā
She looked confused, then looked down and laughed. Her shoulders lifted. āYou used to draw houses.ā
His eyebrows pulled together.
She kept talking. āBack of notebooks.ā
His chest started tightening just enough to make breathing feel different.
She looked embarrassed suddenly. āI remember weird stuff.ā
Smoke looked at her. Then shook his head. āNah.ā
She looked up.
His mouth moved slightly. āYou remember regular stuff.ā
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. Heād been talking almost the entire time.
He frowned slightly. āWhat about you?ā
She looked up.
He nodded once. āWhat you been doinā?ā
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 sheād met.
Stories.
While she talked, Smoke realized something he wasnāt 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 trafficāhe realized something that settled low in his chest and stayed there.
He didnāt know this version of her. Not like before, but every few minutes sheād laugh a certain way, tilt her head, or remember something small and heād recognize her again.
By the time people started slowing down on third plates and settling into the familiar rhythm of a Southern cookoutāeating, arguing, walking, sitting back down just to stand up again five minutes laterāthe 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 . āAh hell nah.ā
Geneva ignored her and kept walking.
Stack spotted the tub next and groaned. āPut them fuckinā pictures back, mane.ā
That got everybodyās attention. People started reacting before she even reached the tables.
āNot today.ā
āWho got old pictures?ā
āGeneva donāt start.ā
Geneva dropped the tub onto an empty section of the buffet table between the leftover buns and a sweating pitcher of sweet tea. āI was cleaninā closets.ā
Nobody believed that.
The pictures came out anyway.Ā
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.āLord look at this.ā
āOh this was ugly.ā
āWho dressed us, the fuck?ā
People leaned in and out around her shoulder. Grace had Lisa balanced against one hip while trying to steal bites off Boās 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.
āAww shit.ā
That caught more attention than yelling would have. People turned.
āWhat?ā
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.
āOh yāall thought yāall was slick.ā
Immediately everybody wanted to see. Pearline reached for the picture, but Geneva pulled away.Ā
Stack tried to reach for it and again, Geneva pulled away.
Grace leaned forward laughing. āMove!ā
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 faceāit 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. āOh yāall was bad.ā
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 theyād even seen it. The picture moved from hand to hand through overlapping reactions and commentary until eventually it ended up in Annieās 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.Ā
Summer sunlight flattened everything into soft gold. Somebodyās 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 AnnieāShe stared.Ā
She was asleep, actually asleep.Her head rested against Smokeās 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 hadnāt noticed immediately. Smokeās arm.
It rested around her side.
Not wrapped tightly, but it looked absentminded almostāhis 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 wasnāt even looking at her. Heād 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 didānot one person telling a story while everybody listened, but people remembering sideways together.
āOh I remember that.ā
āThat was Barbara backyard. She done gone to Glory now.ā
āShe had worked that morning.ā
āShe fell asleep outside?ā
Grace leaned farther in and laughed before pointing directly at Smoke.
āWait. Why she sleep on you?ā
Smoke looked once at the picture. His shoulders moved. āShe was tired.ā
That answer got a louder reaction than the picture itself.
Stack stared at him in disbelief. āThatās your defense?ā
Smoke looked confused. āWhat else was she supposed to do?ā
People started laughing harder.
Aunt Cheryl wandered over carrying sweet tea and looked down at the picture. Her face changed immediately.Ā
āOh yeah.ā
Everybody turned.
She pointed with her cup. āShe passed out after she ate.ā
Another auntie laughed. āHe carried her inside later.ā
Smoke frowned. āNo I didnāt.ā
That got corrected immediately from three different directions. āYes you did.ā
Geneva pointed at the picture. āYou carried her upstairs and put her in Barbara room.ā
Another cousin jumped in. āYou wouldnāt let nobody wake her.ā
Smoke looked offended now. āThat is not what happened.ā
Uncle Lewis finally looked over from where heād been eating and didnāt even pause before answering. āYou said she wake up irritated and you aināt want folks botherinā her.ā
The yard lost it.
Smoke looked personally betrayed. Geneva kept flipping. Another picture surfaced. Football game. Annie wearing a hoodie too big.Ā Smokeās. 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.Ā
āOh.ā
Nobody answered.
She looked again. Then back up. āOh yāall was together together.ā
That quieted things more than the teasing had.
Aunt Cheryl looked over casually. āI always knew.ā
People looked at her.
She shrugged. āWhat?ā
Her eyes moved toward Smoke. āThat boy looked for her before he did anything.ā
Another auntie nodded immediately. āIf Annie wasnāt outside he wasnāt stayinā outside long.ā
Someone laughed. Another addedāāShe sat beside him everywhere.ā
Lewis pointed with his fork. āThat boy built his whole schedule around her.ā
Smoke immediately objected. āMane, Uncāā
Stack started laughing immediately and pointed toward Uncle Lewis. āNah, Uncāyou right. You right.ā
Smoke turned instantly. āShut the fuck up, mane.ā
Stack ignored him completely. āPractice over?ā He nodded dramatically. āWhere Annie.ā
People started laughing harder.
Stack kept going. āWeekend?ā Another nod. āWhere Annie.ā
He pointed toward Smoke with his cup. āLunch?ā Shrug. āDid Annie eat?ā
Cornbread barked out laughing.
Stack looked around the group like heād just solved a mystery. āDamn. This nigga aināt have no hobbies.ā
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.Ā
āI really thought yāall was gonā get married.ā
Nobody laughed, because it didnāt shock them, she sounded sincere.
Her eyes moved between Annie and Smoke before settling back onto the pictures.
āYāall was serious.ā She smiled faintly. āThen Annie moved.ā
The conversation didnāt 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 casuallyāāI told yoā mama to let you stay with me.ā
The noise around the table kept moving for another second before it stalled.
Annie looked up. āMaāam?ā
Aunt Cheryl looked at her like sheād forgotten Annie didnāt know. āWhen yāall moved,ā she shrugged lightly. āI told her leave you here with us so you could finish school.ā
Smoke looked over, actually looked.
Pearline frowned. āYou did?ā
Before Cheryl could answer another voice floated over.
āShe did.ā
Everybody turned. Pearlineās 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. āWe both did.ā She sat down carefully. āWe told your mama movinā you your senior year wasnāt right if she didnāt have to.ā
Annie stared.
Maxine shrugged. āEspecially when you already basically lived over here.ā She gave a small laugh. āYou andā¦ā she pointed toward Pearline.Ā āā¦Pea.ā
Pearline groaned immediately. āMamaaa, please stop callinā me that.ā
And suddenly she remembered. The memory came back the way it always didāthrough 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 wasnāt crying yet.
She remembered asking casually the first time. What if I stay with Pearline for the year?
Her mother hadnāt 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 shouldnāt have. Thenā Baby, we already talked about this.
Annie remembered stepping farther into the room. Iāll come to North Carolina after graduation.
Her mother finally looked at her then. You cominā 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 wasnāt about moving anymore. It was realizing she hadnāt imagined wanting to stay.Ā
She looked back at Aunt Cheryl. āā¦you asked?āĀ
Aunt Cheryl nodded.
Maxine took a sip. āShe wasnāt hearinā it.ā
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 suddenlyāfor the first timeāshe 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 afternoonāhe looked surprised as well, like this changed something for him too.
Annie swallowed and set the picture down carefully.
Pearline looked up immediately. āAnnie?ā
Annie forced a small smile. āā¦I need a drink.ā
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 hadnāt known existed five minutes earlier.Ā
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.Ā
Normal.
The whole yard stayed normal. Which somehow made the ache sitting low in Annieās chest feel sharper.
She smiled automatically and leaned her weight backward.
āIām finna go getāā
Her voice stopped from surprise. Smokeās hand had closed loosely around hers. For a second she looked at their hands before she looked at him.
He hadnāt 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 heād 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.
āYou asked to stay?ā
She looked at him and suddenly she understood that he wasnāt 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.
āYeah.ā
Her thumb stirred once beneath his hand.
āI asked.ā She swallowed. āThen I asked again.ā A small smile pulled briefly at her mouth. āAnd again.āĀ
Her shoulders lifted slightly. āTill she finally had to tell me stop askinā.ā
Annie said it so lightly, like something sheād made peace with a long time ago.
But Smokeās 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 differentāhonest in a way she wasnāt prepared for.Ā
āI thought you wanted to leave.ā
Her head turned immediately in confusion. āWhat?ā
His eyes dropped briefly before coming back to her. His jaw flexed once, then his shoulders moved in the smallest shrug.Ā
āI thought you was ready.ā
Annie stared at himāsomething uncomfortable and sad opened inside her. Not because of what he said, but because she understood. She thought he knew. Thought he understood she didnāt 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.Ā
āI never wanted to leave.ā
Smoke looked at her the way people look when they realize theyāve been carrying the wrong version of a story for years and suddenly donāt 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 heād been carrying rejection that wasnāt 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.
āHey...ā
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 couldnāt read his face. He didnāt pull away and he didnāt tighten his grip either. If anything, he seemed to become aware of the moment at the exact same time she did.Ā
His eyes moved to Jada and stayed there for a second before coming back to Annie. She watched something pass across his faceāsurprise first, then something she couldnāt 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 wasnāt 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 didnāt 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 timeā
Stack said quietlyā
āā¦oh shit.ā
Pearline whisperedā
āā¦fuck.ā
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!
Summary: Annie thought coming home would feel familiar. Instead, it feels dangerous. One look across Stackās apartment and eight years suddenly donāt mean a damn thing anymore. Old feelings rise fast, old tensions follow even faster, and somewhere in the middle of all of it looms a cookout neither Annie nor Smoke are emotionally prepared for. Especially once Pearline realizes Smoke might not be showing up alone.
A/N: This was NEVER supposed to turn into a multi-chapter fic š It was truly meant to be a one-and-done little angst moment and now here we are⦠deep in everybodyās feelings. I hope yāall enjoy this chapter of what I like to call: the quiet before the storm. š¤
WC: 10k
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 doesnāt join because as long as sheās still sitting here⦠sheās 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 thenāitās quiet.
Annie exhales slowly, her hand coming up to rest against the edge of the seat in front of her.
Thereās nothing left to wait on.
She stands, reaching up for her bag, fingers closing around the handle without hesitation, but she still pauses once itās in her hands. Just for a secondālike this is it.
She steps into the aisle walking forward, and this time thereās nothing slowing her down but herself. It all feels too normal for something that didnāt feel small when she decided to do it. She tells herself itās just a trip. A visit. Something quick. Something she can leave if it goes left. Her mouth presses thin at that, because she knows thatās not true.Ā
Not really.Ā
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. Sheās 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 itāll sound differently the second time.Ā
It doesnāt.
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 differentāwarmer, heavier, carrying that familiar weight she hasnāt 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 canāt 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. āThereās my bestie!!ā
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.
āGirl,ā Pearline says, walking straight into her space, arms wrapping around her before Annie can say anything.
Annie laughs into it, the sound coming out lighter than she feels, hugging her back just as tight. āHey, Line.ā
āYou really here,ā Pearline murmurs, pulling back just enough to look at her, hands still on her arms like sheās making sure sheās real. āI thought you was playinā.ā
āI almost was,ā Annie admits.
Pearline snorts. āI know. Thatās why I aināt believe you.ā
Annie rolls her eyes, but it doesnāt hold. Thereās something grounding about Pearline standing right in front of her, familiar in a way that doesnāt require explanation.
āLet me see you,ā Pearline says, stepping back, eyes dragging over her with open approval. āOkay⦠you came down here lookinā like this on purpose.ā
Annie huffs out a small laugh. āPlease.ā
āNah, fren. You look good.ā
Annie shrugs it off, but her hand smooths over her shirt anyway, a small, unconscious motion. The fabric sits soft against her skin, one shoulder left bare, the neckline dipping just enough to show she thought about it longer than sheāll admit. The baby blue lounge set hugs her easy without trying, the kind of outfit that looks simple until you notice how it falls.
Her braids trail down her back, long knotless boho plaits with loose waves woven through, catching movement when she does. Fresh. Neat. Intentional.
Pearline reaches for Annieās suitcase without asking, already turning toward the car. āCome on. Before they start blowinā at me.ā
Annie follows, rolling her carry-on behind her as Pearline pops the trunk and lifts the larger suitcase in. Annie angles the smaller one beside it. Pearline shuts the trunk and moves around to the driverās side. Annie heads for the passenger door, sliding into the seat, purse sliding off her shoulder. Pearline gets in a second later, the doors shutting one after the other, sealing them into a smaller space, the outside noise dropping to a dull hum.
At first, neither of them says anything.Ā
Pearline pulls out into traffic, one hand on the wheel, the other resting easy.
Annie looks out the window, watching the road open up in front of them, something tight settling low in her chest.
āYou ok?ā Pearline asks, not looking at her yet.
Annie nods once, even though Pearline canāt see it. āYeah.ā
Pearline glances over anyway. āMm.ā
Annie lets out a breath that doesnāt fully release anything. āIām here,ā she says, quieter now.
Pearline nods, like thatās enough for now. āYeah,ā she says. āYou here.ā
The house sits back off the road, gravel crunching under the tires as Jada pulls in. Late afternoon light cuts across the front windows, making the new build look sharper and cleaner than it probably is.
āTell me this aināt a good one,ā Jada says, cutting the engine.
Smoke takes a moment, eyes scanning the exterior lines, the lot, the roof pitch. āItās solid.ā
She smiles, satisfied, already reaching for the door handle. āI know it is.ā
They step out, the heat sitting heavier here, quieter than the job site, no machines, no noiseājust space.
Jada leads the way up the short walk, unlocking the door and pushing it open. āWatch your step,ā she says over her shoulder, already inside.
The air is cool and smells of fresh paint and new wood. The place echoes, empty and full of potential.Ā
Jada immediately slips into real estate mode, walking him through the house with easy confidence. āThree bed, two and a half bath,ā she says, leading him into the open living area. āGood natural light in the mornings. Owners are asking for three-fifty, but theyāre motivated. They need to close quick.ā
Smoke follows a half-step behind, moving like the foreman he is. His hand drags along the drywall, pressing lightly to check how solid it feels. He taps a knuckle against a support beam, eyes narrowing at the trim work in the corners.
āWho built it?ā he asks.
āLocal crew,ā she says.
Smokeās hand drags briefly along the counter edge again. āMm.ā
Jada glances at him. āWhat?ā
He looks toward the ceiling line, then the trim near the doorway. āCorners lazy.ā
She laughs immediately. āBoy, please, donāt start.ā
āI aināt start nothinā,ā he says, a faint smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
Jada keeps going. āKitchenās decent. Not gourmet, but the layout works. Iām thinking I might make an offer myself ā flip it. Put in better finishes, maybe extend the island, update the backsplash. Could turn a solid profit in six months.ā
She glances back at him, expecting the usual thoughtful input.
Smoke nods, but his response is delayed. āYeah⦠layoutās good.ā
His fingers trail along the wall again as they move into the hallway. He crouches slightly to check the baseboards, then stands and tests a door hinge. The motions are automatic. Professional.
But his mind is somewhere else.
āā¦I thought you were saying goodbye.ā
Annieās voice from the phone call keeps cutting in. The way it softened on his name. The hesitation. The way heād shut her down ā flat, cold, final. He clenches his jaw. Heās pissed at himself for how easily she got under his skin after eight years. Pissed that one phone call had him replaying old shit he thought heād buried.
Jada leads him into the primary bedroom. āThis is the money room. Closetās decent size. Bathroom has that nice tub ā thatās what sells it to couples.ā She turns, gesturing toward the windows. āBackyardās big enough for a deck or even a small pool if someone wanted to go crazy.ā
Smoke steps past her, running his palm over the painted wall, checking for imperfections. He glances out the window at the yard, but his eyes are unfocused. In his head he hears his own voice again ā āā¦aināt no āus,ā Annie.ā ā and feels a flicker of regret he doesnāt expect.
Jada stops talking. She watches him for a long moment, arms slowly crossing.
āYou good?ā she asks.
Smoke blinks, pulling himself back. āUh huh.ā
Too quick. Too flat.
Jadaās eyes narrow. She leans against the doorframe, studying him. āYou been here in body, Smoke, but your mind been somewhere else since we walked through that front door. Iām talkinā about flippinā this house, making money, and you barely nodding at me.ā
āIām listeninā.ā
āNo, you hearinā me,ā she says. āThat aināt the same thing.ā
He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. Annieās words hit him again ā āI was wrong.ā ā and the irritation at himself flares hotter. He shouldnāt still care this much.
Jada watches him quietly another second. āDid somethinā happen?ā
Smoke shakes his head once. āNah.ā
A lie.
Not a full one. But enough.
Jadaās mouth presses thin. āOkay.ā
Minutes pass. Then another.
And when he still doesnāt offer anything else, something in her expression changes. Not anger. Something more tired than that.
Jada looks at him for another second before speaking again. āYou ever see this beinā more than what it is?ā
Smokeās gaze flickers toward her.
Brief.
Guarded.
The room goes quiet around them.
āI thought we was clear about what this was,ā he says carefully.
Jada nods once. āWe were, butābut clear donāt mean feelings disappear.ā
That settles heavier than he expects.
She exhales softly, stepping closer, arms uncrossing. āIām not askinā for the world. Iām not askinā you to move in or slap a label on us. But Iām tired of feeling like Iām the only one even thinkinā ahead sometimes.ā
The silence stretches.
Smoke looks at her. Really looks. For half a second he imagines leaning into what sheās offering ā something stable, no ghosts. It would be simpler.
But Annieās voice is still there.
Jada continues, voice softening with old hurt. āI liked you since we was in high school, you know. For real. You were always so wrapped up in sports, running the streets, chasing afterā¦ā She catches herself, the name Annie almost slipping out. She swallows it when she sees the slight shift in his eyes. āChasing after what you wanted. I told myself it was whatever. We were young.ā
She lets out a shaky breath. āThen we got together and it felt different. Easier. At least for me. I know what we said this was. I know. But sometimes I let myself forget that Iām the one waiting for you to show up all the way. And that shit hurts more than I thought it would.ā
Smoke feels the weight of both women now, one standing right in front of him, the other lodged in his head. Heās angry at himself for letting Annie crack the seal heād kept closed for years.
āIām not trying to play games with you,ā he says finally, voice low and even. āYou know that. I told you from the beginninā what I got room for right now. Iām focused on work, building. Iām not in a place to give more than what we already doinā.ā
Jada searches his face, eyes glistening. āThen why does it feel like even what we are doing is starting to change? You been distant. Like your mind somewhere else every time I touch you.ā
She steps back, folding her arms. āBe honest wit me, Smoke. Whatās up?ā
He doesnāt flinch or look away, but the question lodges heavy beneath his ribs, pressing against things heād rather leave alone.
A long breath leaves him.
āSome old shit came back up,ā he says finally, voice lower now. āAnd I aināt figured out what to do with it yet.ā
The fact that he admitted even that means it matters more than he wants it to.Ā
Jada watches him carefully, because thatās not nothing, andĀ the fact that he admitted even that means it matters more than he wants it to.
Jada studies him for another second, something tight moving across her face.
āOkay,ā she says quietly. āThat make sense.ā
A bitter kind of understanding settles into the room after that. Not relief. Just the realization that the distance sheād been feeling wasnāt in her head after all.
She turns toward the hallway, shoulders looser. āCome on. You aināt even seen the backyard yet.ā
Smoke follows.
Present in body.
But his mind is still split ā half here with Jada, half stuck on a phone call he wishes hadnāt affected him at all.
And for the first time in a long time, he doesnāt know which pull feels heavier.
The restaurant hums around them, loud enough to blur into background noise after a while. Grease crackles behind the counter. Somebody near the jukebox keeps laughing too hard at their own jokes. Plates clink. Sweet tea sweats against the table beneath Annieās hand.
Pearline leans forward across the booth, fries halfway to her mouth already laughing before she can even finish the story.
āIām checking this man in yesterday,ā she says, shaking her head. āAnd he kept calling me āyoung ladyā every five seconds.ā
Annie snorts softly. āUh oh.ā
āNo, listen. So I ask for his insurance card, right? This man gonā lean over the counter talmbout, āI got somethinā else I can give you too.āā
Annie immediately groans. āOh my God.ā
Pearline points at her with the fry. āMind youāthis man had to be at least sixty.ā
Annie bursts out laughing.
āSixty is insane.ā
āI said sir,ā Pearline continues, barely holding her own laugh together now, āāthe only thing I need from you is a copay and a blood pressure reading.āā
Annie folds forward against the table laughing hard enough her shoulders shake.
āYou did not say that.ā
āI absolutely did.ā
āYou so ignorant.ā
āAnd employed,ā Pearline says proudly.
Annie wipes beneath one eye, still laughing. āSee, this why old people love you though.ā
Pearline gasps dramatically. āLove WHO? That man had compression socks on.ā
Annie nearly chokes on her drink.
āLine!ā
āIām serious! One wrong step and his circulation gone.ā
āYou donāt want an older man no more?ā Annie teases, grinning now. āI thought you liked older.ā
Pearline rolls her eyes. āOlder, Annie. Not social security old.ā
Annie loses it again.
The sound leaves her before she can stop it, loud and full and real enough that a couple people glance over smiling. Pearline starts laughing harder seeing Annie laugh, both of them leaning into the kind of silliness that only comes easy with people who knew you before life got complicated.
For a little while, the tight feeling sitting inside Annie loosens.
Not completely.
But enough that she forgets herself for a minute.
Then the front door opens.
Warm air pushes briefly through the restaurant along with the low murmur of voices from outside. Somebody steps in laughing. Another person behind them complaining about parking.
Annie barely looks up at first.
Pearline keeps talking, still smiling to herself while she reaches for another fry. āAnd then this man gonā ask me if I was marriedāā
Something pulls low through Annieās chest.
Faint.
Strange enough that her attention drifts before she understands why. The feeling curls slow beneath her ribs, familiar in a way that makes her stomach tighten.
But her eyes move toward the front of the restaurant anyway. People crowd near the entrance waiting to be seated. Somebody brushes past carrying takeout bags. Plates clatter behind the counter.
Normal. Everything normal. Stillāthat feeling lingers. Like her body recognized something before her mind caught up.
Across the restaurant, Smoke pauses halfway through pulling his wallet from his pocket. A faint crease forms between his brows. Jada is saying something beside him, voice low, easy, but it blurs at the edges for a second beneath the sudden pull in his chest.
Not pain. Not memory either. Something sharper than that.
Attention.
His eyes move across the restaurant slowly without meaning to. Over booths. Over faces. Over movement. Searching for something he canāt name.
Jada notices the pause immediately. āWhat?ā
Smoke looks back at her after a second. āI donāt know,ā and he means it, because the feeling makes no sense.
Annie wets her lips lightly before nodding once. āYeah.ā
Lie.
A soft one this time.
The restaurant suddenly feels smaller than it did five minutes ago. Louder too. The laughter around them blending into something harder to separate.
Her fingers curl around her glass.
Across the room, Smoke finally looks away, attention dragged back toward the hostess speaking to him. The feeling eases⦠barely, but enough that both of them let it go without understanding why.
Pearline leans back slowly against the booth, eyes narrowing slightly while she watches Annie stare down into her drink.
Then quietly, āā¦you felt that?ā
Annieās eyes lift immediately.
Too fast.
Pearline sees it right away.
And Annie hates that she does.
āWhat are you talking about?ā Annie asks.
Pearlineās eyes drift toward the front of the restaurant out of instinct more than anything else.
Understanding flickers across Pearlineās face slow and quiet after that.
Then she looks back at Annie, staring at her for a little longer, something unreadable passing briefly across her face.
Then she picks up her drink.
āMm,ā she says quietly. āNever mind.ā
And somehowāthat feels worse.
A lamp glows low in the living room of Pearlineās apartment while soft music plays from Pearlineās phone in the kitchen, the sound muffled beneath running water and cabinet doors opening and closing. Outside, tires hiss faint across wet pavement from an earlier rain. Laughter in the distance. Then even that fades too.
Annie stands in the bathroom mirror wiping the last traces of makeup from beneath her eyes. Her reflection stares back at her looking softer now. Tired around the edges.
Too aware.
Steam still clings faint against the mirror from her shower. Annie stands there a moment longer gathering her braids up carefully, twisting the long plaits over one shoulder before tucking them beneath a satin bonnet. By the time she finishes, a few loose curls still frame the edges of her face, damp against her skin.
The soft pajama set hangs easy against her bodyāthin straps, fitted shorts, the material cool and smooth against freshly lotioned skin. The house smells faintly like fabric softener and shea butter. Home. Or close enough to confuse her body into believing it. She braces both hands against the counter and lowers her head for a second.
That feeling in the restaurant keeps replaying. The sudden pull low in her chest. The strange awareness crawling over her skin before she even understood why.
Then Pearlineās face after.
Never mind.
Annie exhales sharply through her nose because Pearline saw something. She knows she did. And somehow that feels worse than if sheād said it out loud.
Annie straightens again, staring at herself. āYou are twenty-five years old,ā she mutters softly. āGet a grip.ā But her stomach twists anyway, because the feeling back at the restaurant hadnāt felt random. Now her mind keeps circling back to the impossible question.
Did he feel it too?
The thought comes fast enough to irritate her immediately. This is ridiculous. Eight years gone and suddenly sheās standing in a bathroom spiraling over a feeling she canāt even explain?
Exceptādeep downāshe knows the feeling had something to do with him. Even without seeing him. Even without proof.Ā
The realization settles slowly, heavily.
All day she kept telling herself she came here for clarity. Closure. Conversation. Something mature. Safe.
Now? Now she knows better.
Her chest tightens gradually beneath the weight of it. Closure never made somebody board a plane. Closure never made somebody hold onto a voice for nearly a decade. Closure never made her react before she even saw his face.
Annie closes her eyes briefly.
And there it is.
Quiet.
Ugly.
True.
She still loves him.
The realization moves through her body so clean it almost makes her angry. Not teenage nostalgia. Not curiosity. Not unfinished business.
Love.
Grown now. Older. Heavier. Still alive after everything she did to bury it.
A knock taps softly against the bathroom door before she can sink any deeper into it.
āYou alive in there?ā Pearline calls.
Annie clears her throat quickly. āYeah.ā
āYou want wine or you still pretending to have self-control?ā
Despite herself, Annie laughs softly.
āWine.ā
āThatās what I thought.ā
Annie looks at herself one last time before turning the bathroom light off. But even lying in bed later, wine half-finished on the nightstand beside her, sleep refuses to come. Moonlight stretches pale across the ceiling. Her phone rests face down near her hip.
Every few minutes she fights the urge to pick it up. To text him. To ask him something she doesnāt even fully understand herself. Instead she stares upward listening to the soft hum of the ceiling fan in her room.
And somewhere between one breath and the next, her chest aches with the terrifying realization that seeing him again might actually ruin her life a little.
ā
Across town, Smoke sits alone on his back porch.
The night air hangs warm against his skin, carrying the smell of rain soaked dirt and cigarette smoke curling slowly from between his fingers. Crickets hum steady through the dark tree line bordering the yard.
His phone rests face down beside him. Unread messages. Ignored phone calls. Inside, the television plays low to nobody. He drags another pull from the cigarette, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the fence line.
The restaurant sits under his skin wrong. Not the food. Not Jada.
The feeling.
That strange pull in his chest the second he walked through the door.
His jaw tightens faintly.
Jada clocked it too.
Smoke exhales smoke slowly through his nose before leaning forward, forearms resting against his knees.
āā¦some old shit came back up.ā
The words sound weaker now than they did earlier. Too vague. Too clean for what it actually feels like, because the truth is uglier than that. The truth is one phone call cracked open something he spent years sealing shut.
And tonight? Tonight it felt close. Close enough to touch.
His tongue drags slowly across the inside of his cheek. He still hears her voice sometimes if he sits still too long.
I thought you were saying goodbye.
Smoke closes his eyes briefly. That part keeps digging at him, because she really believed that. Believed he was trying to leave her first. A humorless laugh leaves him low beneath his breath. Whole time he was trying to hand her every part of himself he didnāt know how to say out loud.
The cigarette burns lower between his fingers.
His phone buzzes once. He doesnāt move immediately. Then finally grabs it without much interest.
Jada.
You made it home?
His thumb hovers briefly over the screen.
A good woman. Patient. Beautiful. Trying, and stillā¦his chest stays tangled somewhere else entirely.Ā
Smoke stares at the message another second before typing back.
Yeah.
The response sends. Short. Same way he always does.
But afterward he sits there staring out into the dark feeling more alone than he has in years.
The next afternoon arrives thick with heat and sunlight baked deep into the pavement. Pearlineās car smells faintly of vanilla and fries from the drive-thru bag sitting between them while Annie scrolls through the grocery list on her phone.
āYou really invited half the town over for this cookout?ā Annie asks.
Pearline keeps one hand on the wheel, sunglasses pushed high on her nose. āPlease. People heard you was back and invited themselves.ā
Pearline laughs loud at that, reaching over to steal one of Annieās fries before Annie smacks her hand away.
āGirl!ā
āYou got plenty.ā
āYou literally driving. Focus on the road.ā
āI am focused.ā
āYou almost merged into that truck.ā
Pearline sucks her teeth dramatically. āSee? This why I donāt miss you.ā
Annie smiles despite herself, leaning back into the seat. Warm air curls through the cracked window, brushing against the loose pieces escaping from the long braided ponytail draped over her shoulder.
Her phone chimes against her thigh.
Pearline glances over. āWho is that?ā
Annie looks down.
Mama.
Her chest softens instantly.
āMama. She checkinā in,ā Annie murmurs.
Pearline smiles faintly. āTell Auntie I said hey.ā
Annie types out a quick Iām good. We out runninā errands. Love you before setting the phone back down.
Before she can say anything else, Pearlineās phone rings through the speakers.
Stackās laugh comes low and filthy through the speakers. āYeah, you know what. You was screaming my name last week when my tongue was deep in that pussāā
āSTACK, OH MY GOD!ā Pearline yells, eyes wide with horror as she frantically turns the volume down. āShut the hell up!ā
Annie folds forward laughing immediately, one hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking so hard she can barely breathe.
Stack cackles through the speakers.
āNah, donāt act shy now.ā
āElias, shut UP.ā Pearlineās entire face twists in pure mortification. She glares at the phone like she can somehow fight him through it.
āYou wasnāt tellinā me shut up then.ā
Pearline slaps the steering wheel. āAnnie in the car!ā
Silence.
Thenā
āā¦OH SHIT.ā
Annie completely loses it.
Stack groans loud through the speakers. āMan, why yāall aināt stop me?ā
Pearline stares ahead at the road. āWe tried.ā
āNo, yāall absolutely did not.ā
Annie can barely get herself together enough to speak. āHi, Stack.ā
āAw man,ā he says, voice full of disbelief now. āAnnie really in my business hearinā all this.ā
Pearline grins immediately. āThatās what you get.ā
āWhen did she get there?ā Stack asks.
Pearline rolls her eyes. āBoy, I told you yesterday I was pickinā her up from the airport.ā
Silenceā
Then Stack groans again. āAight, yeah. You right.ā
Annie laughs softly.
āI was high as fuck when you told me,ā he admits. āBlown.ā
Pearline snorts. āPlease.ā
āNah, Iām serious.ā His tone softens some under the jokes now. āAnnie-annie really back?ā
That old nickname pulls warmth straight through Annieās chest.
āYes, fool.ā
āOh nah,ā Stack says immediately. āPull up right now.ā
Pearline smirks. āThatās literally what we doinā.ā
āBet.ā
The call ends a second later.
Annie shakes her head, still smiling down at her lap, wiping tears from the corner of her eyes. āSo⦠last week, huh?ā she teases, voice dripping with amusement. āI thought you said you hadnāt hooked up wit him since you found out about Mary. Thatās crazy.ā
āShut up,ā Pearline mutters, sucking her teeth hard. She keeps her eyes glued to the road, but her cheeks burning. āIt wasnāt even like that. He just⦠caught me at a weak moment.ā
āMm-hmm,ā Annie says, grinning wider. āWeak moment. Thatās what we callinā it now?ā
Pearline cuts her eyes at her friend. āI will put you out this car, Anissa Marie Landry. Donāt play with me.ā
Annie gasps dramatically. āNot my full name.ā
Pearline keeps driving. āThen act right.ā
Annie laughs again, lighter than she has in days. Her chest feels warm.
Until it doesnāt.
Because the second Pearline turns into the apartment complex, nervousness starts crawling slowly back into Annieās stomach.
The buildings look different now.
Smaller than they used to.
When they were teenagers, this place felt enormous. Endless stairs. Endless summers. Music bouncing between buildings while somebody grilled too late into the night. Kids running through parking lots. People yelling out windows for cousins and brothers and friends.
Now Annie sees cracked pavement. Faded paint near the railings. Rust beginning to gather around old fixtures.
Time.
Thatās what she notices most.
Time sitting quietly over everything.
Stillāthe place carries the same energy underneath it. Familiar voices drifting through open windows. The smell of somebody frying food nearby. Bass thumping faint through apartment walls.
Her chest tightens.
Because part of her still remembers exactly who she used to be here.
The afternoon air hangs heavy over everything.
āYou good?ā Pearline asks quietly this time.
Annie exhales once. āYeah.ā
Lie.
Again.
Pearline parks crooked beside Stackās truck.
Before Annie can even fully unbuckle her seatbelt, the apartment door swings open.
And there he is.
Stack comes down the stairs two at a time in basketball shorts and a white tank, chains bouncing against his chest, grin already spreading wide enough to split his face apart.
āANNIE!ā
Annie barely gets out the car before his arms wrap around her hard enough to lift her halfway off the ground.
āOh my God,ā she laughs breathlessly.
āNah.ā Stack squeezes her tighter. āNah, let me look at you.ā
He holds her at armās length for half a second before pulling her right back in again.
And thatāthat almost breaks her.
Because suddenly sheās seventeen again. Summer air. Loud music. Sneaking into kitchens late at night. The twins arguing somewhere nearby. Her laughter mixed into theirs.
Family.
Thatās what this used to feel like.
Her eyes burn fast enough she has to blink hard before Stack notices.
But of course he notices anyway.
His expression softens immediately. āDamn,ā he murmurs quieter now. āYou really here.ā
Annie swallows hard before nodding once. āIām here.ā
Stack studies her face another second before looking genuinely offended. āWhy you aināt come back sooner?ā
Pearline snorts loudly. āOh brother.ā
āIām serious.ā
āYou dramatic,ā Pearline mutters, grabbing grocery bags from the backseat.
āI missed my friend.ā
The sincerity in it pulls something deep in Annieās chest.
She laughs softly through it anyway. āYou still talk too much.ā
āAnd you still love me.ā
That part slips out easy.
Natural.
And Annie realizes with frightening clarity that maybe she never stopped loving any of this.
The apartment smells familiar the second Annie walks in.
Food. Cologne. Candles burned low enough to leave sweetness hanging in the air. A faint trace of weed settled deep into the couch and walls beneath everything else.
But the apartment itself catches her off guard.
Stack always cared about presentation even when they were teenagers. Matching shoes before anybody else had them. Jewelry bought with money he absolutely shouldāve saved. Wanting everything around him to feel good, look good, sound expensive.
Now itās grown into something else entirely.
Dark wood against black finishes. Low amber lighting instead of harsh overheads. Framed vinyl covers lining one wall beside abstract prints Annie knows cost too much. A massive television mounted above a fireplace that probably never gets used.
The place is clean too.
Not spotless. Lived in.
A hoodie tossed over the arm of the couch. Expensive sneakers lined neatly near the door. Half-empty tequila bottles sitting beside a speaker humming low music through the apartment.
Pearline snorts from behind them. āPlease. Half this shit financed.ā
āWhy you always pocket watchinā?ā
āCause somebody gotta stay responsible.ā
Annie laughs softly under her breath while Stack points dramatically toward the kitchen.
āSee? She get me.ā
Pearline rolls her eyes, already making herself comfortable in the kitchen. āYou lying already,ā
āYou love me.ā
āUnfortunately.āĀ
The conversation flows easy after that.
Too easy.
Stack talks almost the entire time, moving around the apartment while Annie trails behind him and Pearline starts pulling bottled water from the fridge.
āSo boom,ā Stack says, pointing between them while Annie settles onto one of the barstools near the kitchen island. āWho all cominā tomorrow?ā
āHalf the damn town apparently,ā Pearline mutters.
āThat mean food need to be serious then.ā
āIt is serious,ā Pearline replies. āMy uncle bringing ribs, my mama doing greensāā
āWho makinā the Mac & Cheese?ā
Pearline points immediately. āMe.ā
Stack makes a face. āAight so we orderinā it from somewhere else.ā
Pearline gasps loud enough to echo through the apartment.
Annie folds forward laughing while Stack ducks away from the kitchen towel Pearline throws at his head.
āIām serious!ā he argues. āLast Thanksgiving your macaroni was fighting for its life.ā
āYou ate THREE plates.ā
āCause I support Black women.ā
āElias!ā
Annie laughs harder hearing Pearline use his full name again.
And for a whileāit feels easy being here. Easy sitting in the middle of people who still know every version of her.
The music hums low through the apartment. Pearline and Stack argue about liquor for tomorrowās cookout while Annie scrolls through the grocery list again pretending sheās listening better than she actually is.
Get somethinā dark too,ā Stack says. āYou know Smoke bougie with liquor now.ā
Annie stills at Smokeās name before forcing herself forward again. Pearline notices, but before either of them can say anythingāthe front door opens.
āStack, you got myāā
Smoke stops. The entire room changes.
Annie looks up before she can prepare herself.
There he is.
Closer than memory allowed.
Her stomach drops so hard it almost hurts. Everything inside her goes painfully still.
Smoke stares at her from the doorway.
Complete silence settles over the apartment.
Even Stack shuts up.
Because Elijah Moore looks at Annie the way people look at ghosts they never stopped loving.
His keys hang loose in his hand. His chest rises once.
Twice.
Slow.
Disbelief flashes first. Then recognition. Then somethingā¦deeper.Ā Something that spreads across his face before he can hide it.
Annie canāt breathe right suddenly. Because thisāthis is worse than the phone call. Worse than the memories.
Because now she can see it.
Every single thing he tried to bury after hearing her voice is written all over his face.
And judging by the way Smoke keeps staring at herāhe sees the same thing reflected back at him.
The apartment goes completely still.
Smoke stands near the door with one hand still wrapped around his keys, the other holding it halfway open behind him. For a second he doesnāt move at all. Doesnāt blink either.
Neither does Annie.
The music still hums low through the speakers somewhere behind them. Pearline is saying something from the kitchen. Stackās television flickers silently in the background. The entire room keeps existing around them while something inside both of them completely locks up.
Annieās pulse turns violent.
Because up close is worse.
So much worse.
The phone call didnāt prepare her for this. Memory didnāt prepare her for this. Nothing couldāve prepared her for the reality of Elijah Moore standing ten feet away looking at her like somebody knocked the air clean out his chest.
He looks older in ways that matter.
Harder around the edges. More filled out through the chest and shoulders. Tattoos that disappear beneath the sleeves of his shirt and climb slowly along his forearms when he moves. A watch that sits heavy around his wrist. His beard trimmed low enough to sharpen his jaw instead of softening it. He looks settled into himself in a way that almost startles her.
His skin carried that same rich brown complexion she used to trace absentmindedly beneath porch lights and movie screens, smoother now somehow despite the years. His shoulders looked broader than she remembered, stretching the black t-shirt across his chest in a way that made him seem almost too large for the apartment kitchen. His hands looked the same though. Big. Veined. Familiar enough to make her stomach twist.
Then his eyes found hers fully. Still quiet-looking. Still unreadable at first glance. But his eyesā
God.
Those same dark heavy-lidded eyes that always seemed half a thought away from saying something dangerous if she stared too long.
Man.
Thatās the first thought that moves through her head.
Not boy. Not memoryā¦. Man.
Heās still beautiful.
The realization arrives ugly and immediate.
Smoke finally shuts the apartment door behind him carefully. Too carefully. Like his body suddenly became something he has to consciously control.
His eyes never leave her face.
Annie tries to stand. Or speak. Or breathe normally. None of it comes easy, because the look on his face keeps undoing her in real time.
Shock came first. Then recognition.
But thisāthis part now? This feels almost worse, because the longer he looks at her, the less guarded he becomes. Like seeing her cracked something open before he could stop it.
Stack looks between them once.
Twice.
And finally:
āOh.ā
The realization crosses his face hard enough that even Pearline catches it from the kitchen doorway.
Right.Ā
The phone call. The silence after. Everything unsaid sitting underneath all of it.
Stack clears his throat loud enough to crack the silence slightly. āWell,ā he mutters awkwardly, looking between them. āThis tense as hell.ā
Nobody laughs.
Smokeās gaze flicks toward his brother briefly before landing right back on Annie.
āHey,ā he says.
Quiet.
Low.
The single word moves through her chest with frightening force. His voice still does that to her.
Annie opens her mouth. Nothing comes out.
Her throat tightens immediately, embarrassment following right behind it.
Annie clears her throat softly and tries again. āHey.ā The word comes quieter than she intended.
Smokeās jaw tightens faintly at the sound of it.
Stack steps fully into the tension now, talking faster than usual. āAight wellāā he claps his hands once. āLook at everybody beinā grown and reunited and shit.ā
Pearline cuts her eyes toward him immediately.
Too much.
Too obvious.
Stack catches it half a second late.
āNotāā he corrects quickly. āNot reunited-reunited. Yāall know what I mean.ā
Annie looks down instantly, fingers tightening around the edge of the kitchen island.
Smoke drags a hand slowly across his beard.
Nobody knows where to put themselves.
The apartment suddenly feels too warm.
Too small.
Too aware.
Smoke finally moves farther into the room after what feels like forever, but even then he keeps distance between them. A careful amount. Deliberate enough that Annie notices immediately.
That hurts too, because she remembers when Elijah used to close distance without thinking: A hand at her waist passing through rooms. Knees touching beneath tables. Pulling her between his legs while he sat on couches. Small things. Constant things.
Now he looks at her like getting too close might physically damage both of them.
Stack keeps talking. Something about the cookout. Liquor. Ice. Music. The words barely register. Annie becomes hyperaware of everything instead: Smoke setting his keys down near the counter. The faint scent of his cologne mixing into the apartment air. The way his fingers flex once against the marble countertop before flattening still.
As for Smokeāhe notices everything too.
The long braids falling over Annieās shoulder. Tiny gold hoops catching the kitchen light every time she turned her head. Deep brown skin glowing warm beneath the apartment lights, smooth enough to pull memory straight to the surface before Smoke could stop it. Big doe eyes lifting toward him for half a second before dropping away again, the same eyes that used to undo him at seventeen just by looking too long. The fitted shirt clinging softly to the full weight of her breasts, familiar enough to make something low in his stomach tightens. Bare legs beneath her shorts he remembered wrapped around his waist years ago. Gloss shining softly across full lips he used to kiss until neither of them could breathe straight.
His chest pulls tight enough to irritate him. None of this should still be happening.
Not after eight years.
Not after silence.
Not after hearing another nigga laugh in the background during one of their last phone calls before everything fell apart.
But standing here now? His body remembers her immediately.
Dangerously fast.
Pearline watches Annie carefully from across the kitchen. The tension rolling off her friend is almost visible. And suddenly Pearline understands something she really wishes she didnāt. Neither of them got over this.
Not even close.
Against her better judgment, her mind flashes briefly back to the restaurant. Jada beside Smoke. Close enough to matter. Her stomach twists, because Annie doesnāt know.
And judging by the way Annie keeps looking at Smoke now, soft despite herself, hurt despite herself, Pearline suddenly realizes finding the right moment to tell her is about to become a nightmare.
Stack keeps trying to fill the silence.
āAnyway,ā he says loudly, grabbing water bottles from the fridge nobody asked for. āTomorrow gonā be cool. Everybody been askinā about you, Annie.ā
Smoke finally speaks again.
āWhen you get in?ā
Simple question.
Still enough to pull every eye back toward him.
Annie looks up slowly. āYesterday.ā
Smoke nods once.
Yesterday.
Something unreadable crosses his face at that. Brief. Sharp. As if heās quietly replaying the last twenty-four hours in his head trying to understand how she couldāve already been this close without him knowing.
Or did he?
āYeah,ā Stack jumps back in quickly. āPearline picked her up from the airport.ā
Smokeās eyes flick briefly toward Pearline.
And immediately, she understands the look for exactly what it is.
You knew she was here.
You aināt say shit?
Pearline leans back against the counter slightly, expression smooth.
She doesnāt apologize for it either.
Smoke holds her gaze another second before looking back at Annie.
āYou stayinā long?ā
There it is.
The real question underneath the question.
Annie hears it immediately.
So does Pearline.
So does Stack.
How long do I have to survive this?
āI took a week off,ā she says carefully. āAfter thatā¦I donāt know yet.ā
Smoke goes still again.
Somehowāthat answer feels far too big for the room.
Stack twists the cap off a water bottle and tosses another one toward Smoke.
Smoke catches it automatically without looking away from Annie.
That somehow makes everything worse.
The movement is so familiar. So easy. Like his body still knows how to do things around her without thought involved. Annie watches his fingers close around the bottle and immediately hates herself for noticing something that small.
Stack keeps talking anyway, voice carrying too loud through the apartment now.
āSo boom,ā he says, forcing energy back into the room. āWe still need charcoal, ice, liquor, and somebody gotta go pick up the meat tomorrow morning.ā
āI already told you my uncle handling the meat,ā Pearline says carefully, eyes flicking toward Annie again.
āYeah, but your uncle also drink while he grill.ā
āThatās seasoning.ā
āItās alcoholism.ā
Pearline rolls her eyes hard enough to almost make Annie laugh again.
Almost.
Smoke finally looks away first, lowering his gaze to the bottle in his hand while twisting the cap loose. Annie exhales quietly before she can stop herself.
Pearline catches that too.
Of course she does.
āAnyway,ā Stack says, talking faster now like he can force the room back to normal if he keeps moving. āTomorrow still at Aunt Cheryl house, right?ā
Pearline nods once. āAround four.ā
Stack points toward Smoke. āYou still bringing the speakers?ā
Smoke opens his mouth automatically.
Then stops.
Because suddenly the cookout rearranges itself completely in his head.
Not random people.
Not some regular Saturday.
Annie.
Everybody gathering because Annie came home.
His jaw tightens faintly.
āā¦yeah,ā he says finally.
But the answer sounds slower now.
Careful.
Like heās realizing too many things at once.
Pearline watches the realization move across his face in real time.
And for one brief secondāshe remembers Jada sitting beside him in that restaurant booth.
Her stomach twists again immediately.
Stack nods too fast. āBet, bet.ā
Silence threatens again immediately after.
Everybody feels it.
Smoke leans back lightly against the counter near the door, keeping distance between himself and Annie even though the apartment suddenly feels too small for distance to matter. His eyes lift toward her again before dropping almost instantly this time.
Too late.
She catches it anyway.
The room presses tighter around her ribs, every glance from him feels unfinished. Like he keeps almost saying something.
Annie reaches for the water bottle nearest her mostly to give her hands something to do. Her fingers brush the cap once before another hand reaches past her shoulder at the exact same time.
Everything in her body locks.
Smoke stops too.
His arm stretches beside hers, close enough that she catches the warmth coming off his skin instantly. Cologne folds around her again, clean and dark and painfully familiar.
Nobody moves.
Not Stack.
Not Pearline.
Not Annie.
Smokeās fingers hover near the bottle beside hers before slowly pulling back first.
āMy bad,ā he says quietly.
The apology wrecks her a little because Elijah never used to stop himself with her. Now even almost touching her seems to make him careful.
Annie swallows hard. āYou good.ā Her voice comes out softer than she meant it to.
Smokeās jaw tightens faintly.
Stack looks between both of them so fast it almost gives him whiplash.
Pearline grabs her own drink immediately, clearly resisting the urge to intervene physically.
The silence stretches again.
Then Stack blurts, āSo Annie apparently think my apartment ugly.ā
Annieās head snaps toward him instantly. āI never said that!ā
āYou implied it.ā
āI literally did not.ā
āYou looked around judgmental as fuck.ā
āI was impressed!ā
Stack points dramatically. āAHA.ā
For the first time since walking through the door, something close to amusement flickers briefly across Smokeās face. Tiny. Gone almost immediately.
Annie catches it though and somehow that hurts too. She remembers how easily she used to make him smile. The memory moves through her chest before she can brace for it.
Stack keeps rambling. āSee? Thatās why Smoke the favorite. He donāt judge me.ā
Smoke takes a sip from the bottle finally. āYour apartment nice.ā
Stack points at Smoke in betrayal. āSee now you switched sides.ā
āNever had a side.ā
āThatās cold.ā
The room loosens slightly after that. Barely. Enough for breathing to return in pieces. Annie finally risks another look toward Smoke. Big mistake. Heās already looking at her again. Not even trying to hide it this time. Something deep and uncertain twists low in her stomach.
He looks overwhelmed. Thatās the worst part. Not angry. Not detached.
Overwhelmed.
Like seeing her in person dismantled whatever version of this reunion he prepared himself for.
Stack clears his throat again, softer this time. āSoā¦ā He looks between both of them carefully now. āTomorrow probably gonā be a lot.ā
Pearline cuts her eyes toward him immediately. Too direct. But Smoke answers anyway, gaze still resting on Annie.
āIāll be aight.ā
Annieās breath catches slightly because the words donāt feel aimed at Stack at all. They feel aimed at her.
Or maybe himself.
Pearline notices that too and suddenly decides sheās had enough emotional Russian roulette for one afternoon.
āAight, me and Annie bout to go,ā she says abruptly, pushing off the counter. āWe still gotta hit the store before all the good liquor gone.ā
Stack blinks. āRight now?ā
āYes, right now.ā
āWe still got timeāā
āNo we donāt.ā The look Pearline gives him shuts him up immediately.
Annie sets her bottle down carefully, pulse still uneven beneath her skin.
Smoke straightens from the counter the second she moves.
Automatic. Instinctive. Like some part of him is still tuned to her body whether he wants it to be or not. That realization moves visibly through both of them at the exact same time.
Dangerous.
Stack notices. Finally fully notices. And judging by the expression crossing his face now, the three-way phone call did not prepare him for how bad this actually is.
Smoke grabs his keys from the counter slowly. āI was finna head out anyway.ā
Something sinks inside Annieās chest hearing that. Too fast. He just got here. The thought embarrasses her immediately.
Pearline reaches for her purse. Stack starts talking again. Everybody moving at once now. Too much motion all of a sudden after standing emotionally exposed for nearly twenty minutes.
Smoke reaches the door first.
Then pauses.
Annie feels it before she even looks up.
When she finally does, Smoke is already staring at her again.
Quieter now.
Less shocked.
Worse somehow.
āIāll see you tomorrow,ā he says.
Not yāall.
You.
The word settles low and heavy between them. Annieās throat tightens immediately. āYeah,ā she answers smiling slightly. āTomorrow.ā
Smoke holds her gaze one second longer.
Then leaves.
The apartment feels smaller the second heās gone.
Stack starts talking immediately, trying to fill the silence like he always does. āMan, yāall some awkward-ass people. I shouldāve charged admission for that.ā
Pearline shoots him a look but says nothing, her eyes staying on Annie.
Annie doesnāt hear either of them.
Because Smokeās cologne is still in the room.
That warm, woody scent with the faint edge of something clean, the same one heās worn since he was a teen. It lingers in the air like itās clinging to her. Like his absence is taking up more space than his presence did.
Her chest tightens.
And just like that, sheās yanked backward.
Flashback
The motel room was dim except for the cheap lamp buzzing softly on the nightstand. Late July heat pressed against the window even with the AC rattling hard beneath it. The air smelled faintly of bleach, warm skin, and the fast food Stack dropped off earlier before disappearing with a grin and his keys.
The sheets tangled around their legs, damp with sweat and the kind of closeness neither of them wanted to leave yet.Ā
Annie lay on her side facing him, one leg thrown over Smokeās hip. Her bare breasts pressed against his chest as his hand traced slow, absent circles along the curve of her spine. His other arm was tucked under her head like a pillow. Their skin stuck together wherever they touched, but neither of them moved away.
His heartbeat was steady under her palm.
She traced the small scar just below his collarbone with her fingertip, the one he got when he was fifteen trying to jump a barbed wire fence. Sheād heard that story at least ten times, but she never got tired of touching it.
āYou really think we can do this?ā she whispered.
Smokeās hand paused on her back, then continued its slow path down to the dip above her ass and back up again. His voice was low, rough from everything theyād just done and the hours of talking after.
āYeah,ā he said without hesitation. āI do.ā
Annie lifted her head to look at him. His eyes were half-lidded, heavy with satisfaction and sleep, but still clear. Certain. That was what always undid her, how sure he could sound about things that terrified her.
āIām gonna be so far away,ā she said quietly. āAnd you gonna be here grindinā. What ifāā
āWe make it work.ā He pulled her closer slowly. āYou still gonā be you. Iām still gonā be me.ā
She searched his face, looking for cracks. She found none.
āYou say that nowā¦ā
āIām sayinā it ācause I mean it.ā His hand slid up to cup the back of her neck, thumb brushing just behind her ear in that way that always made her melt. āI love you. That donāt change just ācause you movinā. You still mine when you come back.ā
He rolled them gently so she was underneath him again, his weight comforting, grounding. He kissed her slower this time, her forehead, her cheek, and the corner of her mouth before settling beside her once more, pulling her into his chest. One of his legs slid between hers. Their bodies fit together like theyād been doing it forever.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Just breathing. Skin on skin. The low hum of the AC and the occasional car passing outside.
In the quiet, Annie felt the fear anyway. Small. Sharp. What if distance changed things slowly instead of all at once? What if somebody else learned the shape of him while she was gone? What if coming home stopped feeling easy one day?
She pressed closer before the thoughts could settle too deep.
Smokeās hand kept moving along her back in that same slow rhythm, as if he could hold them together through touch alone. His lips brushed the top of her head.
āWe got this,ā he murmured, voice heavy with sleep. āYou and me.ā
Annie closed her eyes and believed him.
Completely.
Back to Present
The memory released her as suddenly as it had pulled her in.
Annie blinked, eyes stinging. The apartment smelled like fresh cologne and old heartbreak. Stack was still talking. Pearline was watching her too closely.
She forced a small smile and nodded at something she hadnāt actually heard, but her chest felt raw.
Because eight years ago, in that cheap ass motel room, they had been so sure.
And now here they were, speaking carefully around a love that never really left either of them.
The apartment door closes behind them with a soft click.
For a second, neither Annie nor Pearline moves.
Then Pearline reaches for her keys while Annie starts down the stairs slowly beside her, one hand sliding along the warm metal railing.
The evening air feels heavier now.
Closer.
Their footsteps echo softly against the concrete while music drifts faintly through the apartment complex from nearby. Laughter echoes in the distance. A dog barking a few doors down.
Life keeps moving.
Meanwhile Annie feels like her entire world tilted sideways upstairs.
Pearline watches her carefully while they make their way down another flight. Annie looks dazed. Not in a dramatic way. A quiet one. Like she walked into that apartment expecting memory and accidentally found something alive instead.
āHe looked at me the same.ā
The words land low between them. Pearlineās chest tightens instantly, because Annie sounds almost confused by it. As if some part of her expected eight years to erase everything she saw written across that manās face tonight.
Pearline leans lightly against the car door. āGirlā¦ā
āI know,ā Annie says quickly, already embarrassed. āI know how it sounds.ā
āNo,ā Pearline says softly. āI donāt think you do.ā
Annie looks away toward the apartment building again. Toward the floor Smoke walked out of minutes earlier. āHe looked likeā¦ā She swallows. āI donāt know.ā
Pearline watches her carefully.
Annieās voice drops quieter. āā¦I still matter.ā
Lord.
Pearline exhales slowly through her nose. Now sheās thinking about Jada again. That restaurant booth. Smoke leaning close. Jada smiling at him across the table, and suddenly the timing of all this feels dangerous as hell.
Annie finally climbs into the passenger seat.
Pearline opens the driverās siide door, but stays outside. āI forgot my charger upstairs,ā she lies smoothly.
Annie blinks. āYour charger right here.ā
āItās another one.ā
Annie narrows her eyes slightly but doesnāt argue. āOkayā¦ā
āIāll be right back.ā
Pearline shuts the door before Annie can question it further and heads back toward the building. By the time Stack opens the apartment door again, he already looks suspicious.
āYou forgot somethinā?ā he asks immediately.
Pearline walks past him into the apartment. āPlease tell me yoā brother got enough sense not to bring Jadaās pick me ass tomorrow.ā
Stackās entire face changes.
āā¦huh.ā
Pearline turns toward him fully now, arms crossing tight. āI saw them at the restaurant yesterday.ā
āAw shit.ā
āExactly.ā
Stack drags a hand over his mouth immediately. āDid Annie see?ā
āNo. Thank God.ā
He exhales hard enough to puff his cheeks. āOkay. Okay.ā
Pearline stares at him. āWhy you sayinā it like that?ā
āāCause if Annie saw Smoke sittinā up with Jada after the way them two was just lookinā at each other up in here?ā He shakes his head immediately. āShiiit.ā
Pearline walks farther into the apartment, agitation building again now that Annie isnāt standing in front of her. āI thought he was just fuckinā her. I aināt know they was out in public-public.ā
āThey not together,ā Stack says quickly.
Pearline lifts an eyebrow. āYou sure?ā
āI meanā¦ā Stack hesitates. āAs far as I know.ā
āThat donāt make me feel better.ā
Stack sighs, leaning back against the kitchen counter. āSmoke aināt been serious about nobody since Annie.ā
The apartment quiets a little after that.
Pearline looks toward the front door unconsciously, like Smoke or Annie might walk back in if she says their names too loud.
āShe still love him,ā she says finally.
Stack laughs once under his breath. Not because itās funny, but itās obvious. āYeah,ā he murmurs. āThat man still love her too.ā
Pearline presses her lips together.
āThen tomorrow finna be a mess.ā
āNah.ā Stack shakes his head slowly. āSmoke got sense.ā
Pearline snorts. āThatās debatable.ā
Stack points toward her immediately. āAight now. Donāt do my brother.ā
āIām serious.ā Pearline steps closer again. āPlease tell him donāt bring Jada tomorrow. Annie already nervous enough.ā
Stack studies her face. āYāall still on that high school shit?ā
Pearline gives him a look. āPlease. You remember how Jada used to act over your brother.ā
Stack snorts softly. āSmoke aināt even realize half that shit.ā
Pearline folds her arms tighter. āAnnie had that nigga nose so wide open, a girl could throw herself directly at him and heād still miss the point.ā
āThatās true.ā
āMeanwhile Annie used to notice EVERYTHING.ā
Stack studies her face for a while longer before nodding once.
āHe wonāt bring her.ā
āYou sound real confident.ā
āAfter the way he looked at Annie tonight?ā Stack shakes his head slowly. āTrust me. Jada the last thing on that nigga mind right now.ā
Pearlineās stomach twists because deep down? She believes him. The realization softens her face before she can stop it.
Stack notices immediately. His voice drops lower. āYou still mad at me?ā
Pearline rolls her eyes instantly. āBoy.ā
āIām serious.ā
āYou always serious after you get caught.ā
āThatās not true.ā
āIt absolutely is.ā
Stack steps closer anyway.Ā
Too close.
Pearline hates that her body notices immediately. Hates that he smells good. Hates that she wants to lean into him before he even touches her.
His hand settles lightly against her waist.
Familiar.
Warm.
āYou was worried about Annie this whole time,ā he murmurs. āMeanwhile you over here stressinā yoself out too.ā
Pearline sucks her teeth softly. āYou think you know everythinā.ā
āI know you.ā
Fuck.
Pearline looks up at him.
Big Mistake.
Heās looking at her the same dangerous way he used to before they ended up tangled together somewhere making terrible decisions.
Stackās thumb brushes once against her side.
Slow.
Pearline exhales carefully.
āSee,ā he murmurs. āNow you lookinā at me all soft again.ā
āEliasā¦ā
āThere she go.ā
He smiles slightly when she says his full name.
Pearline hates that too.
For a second neither of them moves.
Then Pearline shoves lightly against his chest and steps back before her own hormones embarrass her.Ā
āBye, boy.ā
Stack laughs immediately. āThat push aināt even got no strength behind it.ā
āGoodbye!ā
She heads toward the door fast enough to make him laugh harder behind her. But right before she leaves,Ā
Stack calls after her again. āSeriously though.ā
Pearline pauses.
Stackās expression softens slightly. āEverything gonā work out how itās supposed to.ā
Pearline studies him for a minute. Then snorts softly. āThat sound nice.ā
āItās true.ā
She opens the door. āTell your brother not to piss me off tomorrow.ā
Summary: Part One was realization. Part Two is what happens when you let pride make decisions for you. He said everything. She never answered. She thought he meant goodbye. He thought she didnāt care.
Eight years later and nothing is actually buried, just ignored, misread, left to rot. Archived. They talk now, but itās wrong. Too quiet. Too careful. Too late. He wonāt ask. She wonāt admit. And everything that mattered is still sitting there⦠untouched.
Some things donāt end. They just wait, but the worst part? They still donāt know the truth.
CW: This chapter includes explicit sexual content, rough sex, backshots, emotional tension, and themes of miscommunication, regret, and unresolved feelings.
WC: 12k
Morning comes in before the sun does.
It starts in the quietāair still, the house holding onto the last of the night. Smoke is already up. Has been. The clock on the stove reads 6:12, the same way it does most mornings when he steps into the kitchen, bare feet quiet against the hardwood.
Coffee first. Always.
He doesnāt rush it. Water measured without thinking. Grounds leveled flat with the back of a spoon. The machine hums low when he starts it, a familiar sound that settles into the space without breaking it. He leans his hip against the counter while it brews, arms folded loosely across his chest, gaze drifting toward the window over the sink.
The street outside is empty.
No cars moving yet. Just the faint stir of wind against the trees lining the block, leaves brushing against each other in a slow, steady rhythm.
A few years back, he bought land just outside the city. Not far enough to feel removed, but far enough that the noise doesnāt reach unless he wants it to.
He built the house himself.
Took his time with it. Foundation first. Frame. Every piece measured, set, adjusted until it held the way it was supposed to. Heād poured the foundation on a Saturday morning much like this one, years ago, when the ache was still raw enough to make his hands shake if he let them. Every stud, every joist, every nail had been placed with the kind of patience he hadnāt known he possessed back when everything felt urgent. The house became proof that some things only get stronger when you take your time.
It wasnāt a big or flashy house. But it was solid. The kind of place that doesnāt move once itās set.
Inside, the walls are painted a neutral gray he chose because it didnāt demand attention. The living room holds a single couch, a coffee table he built from leftover oak, and a small shelf with a handful of books and some framed photos with his mother and brother, photos from job sites years back, him and the crew, all young, all laughing. He was laughing. But nothing that reminded him of her. He made sure of that.
The coffee finishes. He pours it into a plain mug, no design, no color. Black. Steam curls upward, catching faint light from the overhead before disappearing. He takes a sip, lets it settle.
Same way every morning.
By 6:40, heās dressed.
Work jeans. T-shirt. Boots by the door, already broken in, laces tied tight without needing to look down. Keys from the small tray near the entry. Wallet. Phone.
Everything where it belongs.
He steps outside just as the sky starts to lightenāsoft gray stretching into blue. The air is cooler out here, clean in a way it wonāt be by midday. He inhales once, slow, then heads to the truck parked in the driveway.
Itās not new.
But itās his.
Clean. Maintained. No unnecessary upgrades. It starts on the first turn, engine settling into a low, steady idle that matches something in him. He pulls out without rushing, rolling down the street at a pace that doesnāt ask for anything from the day yet. The quiet of his land gives way slowly to the distant hum of the city as he drives, a transition heās grown used to and one he controls.
Work is waiting.
It always does.
By eight, the noise starts.
Tools. Voices. Wood against concrete. The sharp cut of a saw slicing through a piece of framing before falling quiet again. Smoke moves through it all without raising his voice. A nod here. A short instruction there. He doesnāt repeat himself. Doesnāt have to. They listen. Not because he demands it.Ā
Because heās right.
Three years of running his own small crew had taught him that. No more yelling matches like the old days, no more walking off jobs when things got messy. Now the work was cleaner, the deadlines met because people trusted his eye and his word. The houses they built werenāt the biggest in the county, but they were the ones that stood after storms passed through. Solid. Like the one he lived in.
The house theyāre working on is halfway done, new framing up along one side, exposed beams cutting clean lines against the open space. Sunlight pours through where windows havenāt been set yet, dust floating in the air in thin, visible streams.
He steps back, looking at the structure, measuring whatās already there against what itās supposed to become. āNeed that leveled again,ā he says, pointing toward the far wall.
One of the guys nods, already moving.
Smoke turns, walking toward the truck to grab something out the bed. His hands are rougher now. Years of work, of repetition, of building something that holds when everything settles. He wipes them once against a rag before reaching in.Ā
The phone in his pocket buzzes. He ignores it. Grabs what he came for. Closes the tailgate with a solid click.Ā
It buzzes again. Persistent. He pauses this time long enough to pull it out, glance at the screen.
Stack.
He lets it ring once more before answering, lifting it to his ear without breaking stride.
āYeah.ā
Stack doesnāt start talking right away. Thatās the first thing Smoke notices. Thereās always something ready with him. A joke. A comment. Something unnecessary just to fill the space.
This timeā
Nothing.
Smoke steps out of the noise, moving a few feet away from the house, boots crunching lightly over gravel.
āWhat?ā he asks.
Stack exhales on the other end. Not heavy. Just⦠deliberate. āAye,ā he says, slower than usual. āYou busy?ā
Smoke glances back toward the frame of the house, the movement, the work already continuing without him for the moment. āYeah,ā he answers. āWhat you want?ā
Another pause.
Not long. But long enough.
āYou remember Annie?ā
The name doesnāt hit the way it wouldāve before. Doesnāt pull him in. But it lands.Ā
And sits there.
Smokeās gaze stays forward, fixed somewhere past the street, past the worksite, past anything in front of him.
āYeah,ā he says.
Simple. Even. Because of course he remembers her. Stack knew that too.
That never changed.
Stack lets out a short breath, something caught between disbelief and something else he hasnāt named yet.
āā¦Aight,ā he mutters, almost to himself. āShe called me.ā
The morning doesnāt stop. The noise behind him continues. Saw cutting wood. Someone laughing. A truck passing down the street, music slipping through the windows.Ā
Everything continues.
Smoke doesnāt hesitate. Doesnāt move either. His grip on the phone doesnāt tighten. Neither does his posture. Nothing about him gives anything away to the outside. But somethingā¦adjusts. āYeah?ā he questions.
Stack huffs lightly. āYeah, nigga.ā
A beat passes between them.
āShe asked for your number.ā
Smokeās gaze drops slightly, unfocused for a second before settling again. āYeah.ā
Another pause.
āBruh, you good?ā Stack asks, checking.
Smoke leans back just a fraction, resting his shoulder against the side of the truck now. The metal is warm already, holding onto the early heat of the day.
Eight years had passed.
Not all in a straight line. Some seasons dragged, heavy with the kind of silence that made the nights feel longer than they had any right to. Others moved fastājobs stacking up, the crew growing from two guys to six, weekends spent framing houses or fixing up his own place until his back ached and his mind finally quieted.
Heād dated. A few women who were kind, who laughed easily and didnāt ask for more than he could give. None of it stuck. Not because he compared them out loud, but because he knew what it felt like when someone fit without forcing it. When the quiet between two people didnāt feel like absence.
The mixtape came some time later, when the anger had cooled into something sharper. Heād spent weeks pulling tracks, layering beats, writing nothing down but pouring everything into the order of the songs. It wasnāt a plea. It was a mirrorā¦showing what theyād been, what it became, what he was still carrying. He sent it to her new address with no note, no explanation. Just her name on the envelope. He thoughtā¦maybe. Not that sheād come back, but maybe sheād call, hear the words, understand what he couldnāt say verbally.Ā
But she never did.
She never called. Never texted.
That silence taught him the final lesson: some doors only close when you stop waiting for someone else to shut them. So he archived it. Archived her. Not erased. Just moved to a place where it no longer dictated the rhythm of his days.
And this timeāit takes just a second longer than it should.
Stack exhales lightly.
āā¦you gonā say somethinā else, or we just doinā āyeahā today?ā
Smoke doesnāt answer that.
āYou want me to give it to her?ā Stack asks.
The question hangs there. Smokeās gaze lifts slightly, not toward anything in particular. Just⦠forward.Ā
āYeah,ā he says. Same tone. Same even delivery. Like it doesnāt mean anything to say it. āGive it to her.ā
Stack is quiet, thenā
āYeah.ā
The line clicks off.
Smoke lowers the phone, glances at the screen for half a second before sliding it back into his pocket. He doesnāt stand there or replay the conversation. He turns, walking back toward the house.
The gravel crunches under his boots the same way it did five minutes ago, but the sound feels slightly different now, sharper, or maybe just more present.
āLet me see that,ā he says, stepping back into the frame, picking up right where he left off.
The work continues like nothing happened, but something did.Ā
Just enough that itās there.
Stack doesnāt hang up.
He just pulls the phone away from his ear, glancing at the screen for a second like heās deciding something, then lifts it back.
āYou still there?ā he asks.
āIām here,ā Annie says. Her voice is quieter now. Not unsure, but not as confident as she was a few minutes ago either.
Stack leans back against the couch heās sitting on, one foot propped up on the coffee table, rubbing his jaw slowly. āYeah,ā he mutters. āI figured.ā
Silence stretches long enough to feel it.
āTold you,ā he says.
Annie exhales softly. āStackāā
āNah,ā he cuts in, not loud, but firm. āDonāt āStackā me. I told you.ā
She closes her eyes briefly, phone pressed tighter to her ear. āI know.ā
āYou heard him,ā Stack goes on. āYou really sat there and thought that was gonā be⦠what? Exciting for him?ā
Annie doesnāt answer because she did hear him. That calm. That even tone. No hesitation. No reaction. Like her name didnāt do anything to him.
And thatāthat unsettles her more than if it had.
āIām not tryinā to mess anything up for him,ā she says finally. āI told you that. I donāt wanna intrude on his life. I just⦠I just want to talk to him. Thatās it.ā
Stack lets out a dry laugh. āThatās it?ā
āIt is.ā
āYeah, aight.ā He pauses, thenāāwhy now?ā he asks.Ā
Direct.
Annie swallows. āBecause I didnāt know before.ā
āDidnāt know what?ā
She hesitates. Then quieterāāWhat he was trying to say on that mixtape.ā
Stackās head tilts slightly. His tone changes just enough. āMy brother worked hard on that muthafucka,ā he says. āLikeāhard. I aināt never seen that nigga sit witā somethinā that long. Every song, the order he put them bitches in⦠that was him.ā
Annieās chest draws inward.
āYou aināt even let him know you got it,ā Stack continues. āNo call. No text. Nothinā. You hurt my brother.ā
āI know, Stack.ā Soft. Immediate. āYou think I donāt realize that now?ā she adds.
āDo you?ā he presses.
Annie exhales slowly. āI was just scared he was telling meāā
She stops.
Stack goes quiet for half a second.
āā¦goodbye?ā he finishes.
Annie doesnāt answer. But she doesnāt have to.
Stack huffs. āManā¦ā he mutters under his breath. Then sharperāāis that why you was actinā weird as fuck the last time you came down here?ā
Annieās eyes flicker open.
āI wasnāt actinā weird,ā she says quickly.
āAnnie.ā
āI wasnātāā
āYou was weird,ā he cuts in. āYou was movinā funny the whole time. Couldnāt look at him straight. Answerinā questions all sidewaysāā
āI was not actinā weird,ā she insists, but thereās less weight behind it now.
Because she remembers the last time she came back.Ā
The way everything felt⦠off. Not wrong, just not what it used to be. He was still him. Still calm. Still present. Still there.Ā
But something had changed.
And she felt it.Ā
She didnāt understand it. Thoughtā maybe he met someone. Maybe he moved on. Maybe she waited too long. So she pulled back. Matched the energy of what she thought she was seeing. Not realizingā he had already said everything.
She just never answered.
The last time Annie x Smoke saw each other
The house looks the same.
Thatās the first thing Annie notices when she pulls up.
Same faded porch steps. Same slight dip in the railing where too many hands had leaned on it over the years. The screen door still sticks before it finally settles into place with that familiar scrape.
Nothing changed. And somehow everything already feels different.
She stands on the porch longer than she should, overnight bag hanging heavy on her shoulder, fingers twisting the strap. Stack had made it sound casual ā You in town? Aight, come through. So she came. Told herself it would feel normal.
It doesnāt.
She knocks.
The door opens almost immediately.
Stack grins wide the second he sees her. āWell damn. Look who finally decided to come outside.ā
Some of the tension in her shoulders eases. āHey, Stack.ā
He steps aside, dragging a hand across his jaw as he looks her over. āYou been eatinā good, girl? Lookinā all grown and shit.ā
āBoyāā Annie rolls her eyes, but a small smile slips through anyway.
āIām serious,ā he laughs. āYou look good.ā
That lands softer than she wants it to.
She shrugs it off. āWhereās Elijah at?ā
Stack smirks, something knowing flickering across his face.
āIn there.ā
And just like that, the small pocket of ease disappears.
Annie steps inside.
The familiar scent hits her immediately ā leftover food, fabric softener, that warm, lived-in smell that always meant home. For a second it almost settles her.
Then she sees him.
Smoke looks up from where heās leaning against the counter.
Their eyes meet.
It hits harder than she expected.
He looks⦠so good. Broader in the shoulders than she remembered, chain resting against his chest, stance more solid. Thereās something steadier about him now, like the last few months had carved away some of the boy and left more man behind.
Smoke feels it too.
She looks different.
Same face. Same eyes that used to pull him in without trying. But sheās carrying herself different now ā shoulders a little straighter, something in her walk that says sheād been moving, living, changing without him. The realization tugs low in his chest before he can kill it.
āHey,ā Annie says. Her voice comes out softer than she planned.
Smoke nods once. āHey.ā
Thatās it.
No step forward. No half-smile. No pulling her into one of those hugs that used to feel so easy. Just space. Thick, careful space.
Stack claps his hands together once, breaking the moment. āAight, Iām finna run up the street real quick.ā
Annie turns. āYou just got here.ā
āYeah,ā Stack says, already heading for the door with that lazy grin. āAnd now Iām leavinā.ā His eyes bounce between them, amused. āHandle yāall business. And be safe⦠or donāt. I aināt judginā.ā
The door shuts behind him with a soft click.
Embarrassment and silence drop instantly.
Heavy. Immediate. Loud.
Smoke leans back against the counter, arms folding slowly across his chest like he needs the barrier.
Annie adjusts the bag on her shoulder, then lets it slide off, setting it against the wall. Her hands feel useless.
āYou just get in?ā he asks.
āYeah. Like⦠an hour ago.ā
āMm.ā
Silence again. Longer this time.
Annie shifts her weight, palms brushing down the front of her shorts. āSo⦠what you been up to?ā
āWork. Tryna get this money. School when I can.ā
Short. Simple. Nothing extra.
She nods. āThatās good.ā
She waits for him to ask about her.
He doesnāt.
Her chest tightens. The old familiar ache of wanting him to reach for her and watching him choose not to.
āSchool going good for you?ā he finally asks.
It comes late. Almost reluctant.
āYeah,ā she says. āItās cool. Keepinā me busy.ā
āMm.ā
That same low sound. Present, but not inviting.
Annie presses her lips together. This isnāt how it used to be. Before, words moved between them without effort. Now every sentence feels like itās being measured, weighed, and found wanting.
She moves toward the kitchen out of pure habit, opening the fridge like she still belonged there. Itās still stocked the same way. She grabs a bottle of water just to have something in her hands.
When she turns back, he hasnāt moved much. Still watching her.
āYou not gonā sit?ā she asks.
He nods toward the couch. āGo ahead.ā
She sits first. He follows after a minute, dropping onto the opposite end, not close, not where he used to settle right beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Annie twists the cap off the bottle, taking a slow sip. The quiet feels suffocating.
āYou still talk toā¦ā She starts, then stops. Doesnāt finish the sentence.
Smoke looks at her. āWho?ā
She shrugs, trying to play it light. āPeople.ā
His mouth curves faintly, but thereās no real humor in it. āYeah.ā
That single word lands like a stone in her stomach.
Yeah. Of course he does. Heās here living his life. Sheās the one who moved away. Why wouldnāt he be talking to other girls? Moving on?
She nods once, too quickly. āCool.ā
It sounds off. Even she hears how forced it is.
A phone buzzes on the counter behind him. His phone.
He glances at it.
Annieās stomach twists tighter. She noticed the faint change in his shoulders.
āGo ahead,ā she says, too fast. āYou can get it.ā
āIām good.ā
āItās fine. For real.ā
A beat passes.
Then he stands, walks over, picks up the phone, glances at the screen, and sets it back down without answering.
When he comes back, he drops into his seat like nothing happened.
But Annie had seen enough. She didnāt catch the name. She didnāt need to.
Her throat feels tight.
She looks down at the bottle in her hands, twisting the cap over and over.
Across from her, Smokeās gaze driftsānot to her or to anything in particularājust far enough that itās clear heās somewhere else.
He could ask her about the mixtape he sent weeks ago. He could ask if she even got it. If she listened. He could say something.
He doesnāt.
Because if she didnātāif she never even opened itāheās not about to be the one to drag that out into the open.
And if she didā¦and still didnāt say anythingāthen whatās there to ask?
Instead, he stays quiet, jaw tight, letting the moment stretch until it starts to feel wrong. Because saying any of that would mean admitting he still cared. And heās already done that once.
He sent it.
Laid it out bare. No games. No confusion. Everything he couldnāt say to her face. And she never said a word back.
So nowāheās not reaching first again. Not with her sitting there, looking fine as fuck.
Looking like she been good without him.
Annie watches him, the silence pressing in from all sides.
Why wonāt he say anything? He could at least ask how schoolās going. For real. Not that surface shit. He could say he missed her. Even a little.
But he doesnāt.
Her stomach twists.
Is he waiting on her to bring up something?
Her fingers tighten faintly around the plastic bottle in her hand.
The mixtape.
Her mind catches on it, wonāt let it go. Is he not asking becauseāhe already knows she didnāt listen? Or worseābecause he doesnāt care if she did?
Her chest tightens.
Now her thoughts wonāt stop.Ā
The way it came in the mail. Just her name. No return address. Nothing else. No note. No explanation.
Her jaw tightens.
What if that was the point? What if that was him saying goodbye?
Clean. Final.
Donāt write me back. Donāt call. Donāt ask questions.
Just⦠take it and go.
Her chest pulls tighter.
Maybe he didnāt want a response. Maybe thatās why he didnāt leave a way for her to give one.
Maybe she read it right. Maybe she didnāt. Her breath shortens. Or maybeāhe got somebody now.
That thought lands and sticks.
Of course he does.
Thatās why heās sitting there like this.Thatās why heās not asking.Thatās why heās not reaching for me.
He moved on.
Her grip tightens around the bottle until it crinkles softly in her hand.Ā
So she stays quiet. He stays quiet. Both of them locked in it.
She thinks: He got a girl.He thinks: She moved on and donāt want me no more.
The silence stretches. Longer. Thicker. Closing in.
Too much.
Annie stands up suddenly. āI should probably head back to my cousinās before it gets too late.ā
The words come out fast. Too fast.
Too final.
But once theyāre spoken, she doesnāt take them back.
Smoke nods once. āAight.ā
No stay. No you donāt have to go. Nothing.
That hurts worse than anything else.
She grabs her bag, slinging it over her shoulder, and moves toward the door. He follows at a distance ā close enough to be polite, far enough to feel wrong.
On the porch, the night air feels cooler. Easier to breathe.
She turns back to him.
āIāll call you,ā she says.
Same words theyād used before. Different weight now.
Smoke nods. āYeah.ā
No expectation in his voice. No belief that she actually will.
She holds his gaze, waiting for somethingā¦anything to change.
It doesnāt.
Annie nods once, lips pressed tight, then turns and walks down the steps.
She doesnāt look back.
She already knows what sheād see: Smoke standing there in the doorway, still watching her leave.
Again.
āAnnie!ā
Stackās voice pulls her back.
āYou still there?ā
āYeah, uhāyeahā she says quickly. āIām here.ā
āMhmm.ā
She clears her throat slightly, fidgeting.
āā¦so whatāā
She stops.
Stack catches it immediately. āWhat?ā
Annie exhales, quick, like sheās already backing out of whatever she was about to ask. āNothinā.ā
āAināt no ānothinā,ā you started it,ā Stack says. āSay it.ā
She already knows what he hasnāt done.
No wife.
No kids.
She wouldāve heard. Small town. Everybody knows everybody. Pearline wouldāve told her. Everybody wouldāve. Gossip travels fast.
That part never changed.
And maybeāmaybe thatās why she never fully let him go.
Her voice comes out softer now.
āHe dealinā with somebody? Like⦠for real?ā
Stack exhales low.
āā¦you really wanna know that?ā he repeats.
And thatās when it hits herāshe doesnāt. Not right now. Not before she even hears his voice again.
She swallows. āNo.āĀ
Then she changes the subjectāfast.
āSo⦠Pearline told me what happened between yāall,ā she says, tone switching just enough. āI canāt believe yoā ass.ā
Stack groans immediately. āOh my God. Here we go.ā
āI really thought you and Line was gettinā serious,ā Annie continues.
āShe was trippinā,ā Stack says. āInsecure. Jealous. Didnāt trust me.ā
āStack.ā
āWhat?ā
āYou wouldnāt trust you.ā
āAyeāā he starts.
āEspecially when Maryās crazy ass involved.ā
āMary ainātāman, see, this what Iām talkinā aboutāā
āLine aināt give you a chance to explain?ā Annie presses.
āShe didnāt!ā Stack says. āSoon as she heardāboom! Done.ā
āExplain what, Stack?ā Annie shoots back. āHow yoā little dick ended up in Maryā¦again!ā
āAye, FIRST OFF,ā he cuts in, offended, āmy shit AINāT little. I know damn well P aināt say that.ā
Annie snorts. āThatās not the point.ā
āIt kinda is,ā he mutters.
āStack.ā
āIt wasnāt even like that,ā he adds, defensive now.
āSure it wasnāt,ā Annie says. āYou messed up a good thing.ā
āā¦like you messed up a good thing with my brother?ā He bites back.
That lands harder than anything else heās said. Annie doesnāt respond.
Canāt.
Her mouth opens slightly, then closes. Nothing comes out.
Stack lets the silence sit this time. Lets it stretch.
Annie sucks her teeth softly through the phone. āWhatever, nigga.ā
āMhm.ā
āLeave them white hoes alone,ā she mutters.
āMary aināt white,ā he shoots back immediately. āHer granddaddy half Black.ā
Annie pulls the phone away, staring at the screen.
Thenā
click.
Stack pulls the phone away, staring at the screen.
āā¦man,ā he mutters, shaking his head with a small grin.
He exhales, glancing off to the side.
āā¦this bout to be some bullshit.ā
Smoke steps back into the frame of the house without breaking pace. The saw is still running somewhere to his left, high and constant. A compressor kicks on near the back, air hissing through the line. Somebody laughs too loud over something small. The rhythm of the site holdsāloud, moving, familiar.
He picks up where he left off.
āLet me see that,ā he says, taking the tape measure from Malachi without looking at him. His voice lands even. Same as before.
Malachi hands it over. āWe was finna run that wall to sixteen,ā he says.
Smoke nods once, eyes already tracking the line. He hooks the tape, pulls it out, metal sliding smooth between his fingers. Marks it with his pencil. Presses his thumb there a second longer than needed, checking the number again.
Sixteen.
He exhales through his nose, low.
āRun it,ā he says.
They move.
Boards get lifted. Set. Adjusted. The sound of the nail gun pops sharp through the air in quick controlled bursts. Smoke steps in, lines one edge up with his palm, presses it flush, then nods.
āHit it.ā
The gun fires again. Wood locks into place.
He steps back half a pace, eyes scanning it. The angle. The spacing. Something holds his attention a second longer than usual.
āHold up,ā he says.
Malachi pauses, mid-reach.
Smoke steps forward again, runs his hand along the edge, then taps the top. āItās off.ā
Malachi frowns. āWhere?ā
Smoke crouches slightly, bringing his eye level down with the line, following it from one end to the other.
There. Barely. But there.
He stands, reaches for the pry bar. āPull it.ā
āAināt evenāā Malachi starts.
āPull it,ā Smoke repeats with no edge in his voice.
Thatās what makes Malachi listen. He backs off. Works the board loose. Nails squeal faint as they give.
Smoke resets it himself this time. Presses it in tighter. Checks it again. Better. He nods. āNow.ā
The nail gun goes again. It holds. Smoke steps back, wiping his hand down his jeans once, then reaching for another piece before anyone has to ask.
āNext,ā he says.
The work keeps moving. Same pace. Same flow.
Across the site, someone calls out for a measurement. Another voice answers. A truck rolls past slow, tires crunching gravel. Dust lifts, settles. Smoke moves through it all without pause. Board to frame. Measure. Mark. Cut. Repeat. His hands know what to do before he thinks about it. Muscle memory carries most of it. The rest he watches.
Always watching.
He reaches for a beam, lifts it with Diego on the other end. They carry it across, set it down in place. Adjust. āLittle up,ā Smoke says.
Diego raises his side. āHold.ā They lock it in.
For a second, Smokeās grip stays there longer. Fingers curled around the edge, pressure firm. Then he lets go. Steps back. āGood,ā he says.
Diego nods. āYou alright, boss?ā
Smoke glances at him, brief. āYeah.ā
Diego studies him a second longer, then shrugs it off. āOk.ā
They keep going.
Time moves.
Sun climbs higher. Heat settles in heavier across the site, pressing into the back of Smokeās neck, into his shoulders. Sweat gathers along his hairline, trickles down slowly. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, keeps moving.
At some point, Malachi hands him a water.
Smoke takes it without looking, twists the cap, drinks half in one pull. The water hits cold, sharp, grounding. He lowers the bottle, holds it there for a moment, then sets it down on the nearest surface.
āYo, you hear me?ā Malachi says.
Smoke looks up. āWhat?ā
āI said you want that door framed today or tomorrow?ā
Smoke blinks once, like the question took a little longer to understand.
āToday,ā he answers.
Malachi nods. āBet.ā
Smoke turns, reaches for the chalk line. Snaps it across the wood, blue dust marking clean against the grain.
His phone sits in his pocket.
Silent.
The sound of Stackās voice is still there anyway.
You want me to give it to her?
Smoke presses the chalk line down harder than necessary, holds it there, then releases.
The line stays.
Clean.
Set.
He exhales once, slow.
āCut that,ā he says, already moving to the next thing.
The work continues.
Only, every now and then, his attention drifts a fraction too far past whatās in front of him before it comes back.
Small.
Barely there.
But there.
The apartment feels different after the call with Stack.
Quieter.
Not the calm kind of quiet, the kind that presses in, fills the corners, settles into her chest and stays there.
Annie sits where she was, legs folded beneath her, phone still in her hand. The screen has already gone dark. Her thumb rests against it anyway, like something might still come through if she waits long enough.
It doesnāt.
She exhales slowly, her shoulders lowering a fraction, but it doesnāt ease anything.
Because she heard him. Not just his voice, but the way it didnāt move.
āYeah.ā
Flat. Even. Controlled.
No edge. No warmth. No hesitation. Nothing for her to grab onto.
Her hand locks in slightly around the phone, because she doesnāt know what that means. If he sounded angry, she could work with that. If he sounded hurt, sheād understand that. But that? That sounded likeā¦distance. The kind you donāt cross easy.
Her eyes drift, unfocused, landing somewhere across the room without seeing it. Her mind moves anyway.
Uninvited.
Does he have somebody? The thought comes quick.
And it doesnāt leave.
Annie swallows, her jaw locks, the tension stacking. What would she look like? The question forms before she can stop it.Ā
Was she prettier?Ā
Skinny?Ā
Wilder?
The type of woman that knows how to hold a man like Smoke without second-guessing it?
Her stomach twists, because she knows what he is. Handsome. Knows the way he moves. Solid. The way he pays attention. The way he shows up without needing to announce it. The kind of man you donāt have to chase. The kind of man that when he chooses you, he stands on it.
Any woman with sense would hold onto that. Wouldnāt let distance break it or let silence stretch that long. Wouldnātā
Annie presses her lips together, cutting the thought off before it finishes, because she already knows where it goes.
Back to her.
Always back to her.
She leans forward slightly, resting her forearms on her thighs, phone still in her hand, but dangling loose now. Her mind wandering to the relationships sheās had since Smoke.
Her relationships.
Her mouth presses into a thin line, because she really believed those relationships were real. Back then, she was certain. Now, she can see they werenāt. She understands the difference now.
Every time.Ā
The charm. The attention. The way a man would come in strong, say all the right things, move fast enough to feel real. Sheād believe it. Give into it. Tell herself this time was different. That she chose right. And thenā¦something would be off. Subtle at first. Inconsistency. Half-effort. Words that didnāt line up with actions.
Sheād feel it. Ignore it. Try to make it work anyway. Until it didnāt. Until she was left sitting there, trying to figure out how something that looked right didnāt feel right.
But with Smoke there was never guessing. Even as teens. She never questioned it. Never tried to convince herself of his feelings and intentions. It justāfit.
Her chest tightens. She didnāt know what to do with something that real back then. Didnāt know how to hold it. Didnāt know how to hear it when he said it without saying it.
Her phone buzzes in her hand. Annie jolts slightly, her attention snapping down to the screen. Stack. A text. She opens it. A number sits there.His number. Her breath catches before she can stop it. For a second, she doesnāt move. Doesnāt even blink. Her thumb just hovers over the screen.
Should I Call?
Text?Ā
Delete?
Her stomach twists again. Because thisāthis is where it changes. Once she presses something, thereās no going back to before this moment. No pretending she didnāt reach. No wondering what wouldāve happened if she had.
Her thumb moves slightly.Ā
Stops.Ā
What if he answers and sounds like that again?
What if he doesnāt answer at all?
What ifāher jaw tightens.
What if he has somebody sitting right there with him? The thought lands harder this time. Clearer. She pulls her hand back slightly, like the phone might burn her if she holds it too long.
āMaybe I should just leave it alone,ā she mutters under her breath.
Let him be.
Let whatever he built stay that way.
Her phone rings.
Pearline.
Annie stares at the name for half a second, then answers.
āHey,ā she says, her voice evening out quickly.
āGirl,ā Pearline breathes out immediately. āYou talked to Smoke?ā
Annie huffs softly. āNot really. Stack called him on three-way.ā
āOop,ā Pearline says. āAnd?ā
Annie leans back against the wall, her head tipping slightly. āAnd Stack is still messy as fuck.ā
Pearline laughs. āYou thought I was lyinā? That man is chaos in human form.ā
āLiterally,ā Annie mutters.
āWhat he say about me?ā Pearline asks, quick.
āThat you was trippinā,ā Annie replies.
Pearline scoffs. āOf course his ass did.ā
āYou donāt think you was?ā Annie asks, a small smile tugging at her mouth.
āBitch,ā Pearline says flatly. āThat man had Mary all up in my faceā¦playinā games.ā
Annie groans. āUghā¦Iām sorry friend.ā
āMe too,ā Pearline replies.
āThat nigga sick,ā Annie mutters.
Pearline laughs, but it fades quicker this time. āAnyway. What happened with Smoke?ā
Annie goes quiet.
Just for a second.
āI aināt talk to him,ā she says finally. āStack did⦠I was just on the line. Smoke aināt know.ā
A beat.
āā¦I heard him though.ā Her fingers close around her phone.
Pearline doesnāt respond right away.
āAnd?ā she asks.
Annie exhales through her nose, low. āHe aināt sound⦠nothinā.ā
Pearline pauses. āNothinā?ā
āYeah,ā Annie says, her voice flattening a little. āNot mad. Not surprised. Notāā she stops herself, jaw sets. āJust⦠regular.ā
That sits and it shouldnāt.
Pearline shifts on the other end. āThat bothered you.ā
Annie lets out a small, humorless breath. āYeah, girl.ā
More than anything else wouldāve.
If he sounded hurt, sheād understand that. If he sounded angryāshe could work with that. But that? That feltāfinal.
Annie leans her head back against the wall, eyes closing briefly.
āHe donāt sound like he was waitinā on me,ā she says, quieter now.
Pearline doesnāt sugarcoat it. āHe wasnāt.ā
Annie swallows.
Her thumb drifts across the edge of her phone.
āā¦I got his number.ā
Pearline goes still. āYou WHAT?ā
āI got his number,ā Annie repeats, softer now.
āAnd you sittinā there talkinā to me?ā Pearline says.
Annie huffs lightly. āLineāā
āUh uh. No. Donāt āLineā me. You got that man number and youāwhat? Scared?ā
Annie doesnāt answer. Becauseāyes, she was scared.Ā
Her eyes open slowly, dropping to the screen in her hand. To the number.
āWhat if he got somebody?ā she says. It comes out quick, but itās real.
Pearline hums. āYou worried about that?ā
āI am,ā Annie admits. āI donāt like that thought at all.ā
Her stomach turns again, sharper this time, because she knows what kind of man he is. Smoke isnāt the type to be out here playing games. If heās with somebody, heās with her. For real. And that does something to her chest she doesnāt like. āSmoke isā¦ā she starts, then exhales. āHeās a good man, Line.ā
Pearline doesnāt argue that. āI know.ā
āLike⦠a real one,ā Annie adds, her voice dropping. āYou donāt gotta question how he feels. He shows up without you askinā.ā Her throat closed some. āAnybody with sense would keep him,ā she says.
A pause.
āI fumbled him.ā
āNo you didnāt,ā Pearline says immediately.
Annie huffs. āGirlāā
āBoo,ā Pearline cuts in, softer now. āYāall was kids.ā
Annie goes quiet.
āYou lived states away,ā Pearline continues. āThatās hard. Even for grown ass adults. And yāall was whatāseventeen? Eighteen?ā
Annie presses her lips together.
āYou aināt have the tools for that,ā Pearline adds. āFeelings that big, that far apart? That aināt easy to hold.ā
Annieās hand goes solid. āI shouldāve listened to that fuckinā mixtape,ā she murmurs.
Pearline lets out a breath. āDamn.ā
A beat. Thenā
āSo what you think not talkinā to him was sayinā?ā
That hits.
Annieās fingers curl faintly against her thigh. She looks down, jaw tightening slightly.
āā¦that I wasnāt about to beg,ā she says after a second, her voice is quieter now. āThat if he already made up his mind⦠I wasnāt ābout to beg him to stay.ā
Pearline goes still.
āAnnie⦠he wasnāt tryinā to leave you.ā
Annie shakes her head slowly. āI know.ā
A beat passes.
āā¦now I do.ā
The realization settles heavy and it hits her all over again. The case in her hands. Clear plastic. Her name written across it in black marker.Ā
She remembers turning it over. Holding it there longer than she needed to. Her thumb pressing along the edge. The pause. Then the moment where she couldāve opened it.
Insteadāshe set it down. Told herself sheād listen later. Told herself she already knew what it was.
A goodbye.
A soft way of ending something neither of them wanted to say out loud. So she left it closed. Left him there too.
Annie exhales, the memory settling heavier now than it did then.
He wasnāt letting her go.
She let him go.
Silence stretches between them for a second.
Pearline shifts, voice gentler now. āMaybe this just⦠a new season.ā
Annie lets out a small breath. āA new season?ā
āYeah,ā Pearline says. āYou got his number now. You know what it really was now. You know what you missed.ā She pauses. āGo see him,ā she adds. āTalk to him face to face. Feel it out.ā
Annieās head tilts slightly. āLineā¦ā
āIām serious,ā Pearline presses. āCome down here. Get your man.ā
Annie lets out a soft, disbelieving breath. āYou say that like itās easy.ā
āIt might be.ā
āItās not,ā Annie says, her voice goes careful. āWhat if he donāt want that? Donāt want me?ā
Pearline doesnāt rush the answer this time.
āI guess you just gonā have to find out, friend,ā she says simply. āā¦and maybe make him a mixtape.ā Pearline adds, slyly.
Annie looks down at the phone again. At the number. Her thumb hovers. Her chest rising and falling. She can still hear his voice.
āYeah.āĀ
Flat.
Even.
Distant.
Her stomach twists again. But this time it doesnāt make her pull away. It keeps her right there. On the edge of doing something.
Waiting.
The phone rings longer than she expects. Not long enough to hang up. Long enough to feel it. Once. Twice. Threeā
A click.
āHello.ā
His voice lands the same way it did before. Even. Flat. Unreadable. Annieās breath catches anyway, sharp in her chest. āā¦hey,ā she says. Too soft. She clears her throat, the sound too loud in her own ear. āHey, Elijah.ā
Silence stretches across the line, thin but heavy, like both of them are standing in it without stepping forward. Smoke doesnāt fill it. Doesnāt ask who it is.
He already knows.
Annie swallows hard, her mouth dry. āItās⦠itās Annie.ā
Another pause.
āYeah,ā he says. Same tone. Same weight. Nothing added.
Her fingers curl around the phone until her knuckles ache. Heās not giving her anything. No question. No shift. Not even a flicker. Just that one flat word. Yeah. Her stomach twists. Eight years and this is what she gets?
She exhales slowly through her nose, trying to steady the flutter in her ribs. āUmā¦ā The word dies. Her mind scrambles. āHow have you been?ā It comes out weak. Pathetic, even to her.
On his end, Smoke leans against the side of the truck, one hand low at his hip, the other pressing the phone to his ear. The noise of the site hums behind him, distant now. Her voice cut through clean. Too clean. Too familiar. It hit him square in the chest before he could brace. That old pull. That same soft place heād boxed up tight and left to rot. His jaw flexes hard. He breathes through it once, slow and deliberate, forcing the feeling back down where it belongs.
āAight,ā he says. Short. Closed. The word tastes like gravel.
Annieās eyes close briefly. Aight. Thatās it. Heat prickles under her ribsāirritation, sharp and sudden. What the hell is she supposed to do with that? Carry this whole damn conversation alone?
āOkay,ā she says, a little sharper than she means. āThatās good.ā
Silence again. Wider. Heavier. She shifts on the couch, free hand pressing into her thigh hard enough to leave marks. Say something. Anything. Pearlineās voice echoes faint in her head. Talk to him. Go see him. Get your man.
Annie forces the words out. āIāā She stops. Swallows. āI got your number from Stack. I hope thatās okay.ā
āItās cool.ā
She huffs softly, the sound shaky. āYeah.ā
Another pause. Her fingers tap once against her knee, then still. āI didnāt call to⦠be weird. Or interrupt anything you got goinā on.ā
Nothing.
On Smokeās end, his grip tightens around the phone. Interrupt. The word lands wrong, scrapes against something raw. She already did. The second her voice came through, the box cracked open. He hates how easily it still happens. His gaze drifts past the site, unfocused. He forces his breathing even.
āOkay,ā he says. Flat. Unmoved.
Annieās irritation spikes hotter. Heās not meeting her halfway. Not even an inch. āI just wanted to talk,ā she adds, tone clipped despite herself.
āā¦about what?ā he asks.
There it is. Finally. Something. But it feels like a wall, not a door.
Annie leans forward, elbow braced on her thigh, heart pounding in her ears. āAbout⦠us.ā
The word drops heavy between them.
Smokeās jaw sets tight. Everything in him pulls inwardāold, familiar, unwelcome. A flash of resentment burns low in his gut. Us. Like she still gets to say that after all this time. He exhales through his nose, slow and controlled, pushing the heat back down.
āā¦aināt no āus,ā Annie.āĀ
Calm. Measured. Final.
The words hit her harder than she expects. Her chest tightens sharp, breath catching. She wasnāt ready. Not that fast. Not that clean. Her eyes sting suddenly. āI didnāt meanāā Her voice falters, cracks at the edge. āI just meantāā
He doesnāt let her finish. āWhat you callinā me for?ā
Not louder or aggressive. But direct. And thereās something darker underneath now, held down tight.
Annie stills. The question strips her bare. She doesnāt have a clean answer. Her mouth opens, closes. How do you say I heard you eight years too late without sounding stupid? Her throat burns.
āI listened to it,ā she says instead, the words scraping out.
āThe mixtape,ā she says quietly. āI listened to it.ā
Silence. This one hits different. On his end, something sharp twists in his chest, immediate and unwanted. The mixtape. Eight years buried, and she drags it up now like itās casual. His free hand curls into a fist at his side, knuckles whitening. Anger and that old ache mix ugly in his stomach. Why now? The question burns, but he swallows it. He looks away, gaze hardening on nothing.
He exhales once. Low. Controlled. āWe not doinā that.ā
It lands quick. Shuts the door clean.
Annie blinks. āā¦doinā what?ā
āThat,ā he repeats. āWe not doinā that.ā
His tone doesnāt rise. But it closes everything completely.
Her irritation flares hot. āYou donāt even know what I was gonna say,ā she pushes, voice trembling at the edge.
āI donāt need to,ā he answers. Immediate. Flat.
That lands like a slap. Her fingers curl hard into her palm, nails biting skin.
āYou donāt get to decide that.ā
His head tilts slightly, quiet disbelief flickering behind the calm. āI donāt?ā
Low. Measured. It cuts.
Silence crashes in again. Thicker. Suffocating.
Annie leans back, pressing her head against the wall, staring up at the ceiling until it blurs. Fuck it. The thought flashes hot and bitter. Hang up. Let him keep the life he built. Let him sit in that distance he wears so easily.
But Pearlineās voice cuts through again. Go see him. Talk to him.
Annie exhales sharply, the sound ragged. āI didnāt know,ā she says, softer now, the words thick in her throat. āI didnāt know what it was back then. I thought you was⦠sayinā goodbye.ā
Silence. Longer this time. She can hear him breathingāslow, deliberate, like heās measuring every inhale to stay steady.
On his end, Smoke closes his eyes briefly. The old ache flares mean, mixing with resentment that tastes like rust. She gets to do this now? After he spent years patching the hole she left? His jaw flexes hard, the muscle jumping. He breathes in once. Slow. Then out.
āYeah,ā he says. Flat. Unreadable. But the single word carries weightālike it cost him.
Annie hears it. Doesnāt fully understand it. Her eyes burn hotter. āI was wrong,ā she adds, voice small.
Nothing. No acknowledgment. Just the low hum of the site in the background.
Her irritation flickers again, tangled with hurt. āYou could say something, Elijah,ā she mutters, the words cracking.
Something almost breaks through on his end, she catches the tiniest shift in his breathing, a hitch. Almost. But he locks it down tight.
āWhat you want me to say, Annie?ā There it is. The edge, still controlled but raw underneath. āEight years later, you callinā me talkinā ābout a tape I made when I wasā¦whatā¦nineteen?ā
Her chest squeezes so hard it hurts. She hears the scar nowānot just distance, but the anger heās swallowing. Her fingers dig into her thigh until the sting grounds her.
āI just wanted to talk to you,ā she says. Quiet. Honest. A little broken at the edges. āThatās all.ā
Smoke exhales slowly, looking out across the site. Trucks are still beeping. Guys are still shouting orders. Everything is normal. Except it isnāt. The pull in his chest is louder now, angrier. He hates that itās still there after all this time. Hates that she can still do this to him.
āā¦we talkinā,ā he says. The words come out rougher than he wants. Tired. Almost bitter.
But it doesnāt feel like talking.
It feels like standing on opposite sides of something burned down a long time ago, both of them staring at the ashes.
The silence returns. Thicker. Heavier.Ā
Unfinished.Ā
Which neither of them moves to fill it.
The site work winds down around him in pieces. Tools clatter into boxes, voices drop off, engines rumble to life one by one. Heat still hangs thick in the air, dust settling slowly across everything, his clothes, his skin, the truck bed.
He leans against the truck, phone dark in his hand. He doesnāt check the screen. Doesnāt need to. Her voice lingers anyway, clear and unwanted.
āā¦hey.ā
Soft. Then again.
āHey, Elijah.ā
His jaw works. He pushes off the truck, circles to the driverās side, and yanks the door open. The metal groans under his grip. He climbs in, slams it harder than necessary. The sound echoes in the empty cab and settles heavy in his chest. He exhales once, slow, then leans forward, forearms braced on the steering wheel, head dipping low.
Quiet.
No saws. No voices. No movement.
Just the faint ticking of the cooling engine and the low hum of traffic somewhere down the road. His fingers flex against the wheel, knuckles pale, then ease.
Thenā
āElijah.ā
It hits different this time. Nobody calls him that anymore. Not unless itās his mama, and even then it comes corrective, formal. Smoke is what stuck. What fits the man he built. But the way Annie said it⦠it slid past every wall heād raised. Too soft. Too familiar. Like she still had a right to the version of him she used to know.
His tongue presses hard against the inside of his cheek. The thought tries to bloom and he cuts it off quick. His grip firm on the wheel until the leather creaks. She reached right past everything heād boxed up and yanked at something he doesnāt touch anymore. His chest pulls sharp, old ache flaring hot beneath the surface.
He leans back against the seat, head tipping against the rest, eyes fixed on the stained ceiling of the cab.
āWhat she callinā me for?ā
The question loops again, bitter now. His hand drags down his face, rough against the stubble, palm catching on the tension in his jaw. āI listened to it.ā The words echo in his head. Now? After eight years of silence, she finally hears the tape he poured himself into and decides thatās the moment to call? His stomach twists with something uglyā¦resentment, sharp and familiar. Heād sent it with no expectations,Ā just raw truth he couldnāt say out loud. And she thought it was a goodbye.
His eyes close briefly. He exhales longer this time, trying to push the tightness out of his ribs. It doesnāt budge.
āShe thought I was sayinā goodbye.ā
He mutters it under his breath, the sound low and rough. Something sits wrong in his gut like she missed him completely back then, and now she wants credit for finally seeing it. His finger taps once against the wheel. Then again. The rhythm does nothing to settle him.
The mixtape memory surfaces anyway: late nights piecing it together, replaying moments he had no words for, burning the disc, writing her name on it with nothing else attached. No pressure. No begging. Just everything he felt at nineteen, sent out clean.
And then⦠nothing. No call. No text. No acknowledgment it ever reached her.
His chest is tight again, deeper this time. The old wound throbs under the scar tissue he thought had hardened.
He adjusts in the seat, rolling his shoulders back hard, trying to shake the feeling loose. It clings.
He stares at the phone tossed face-down in the center console. He already knows what he wonāt findā¦a message or follow-up. Same silence as before. That familiarity burns low and mean.
His jaw locks. Because that emptiness feels too much like then.
He straightens, grabs the keys, and starts the engine. It turns over smooth, the low rumble filling the cab like a barrier. He doesnāt put it in drive right away. Instead, he reaches into the center console, fingers moving without thought until they land on the pack. He taps one out, slips it between his lips, then flicks the lighter.
The flame catches. He inhales slow, deep, the burn settling into his chest before he exhales through his nose. Smoke fills the cab, thin at first, then thicker, curling toward the ceiling.
It gives him something to focus on.
Something that isnāt her voice.
His fingers rest loose against the steering wheel, cigarette held low between them as the ember glows and fades with each pull. The quiet presses in again, but this time it has shape. Weight.
āElijah.ā
His jaw tightens.
He drags again, longer this time, holding it in like he can choke the memory out before letting it go in a slow stream toward the windshield.
That nameā
He aināt heard it in years. Not like that. Not soft. Not familiar. Not from somebody who used to say it like it belonged to her.Ā
His thumb taps once against the wheel, ash dropping into the tray.
āShe donāt get to do that.ā The words come low, under his breath. But even as he says it something in his chest shifts anyway.
He pulls out slowly, the road unfolding ahead on autopilot. Streetlights flicker on as the sky deepens, long shadows stretching across the pavement. His hand rests low on the wheel, thumb tapping faint and restless.
His mind wonāt quiet. It circles back to her voice. To that pause before she spoke. To the way she said āElijahā like it still belonged to her. The pull is still thereāquiet, stubborn, deeper than he wants to admit. He hates it. Hates that one phone call cracked the seal he spent years reinforcing.
He pulls into his driveway and kills the engine. The quiet rushes back in, heavier here. No work noise. No distraction. Just the faint ticking of the truck cooling and the distant sounds of the neighborhood settling in.
He sits there for a minute. Then another. His hand finally moves, flipping the phone over. The screen lights up. Still nothing from her. His thumb hovers. He doesnāt have her number saved. Not anymore. Not like that.
Instead, he scrolls. Stops on a name. Stares at it longer than he should. Then presses call.
It rings once. Twice.
A soft, familiar voice answers. āHey, stranger.ā
Smoke leans back into the seat, eyes closing for a beat. His voice settles back into that even, controlled tone. āHey. Iām on my way.ā
A soft laugh on the other end. āOkay.ā
The call ends. He sits there another second, phone still warm in his palm. The tension in his chest hasnāt loosened. Itās still there, tight, unresolved, angry at its own persistence. Part of him wants to call Annie back just to tell her to stop. The rest of him knows better. Knows that opening that door again would only drag up more shit heās not ready to wade through.
He exhales low, rough. Then opens the door, steps out, and heads inside to grab what he needs. The night is waiting.
And he steps into it anyway, because standing still with her voice in his head feels worse.
The place is dim when he walks in.
Not dark.
Low light. Lamps instead of overheads. Warm tones that soften the edges of everything in the room. Music plays somewhere in the background, something slow, familiar, meant to settle into the space without asking too much from it.
Sheās ready.
Jada sits on the couch, one leg tucked under her, glass in hand. Her head turns when the door opens, a small smile pulling at her mouth when she sees him. Sheās gorgeous, always has been. Light brown skin catching the lamplight, full curves filling out her tank and shorts like they were made for her. Any man would be happy to have her on his arm.
Theyād known each other since high school, same loose circle. Back then, Smokeās eyes never left Annie. Jada was just⦠there.
Years later, on a construction site near one of her listings, they reconnected. Tried more a couple years back, but she wanted what he couldnāt give while he was focused on building. Now it was occasional. Honest. No strings. She knew what it was. Heād never lied to her.
āYou made good time,ā she says.
Smoke closes the door behind him, sliding the lock into place without looking.
āTraffic wasnāt bad.ā
He crosses the room and drops onto the couch beside her, not too close, but close enough. Jada hands him her glass without asking. He takes a sipāsomething sweet, something with a bite, then passes it back.
āRough day?ā she asks, studying him.
Smoke leans his head back against the cushion, exhaling slow. āLong one. Site was hot as hell.ā
Jada nods. āMm. I had a client damn near change their mind three times in one hour. Thought I was gonā lose that sale.ā
Smoke glances at her. āThey probably aināt even know what they wanted.ā
She laughs softly. āThey never do.ā
āThey just like hearinā themselves talk,ā he mutters.
āThat part.ā
The conversation settles easy after that. Familiar. She tells him how the showing almost fell through, how the buyer kept second-guessing everything. He tells her one of the younger dudes on the crew almost got hurt because he wasnāt paying attention.
āYou cuss him out?ā she asks.
A faint smirk tugs at his mouth. āHad to. Aināt nobody got time for that.ā
āMm. You be in your foreman bag for real now.ā
He huffs lightly. āSomebody gotta be.ā
Itās light. Surface. The kind of talk that doesnāt ask for anything deeper than whatās right there.
For a minute, his mind clears. No phone call. No voice sitting in the back of it.Ā
Just this.
Jada shifts a little closer, her thigh brushing his. āYou eat?ā
āIām straight.ā
āYou sure? I can warm somethinā up real quick.ā
He shakes his head, glancing at her. āIām good, Jada.ā
She studies him for a second longer this time, head tilting slightly. āYou quiet tonight.ā
āBeen workinā,ā he says.
She hums, not fully buying it. āMm. That all?ā
He doesnāt answer that.
Jada lets it go, like she always does. Thatās why this works. No pushing. No digging where he hasnāt opened the door.
She sets the glass down and leans in, her hand resting on his thigh, thumb brushing once. āYou seem like you got something on your mind though.ā
Smoke looks at herāreally looks this time.
Sheās beautiful.
Willing.
Easy.
No questions waiting behind her eyes. No expectations sitting under the surface.
Nothing complicated.
He lifts a hand, cupping the back of her neck, fingers settling warm against her skin as he pulls her in.
The kiss starts easy.
Familiar.
Something he doesnāt have to think about.
Then it builds.
They move together on the couch. Clothes come off piece by pieceāhis shirt, her tank, shorts sliding down smooth thighs. He reaches for his wallet, pulls out a condom, tears the wrapper with his teeth, and rolls it on while she watches with heavy-lidded eyes, her hand trailing down her own body.
He settles between her thighs and pushes ināslow at first, then deeper. Jadaās breath catches, her nails scraping lightly down his back as he starts to move with steady, deep thrusts.
It feels good. It should be enough.
Then the song changes.
Soft guitar. That unmistakable voice.
Brown Skin⦠you know I love your brown skinā¦
His jaw tightens.Ā
Out ot everythingāthis.
That song.
The room doesnāt change. Jada doesnāt change, but something in him does.
Quick
Unwanted.
āā¦Elijah.ā
Not Jada. Wrong voice. Wrong tone.Ā
Too soft.
His grip tightens without meaning to, fingers pressing into her side harder than he means. She reacts to that by leaning into it. Taking it for something else.
āMm,ā she hums against his mouth, breath warm.
Smoke exhales through his nose, forcing himself back into the moment, deepening the kiss, trying to override the voice.Ā
Push it down.
Jadaās breath comes quicker. āYeah⦠like that, Smoke.ā
But the flicker wonāt fade. Annieās voice echoes again in his head ā soft, hesitant, saying his name like it still belonged to her. Elijah. The sound twists something in him.Ā
His rhythm stuttersābarely there, but enough that he feels it.Ā Ā
Annoyance flashes first.Ā
At Annie.
At himself.
At the fact that out of nowhere, after all this timeāsheās here.Ā
Now.Ā
In this.
He pulls out suddenly, hands firm on her hips.
āTurn over,ā he says, voice low and rougher than usual. Not a question.
Jadaās eyes flash with surprise and heat. She doesnāt hesitate. She turns onto her knees, arching her back as she braces against the arm of the couch, presenting that plump, perfect ass to him. āLike this?ā she asks, looking over her shoulder, a teasing edge in her voice.
Smoke doesnāt answer with words. He grips her hips tight ā tighter than he usually does and slides back into her from behind in one smooth, deep stroke, the condom still snug. The new angle lets him go harder, deeper. He starts pounding into her with controlled force that quickly turns rougher, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the dim room. Each thrust is deliberate and heavy, his hips snapping forward, driving into her with an intensity that borders on punishing. Heās not talking shit like he normally would, no low murmurs, no dirty praise. His jaw is clenched, breath coming sharp through his nose as sweat starts to bead on his skin.
In his mind, itās not fully Jada anymore. Flashes of Annie intrude, her voice on the phone, the way she said his name, the regret and want tangled in it. He imagines her here instead, that same soft hesitation turning into gasps under him. His grip firm on Jadaās hips, fingers digging into soft flesh as he fucks her harder, pulling her back onto him with each powerful thrust. The couch creaks under them. Jadaās moans grow louder, unrestrained, her body pushing back to meet every rough stroke.
She loves it.
āFuck⦠Smoke,ā she gasps, voice breathy and pleased. āYou mustāveā¦mhmā¦had uhhā¦rough day. You takinā out all your frustrations on me and I love it.ā She pushes back harder against him, ass rippling with each impact. āBe like that. Ahhā¦I love it.ā
Her words should ground him. They donāt. They just feed the roughness. He doesnāt slow down. One hand slides up her back, pressing between her shoulder blades to arch her further, the other staying locked on her hip as he continues pounding into her with deep, relentless backshots that make her cry out in pleasure. Her walls clench around him, wet and hot, body responding eagerly to the uncharacteristic force. Sweat slicks their skin. The music in the background fades under the sounds of their bodies colliding.
Smokeās mind keeps slipping. Annie. The name doesnāt leave his lips, but it pulses behind his eyes with every thrust. He fucks harder, chasing the physical release to drown the unwanted pull in his chest. It works enoughāhis body tense, release building sharp and inevitable.
Jada comes first, moaning loud and shameless, her body shaking under the intensity. Smoke follows soon after, burying himself deep with a low, guttural sound as he finishes inside the condom, hips still jerking with aftershocks.
They stay like that for a moment, connected, breathing hard. Then he pulls out slowly, the roughness easing as reality settles back in. He ties off the condom, wraps it in a tissue from the side table, and sets it aside.
Jada collapses forward a little, then turns her head to look at him over her shoulder, a satisfied, lazy smile on her face. Sheās flushed, glowing, clearly unbothered by it. āDamn⦠whatever got into you, keep that shit up.ā
Smoke exhales, jaw still tight. He runs a hand down his face, the tension in his chest still there ā quieter now, but unmoved. The sex landed physically. But it didnāt settle the way it usually did. Not all the way.
He leans down, pressing a brief kiss to her shoulderāfamiliar, contained. āYeah.ā
This is what it is. Easy. Present. No questions.
But Annieās voice still lingers somewhere underneath, quiet and loaded, refusing to be fully pushed down.
The city outside has quieted, the occasional car passing beneath her window, headlights sliding across the ceiling before disappearing again. Annie sits curled into the corner of the couch, one leg tucked under her, the other stretched out, her phone resting loose in her hand. She hasnāt moved much. Didnāt turn the TV on. Didnāt play music. Just sat. Thinking. Too much.
āā¦aināt no āus,ā Annie.ā
Her jaw stiffens again. āOkay,ā she mutters under her breath, but thereās no heat behind it now. That earlier irritation burned off. Whatās left sits deeper. Quieter. More honest. She leans forward, elbows resting on her knees, phone dangling between her fingers. Because the truth is, he didnāt sound confused. Didnāt sound hurt in a loud way. Didnāt even sound surprised. He sounded done. That part hurts heavier the longer she sits with it.
Her thumb drags along the edge of her phone, back and forth, slow. What if thatās real? What if he really moved on? Not pretending. Not fronting. Actually moved on. Her chest pulls tight again, and this time she doesnāt fight it. Doesnāt pace it off. Doesnāt cover it with attitude. She lets it sit. Ugly. Uncomfortable. Real. Because she knows what he is. And every man after him made her realize it. The difference. The lack. Her lips press together. āā¦yeah,ā she murmurs.Ā
Of course somebody would want him.
She leans back into the couch, staring up at the ceiling, blinking slowly. Her mind drifts again, not on purpose, to him, but not to the boy. The man. What he looks like now when he wakes up. What his house looks like. If thereās a woman moving around in it. Her stomach twists, sharp and immediate. āUgh,ā she exhales, dragging a hand down her face. āGirl, stand up.ā
She sits up straighter, shaking her head once like she can reset herself, because what are we doing? For real. She snatches her phone up, unlocking it quickly, pulling up her messages. Stackās thread is still open. His number still sitting there above it. She locks the phone again and tosses it beside her. āYeah, no,ā she mutters. āWe not about to do that again.ā
Her tone hardens now, defensive, protective, because the embarrassment creeps in. That call. How it went. How he sounded. How mouth flattens, composure snapping into place. āIām good,ā she says out loud. āIām straight.ā The words sound louder in the quiet apartment. Convincing.Ā
Almost.
Her phone buzzes beside her. She looks at it.Ā
Pearline.Ā
Of course.Ā
Annie stares at the screen for a second, then answers. āHello?ā
Ā āAye,ā Pearlineās voice comes through immediately. āSo what happened? You talked to him?ā
Annie exhales, leaning her head back against the couch. āYeah.ā
āAnd?ā
āā¦it was fuckinā weird,ā Annie admits.Ā
Pearline lets out a soft hum. āAww hell. Weird how?ā
Annie sits up again, dragging her hand over her face. āLike⦠awkward as hell . He wasnāt givinā me nothing, Line. Iām over here tryna talk, he talkinā in one-word responses. Iām likeā¦okay, cool. Got it.āĀ
Pearline huffs lightly. āThat sound like him when he donāt feel like playinā with you.ā
āExactly, I used to think that shit was cute.ā Annie says, irritation creeping back in. āSo Iām likeā¦why am I even doinā this? I shouldāve just left it alone.ā
Pearline lets her sit in that for a second before speaking again. āWhat else you say to him?ā
Annie exhales. āI tried to talk about the mixtape.ā
Pearline goes quiet. āā¦and?ā
āHe shut that shit down. Quick.ā
āDamn.ā
āYeah. Damn,ā Annie repeats, voice tightening. āSo Iām done. For real. Iām not about to putā myself out there for somebody who clearly donāt care.ā
That lands sharper, louder, but Pearline hears it for what it is. āIām serious, Line,ā Annie continues. āIām good. If he wanna be mad at me forever, he can. Thatās on him. I donāt need him. I got plenty of niggas who want me.ā
Pearline snorts softly. āGirl.ā
āWhat?ā Annie presses. āI do.ā
āI know you do. That aināt the point.ā
Annie rolls her eyes. āIām just sayinā⦠Iām not about to embarrass myself again. I did that once already.ā
āYou not embarrassinā yourself,ā Pearline says. āYou beinā real.ā
Annie huffs. āYeah, okay.ā
āIām serious,ā Pearline continues. āYāall aināt never actually talked. Not for real. Everything ended off assumptions and silence. That aināt closure.ā
Annieās fingers tap lightly against her thigh, because she knows that. She just doesnāt want to sit in it.Ā
āIf you got something to say, say it,ā Pearline adds. āAnd if he wanna sit there actinā all mysterious and emotionally unavailable, then let him. Thatās his business.ā
Annie exhales slowly. āHe is so irritating.ā
Pearline laughs. āGirl. Him and Stack really not that different when you think about it.ā
Annie scoffs. āDonāt ever put them in the same sentence again.ā
āBoth stubborn. Both donāt listen. Both think they right,ā Pearline continues.
Annie pauses⦠then huffs. āOkay, waitāā
Pearline laughs louder. āExactly. Smokeās just Stack with better self-control.ā
Annie gasps. āDonāt disrespect him like that.ā
āIām serious! Same DNA, boo.ā
Annie mutters, āā¦youāre actually sick.ā
Pearline snorts. āBut you love me.ā
Annie lets out a quiet breath, a small smile pulling at her mouth before it slips away just as quickly. The moment doesnāt hold. Not with everything else sitting underneath it. āI just⦠I donāt know, Line. What if he really moved on?ā
Pearline hesitates. āā¦I meanā,ā she starts, then stops. A small pause stretches before she clears her throat lightly. āI canāt say if he dealinā with somebody serious,ā she says finally. āYou know how he is. He keep his business, his business.ā
āYeah,ā Annie murmurs, but her brows pull together slightly.
Pearline presses on before Annie can sit in it too long. āBut what I do know,ā she continues, voice softening, āis that you didnāt fumble him, boo.ā
Annieās throat tightens.Ā
āYāall were kids. In two different places. Tryna handle grown folks feelings with no guidance. That was always gonā be hard.ā
Annie leans back again, staring up at the ceiling. āā¦yeah.ā
āThis could be a new season.ā
āGirlā¦you and this ānew seasonā shit.ā Annie huffs.
āIām serious. And Iām tired of always cominā up there to see you. Itās time for you to come down here.ā
Annieās brows pull together. āTo do what?ā
Pearline doesnāt hesitate. āCome get your man.ā
Annie lets out a short laugh. āNah, Line. Iām not doinā that.ā
āWhy?ā
āBecause,ā Annie sits up again, irritation mixing with something deeper, āwhat if he got a new girl?ā The word comes out heavy, sharp. Her stomach twists again.
āThen youāll see that,ā Pearline says simply.
Annie scoffs. āYeah, and then what? I look stupid? No, thank you.ā
Pearline huffs lightly. āAnnie,ā she pauses, then continues. āIām sure he felt real stupid too.ā
Annieās mouth opens, then closes again.
Pearline goes on, voice quieter now, not piling onāĀ
āAfter pourinā his heart into that mixtape⦠and not hearinā nothinā back. How you think he felt?ā
That lands heavy.Ā Ā
Silence stretches.
Pearline doesnāt push harder, just lets it sit there. Then, softer ā āYou donāt look stupid for wantinā something real.ā
Annie goes quiet, because that hits different now. Her fingers curl faintly against her palm.
āI donāt knowā¦ā she says, softer now.
Pearline exhales. āThink about it. Thatās all Iām sayinā. Just think about it.ā
āā¦okay.ā
They sit in silence for a little while longer before Pearline shifts the tone.
āStack said you was in your feelings earlier too,ā she mutters.
Annie rolls her eyes. āStack need to mind his business.ā
Pearline laughs softly. āYou know he not gonā do that.ā
āExactly why I donāt talk to him,ā Annie mutters.
Pearline hums. āCrazy⦠cause you got all this energy for him, but not for the person you actually need to talk to.ā
Annie refuses to respond to that.
A few more words pass between them, lighter, easier, then the call ends.
The apartment goes quiet again, but it doesnāt feel the same. Annie sits there, phone still in her hand, staring ahead. Thinking. Not spiraling or avoiding. Actually thinking. Pearlineās words settle in, slow and deliberate.
Think about it.
Her gaze drifts back to her phone.Ā
To that number.
She exhales slowly, then leans back into the couch, eyes lifting toward the ceiling.
āā¦I might be crazy.ā
But she doesnāt move away from the idea.
Not this time.
End Note: In the words of Stack...this bout to be some bullshit! š«£ Part 3 coming soon. Tell me your thoughts.
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Summary: It's been seven years since Smoke left. A departure he never wanted to take as Annie was a love he never wanted to leave but grief and fear put him in a place he never thought he would be. Promises to return sooner than later and weekly letters and phone calls from community phone lines started consistently and after a year became nearly nonexistent. Now he's back. As irrational as it is for someone whose life (and the way he moves through it) has been dictated by logic, he believes what he and Annie have is eternal and fated so he's sure they will find their way back to love that sustained them and the home they created in each other. Then, he hears whispers of her moving on with someone new in the last year. Even if it's wrong, selfish, and unfair to what she is attempting to create...he'll show her that he loves her STILL.Ā
Itās not something they can pray away, avoid, or convince themselves has died never to be resurrectedāa funeral canāt take place for something alive and well. If that wouldāve worked, they wouldnāt be in the situation they were currently in.
It is something inevitableālike the Delta heat that walked hand in hand with them since the first day they felt it beat down on their skin, both comforting and overwhelming. Something unyielding like the way sweating bodies grinded close together, prohibited drinks flowed, the smell of Southern delicacies fried in oil, and music woven into the inner fabric of their soul every Saturday at The Juke was the only time their people ever truly felt free.Ā
Neither of them had ever been known for being deceitful in any way, fashion, or form. It was one of the things that bonded them in the first place. Being honest when it was comforting and it felt like a radiating light enveloping them in a warm embrace and when it was hard and felt heavy on the tongue and the truth was the last thing they wanted to hear.
Always being honest was a promise that bound them as well as bonded them, which led to them doing something they never hadāchoosing to be vulnerable enough to lay their entire selves bare to the other as lasting as ink permanently etched on bare skin.Ā
The versions of them who made the initial promise would balk at the way the current version of them discarded the very promise that was the foundation of their union. They found out that even certain values could be sacrificed if it meant avoiding a life lived without the one they called home.
What good were morals if it led to a fate that would kill youā¦for what good was a life without the one who made living itself not a penance but a privilege? They barely survived separation the first time as they walked around like haints occupying a body whose true soul had passed on.
EIGHT YEARS AGOā¦
Annie tried her hardest to start over. Even with them maintaining contact those first two years, she never let herself be lulled into Smoke's promise of returning. The third year when he had gone radio silent was when she had completely lost her whole world all at once. An experience that shook her faith to the core, which led to a deep disconnection in her root work only compounded by the loss of Luna.
From a young age, Annie had always had a strong connection to the Earth, her ancestors, and the sacred practice passed down for generations. The trauma resulting from the loss of her little moon, who was a manifestation of the purest, strongest, and most everlasting love she had ever known was enough to have her question everything starting with why this healing, life affirming practice had not worked the one time she needed it most.
She mourned in a way that would both shake the ground beneath her feet in one moment while she felt so empty she questioned if she could ever feel again in another. Whatever force in this world that thrives off pure devastation decided they werenāt through with her yet as they took her love from her too.Ā
While he was not gone from this world, he was gone from her orbit. The gravitational pull that would keep her connected to the Earth despite the betrayal of such as the loss of a child was gone when he was never needed more.
The most difficult part was that he did not do something foul in a way that she could discard their love or curse his name from the moment she woke till the second sleep overtook her at night. If Elijah had truly betrayed herā the love would have gone sour. Annie was raised by strong women who hammered into her the importance of having her own and not allowing mistreatment or betrayal from a man and those lessons were ingrained so deep that it became a non-negotiable. It was commonplace for men to cheat and have multiple families being loyal to nothing but the urge to keep their dicks wet.
That wasnāt her man though loyalty and fidelity was a huge part of their love and no one could even catch his eye after they met. His love, yearning, passion, and desire for her was a fire that had only burned brighter and had never waned. He had regularly told her that he would live inside of her if he could to which she always playfully rolled her eyes and smirked. Something else led to the exodus he would have never embarked on if it was based on what he actually wanted.Ā
Stack. His selfish, ill-timed, fly-by-the-seat of his pants ass brother determined to go on a dangerous mission (as he called it) to Chicago and expected Smoke to be as he had always been, by his side. Annie felt at times that Stack was a test to push the very limits of her patience by being an ever present thorn in her side when he was around.
This was by far the worst time to be the most selfish he ever had been with such a request or what Stack himself had seen as a guarantee. He could not conceptualize nor fully grasp (or respect) the love they had and what it meant. So, he struggled understanding why Smoke was heavilyĀ hesitant where he would have been on board with strict ground rules in the past, but that was before Annie. Before an insurmountable loss they still could not measure. Elijah was not a love that strayed or left; he was a love that planted roots, built something eternal, one you felt in your bones, and was enveloped by a peace that could not be disturbed. Smoke was a love that surrounded, watched, interceded on the behalf of, and above all protectedānot being able to do that for his daughter did damage to his self concept and identityĀ that he was not even fully aware of the extent of the damage. āProtectorā had become the role he held the longest and the most consistently. Yet, when it was needed most there was nothing he could do in his power to save who mattered mostā it was as if he had a mortal wound yet still remained alive.Ā
They grieved differently. Elijah felt grief as deep as the ocean where he would weep or become so lost in thought Annie would have to shake him to the point of his whole body moving to snap out of the frozen state. He had only ever been in trances like that following flashbacks from the War. Meanwhile, Smoke distracted himself and avoided the deep hurt by practicing controlāto an even greater extent than before. His leaving being a manifestation of trying to prevent his greatest fear happening again when he felt he could possibly control it was something Annie simultaneously understood but also resented.Ā
Smoke was not blind to his brotherās selfishness. He felt partially responsibleĀ for maybe being too indulgent to make up for what their dad had put them throughāwith Stack being the target who faced the much crueler punishment than he had. While Smoke had no choice but to fall for Annie, he had chosen to build a life with her and it was the first thing he did in his entire life just for him. It was his treasure, his freedom, his joy, and his foundation. That very decision led to a pattern of tug of war that happened with Stack struggling to accept that Smokeās dream did not mirror his.
Elias desired freedom through his dream of creating worlds and safe spaces for their people while also being able to make a profit. Elijah desired freedom in the creation ofĀ a home, a groundedness and a peace that couldnāt be destroyed and was his without question, which he found in Annie through love. The love that he found with Annie was one he thought someone like him who carried a pain, a hardness, a wall 100 feet wide and 50 feet deep would never feel the reprieve ofĀ experiencing. She was his salve and his salvation. His kryptonite and strength. His desire and his joy. Stack refused to accept that Annie got access to the innermost part of Smoke and who he was at his core, his most vulnerable, his most freeāElijah. Smoke continued to reject Stackās plan as he just could not imagine a life where he and Annie were not side by side on the daily. That was before.
Grief was not unfamiliar to Smoke. It was something that walked with him side by side, almost like a companion. The grief of losing his mother and only getting to know her through pictures and the memories of others. The grief of never knowing parental love because of the abusive piece of shit he had for a dad.Ā The grief of not getting to really be a kid as he had to step into a parental role for Stack. The grief of what theĀ trauma from the War took from him with scars and flashbacks he still deals with. None of his prior grief could prepare him for the loss of Luna.
His whole life he felt abandoned by God. Falling in love with Annie and then Luna being a physical representation of how deep that love isā sparked the mustard seed sized hope that maybe God hadnāt completely forsaken him. Being someone who only believed in what he could see he wasnāt one for religion or spirituality but Annie finding, loving, and choosing someone like him had to be due to a force he couldnāt see. The way they lost Luna when she was just over a year extinguished the minuscule hope as if it never existed.Ā The man known for running shit, being immovable, unshakable, had become a shell of himself in the only place he felt safeāat home.
Smoke could count on one hand how often he had cried in his life. Of all the times he had, he never weeped or bellowed in such a guttural way that he felt he could wake the dead with the intensity of the pain alone. A mourning so deep that those who had passed on could feel it. The only way he held on at all was due to Annie and the way they supported each other but it was a grief neither had experienced. Sometimes their days looked like complete silence outside of affirmative grunts. Others looked like shouting until their throats were raw. At their most vulnerable they would spend the whole day crying and holding each other. Throughout it all they vacillated between hard fucking and love makingājust to feel something and to remind themselves that they were still here. Somehow.Ā
It had been six months since they lost her and they were surviving solely due to having each other. That is when Smoke had to make a decision that he still regrets to this very day while knowing he was just trying to prevent another loss that would be sure to finish the job of destroying him. Stack decided that he could not wait any longer and was leaving for Chicago next week. Smoke tried his best to reason with the fool but he just wasnāt hearing shit. Smoke was torn in two making this decisionāhis head and heart in a tumultuous war where either choice would leave catastrophic damage in its wake. Stackās recklessness and tendency to not watch his back created a serious deficit in his survival instinct, which was the only reason he was even considering leaving. There is no single thing or person that could get Smoke to leave Annieāespecially now but he just knew without a shadow of a doubt that his twin would find a way to get himself killed out there which is just a loss that he could not even conceptualize. Ā
Even then his mind wasnāt made up. It couldnāt be when it would mean leaving his heart behind in Clarksdale. He hoped toĀ return within a year but he knew Stack and his often hare-brained schemes lacked planning and discipline. Another failure on his part for being too lenient so Stack over-relied on him.Ā He felt torn in two even breaking the news to Annie that he was considering this.Ā
The next day he reluctantly brought it to Annie. It was still hypothetical as he had still felt stuck between a rock and the hardest place. She responded the way anyone who had lost their precious daughter not even a year ago would only to find now that the love of her life was considering leaving for an indefinite amount of time to watch out for his brother who thought so little of what they were navigating.
Even eight years later he still remembers the look on Annieās face and how it shook him to his core. How could someone look so despondent as if it was the end of the world as they knew it while simultaneously radiating an anger that could burn down the rest of the world in retribution for their pain? For four days, they had yelled, cried, constantly talked through how he could even consider this, and then didnāt talk at all in a cycle he saw as his own personal hell. Even with his tendency to feel moments instead of filling them with words, their communication had been relatively healthy. So, this departure only served to further break him down.Ā
On the fifth day, he made the decision that would change the trajectory of his life in a way he still felt to this day. Annie had barely reacted once he told her what he decided. Being as bonded as they were, there were times when they knew what the other was going to say or in this case before the words left their mouth. This wasnāt news. She knew from the moment he brought it up what his decision would be. She knew the loss of their daughter had wounded them in similar but different ways which for him showed up in his inability to protect her.
For better or worse, due to their upbringing he was put in a difficult spot of not only being a brother but he was also a father figure. The loss of Stack would not just be the soul crushing loss of a twin, but another child he could not protect. So, on the fifth day she was quiet. Shuffling across the floorboards, pouring liquid from glass bottles for protection charms, and warming water for baths were the only sounds to fill the room after Smoke broke the news.Ā
The sixth day was different. It has settled in Annie's spirit that he was leaving and she felt the weight of it. She had to make a decision about the kind of last day she wanted with him. She tried to remind herself that he wasnāt leaving forever and that he told her as soon as they were done he would be coming back. That was not something she found comforting considering the timing was not up to him. None of this was. If his wants or needs mattered, he wouldnāt be leaving in the first place. She wanted this day to be a memory that could wrap her in warmth when the bitter cold of loneliness and griefĀ threatened her very survival.Ā
āOkay. This is the last full day untilāāAnnie said to break her silent pact from the day before.Ā
āI know. Iām sorāāElijah replied before she could finish the thought as if that would make it less real. The relief that comes after waking up from a nightmare that never came true would not find him this time. He made a conscious decision to approach this day as Elijah as this wasnāt the time for Smoke to be at the forefront. At his most vulnerable, his most open, his most freeāall emotions he felt due to Annie, the one who brought him back to life through her eyes, her smile, her ease, her centeredness, her loveāElijah.Ā
āSave the words. I already know them.ā Annie interrupted as she already knew. She didnāt want the little time they had left littered with genuine yet ultimately meaningless platitudes. Apologies wouldnāt make him stay. They wouldnāt have him change his mind. They wouldnāt save her the heartache of the strongest love she had ever known having to do the very thing he had proven from the very beginning he would never do.Ā
āWeāve talked this through in circles the first four days. Letās feel today.ā She stated clearly as if it was the first thing she could control since the death of their daughter. āWho knows the next time weāll get to.āĀ
āYouāre right. Iāll follow your lead. Take the reins.ā Elijah acknowledged as he stared straight into her eyes showing just how much he had meant it. The day was spent doing things they knew made the other feel whole and bonded. They had not separated the whole day acting as shadows for each other. They started with visiting Lunaās grave together and replacing the flowers and fresh bottle of milk as they did everyday. Elijah walked alongside Annie as they went around their land collecting the different roots,Ā herbs, and stones. It reminded him how even the mundane felt special with her.
Every moment of every day felt like a gift, one way too good for someone like him. Hands on projects had always made Elijah feel grounded and got him out of a cycle of debilitating over thinking. He fixed up some walls, floors, and fortified the porch while Annie watched as she cooked their favorites. Cooking reminded Annie of her rootwork practice. Creating something from individual, distinct ingredients that not only filled bellies but touched souls in the same way her ancestors had.Ā
They shared their meal in the way they always didāstarting with prayers, Eliajhās exclamations about how good her food was, Annie smiling because he had done this every day without fail since the very first time she cooked for him, talking about anything and everything under the sun. She talked more while he listened more. In their natural rhythm she moved to her rootwork table preparing ingredients, saying prayers, and combining items while he sat in his chair smoking from his pipe that hung directly above where his chair sat. Elijahās brows furrowed as he tried to figure out what she was doing as the shop was closed for the day so she could not have been completing an order for a client. In the midst of his line of thinking, Annie called him over.Ā
Elijah moved to stand directly in front of Annieās work table as she slowly circled around. āYou said I take the reins today so I have one thing I need from you before you leave tomorrow.ā
Elijah nodded his full attention on Annie.
āWear this for me and never take it off.ā Annie had been making a mojo bag for Elijah as he sat and tried to decipher what she was working on. She knew that he was a person who only trusted what he could see with his very own eyes so his belief in her hoodoo had always been an uphill battle. She knew a secret he would not name. As much as he challenged her on it, the utmost trust and belief he had in her also extended itself to her practice so she knew he would honor request. After all, their love for each other was not something he could see or measure like dollars and cents yet it couldnāt be more real.Ā
āOkay, for you.ā Elijah offered without contesting. Normally he would give her pushback but he could not find that in him today. He knew this was a symbol of just how deep and wide her love went for him. She poured everything she had into this mojo bag even with him having to leave. He could never reject an item that was a symbol of her love for him. Not now. Not ever.Ā
In the silence of the moment, not even an inch of space existed between them in this moment. The heaviness of the moment lingered following the expression of their love for each other in its purest form. Annie expressing it through pouring her all into a mojo bag she believed would keep him safe until he returned. As it was what she wanted most. She knew that she would not wait forever and didn't know and couldnāt feel when he would return. When he did, it would be in one piece, limbs in tact, heart beating, brain working the same way it did today. Elijah expressed it through the promise he kept despite his skepticism of hoodoo. Heād seen it protect and heād seen it not deliver when it was needed most. Still, his love, trust, respect, and belief in Annie had him making space for what he wouldnāt have believed in any other circumstance.Ā
Love was not the only thing felt. Desire made an appearance as it always had. It was always looming even before the very first time they ever touched. It never took much for them. Sometimes the smallest thing would ignite the heat that always wafted right beneath the surface. Annie adorning Elijah with the mojo bag around his neck acted almost like an aphrodisiac.
As they stood face to face, so close they could feel the warmth of their breath, their lips crashed into each other in sync. Elijahās lips chasing Annieās with her returning the favor as they moved about without separating. The contrast of feeling of soft, plush lips delivering hard kisses only intensified the lust they were both feeling that demanded to be satisfied. They knew what followed when they got like this. Tongues dancing, titties caressed, dick grabbed, taking turns on their knees, mouths open to pray at the altar of their love; while moans, grunts, nasty words, and squeaking legs of the bedframe served as the soundtrack.
There was a different weight tonight though. They couldnāt stop tomorrow from coming and all the day would bring, but they could spend the whole night feeling. The feel of skin to skin so close they could hear the otherās heartbeat. The feel of being impossibly filled to the point of overflow. The feel of limbs stretched in ways that tested the concept of flexibility.Ā The feel of nails against his back.Ā The feel of sheets caressing them as they tumbled through them.
Exhaustion came second to lust that demanded to be satiated the whole night. The hard and frantic rounds that made them feel like fiends chasing the euphoric feeling of their next hit alternated with rounds that were soft, slow, and deep--where each caress, kiss, stare, thrust, honey laced whisper, and whiskey soaked command was made a memory that could hold them when they were beyond each otherās reach.Ā Ā
The seventh and last day was much more somber. Even with knowing what was coming at the end of the day they still tried to maintain a sense of normalcy until they couldnāt. The same patterns didnāt feel the same when the weight of his departure turned the vivid colors of the life they lived together pitch black. Their meals didnāt fill their bodies and feed their souls the way they always had. The arrangement of the rooms and their accompanying furniture and decor that felt like expressions of their tastes and personalities began to feel drab and mundane. The place they built that housed memories, milestones, and livelihoods had always felt like a perfect fit until now--where the walls closed in tighter with each hour that passed.Ā
Elijah waited to the last possible hour to leave as they were traveling by train. Bo Chow, their childhood friend, had agreed to meet them at the station to keep their car for safe keeping. Stack was already waiting outside but had enough sense to stay in the car because if Annie had a chance he wouldnāt be making it to Chicago. They slowly made their way to the door with each step becoming more hesitant. Once they reached their porch, they knew it was time for the goodbye they had been holding off.
āElijah, I hope that you find peace in making this decision. My understanding of why you feel like you have to do this does not snuff out the hurt and anger. All three coexist at once. The hope of saving one while abandoning the other,ā Annie stated matter-of-factly.
Ā āAnnie, Iām notāā Elijah interrupted.Ā
āLet me finish without contesting.ā Annie replied frustrated that he even tried to fight what she was saying. She was tired of pain, anger, grief, and fighting. After deciding that he had to go, Elijah had repeatedly told Annie he would keep in contact and then this wouldnāt be a long exodus. Annie knew better though. She knew how shit tended to go with Stack. This was the first time she could not trust his words which wounded her in a way that she couldnāt adequately name. Of all the promises he made, she only had faith that one would be kept--Elijah keeping on his mojo bag. He would not let his only tether to Annie and the strength of the love they shared be something else he sacrificed.Ā
āElijah, you have only been honest from the first day I ever looked into those eyes that said everything you couldnāt allow yourself to say, before we ever were anything to each other. What was the very first promise we ever made as a way to honor our love? We said we would never lie. That promise is the very foundation of that love. Donāt do me the disservice of lying now.ā Annie noted calmly before continuing. āTelling the truth donāt make it pretty--just makes it real. You donāt know if you can keep up with the promise you made. You donāt know even if you can consistently write or call. You canāt even tell me how long.ā Annie pauses before she says whatās next as it sounds like a threat but itās just her honoring her promise to always be true. āLove, even one like ours that feels fated in a way that Iād only heard about from those who came before us, wonāt wait or coast on the hope that you may come back someday. By the time you return, the bones of the home you forsook may be the only thing here to welcome you back.ā
He couldnāt walk away using his less is more approach. Not after what Annie had just expressed. Not in this situation.
He had spent his last full day with Annie āfeelingā instead of offering platitudes that provided no comfort. Now, it was time for him to speak. This could likely be the most important set of words he ever uttered when the stakes are a life with Annie or barely existing with his memories of what they had being the only thing keeping him in this world.
Ā āAnnie, I love you. You know that. Deep. Strong. Without ceasing. Iāve given you parts of me freely that no one else has ever seen.ā Elijah said as his hands shook, a trauma response from his time in the war that was elicited whenever he was anxious or panicked. He was not one for impassioned speeches but if there was ever a time to lay it all out there, it was now. āI know my decision feels like Iām breaking us and Iāll hold that. Iām not asking for you to forgive me and I know understanding my motives wonāt change how you feel but Iām asking you to believe in what youāve always known. Youāve never doubted my love, listen to your heart, your intuition, the words your ancestors who guided you told you when you sought guidance and confirmation about our love being destined.ā Elijah pleaded with desperation as the floodgates he had used every ounce of strength he had to hold at bay began to break. āI have never lied to you and I wonāt now so I canāt promise when but I AM returning. To my heart, my foundation, my reason why, my everythingā¦I love you still and I always will.ā
The weight of the moment mixed with Elijah laying his feelings out bare without silencing or pushing them down immediately brought tears to Annieās eyes.
Now, they both stood in front of the physical home that was reminiscent of the home they found in each other years ago in a place they never thought they would be. Completely broken down. Faces wet with tears, eyes rimmed red, staring into the depths they had always found comfort in. The only sound passing between them is the wind as it shakes the bottles that hang from the Magnolia trees spread out on the property. Elijah pulled Annie into the tightest hug they may have ever shared. An embrace that embodied every feeling they expressed and the ones they were afraid to say out loud.
As they looked into each otherās eyes, nose to nose they leaned into a searing kiss not unlike the kind of kisses they had shared thousands of times. Elijahās lips creating a seal over Annieās as his hands framed both of her cheeks so that each part of him had a point of contact with her. Their eyes instinctively shut as if to burn every second into their memory. There was a melancholy beneath this one though as if it wasnāt a promise for a reunion but an acceptance of a reluctant goodbye neither of them ever wanted to have.Ā
Eventually, they separated and he watched her as he walked backwards toward the truck until he was out of her vision on the driverās side.
Elijah swung the door open prepared to get in, but paused because there was one thing he had to do before he departed. He leaned down to Lunaās resting place and asked something selfish as the man who was leaving.Ā
āCan you do one thing for your fool of a father, baby girl?ā Smoked asked aloud. āPlease watch over your mamaāyou and your ancestors together. Protect every hair on her head, organ in her body, donāt let a single injury touch her.ā Smoke pressed a kiss to the stone in front of her altar. āYouāre the only one I can trust with this.ā
That was eight years ago now. Smoke returned the seventh year with the only promise kept being his mojo bag not moving one centimeter since Annie placed it around his neck.
How do you go from years of no communication to a full blown affair that could obliterate the very foundation of their lives as they know it within a year of Smoke returning?
The seeds were sown the day the twins made their way back into the life they left behind...
A/N: Thanks for reading. We are definitely in for a ride! I actually pretty much have the next two chapters written so those chapters should be out pretty soon! If I somehow missed you and you wannabe tagged you can either comment or reply to my taglist h e r e ā”
Disclosure Day was so bad, this wonderful Black woman stood up as soon as the credits rolled and said, āThis movie sucked didnāt it? I like Spielberg movies, but this one sucked.ā
My friend said he liked it but he has poor taste in movies. Simply put, it was a mess plot wise and super disjointed.
Also, the idea that people would stop to watch the news about the discovery of aliens is absurd. Theyāve been soft launching aliens for the better part of a decade and no one gives a shit because bills still have to be paid.
What a waste of Colman Domingo and Josh OāConnor.