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University of East London. Three years ago Diatah had been awarded a scholarship to study in this prestigious institution. For a young woman like her, who’d spent her teenage years in a country where everyone praised the occidental lifestyle, she had been more than thrilled to experience it. Until she landed.

The africanophobia was not the worst of it, racism she’d cruelly learned to swallow, however their mistreatment was something Diatah didn’t prepare herself for.

They were also black. Weren’t they? Certainly not the same features as her, more occidentalized — still, what about those who came from the same land as her? They accommodated and it was now legitimate to treat her like a nuisance?

Diatah. The one resembling a lioness

Her father sure gave her quite a name !

Misfortune she’d thought came to an end when she’d encountered Nimue and Shantal during her sophomore year — both women came mid-semester from an international exchange program.

Texas, Nimue had proudly clarified.

They were different.

Never did they shamed Diatah for her complexion. Neither for her African origins.

Those petty bullying were not their cup of tea.

Nimue and Shantal aimed higher.

They accepted Diatah in their group, loved and appreciated her. Then started sending her to some ridiculous errands.

A coffee to fetch.

Homework to do additionally to her own.

Conversations she wasn’t invited to participate in.

Bags to carry because Nimue just did her manicure and couldn’t hold her own purse.

Money lent and never returned, because friends always got the back of each others.

Little innocent remarks on her body, because they want her to be a baddie too.

Diatah was sure. It was all good. They were simply looking after her.

Well, that Saturday, after the Junior Ball game, she started doubting of their good intentions.

“Every group needs a duff. And I’m so happy to have Diatah with us.” Nimue had expressed, glossing her lips.

“Don’t get her wrong Tah. We love how strong you are. Thanks God you here to put these lame ass away.” Shantal had added.

Diatah had laughed bitterly, realizing that finally no friendship came without a price.

Yet, wasn’t it better to be a Designated Ugly Fat Friend than the poor African immigrant who doesn’t know how to fit?

The first semester end gracefully for Diatah, despite everything she scored higher than average and kept the scholarship.

Summer arrived merciless, she spent it plainly between part-time jobs, moving out into a new apartment, taking time to send money home in Ghana. In short, the joy of being an international African student abroad.

Laying down in her bed, she scrolled through Nimue and Shantal Snapchat stories — the girls were constantly out : parties, picnic at places Diatah had shown them, beach activities…

They didn’t invite her to none of it.

“It’s alright. I rather stay home anyway. It would have been awkward if I was there…” Diatah mumbled to herself, zapping the TV.

Later that day, her phone buzzed — while she was busy preparing for her part-time job.

Nimue: hey girl, wyd? My hg make a party tonight I was wondering if you in?

Diatah widened her eyes, reading the text over and over again to find the trick.

Perhaps did she meant to send it to Shantal?

Nimue:???

Back to earth, she hurried to reply.

Diatah: yes, tell me the hour and adress

Nimue: 9PM. Can me and Shantal come to your place to get ready? Our dorm room too small and yk how the supervisors are…

Ha. Here was the trick after all.

She already gave her word. It would be troublesome to say no now.

Diatah : alright.

After hitting sent, Diatah hurried to catch the next bus. Being late to noon shift at Burger King was criminal.

Anyway — she arrived five minutes late. Be assured that her manager will make sure to cut it off her salary.

She left the restaurant at seven and arrived home at seven and forty. Fifteen minutes later Shantal and Nimue were calling her apartment’s number.

Towel wrapped around her water-dripping body, Diatah answered the call and heard their footsteps climbing the stairs already.

“Hey girl.” Shantal voice interrupted behind the screen door.

Diatah inhaled sharply and opened her entry, a convenient smile plastered on her face.

They made themselves at home, a bit too much to be exact — monopolizing the bathroom that even the rightful tenant had to use a small mirror sitting in the living room to put her makeup on.

Shantal and Nimue left the bathroom gorgeous, bold and beautiful. One had a tank top and jeans with red heels on, the other a micro laced dress with platform shoes.

“Di…Diatah?” Nimue stuttered, grazing her friend up and down.

She heard Shantal swallowing by her side.

The woman before their eyes was different from the gloomy nerd they used to see wandering around the faculty’s hallways.

“Ah excuse me. Is that too much?” Diatah asked genuinely, taking in her micro-skirt and low-cleavage flared blouse — with care she’d oil up her deep brown skin, glistening every strikes mapped on her hips, stomach, high-thighs and top breasts.

It was her first girl’s night out, so she might have overdone the glam? Her face was sculpted, baked and glossed with a brown-cream combo — Hair slicked with bold aesthetic edges. Cherry on top, she wore her nipples heart-shaped piercings — outlined under the white blouse —, bohemian wooden bracelets, rose gold bellybutton’s jewelry that glint slightly when she swayed her hips.

And, at the bottom of her outfit sat a pair of mid-length open-heels, pretty match for her white painted toes.

“You’re so pretty Tah, that’s—” Shantal began, truly mesmerized.

“That’s too much…yeah.” Nimue cut, frowning and dusting invisible dust off her lace dress. “I mean— you gorg’ babe, but it’s just a small party no need for allat. And…” She burnt a hole on Diatah’s plushy stomach. “I think a mid-length dress can suit you better. I love when you put dresses on!”

Hesitant, Diatah sighed silently and turned on her heels, searching through her closet. She was not an idiot — but refused to admit that Nimue of all women, the same Nimue prettiest of prettiest, could possibly see her as a threat. And to be fair, she’d said small party. Maybe Diatah had just overdone it.

She got a hold on a cheetah dress, mid-thighs, then grimaced.

“This one a bit…” she murmured to herself, biting her lower lip.

No judgment. Diatah had been shopping clothes for years now, swearing each time to start investing in her nightlife.

It was cricket until today, of course.

“We down, hurry up a bit” threw Shantal, shutting the door behind them, purse in hand.

“Oh yes. Give me just five minutes.”

Diatah pressed her lips together and stepped into the dress, tugging the fabric up over her generous hips, adjusting the thin spaghetti straps on her shoulders. The cheetah print stretched across her voluptuous chest, nipped at her waist, stopped mid-thigh. She smoothed a hand down her round stomach once and behind, on her backside.

As time was running against her, she picked the first mule — a pair made of the same cheetah print and Marabout feather fanning across the toe strap.

She crossed to the small living room mirror — the same one she’d done her full face in while Nimue and Shantal had monopolized the bathroom to themselves —

“Wipe a bit here…” she smooched her lips and remove a bit of gloss that was spoiling her brown combo. “Yeah more like it…”

Music was blazing from the two stories house when Shantal parked her BMW across the street.

Diatah had a knot in her stomach, she never been comfortable around a crowd.

She breath in and out, wearing her same poker face, laying flat her edges staring at the small mirror she brought.

“Nimue !” A group of guys came over as soon Nimue stepped out the engine. She was followed by Shantal who slightly turned around to lock the car and Diatah who was now finding the hem of her dress too high on her curves.

A tall, mahogany complexion and goat trimmed-bear guy leaned down to kiss the two girls on the cheeks, “sup’ girls?”.

Shantal whimpered amused with all teeth out. The guy arrived at Diatah’s stance — poor girl didn’t know how to act. Whether to lean in to receive a smooch or stay put — and tapped on her shoulder, “it’s cool seeing ya’ll there.”

Diatah clocked the attitude. She didn’t mention it though. It wasn’t unusual. She stood behind the two girls, clutching her purse under her arm, fingers tight on her hem, ankles jewelry clicking to the rhythm of her heartbeat.

The group moved toward the entrance talking over each other — she fell in step behind them, pulling her phone out, feigning to scroll on Instagram.

This party will be long.

“Hey Tah ! Come on, don’t stay behind like that girl.” Nimue said over her shoulder laughing, the same guy holding her waist. “We having fun tonight, don’t be weird honey.”

“I brought a book for her in case” Shantal added, walking backwards to Diatah. “Come on you all better pour a strong shot for my girl.”

Who read a fucking book at party?

What was her problem?

Diatah put on a convenient smile, struggling to hide her annoyance.

They get it. I’m your pushover, let it rest now. She thought, walking inside the booming house.

The group of boys steered them through the packed group of people toward a sofa near the staircase — fluff, animal printed pillows, already warm from whoever had been sitting there before. Nimue dropped into it first, crossing her legs, her phone out before she even settled. Shantal squeezed in beside her, angling her body, chin down, and they fell into it naturally — snapping pictures, checking, reshooting, laughing at notifications on the screen between them.

Diatah sat at the edge of the cushion, eyes moving across the room. She wasn’t told to join, so she stayed still, already imagining how to get out of this mess.

The guy who tapped on her shoulder earlier offered a playfully restrained grin, looking at her up and down.

She was fine. And she knew it — from head to toes. Still, his gaze made her uncomfortable. It was full of something, a flicker of attraction maybe, she wasn’t sure…until he lowkey named it.

“Y’all three from East London Uni?” He asked dampening his lower lip.

“Yeah and no. We from Texas just there only for the two semesters hopefully.” Shantal responded, making herself comfortable in the sofa.

“And Diatah is a Ghanaian immigrant here so, prolly getting back soon?” Nimue added, turning head to her direction.

Diatah bit her tongue. “Hopefully so.” She answered.

“Oh. You African?” The guy mentioned with a lower, more plain tone.

“Yes.” She shot back, — invisible brow lifted — with more irritation she should have.

“That’s cool. My mom Sierra Leone and my dad from Brazil. We settled here years ago.” He said cheerily.

For a moment, Diatah’s guards fell down. She smiled back at him — in corner.

The tension didn’t escaped Nimue radars.

“Come on nigga, we thirsty.” She interrupted. standing up.

“Oh— right, what you girls wanna drink? I’m goin to make it. Tell me”

“Henny and coke, no ice.” Nimue uttered, scanning the space over his shoulder.

“Make it two.” Shantal added, singing some verses of Ciara’s song that was bleeding through.

He turned to Diatah last, smirking and waiting.

Before she got a word out, Nimue’s hand landed briefly on his arm — “Tah not picky, something sweet will do.”

Diatah rolled her eyes. She wasn’t having it this time. “Actually I’ll have some rum and lemon please.” She crossed her calves, making her jewelries sing. “Ton of ices too.” She laughed.

Shantal clocked the whole exchange — Diatah’s eye roll,Nimue’s dumbfounded face after — and bit the inside of her cheek, swinging her gaze deliberately toward the dancefloor.

“Yo Jay, Smoke not coming, I prolly—”

Halfway to the bar, Jay turned his attention to the stairs.

“What? Stack you leaving?”

The whole party went silent. Or at least that’s how Stack felt it when his eyes fell on Diatah — taking in her rich deep brown oiled complexion, her white painted toes brushed by the fanning Marabout feathers’ shoes. He slowed up, looking at the luxurious gold ankles contrasting her skintone, the way her cheetah dress molded her curves — glancing at her stomach, he peeped a bellybutton jewel’s shape.

Mesmerized, he — unwillingly — rushed his eyes all up her face.

She bad. Like real bad.

He couldn’t read much into it. She was keeping him captive.

“Huh-huh. Just tellin’ you Smoke won’t be there tonight.”

Diatah held his gaze a moment then traveled her eyes all over him — a tall, lean figure man with pecan colored skin. His almond shaped eyes lighted with deep brown irises ; he wore a goatee beard cleanly trimmed on his flexed jaws.

Diatah squinted her eyes, grazing across his features — a sharp fade tapered clean to his temples, hairline crisp against his smooth golden skin. His nose was long and flat at the bridge, lips full and resting easy. He wasn’t smiling, not quiet, instead he was throwing at her an interesting grin.

Her heart pounded hard in her chest, though she let nothing appeared on her face.

It was the first time a man of his caliber stared at her with such intensity.

Well, she couldn’t have possibly experienced it since she never let any men come close to her. She had her share of cruel, painful heartbreak — weaving between unrequited love, being hide and dumped.

Stack’s brows sat low over his eyes that hadn’t shifted off her once since he’d stopped walking.

His outfit was casual : two earrings on ear ear. A chain against his collarbone, short enough to sit flat on his chest. Black tee that matched black jeans, silver bracelet on his wrist.

Diatah pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and turned her eyes somewhere else.

He was hot. A damn fine mess.

Handsome was an understatement and she wouldn’t sit there and let him catch her agreeing with it.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

“Hey.” He finally broke the ice, addressing the group of girls.

Nimue and Shantal didn’t hide their spark of interest. Though Shantal laid low, playing hard to get, Nimue — who was already up —, padded few feet toward his direction.

“Hey, I’m Nimue. We’ve never met, right? You seem familiar.”

Catchy. Could’ve do better.

Diatah hated.

“Stack.” He drank from his cup. “I don’t know where we probably met, I would have remembered.” He sneered, glint in his eyes.

“Hmm. For sure you would.” She replied, honeying the edges of her voice. “This is Shantal.” Nimue pointed to her bestfriend’s spot.

“Evening.” Shantal replied simply.

Stack nodded then backed his attention to Diatah, whose face was turned ahead to the party booming around them. “And you are—?”

He didn’t bother misplacing his interest. Through the way he was drinking in her body, her attitude, her strict pretty face.

She was the one he wanted to find about — her name, where she from, her favorite color, her hobbies, what she doing there, is she a good kisser? — with scrumptious lips like hers, the answer was evident — how she moved in bed?

“You’re staring.” Diatah finally spoke, swaying her hips on the cushions — her gaze shooting fire.

“Oh. Do I ?”

Nimue cleared her throat. Not oblivious to the bubbling, electric tension.

“Aww Tah come on don’t be weird.” she walked back to the sofa, settled in middle of Diatah and Shantal then grabbed Diatah’s thigh, tapping atop of it. “She’s shy, excuse her. Tah don’t really do parties but we dragged her out tonight, she not used to this kind of vibe. She’s more of a stay home type.”

“You better not be calculating how fast you can get back home right now, Tah” Shantal laughed cozily playful. “better be here than KFC, don’t you think.”

Stack didn’t laugh. Didn’t react the way Shantal’s tone was fishing for. He didn’t understand the KFC line. And it wasn’t that important.

Diatah flicked her eyes to Shantal who was brushing Nimue’s forearm, laughing genuinely.

Mentioning KFC because she was fat. Of course nobody would try digging if she was a regular customer or simply worked there. First option always fit best their perception of fat bodies, anyway.

All that circus for a man. What a waste.

Shantal was right on something though : she was definitely calculating how she could get the fuck out of this party.

“Here you go girls.” Jay’s voice cut across the room. “Two Henny and coke and a lemon rum.”

“Thank you Jay.” Shantal cheered, picking the two henny drinks.

Diatah leaned over and took hers. “Diatah, by the way.” She said, glancing at Stack. “My name.”

“Nice to me meet you Diatah.” He smiled.

After trying too many times to hit on Stack, Nimue seemingly gave up and dragged Shantal somewhere else in the house to dance, leaving Stack and Diatah alone.

“You keep staring, you’ll lose your sight.” She said, putting her cup down on the coffee table.

“Don’t show up delicious next time and I won’t.”

Diatah frowned for seconds, grazing him up and down.

There would never be another party.

He chuckled, showing off his dimples. “And clearly you could use a friend right now.” He laughed. “Yours kinda shit.”

A man like him always came up with a price and truthfully she was too broke to afford it. Or at least she thought so.

“Answer by yes or no.” Diatah uncrossed her glazed thighs. “You got a fetish?”

Stack widened his eyes, blown away by her question and the seriousness on her tone when she asked it.

“I love pretty women, that’s it.” He bite inside of his mouth. “And right now… there’s nothing about you that doesn't turn me on.”

Stack caught her off guard.

Suddenly drown by waves of nervousness, Diatah’s fingers twitched on the hem of her cheetah dress.

In films, books and even the pieces she read online on blogs — men wasn’t usually bold at first meeting.

She rubbed her thighs shyly yet still suck her tongue. “That wasn’t a yes or no.”

“Let me get you out of there and I’ll tell you.”

Diatah pushed herself up from the cushion, her curves jigging with the motion — hips swaying out, tits bouncing and filling out her cleavage, the dress riding a half inch higher on her thighs before she tugged it down once and reached for her purse.

She walked toward the exit without a word, mules clicking a path through the crowd and out the front door.

Stack’s jaw tightened.

He fell in behind her, eyes dropping the second she turned her back — locked on the roll of her voluptuous curves under the dress, the way they wiggled with each step, her deep brown oiled skin catching every light she passed under.

Her aphrodisiac perfume threaded back and wrapped around him before he could breathe around it : myrrh with undertones of cinnamon and orange.

He liked it.

Outside, the night’s cold wind hit them both. “I’m parked over there.” He lifted his chin toward the direction.

She crossed the street behind him, arms folded against the cold biting at her bare shoulders. Of course Diatah was reluctant to get in a stranger’s car. Still, it seemed better than the alternative of being Shantal and Nimue’s punching ball for the rest of the night.

His car was a cherry red ford, crouched low at the kerb. He swung his side open and gave her a look over the roof.

She let herself in, sat straight, and arranged the hem across her lap with two fingers.

As soon as Stack got inside,he turned the engine over with a low rumble and pulled from the kerb without rush, one hand resting at the bottom of the wheel.

“And where are we going?” He asked.

“Just drive me somewhere.” She replied, short.

She cut him a look without elaborating. The streets outside were still lit — off-licences glowing orange, a night bus pulling heavily from its stop ahead of them. He signaled right and let a cab pass before easing through.

“Why are you even hanging with these girls?”

Diatah pressed her lips together and sucked her teeth, clearly embarrassed. “They’re not that annoying. Just…they just got a certain type of humor that’s all.”

“The type of making fun you ‘cause you’re prettier than them?”

She chortled. “You think I’m pretty ?” She arched a brow.

“I do.”

She shook her head, amused and unconvinced then drifted her eyes to a chicken shop pass on her side, yellow sign buzzing, two guys leaned against the wall outside in puffer jackets with their hands buried in their pockets.

They reached a traffic light at red and Stack stopped the car, fingers tapping once on the wheel then going still.

Diatah studied his profile from the corner of her eye. The jaw, the clean line of his fade catching the red glow, earring glinting at his ears.

This man had an attitude — unbothered, calm, playful? All at once?

Her heart started drumming. Inaudibly at first then loudly. So loud she feared he would hear it.

“You definitely got a fetish.” She mumbled, deflecting.

Stack scoffed. “That what you want to believe?”

Diatah didn’t answer. She folded her arms on her chest and exhaled : “London is beautiful at night.”

Stack sighed, returning his gaze on the road ahead. “Yeah.”

Four blocks away, he turned off the main road without signaling, parking in front of a convenience store — who apparently was going to close. Diatah grabbed the door handle on instinct, ready to step out, thinking he decided to drop her off here.

“Wait. Give me a minute.” He brushed the top of her hand a second before walking into the store.

She watched him through the lit glass — the store nearly empty at this hour, one bored attendant at the till, Stack moving down an aisle with a rushing expression on his face, hands in his pockets.

Diatah exhaled through her nose and sank back against the seat. “What am I doing here…?”

She didn’t know this man. Didn’t know where he lived, what he did or if Stack was even his real name.

She doubted it.

He reappeared at the till, set a few things on the counter. The attendant bagged , he tapped his card and was back outside.

He sat into the driver’s seat and tucked the bag behind her headrest without a word.

“What did you buy.”

“Curious, ain’t we?” He cocked a smirk, squinting his almond brown eyes.

“Do what you want.” She turned her head, skimming the rain drops that wee now weeping from the sky.

Stack drove back and merged into the thin late traffic, rain pouring hard and relentless, fogging the road, thickening against the windshield. He flicked the wipers up a notch without looking away from ahead.

“You gon’ tell me where we’re headed or I gotta guess.” Diatah crossed her thick leg over the other, angling herself toward the window, though her eyes kept cutting back to him every few seconds.

He glanced at her quickly, then back on the cars in front of him. “You always this impatient or is it just me?”

“It’s you.” She retorted flat, fighting a grin.

He laughed, grumbling in his chest and took left after a roundabout, the tires hissing against wet tarmac as the shopfronts and their lights gave way to hedgerows dripping under the weather, gates set back off the road with intercoms rusted at the posts.

Diatah sat up a little straighter, unfolded her arms, taking in the change of landscape.

“Is this where you kill all your victims?” She kept her tone light, teasing, but her fingers pressed tightly the seam of her dress against her thigh.

“Only the cute ones.” He picked the grocery bag on backseats without breaking his line on the road.

“You’re an ass.” She giggled nervously.

“So I’ve been told.” He eased off the accelerator.

Diatah leaned toward her window, staring at a streaming water that pulled into view — a lake, maybe a reservoir, she couldn’t tell with this little light, but it stretched far enough that the far bank sat swallowed in mist and shadow.

Rain dimpled the surface in a thousand places at once, each ripple swallowing the last before it had time to spread.

Stack slowed the car to a crawl along a gravel track running parallel to the bank and parked beneath a tree wide enough to keep most of the rain off the windscreen.

He cut the engine off and looked at her. “How you feel?” He lowered the window of his side.

“Cold.” Diatah rubbed her palms down her bare arms, the heater ticking as it cooled with the engine off. “If I knew it would rain, I would’ve thought twice before running off with you.”

“Running off?” Stack repeated it amused and turned his gaze toward her direction. “You walked out first, if I’m remembering right.” He opened the bags in his lap.

“Details.” She waved it off, watching him pull out two chicken cheese sandwiches and pass it over. “You picked a chilly park. Coulda taken me anywhere and you chose here.” She kept complaining, rubbing her thighs together, the breeze caressing her skin.

“You said somewhere.” He shrugged, tearing his own wrapper open. “This is somewhere.”

“That’s a cop-out answer.”

“It’s an honest one.” He took a bite, chewing as his eyes traveled to the water, rain still needling the surface in restless little circles.

Diatah unwrapped hers slower, taking in his sudden distant tone. “Still…I’m surprised.”

“Hm?”

“You don’t strike me as a romantic type. One that drives girls out to a lake.” She bite her sandwich.

“Maybe you don’t know what type I am.”

Diatah chuckled, uncrossing her legs. “Maybe.” She gave up on the idea of scrolling the hem of her dress down. “Or maybe you just didn’t want to take me home.”

She internally cursed at her own stupidity as soon as the words spilled from her lips.

Diatah already came to accept the fact that she would never be the kind of girls guys hook up with or publicly flirt with or sort of any social interaction in the genre.

She was fine having a medium sexual life with average looking men — she was not even attract too — that hid her like cholera. And moreover, this one, Stack was just being nice and friendly. And it was okay.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean—”

“Not yet.” He licked the cheese off the tips of his fingers and grazed his eyes over Diatah’s voluptuous body from her face — clinging to her lush breasts, skimming her glossy thighs — to her painted toes, on which his irises dilated hungrily. “I thought after this terrible party you might want to chill. Sorry I didn’t expect the rain. We could’ve sat closer to the lake.”

Diatah’s breath hitched. She cleared her throat and busied her hands with the sandwich, folding the wrapper back over the half she hadn’t touched.

“Rain’s not so bad.” She mumbled shyly. “I don’t melt.”

“Didn’t expect you to.” Stack laughed pleasurably entertained. He cracked the seal of his bottle of water. “You always this hard on yourself?”

“I’m not hard on myself.” She frowned, totally defensive.

“You apologized for a sentence you ain’t even finish saying.” He tipped the bottle back, drank, staring at her over the rim of it.

Diatah opened her mouth, closed it twice in row, and backed down, focusing her attention on the bucolic landscape instead, watching a duck she hadn’t noticed before paddle out from the reeds along the near bank, cutting a slow path through the rain-pocked water.

“Guess I’m used to people finishing my sentences for me.” She explained it to the window glass rather than to him. “Usually not kindly.”

“I’m not people.” Stack set the bottle back in the cupholder. “And even if I was fixing to finish it for you, wasn’t gon’ be cruel about it.”

She glanced at him sideways, gauging whether he was lying or saying the truth, but found nothing except that same playful, easy expression.

“My mother would hate this.” He chuckled.

“What?”

“Sitting in a car,feeding a girl junk food from a corner shop instead of taking her to eat a proper meal.”

“Running a strict program?” Diatah asked, finally relaxing.

“And do.” He held her gaze for a moment before releasing it. “She’s a doctor. She worked in humanitarian field to be exact.”

“Ah.” Diatah breathed, slightly annoyed.

Humanitarian huh. The ones that help the poor African get access to health?

She clacked her tongue inaudibly, rolling her eyes.

“I’m stopping you there ma’am, fix your face. She’s not doing white people fetish porn about saving the poor African babies. That’s some white people shit. Fuck them and their hero syndrome” He raised his finger clearly offended and Diatah cupped her face, bursting in laugh.

“Moreover she had more mission in East Europe, Orient and in the US.” His eyes turned sad. “I spent half my childhood watching her patch people up in places most folks wouldn’t send a postcard from.”

Instinctively Diatah rest his palm atop of his, warm and reassuring.

“She would have had something to say about wasting a night at park instead of doing something useful with my hands.”

“Useful like what.”

“Studying. Volunteering. Anything that wasn’t sitting still.” He rubbed his thumb along hers. “We moved around a lot chasing her work. I stopped counting the schools after the fourth one.”

“Sounds exhausting.” She retrieved her hand in her lap.

“It was. I missed Louisiana sometimes.”

“Louisiana?”

“Yes ma’am. That’s where I’m from. My mom is from Nola and my dad is a northerner, Chicago.”

Poor Diatah, she aggressively struggled to tell him how bad she was at geography.

“You can’t place them right?” He laughed mockingly.

“Shut up.” She murmured, flustered.

Stack lit his phone and tapped on iPhone map.

He leaned over, crowding her body with his — almost cheeks to cheeks, breathing hot against her lips.

“Here.” He first showed his home address, then New Orleans and a random place in Chicago. “My bad for showing a coffee shop in Chicago. I don’t know the exact place where my dad from.”

He returned to his seat, leaving Diatah’s heart beating abnormally.

“Well. It doesn’t matter now. With my parents and brother we settled in London. Mama reconvert into a simple doctor. Should’ve done that when we were young but anyway.” He spoke lightly but Diatah caught on the sad undertone.

“Accra.” She said. “That’s where I’m from. Well my grandma’s place at least, and I mostly grew up at her house, so…” She beamed reminiscing. “My parents’ place had very authoritative rules. So I loved to run away from it.”

She flattened her head against the window. “My mémé had a goat that ate my school shoes once and nobody even got mad about it. I remember my mother came and with her mom they just laughed at my expense.”

Diatah turned her head and caught Stack pressing his lips, eyes laughing. “Don’t. Stack don’t you dare—”

“HAHAHAHAHA— eurgh”

“…laughing.”

“A goat ate your shoes?”

“Brand new ones. Stop laughing it was traumatic.”

“Alright…okay…PFFT HAHAHA.” He caught his breath. “Did he chew even?”

“Go fuck yourself.” She exhaled.

“Do it for me.” He slurred.

Diatah’s mouth fell open scandalized and she shoved his shoulder, laughing despite herself. “You’re vile.”

“You started it.” Stack caught her wrist before she could pull it back, holding it there loose against his chest, thumb tracing slow along the inside of it. “You told me to fuck myself. I’m just offering better options.”

“Let go of my hand.” She whispered uncertain, her heart skipping a beat, betraying.

“You want me to?” He didn’t let go, drinking in her face, his smirk fading the longer she remained silent.

Diatah’s breath went shallow, the rain poured wildly against the roof, windows fogged thick, hiding the lake behind grey glass — leaving just the two of them and the small space between their seats.

“If I give in to my desires, I'll  have  to deal with the consequences  of  their actions.” She hushed, chest warm and heart kicking out its cage.

“Then, let me own those desires for you tonight.”

Stack’s thumb stilled against her pulse point. He glided his eyes to her lusciously glossed lips then leaned in slow, giving her every chance to pull back if she wanted to, his breath lukewarm against her cheek before capturing her lips.

He held her chin, fluttering, grazing long up to her jaw carefully, like she might change her mind if he rushed the moment.

Diatah’s fingers curled into the front of his shirt, steadying herself onto him.

He kissed her feverishly, caressing her lips patiently, softly and she melted into it despite her nerves and each cell of her body telling her to stop. That he would go back to his life after undoing her, this late night in front seat of that cherry red Ford.

Despite all, she whimpered, abandoning herself to his loving caresses, consuming years of loneliness on his lips.

When Stack pulled back, his forehead came to rest against hers, both of them panting in the small fogged-up space.

“Yeah.” He grunted softly. “Figured you’d taste like that.”

“What—what are you saying now...” Diatah’s fingers stayed knotted in his shirt, her chest rising fast against his, — nipples jewelries chafing against the fabric of her cheetah dress — and before she continued deflecting, Stack dipped back into it again, crashing his lips against her, passionately biting her bottom lip between his own.

His grunts muffled with Diatah’s whines as she slightly arched her spine off the seat, one knee lifting to press against the console as his palm slid from her jaw down the column of her throat, thumb dragging along her collarbone where the cheetah print had slipped a half inch.

He groaned low against her mouth, losing his hand in the curve of her waist, gripping her softness like he meant to pull her fully across the console into his lap.

Then out of blue his phone rang, the vibration rattling the cup holder’s plastic loud enough to cut straight through the haze they’d built between them.

“Course now.” He retreated back from her, and snatched the phone up with a scowl.

He unlocked it. “Yeah.” His jaw ticked, eyes cutting to the roof of the car. “Yeah I know…I’ll explain when I’m home. I’m out right now…yeah.” He suck his teeth and hung up. “Sorry ‘bout that.” He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling through his fingers. “It was my brother.”

Diatah scooted back into her own seat, tugging the hem of her dress straight over her thighs. She dragged her eyes everywhere except on his face. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine. Don’t worry.” He scratched the back of his head. “I’m sorry I’ll have to drive you home, my brother is—”

“Don’t worry. You can drop me the nearest bus station. It’s emergency I understand.”

“There’s no way I’m dropping you alone at this time. What’s your address.” He brought the engine to life, rounded the tree and made his way back on road.

“I really don’t want to bother, I got a peeper spray on me, I can—”

“Diatah look at me when I’m speaking to you.” He rasped. “Please.”

She sighed and turned her head.

“Good.” He clenched his fingers tight on the wheel. “You’re funny. Stunning. Smart.”

“You don’t know me enough to say all of that.”

“Touché. I do know enough to say that you kiss like a Goddess though.”

“What are you—” she began, embarrassed.

“What I mean is. Don’t be your own enemy, don’t let your own mind screw up your self-esteem. And dump those mean girls. They don’t deserve your friendship and you know it.”

“Just a kiss and you turned into a philosopher?” She teased, smirking. “I’m wondering what the kitty can do.”

“Wanna find out?” He stopped the car midway, unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned closer, studying every feature of her face. He could hear her heart pounding, drumming one beat after the other. “You trying to get a man in trouble talking like that?”

“Never told you to behave.”

She shifted in her seat, angling her body toward him, cleavage sagging down and loose over her swaying breasts. Her nipples jewelries scraped off the fabric with each inhales and her perfume flew over Stack nose, overwhelming the confined space.

She shuffled — the hem of her dress hiking high up her thigh — and stared at him through half-lidded eyes, her glossy lips parting slightly.

“You seem uncomfortable down there. Is everything cool?”

Stack shut his eyes and cleared his throat before backing away.

He lost at his own game.

“So. Your address?”

Diatah laughed, honest and free.

“Thank you for the advice.” She drew circles on the window’s glass. “I know, they’re not good friends. It’s just…at least they’re there.”

A heavy silence fell in the car.

She tapped her address on the GPS and they drove quietly to her neighborhood.

She climbed off the car and he caught her wrist. “My name is Elias. Friends call me Stack so you can keep doing it if you want.”

“Alright. Stack.”

“Can I have your number?”

“Why are you asking for something that’s already in your phone?” She winked at him and set her wrist free, disappearing inside her building.

The Unwanted Inheritance

Elijah's apartment in Jackson was his sanctuary of order. Every surface gleamed, every book was arranged by color and height, and the faint scent of leather and wood hung in the air like a promise of control. His life was meticulously curated chaos, the kind only he understood, and only he could manage.

The phone buzzed on his granite countertop, vibrating against the marble like an unwelcome intrusion. Elijah wiped his hands on a dishtowel and glanced at the caller ID.

Great-Aunt Maeve.

"Hey, Aunt Mae," he answered, his voice smooth as Mississippi mud. "How you feeling?"

"Boy, don't 'how you feeling' me," she shot back, her voice raspy from seventy-six years of living. "I'm moving to that home tomorrow, and you know what that means."

Elijah leaned against his kitchen island, already feeling the headache coming. "Means you're finally getting someone to cook for you every night instead of burning water like you been doing since Uncle Ray passed."

"Don't get smart with me, Smoke. You always was the smart one. That's why I need you to do something for me."

"Anything, Aunt Mae. You know that."

"I need you to take Marmalade."

Elijah straightened up so fast his back cracked. "Hell no."

"Now listen here—"

"No, you listen." Elijah started pacing his living room, hand running over his close-cut fade. "I don't do pets. I don't do hair. I don't do unexpected messes. You know this about me."

"Marmalade ain't just a pet. He's family."

"He's a cat, Aunt Mae. A cat that's probably older than me and twice as stubborn."

"That's why he can't come to the home. They got rules about animals. Plus—" She lowered her voice conspiratorially—"he's got too much devil in him for them folks at the home. Last week, he knocked over Mrs. Henderson's walker just to watch her scramble."

Despite himself, Elijah smiled. "Sounds like he got good taste."

"Don't you start. I need you to take him. Just until I get settled and figure out what to do."

"Can't Elias take him?"

"Elias?" Aunt Mae laughed like she'd just heard the funniest joke in Greenwood. "That boy'd probably teach him how to roll blunts. You know he can't keep nothing alive but a good time and a hard dick."

Elijah rubbed his temples. "Aunt Mae, with all due respect, my life ain't set up for no animal. I travel. I work long hours. I like my shit how I like it."

"Blood means something, Smoke. That cat's blood to us now. Ray found him behind the garage when he was just a kitten, eyes still closed. Fed him with an eyedropper. You remember how Ray was about that cat."

Elijah did remember. His uncle had been a man's man—hardworking, quiet, with hands calloused from fixing everything in Greenwood that broke. But he'd loved that orange cat like it was his own child, carrying it around like a baby, talking to it in that low rumble that made everyone lean in to listen.

"Uncle Ray been gone three years now," Elijah said softly. "Time to let that cat go."

"Some things you don't let go of. Some things you carry with you." Aunt Mae's voice thickened with emotion. "Please, Elijah. For me. For Ray."

Elijah closed his eyes, already knowing he'd lost. "Fine. But I'm finding him a new home soon as I can."

"Thank you, baby. I'll have cousin Andre bring him over tomorrow."

The next day, Elijah was knee-deep in contracts when his doorbell rang. He ignored it—probably another delivery he hadn't ordered—but the ringing persisted, growing more insistent. Finally, he yanked open the door to find his cousin Andre standing there with a cat carrier that looked like it had survived a natural disaster.

"Where you want this thing?" DeAndre asked, already backing away like the carrier contained explosives.

"I didn't know you were coming today," Elijah said, stepping aside. "Come on in."

"Nah, man, I ain't staying. Aunt Mae said drop and run." Andre shoved the carrier into Elijah's hands. "Good luck with that devil cat. He bit my girl when we tried to get him in the carrier."

Before Elijah could respond, Andre was jogging down the hall, disappearing around the corner like the hounds of hell were after him.

Elijah stared at the carrier, then at his pristine apartment, and sighed. "Well, ain't this some shit."

He set the carrier down in the middle of his living room and unlatched the door. Nothing happened. He waited. Still nothing. Finally, he crouched down and peered inside.

Two golden eyes stared back at him, narrowed with what looked like pure contempt. The cat was indeed orange—deep, marmalade-colored with white patches on his chest and paws. He was chunky, with a belly that swayed when he finally stood up, and one ear was torn at the tip, giving him a permanent roguish look.

"Come on out," Elijah said, his voice softening despite himself. "I ain't gonna hurt you."

The cat took his sweet time, stepping out with grace despite his bulk. He shook himself, sending a cloud of orange fur into Elijah's carefully maintained air, then looked around the apartment like he was inspecting troops.

"Name's Marmalade, huh?" Elijah murmured. "Can't say I'm feeling it."

The cat ignored him, trotting directly to the kitchen and, with surprising agility, leaping onto Elijah's pristine white countertop. He then proceeded to knock over the glass of expensive whiskey Elijah's been sipping on, watching it shatter with what looked like satisfaction.

Elijah's carefully constructed calm cracked. "Lord have mercy, what the hell is wrong wit'chu?"

The cat blinked slowly, then started licking his paw like nothing had happened.

That night, Elijah established the rules. "You sleep in the living room," he said, pointing to the expensive cat bed he'd bought on his way home from work. "Not in my room. Not on my bed. We clear?"

Marmalade responded by jumping onto the back of the sofa and staring at him with unblinking eyes.

Three times that night, Elijah carried the cat from his bedroom back to the living room. Three times, Marmalade returned, finally settling on Elijah's face like it was his personal throne, purring like a motorboat with a bad muffler.

Elijah woke up suffocating in orange fur and cat breath, pushing the cat off only to have him return with what sounded like judgmental purring. "This ain't gonna work," Elijah muttered, stumbling to the kitchen for coffee.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

The refrigerator door stood slightly ajar, and inside, the container of leftover catfish from last night's dinner was tipped over, empty except for a few bones and a puddle of fish juice.

Elijah stared at the mess, then at the cat, who was now washing his face with meticulous care. "How?" was all he could manage.

The cat looked up, meowed once—a sound suspiciously like a laugh, and then returned to his grooming.

As Elijah cleaned up the mess, he found himself smiling despite the disruption and the mess and the audacity of this five-pound orange creature who had invaded his perfectly ordered life. There was something about the cat's nerve, his complete disregard for Elijah's carefully constructed boundaries, that reminded Elijah of his brother Elias, and maybe, just maybe, of a part of himself he kept buried under all that control.

"Alright, Marmalade," Elijah said, scooping the cat up despite his half-hearted protests. "We'll try this for a week. But you gotta learn some manners, boy."

The cat responded by draping himself over Elijah's shoulders like a stole, purring.

Elijah sighed, but didn't put him down. "Yeah, yeah. You got me. But don't think this means you run things around here."

Marmalade purred louder, clearly calling his bluff.

—

The Great Escape

Two weeks into his unexpected tenure as a cat owner, Elijah had developed what he called "The Marmalade Protocol." It was a simple, three-point system designed to maintain order in his life: 1) All food containers were now cat-proof; 2) No surface was left unattended for more than five minutes; and 3) All windows remained closed at all times.

But on a sweltering Tuesday in May, Elijah made a fatal error. He'd been cooking, something he rarely did anymore since Marmalade had developed an uncanny ability to appear whenever food was present, and his apartment smelled like garlic and butter. Taking out the trash, he cracked the kitchen window just an inch, thinking, "What's the harm? He's asleep on the couch."

The harm, as it turned out, was substantial.

Elijah returned from the dumpster to silence. Not the usual silence of his orderly apartment, but an empty, heavy silence that made the hairs on his arms stand up.

"Marmalade?" he called, his voice casual. "Come get your treat."

Nothing.

He checked the usual hiding spot, under the bed, behind the sofa, inside the closet he'd left slightly ajar that morning. Still nothing.

A knot formed in Elijah's stomach. "Marmalade!" he called again, louder this time. "This ain't funny, boy. Come on out."

The apartment remained stubbornly, terrifyingly empty.

Elijah's search became methodical at first. Room by room, he checked every possible hiding place, moving furniture, opening cabinets, calling the cat's name with increasing urgency. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. The knot in his stomach tightened with each empty space he discovered.

"Okay," Elijah said to himself, running a hand over his close-cut fade. "Okay. Think."

He called Elias.

"Yo," Elias answered, background noise suggesting he was at the bar he managed downtown.

"Have you seen Marmalade?" Elijah asked, his voice tighter than he intended.

Elias paused. "The orange devil? Nah, why? He finally escaped?"

"He's gone, man. I can't find him anywhere."

Silence on the other end, followed by a burst of laughter so loud Elijah had to pull the phone away from his ear. "You serious? The mighty Smoke, ruler of all he surveys, done lost a five-pound cat?"

"Elias, this ain't funny," Elijah snapped, his accent thickening with stress. "That damn cat's got my good sense. I been looking for almost an hour."

"An hour?" Elias howled. "Smoke, you been owned. I knew that cat had your number the moment Aunt Mae talked you into taking him."

"Can you help me or not?"

"Hell no. I'm busy. But I'll pray for you. Pray you find your little orange master before he finds some other sucker to torment."

Elias hung up, still laughing.

Elijah stared at his phone, frustration mounting. He hadn't felt this out of control since—well, since he'd agreed to take the cat in the first place.

Twenty minutes later, Elijah was taping "LOST CAT" flyers to telephone poles around his neighborhood, feeling ridiculous. The flyers featured a slightly blurry photo of Marmalade looking unimpressed, with Elijah's number printed below.

"Looking for orange tabby cat," Elijah muttered as he taped another flyer to a stop sign. "Answers to 'Marmalade.' Approximately twelve pounds, one torn ear, attitude problem. Reward offered."

He'd never felt so foolish in his life.

A group of neighborhood kids watched him from across the street, whispering among themselves. The oldest, a girl of about ten with braids and braces, finally approached him.

"You lost your cat, mister?" she asked, her voice serious.

Elijah nodded. "Yeah. Have you seen him?"

"What he look like?"

"Orange. Fat. Mean-looking."

The girl's eyes lit up. "Oh! We seen him! The orange cat who sits on cars like they his throne?"

Elijah's shoulders relaxed. "That's him. Where'd you see him last?"

"Yesterday," she said. "He was chasing squirrels over by Mrs. Henderson's house."

"Which one is that?"

The girl pointed down the street. "The one with all the garden gnomes. Can't miss it."

Elijah pulled a twenty from his wallet. "Thanks. If you see him again, call me." He handed her one of his flyers.

The girl looked at the money, then at Elijah. "We'll help you look. Right, guys?"

The other kids nodded, suddenly eager to assist. Elijah found himself leading a search party of children through his upscale neighborhood, calling "Marmalade!" at regular intervals.

They searched for an hour with no success. Elijah's frustration was mounting, his carefully maintained calm cracking at the edges. The kids were getting restless, and Elijah was about to call it quits when he heard it, a faint meow that sounded suspiciously like a demand.

"You hear that?" he asked the kids.

They shook their heads.

Elijah followed the sound, walking faster as it grew clearer. Three blocks from his apartment, he rounded a corner and stopped dead.

There, in the middle of a backyard garden party, sat Marmalade on a pristine white tablecloth, calmly eating shrimp off a silver platter while the party guests watched in amusement.

Elijah stood frozen for a moment, torn between relief and embarrassment. The cat looked up, saw him, and deliberately knocked another shrimp onto the ground before returning to his meal.

Taking a deep breath, Elijah approached the table. "Ma'am," he said, his smooth voice betraying none of his inner turmoil. "I do apologize for this... creature."

The hostess, a woman in her sixties with perfectly coiffed silver hair, smiled. "Oh, don't worry about it, dear. He's been the entertainment of the afternoon. We were wondering who he belonged to."

Elijah scooped up Marmalade, who protested with a meow that sounded suspiciously like a complaint. "He's supposed to be at home. In my apartment. Where he belongs."

"Well, he certainly knows how to make an entrance," the hostess said, patting Marmalade's head. "And he has excellent taste in shrimp."

Elijah managed a tight smile. "That he does. Again, my apologies."

As he turned to leave, one of the other guests called out, "He's welcome back anytime!"

Elijah didn't respond, just kept walking, Marmalade draped over his shoulders like a scarf, purring.

The trip home was quiet, Elijah stewing in a mixture of relief and irritation. Marmalade, meanwhile, seemed thoroughly pleased with himself, occasionally butting his head against Elijah's cheek in what felt suspiciously like gloating.

"You know," Elijah said as they approached their building, "for a minute there, I was worried. I was thinking, 'What if something happened to him? What if he's hurt?' And here you are, living your best life at some garden party."

Marmalade responded with a particularly loud purr.

"Unbelievable," Elijah muttered, but his hand came up to stroke the cat's back anyway.

That night, after Marmalade had eaten his weight in expensive cat food and fallen asleep on Elijah's favorite jacket, Elijah quietly installed childproof locks on all his windows. As he worked, Marmalade watched from the sofa, his golden eyes following Elijah's every move with what looked like amusement.

"You think this is funny, don't you?" Elijah asked, tightening the last screw.

Marmalade blinked slowly, then rolled onto his back, paws in the air, completely exposed and vulnerable.

Elijah sighed. "Yeah, I know. You're just a cat. You don't understand concepts like boundaries or personal property or the fact that I nearly had a heart attack this afternoon."

The cat stretched, then stood up and made his way to Elijah, rubbing against his legs before jumping into his lap.

"Alright," Elijah said, scratching behind Marmalade's torn ear. "We'll call it even this time. But next time? Next time, I'm sending you to Elias' house."

Marmalade purred, already planning his next escape.

—

The Sickness Scare

Three months into what Elijah had privately dubbed "The Marmalade Era," a fragile truce had settled over his apartment. The cat still slept on his face, still occasionally opened the refrigerator, and still regarded Elijah with the air of a disgruntled landlord tolerating a particularly annoying tenant. But they'd found their rhythm. Elijah had learned to keep his whiskey glasses away from the counter edge, and Marmalade had learned that Elijah's expensive leather jackets made superior beds to the floor.

So when Marmalade didn't greet Elijah at the door on Tuesday evening, Elijah didn't immediately panic. The cat was probably sleeping, or plotting his next escape, or judging Elijah from some high perch where he couldn't be reached.

But dinner came and went with no sign of the orange menace. The wet food Elijah spooned into Marmalade's designer bowl remained untouched, a personal offense in Elijah's carefully curated world.

"Marmalade?" Elijah called, his voice casual as he searched the apartment. "Come get your dinner, boy. It's that salmon stuff you like."

Nothing.

He found the cat under his bed, curled into a tight ball of orange fur. When Elijah reached for him, Marmalade didn't protest or try to escape. He just lay there, breathing shallowly, his usually vibrant eyes dull and unfocused.

"Hey," Elijah murmured, stroking the cat's back. "What's wrong, lil' man? You not feeling good?"

Marmalade responded with a weak meow that barely made it past his teeth.

Elijah's calmness began to fray. He checked the cat over, finding no obvious injuries, no signs of a fight. Just... lethargy. And the untouched food.

"Alright," Elijah said, more to himself than to the cat. "Let's not panic. Maybe you just ate something you shouldn't have. Again."

But as the night wore on, Elijah's concern grew. Marmalade refused water, refused treats, refused to move from his spot under the bed. Every hour, Elijah checked on him, finding the cat in the same position, breathing growing more labored.

By morning, Elijah's controlled exterior had completely cracked. He paced his living room, hands clenched at his sides, his mind racing through worst-case scenarios. Poisoning. Injury. Some mysterious cat disease that would require expensive treatments and possibly end in heartbreak.

"Stop it," Elijah muttered, "You're being ridiculous. He's probably just got a stomach ache."

But when Marmalade refused to even lift his head at the sound of the can opener, Elijah made a decision.

Twenty minutes later, Elijah was driving his truck through Jackson like he was in a high-speed chase, weaving through traffic with a single-minded focus that would have impressed his tactical training instructors. The cat, secured in a carrier on the passenger seat, remained unnervingly still.

"Come on, Marmalade," Elijah muttered, glancing over at the carrier. "Don't do this to me, boy. Don't you dare do this to me."

The 24-hour emergency vet clinic was bright and sterile and smelled of antiseptic and fear. Elijah carried the carrier inside, his heart pounding with an intensity that surprised him. He'd faced down armed insurgents in Iraq, negotiated with cartel leaders, and stared down the barrel of more guns than he could count. But this—this small, orange creature in a plastic carrier—had him sweating.

The waiting room was crowded with worried pet owners and their sick companions. A woman with a shaking chihuahua in her lap, a man cradling a golden retriever with a bloody paw, a teenager crying softly over a cat in a carrier similar to Elijah's.

Elijah found an empty chair and set the carrier down beside him, his leg bouncing with nervous energy. He checked his phone, then put it away. Checked it again. Put it away again. His hands kept clenching and unclenching in his lap.

"Elijah Moore?"

Elijah looked up to find a young vet tech in scrubs smiling at him. "Jasmine, right?" he said, recognition dawning. "We met at the community center last month."

Jasmine's eyes widened. "Mr. Moore! I didn't expect to see you here. I thought you were more of a... people person."

Elijah managed a tight smile. "Things change. It's my aunt's cat. I'm just... temporary custody."

"Well, let's take a look at him," Jasmine said, reaching for the carrier.

Elijah hesitated, then handed it over. "He hasn't eaten in about 24 hours. Barely moving. Just lying around."

"Don't worry," Jasmine said, her voice reassuring. "Dr. Chen is the best. We'll figure out what's going on."

As she carried the carrier toward the examination room, Elijah felt something he hadn't felt in years, helplessness. He could manage teams and handle crises. But this? This was beyond his control.

Forty-five minutes later, Dr. Chen, a woman in her forties with kind eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor, approached him.

"Mr. Moore?" she said, extending a hand. "I'm Dr. Chen. We've examined Marmalade."

"And?" Elijah asked, his voice tighter than he intended.

"Well, the good news is it's nothing life-threatening," she said, smiling. "The bad news is it's going to require some... intervention."

Elijah waited, hands clenched at his sides.

"Marmalade has what we call a hairball blockage," Dr. Chen explained. "Common in long-haired cats, but orange cats are particularly prone to it. He'll need to stay overnight for observation, and we'll need to administer some medication to help him pass the blockage."

Elijah felt the tension leave his shoulders in a rush. "So he's going to be okay?"

"He'll be fine," Dr. Chen assured him. "But we'll need to keep him here tonight. You can pick him up tomorrow afternoon, assuming everything goes as expected."

"Can I see him?" Elijah asked, surprising himself with the question.

Dr. Chen nodded. "Of course. Follow me."

Marmalade was in a small recovery cage, IV drip in his leg, looking miserable but stable. When Elijah approached, the cat lifted his head weakly and meowed.

"Hey, boy," Elijah murmured, reaching through the bars to stroke the cat's fur. "You gotta stop tryna kill yo'self, lil' man. This ain't the way."

Marmalade responded by licking Elijah's finger with a dry tongue.

"I'll be back tomorrow," Elijah promised. "You just rest up. We got special food waiting for you at home. Prescription stuff. Expensive as hell, but you're worth it."

The cat closed his eyes, purring faintly.

The next day, Elijah picked up Marmalade with a bag full of prescription diet food, medication, and detailed instructions from Dr. Chen. The cat, while still subdued, was clearly feeling better, meowing periodically and even attempting to escape his carrier.

That night, Elijah set up Marmalade's special bed beside his own, complete with a heated blanket and a new toy he'd bought on impulse. He administered the medication, fed the cat the expensive prescription food, and settled in for a night of what he expected to be fitful sleep.

But sleep wouldn't come. Every creak of the building, every sigh from the cat, sent Elijah bolting upright to check on him. By midnight, he'd given up on his own bed entirely, choosing instead to sleep on the floor beside Marmalade's bed, waking every hour to ensure the cat was still breathing.

"You're being ridiculous," Elijah muttered to himself around 3 AM, adjusting his position on the hardwood floor. "The cat's fine. Dr. Chen said he'd be fine."

But still he stayed, unable to tear himself away until the first light of dawn crept through his windows.

He must have drifted off at some point, because the next thing he knew, Elias was standing over him, phone in hand, grinning like the devil himself.

"Well, well, well," Elias said, his voice dripping with amusement. "Look what we have here. The mighty Smoke, sleeping on the floor for a cat."

Elijah sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What are you doing here? How'd you get in?"

"Spare key you gave me last year, remember?" Elias said, waving the key in question. "And I came to check on my favorite nephew. Seems like I came just in time for the blackmail material."

Elias held up his phone, displaying a picture of Elijah asleep on the floor, Marmalade curled up beside him like they were some modern-day holy family.

"Delete that," Elijah said, reaching for the phone.

"Hell no," Elias said, stepping back. "This is going in the family group chat. Aunt Mae needs to see how her favorite nephew has been domesticated."

Before Elijah could protest, Elias had sent the picture, his phone buzzing almost immediately with incoming messages.

"You're a dead man," Elijah muttered, pushing himself to his feet.

"Love you too," Elias called over his shoulder as he let himself out. "Tell the orange devil I said hi!"

Elijah watched him go, then turned his attention back to the cat, who was now awake and looking at him.

"Don't you start," Elijah warned, pointing a finger. "This is all your fault."

Marmalade responded by standing up, stretching, and then leaping onto the nightstand to knock Elijah's phone onto the floor with deliberate precision.

Elijah stared at the cat, then at his phone, then back at the cat. Relief washed over him so strongly it made his knees weak.

"After all that fuss," Elijah muttered, scooping the cat up and burying his face in orange fur, "you just fine, ain't you?"

Marmalade purred, loud and obnoxious and unrepentant.

—

The Visitor

Three months after the hairball incident, Elijah had found a new kind of normal. Marmalade, now on a strict diet of prescription food and regular grooming, had lost some weight and gained a new level of confidence. The cat still regarded Elijah with occasional disdain, but there was an understanding between them, a fragile truce built on mutual tolerance and Elijah's willingness to admit that, sometimes, the orange bastard won.

Which is why the upcoming date with Nia felt like such a big deal.

Nia was a curator at the Mississippi Museum of Art, all sharp wit and soft smiles, with a mind that moved as quickly as Elijah's but with a warmth that drew people in. They'd met at a gallery opening—Elijah reluctantly accompanying Elias who was there to "network" (i.e., flirt with anything that moved), and spent the entire night discussing Southern artists and systemic inequality in art funding.

He'd been thinking about her ever since.

The day of their first real date, Elijah took the morning off work to prepare. His apartment, usually pristine, received the deep-clean treatment of a surgical suite. He vacuumed, dusted, polished surfaces until they gleamed, and then turned his attention to the real problem.

"Alright, Marmalade," Elijah said, scooping up the cat who was watching him with suspicion. "We need to talk about tonight."

The cat blinked slowly.

"This is important. This is Nia. The woman from the museum. The one with the laugh that makes my chest feel bubbly"

Marmalade yawned.

"So here's the plan," Elijah continued, carrying the cat to the bedroom. "You're going to stay in here tonight. I've got your food, your water, your favorite toys. You'll be comfortable. You'll be safe. And most importantly, you won't be able to ruin my life."

He set Marmalade down on the bed, where the cat immediately started kneading the expensive comforter with his claws.

"No," Elijah said, gently removing the cat's paws. "Not the comforter. I just bought this."

Marmalade responded by jumping onto the nightstand and knocking over Elijah's cologne bottle.

"You're doing this on purpose," Elijah muttered, cleaning up the spill. "I know you're doing this on purpose."

After securing the bedroom door, double-checking the lock, even wedging a chair under the handle for good measure, Elijah turned his attention to dinner. He was making gumbo, a recipe his mother had taught him, the kind of meal that said "I'm serious about this" without having to actually say the words.

At 7:00 PM, right on schedule, his doorbell rang.

Elijah took a deep breath, smoothed down his shirt, and opened the door to find Nia standing there, looking like something out of a dream in a white dress that set off her mocha skin perfectly.

"Hey," she said, smiling. "I come bearing wine and high hopes."

"Hey yourself," Elijah replied, his voice smoother than he'd intended. "Come on in."

Nia stepped inside, her eyes widening slightly as she took in his apartment. "Wow. This is... really nice, Elijah."

"Thanks," he said, taking the bottle of wine from her. "I try."

Their conversation flowed as easily as it had at the gallery—art, politics, family, the strange experience of being Black professionals in Jackson. Elijah found himself relaxing, his usual guardedness melting away under Nia's warmth.

They were on their second glass of wine, discussing the challenges of preserving Black Southern art traditions, when they heard it.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

Both of them turned toward the bedroom door.

"What's that?" Nia asked, brow furrowed.

"Nothing," Elijah said quickly. "Probably just the building settling."

Scratch. Scratch. THUD.

The bedroom door swung open, and there stood Marmalade, looking triumphant.

"How did he—?" Elijah started, but before he could finish, the cat trotted directly to Nia and leaped into her lap with the grace of a small, orange predator.

"Oh!" Nia exclaimed, laughing as she started petting him. "Well, hello there. You must be the famous Marmalade."

Elijah watched in horror as the cat—clearly sensing an opportunity—deliberately knocked over Nia's wine glass. Red wine spread across her white dress like blood from a wound.

"Oh my God," Elijah said, jumping up to grab paper towels. "I am so sorry. I don't know how he got out. I locked the door."

"It's okay," Nia said, dabbing at the stain with a napkin. "It's just wine."

But Marmalade wasn't done.

The cat climbed from Nia's lap to the table, took a few steps, and then proceeded to regurgitate a hairball directly onto the remaining clean portion of Nia's expensive white dress.

Elijah froze, his smooth charm evaporating. "Oh, I am so sorry," he said, his voice cracking with disbelief. "I—I don't even know what to say right now."

Nia looked down at the mess on her dress, then at the cat, who was now grooming himself like nothing had happened, and then at Elijah. And then she started laughing.

Not a polite chuckle, but a deep, genuine laugh that made her whole body shake.

"It's okay," she said, wiping tears from her eyes. "Really. I have three nephews. I've been peed on, pooped on, and puked on more times than I can count. This is nothing."

Elijah stared at her, relief washing over him so strongly it made his knees weak. "You're not mad?"

"Baby, I'm impressed," Nia said, still laughing. "That cat has better timing than a comedian."

But Marmalade, apparently feeling that the evening wasn't quite ruined enough, had one more trick up his sleeve.

The cat disappeared into the bedroom and returned moments later with something in his mouth. He trotted to the table, jumped up, and dropped his prize at Nia's feet.

A box of condoms.

Elijah's face burned with embarrassment. "I—those aren't—I don't know how he got those—"

Nia picked up the box, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, now. That's forward, even for a first date."

Elijah buried his face in his hands. "I am so sorry. I'm going to kill that cat. Slowly."

"Don't you dare," Nia said, scooping up Marmalade and scratching behind his ears. "I like him. He's got character."

The date ended early, but not in disaster. Nia, still laughing, promised to call him tomorrow to reschedule. As he walked her to the door, she turned and kissed his cheek.

"Next time," she whispered, "maybe we meet at my place. Just in case your cat has any more... presents to share."

Elijah watched her go, then turned back to his apartment, where Marmalade was now sitting on the sofa.

Elijah sighed, but his hand came up to stroke the cat's back anyway. "You know, for a minute there, I thought I'd blown it."

Marmalade purred louder, rubbing his head against Elijah's cheek.

"Yeah, yeah," Elijah muttered. "You're a genius. A five-pound orange genius who's going to cost me my sanity."

But as he stood there in his ruined evening, cat purring on his shoulders and the memory of Nia's laughter still fresh in his mind, Elijah had to admit—maybe a little chaos wasn't so bad after all.

—

The Acceptance

Six months after Marmalade's dramatic entrance into his life, Elijah's morning routine had transformed in ways he'd never anticipated. Where once he woke to the sterile silence of his alarm clock, he now rose to the rhythmic vibration of purring against his chest. The cat, now sleeker from his prescription diet but still gloriously orange, had claimed Elijah's body as his personal sleeping quarters every night since the hairball incident.

"Morning, lil' man," Elijah murmured, voice thick with sleep as he stroked the cat's back. "You let me breathe tonight or you tried to suffocate me again?"

Marmalade responded by butting his head against Elijah's chin, a gesture that had become their version of a handshake.

Elijah slid out of bed, the cat immediately following him to the kitchen like a furry shadow. As he prepared coffee, Elijah grabbed a mug from the cabinet, a gift from Nia that read "Cat Dad: Fueling Chaos Since 2026." He didn't even notice the irony anymore.

His apartment had slowly undergone a similar transformation. The minimalist art he'd carefully selected now shared wall space with prints of cats in various poses of disapproval. The leather throw pillows he'd splurged on were now supplemented with cat-shaped ones that Nia kept "accidentally" leaving behind. His life, once a testament to control and order, had become a carefully curated chaos.

The change hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Damn," Elias said, leaning against Elijah's kitchen counter three weeks after Nia had officially become his girlfriend. "When did my brother's apartment turn into a cat shrine?"

Elijah didn't look up from the eggs he was scrambling. "It's called having a life, Elias. You should try it sometime."

"Nah, this ain't just having a life," Elias said, picking up a ceramic cat figurine from the bookshelf. "This is domestication. My brother done gone soft."

Elijah finally turned, spatula in hand. "It's called adaptation, nigga. Look it up."

Elias laughed, but his eyes held something like concern. "For real though, Smoke. You good? This ain't like you."

"I'm good," Elijah said, turning back to the stove. "Better than good."

As if on cue, Marmalade trotted into the kitchen and wound around Elijah's legs, purring like a motorboat.

"See?" Elijah said, pointing down with the spatula. "Even the devil cat agrees."

Later that evening, after Elias had left and Nia had come over for dinner, Elijah found himself talking to Marmalade while cleaning up.

"You know," he said, scraping leftovers into the cat's bowl, "you been behaving better lately. Almost like you're trying to impress Nia."

The cat, now sitting regally on the counter, blinked slowly.

"Don't give me that look," Elijah continued, washing dishes. "I see how you act all sweet when she's around. Then soon as she leaves, you're back to knocking shit off tables and opening my bedroom door."

Marmalade meowed, then jumped down and trotted to the door, looking back expectantly.

"What? You wanna go out?" Elijah asked, drying his hands. "It's almost dark, man. You know the rules."

The cat meowed again, more insistently this time.

Elijah sighed. "Fine. But we're not going far. And if you try to pull that garden party shit again, I'm leaving you there."

Five minutes later, they were walking around the apartment complex, Marmalade on a leash that Elijah had bought after the Great Escape. The cat, once resistant to any form of restraint, now tolerated the leash with the dignity of a king allowing himself to be escorted.

"You know," Elijah said as they walked, "you've come a long way. Remember when you wouldn't even let me touch you without trying to take my hand off?"

Marmalade looked up at him, then rubbed against his leg.

"Yeah, I know," Elijah said softly. "You're a good little dude... when you ain't bein' the devil."

They walked in silence for a few more minutes before Elijah spoke again. "You know what we're doing tomorrow? We're going to the community center. Ms. Johnson said the kids in the after-school program have been asking about you."

The cat looked up at the mention of the community center, his tail twitching with what looked like recognition.

It had started two months ago, when Elijah had brought Marmalade to the center for a check-up, and the kids had gone wild over the orange cat. Now, they visited twice a month, Marmalade serving as an unofficial therapy animal for kids who needed a soft, warm body to cuddle.

"They love you," Elijah said, reaching down to scratch the cat's head. "Especially little Jamal. He's been talking about you all week. Says you're his 'orange angel' or some shit."

Marmalade responded by rubbing his face against Elijah's hand, purring.

"Yeah, yeah," Elijah murmured. "Don't let it go to your head."

The next day, after they visited the community center, where Marmalade had indeed been little Jamal's orange angel, Elias stopped by unexpectedly.

"Yo," Elias said, letting himself in. "Brought beer. Thought we could catch the game."

"Beer's in the fridge," Elijah called from the living room, where he was sitting on the sofa, Marmalade curled up beside him.

Elias grabbed two beers and joined them, settling into the armchair. "How'd it go at the center today?"

"Good," Elijah said, stroking the cat's back. "Jamal read to him for twenty minutes. Said Marmalade's his best audience."

Elias watched them for a moment, his expression unreadable. "You know, for a minute there, I thought you were gonna get rid of him after that garden party incident."

Elijah smiled, then leaned down and kissed the cat's head. "Nah. He grows on you."

Elias' eyes widened. "Did you just kiss that cat?"

Elijah straightened up, his face flushing. "No."

"I saw you," Elias said, grinning. "You kissed that cat right on his orange head."

"I did not," Elijah insisted, but his lack of conviction was telling.

Elias pulled out his phone. "I'm telling everybody. The mighty Smoke, kissing cats like they his babies."

Elijah lunged for the phone, but Elias was too quick. "Don't you tell nobody. I'll deny it to my grave."

"Too late," Elias said, typing furiously. "Aunt Mae's gonna love this."

Elijah flopped back onto the sofa, defeated. "I hate you."

"Nah, you love me," Elias said, pocketing his phone. "And you love that orange demon too. Admit it."

Elijah didn't respond, just kept stroking Marmalade's back as the cat purred against his side.

That night, after Nia had gone home and the apartment was quiet again, Elijah settled onto the sofa with a book. Marmalade jumped up beside him, circled three times, then settled on his chest like he'd been doing it his whole life.

"You know," Elijah murmured, closing his book and wrapping his arms around the cat, "I never thought I'd say this, but I'm glad Aunt Mae guilt-tripped me into taking you."

Marmalade responded by purring louder, the vibration soothing Elijah into a state of contentment he hadn't realized he'd been missing.

"Yeah, yeah," Elijah whispered, his eyes growing heavy.

As sleep claimed him, Elijah's last conscious thought was of how much his life had changed in six short months. The control he'd prized so highly had been replaced by something warmer, messier, and infinitely more rewarding.

The calm twin had found his perfect storm in a five-pound orange package.

In 1917, Elijah and Elias Moore left the cotton fields of Clarksdale, Mississippi and never looked back.

With just the clothes on their backs they made their way to Manhattan, where they enlisted and shipped off with the 369th Infantry Regiment. 

The Black Rattlers. 

The Harlem Hellfighters. 

191 days of front-line combat. Of trenches. Of gunfire and grenades. It changed them. But the Moore twins were carved by violence long before they set foot on European soil.

Their father used to beat them. Regularly. Mercilessly. From the time they were too young and weak to fight back. Then one day the pendulum swung. A sudden, bloody shift where the students finally outmastered their teacher. 

So they took a train up north.

By the time they came back from the war, they swore they’d never go back to Mississippi. Not to the cotton fields, not to sharecropping, not to their father’s shadow, and not to the klan or Jim Crow breathing down their necks. 

Harlem was where it was at. It was glittering, alive, musical, brilliant. It was expanding, demanding, thriving. Becoming. It was the Black Mecca of the north. Some folks called it a Negro Renaissance. A revival. 

Others would say it’s what should have been all along, but it never had the soil or sunlight to survive. Literati, intelligentsia, poets, physicians, engineers, singers, musicians, librarians—thinkers. Black folks in Harlem had the space to exist and expand.

The twins hustled from Central Harlem to Hamilton Heights. They joined the numbers racket in the 1920’s— providing enforcement, protection, punishment. 

They earned their nicknames in muscle, grit, and gunplay— 

The SmokeStack Twins. 

Smoke was the controlled violence, the calm hand. Stack was social violence with a smile.

Now more than a decade later they were flourishing. From 135th, to 155th, to the Hudson River— Hamilton Heights was their playground. 

And Sugar Hill was where they called home.

Taglist: @myheartsaysyes @theethighpriestess

Soooo what y'all think so far? Is this something you'd like to see me continue? 😬 Drop an opinion in the comments.

A few days later, a huge bouquet of flowers arrived for Annie. She read the card and saw the signature.

Yours Truly, E.M.

The card was quickly tucked away in her pocket while she let her family believe Christopher had sent them. Aunt Helen kept a knowing grin on her face anytime someone mentioned the flowers. Annie would be lying if she said she wasn’t impressed by Smoke’s gesture and a little curious to see him again if only to make sure he was doing what she told him. Maybe to see what it looked like when he was able to really smile.

As it was, their paths wouldn’t cross again for another few years after the SmokeStack twins went back up to Chicago to open a few jazz and blues joints, capitalizing on the rising popularity of the new soul music coming out of urban spots across the North. Last Annie had heard, they were getting some pretty big names on their stages and had left the gambling rooms behind. That didn’t keep her from imagining what it would be like to have him close to her like they were in his office and in the shack.

Life was moving quickly for Annie as well. Jeanie had finished her nursing program and married Frank Billings whose folks had a small church in Greenwood, and they both went up north to Chicago so she could get more nursing training than Mississippi offered colored folk. 

Pearline wanted bigger stages than the Delta juke joints offered so she went up to Detroit after hearing about some record label wanting to make a name for themselves with colored music.

Mamie and the doctor were expecting a little one soon and it had Big Mama blooming with joy at a new addition.

Fran refused all suitors and turned up her nose at the question of marriage. “Ain’t got much patience for no man or his babies.” Big Mama wasn’t too happy about it, but she learned not to push her girls too hard.

Well, she was learning. For Annie, she wanted nothing less than the best man. She tolerated Christopher because she knew his daddy was a respectable businessman and he seemed like a good boy. He just didn’t seem like the perfect fit for her Annie. Her cool nature towards Christopher was likely why he still hadn’t asked for Annie’s hand. It seemed Annie had cooled on him too. She hadn’t spoken about him in weeks and seemed content to spend her time making salves and balms in the herb shack with Marcy. For that, her grandma was thankful.

That didn’t stop other men from around town from calling on her and trying to have a word with DeLaurine about taking Annie’s hand. She turned most of them away and let a few leave their information for her to get around to later.

What she didn’t know is that her favorite grandchild’s mind was hundreds miles away thinking about the face of a man she wanted to see smile and the feeling of his hands clutching her as she stood tending his wound. 

It would soon become clear to DeLaurine that she wouldn’t have much choice in the man Annie married after her only son, Howard, Jr. burst in the door sobbing like an injured child.

She ran to him as Helen came from upstairs to see what was going on. “Junior, get up from that floor right now! Why you doin’ all that cryin’? What you done now?” She knew her son too well to know he had gotten himself into some mess and was now crying to her to get him out of it.

“Mama, I had to. I had to, Mama, I’m sorry.” Snot and tears ran down Junior’s face as he reached out for his mother.

Stepping out of his reach, DeLaurine looked at him confused. “What you talkin ‘bout, Junior? What you done now?” 

“Please, I had to, Mama! They was gon’ kill me, Mama.” He hung his head scared to look his mother in the eye.

Helen gasped. “Junior, no!”

DeLaurine looked between her children still not understanding what they were talking about. “What is this about, Helen? Somebody tell me somethin!”

“Where the deed at, Junior?” Helen asked shakily before her mother charged at her brother. 

“What she mean, Junior?” Her fists hit him any place she could reach. “What you do to my granddaddy deed, Junior?” She continued to pound at him before she was pulled back by Helen. “You better hope they kill you, Junior, because I’m gon’ make you suffer if you done give away everything we got!” 

Outside, Finny barked at the commotion alerting Annie who was in the herb shack with Marcy. They both ran into the house to see Junior on the floor and Big Mama trying to break from Helen’s hold on her. 

“What’s this, Junior?” Marcy didn’t doubt for a second that her brother had done something to incur the wrath of their mother. “What you done now?”

“He done gave everything away! He done took what my granddaddy built for us and gave it away!” The pain in Big Mama’s voice shook the walls. 

Marcy yanked Junior up by his shirt and stared at his pitiful face. “What she talkin’ ‘bout? Who got that deed, Junior?”

“The twins. Smoke and Stack,” Junior squeaked out. “They got me out of a bind with a gang in Harlem. The deed was all I had to give ‘em as collateral. I thought I’d have enough to pay ‘em back when the deadline came—”

“What you mean, ‘all you had’ Junior?” Helen screamed in rage still holding on to her mother. “You got daddy’s car and all his watches! Mama send your portion of the money we make every month!”

“I KNOW, HELEN! They already took everything from me. I ain’t have nothin’ left.” He dropped back down to the floor as each woman looked at him in disgust. “But the twins—if I can just get back to Chicago, I can set up somethin’ and get the deed back.”

“Fuck you, Junior. You gon’ give ‘em the clothes off our backs next.” Marcy stepped over him resisting the urge to put her heel in his ribs and went to her mother who had stopped fightin Helen’s hold. “Take mama to the den. Annie, close that door and lock it. We don’t need nobody else in here today.”

Annie did as her mother instructed and stepped over her uncle to follow them into the den. 

Helen led Big Mama to the couch like she was a grieving widow in church. “Annie, grab a fan and come over here.” 

Grabbing a church fan off of the mantle above the fireplace, Annie went to cool her weeping grandma down. Even at the age of twenty-one, Annie felt unprepared for the realities of adulthood. So many questions ran through her mind but she kept quiet as the tension in the room nearly smothered her.

“Somebody gotta go to Chicago,” Marcy said finally. “See if we can just pay the money back.”

“Then we makin’ deals with the devil, jus’ like Junior,” Big Mama scoffed dabbing at her eyes. “Annie, this why this family pray for girl children. Boys get sucked in by all that sin and let it destroy them and everybody around them.”

Junior walked in with his hands in his pockets. “That’s right, Annie. All our problems is because yo Big Mama was too much of a saint to toss me in the river when I was born and she knew she couldn’t put a big bow in my hair and keep me from the rest of the world until she saw fit. Or maybe she coulda tossed me in them woods she don’t like nobody goin’ into.”

“Don’t you talk to her!” Big Mama raised up from the couch. “You go out doin’ God know’s what with all I give ya and you come in here like I’m supposed to feel sorry for yo’ foolishness, Junior.”

“You don’t have to feel sorry for me, Mama, but can you at least feel somethin?” Junior screamed like each word was agony. “Would you have preferred it if I turned up somewhere dead?”

Big Mama looked away from him, her silence being enough to answer his question. 

He stormed out of the den and stomped upstairs. The slamming of a door made the windows downstairs shake.

Marcy guided Big Mama to sit back down. “You and Helen will go up to Chicago, Mama. See what y’all can do. I’ll stay here and make sure Junior stay in the house and word don’t get beyond these walls. What them boys gon’ do with three hundred acres and a farm they don’t know how to run anyway?”

“Sell it, Marcy,” Big Mama said glumly. “They just two thugs always lookin’ for quick money. They won’t think nothin’ ‘bout sellin’ this land.”

Annie bit her lip resisting the urge to speak up on their behalf. Her interaction with Smoke years ago still crossed her mind and made butterflies dance in her stomach. She shook her head knowing now was not the time to be thinking about Smoke Moore.

“Well even more reason to be on the next train outta here. Y’all can leave tonight and get there by mornin. I’ll call Nadine and Jeanie and let them know y’all comin’ up. I’ll jus tell ‘em ya comin’ up to see folks.”

Helen looked at Annie, tilting her head at how silent the usually chatty girl had been. “We takin’ Annie with us. Tell ‘em we bringin her on her first trip to Chicago.”

“No, you ain’t takin’ my baby nowhere.” Marcy pulled Annie back as if she was in imminent danger. 

Annie shrugged her mama off. “Ain’t no baby, mama. I can go with Big Mama and Aunt Helen for this.” Still, her eyes pleaded with Marcy to not disagree.

Marcy relented and nodded her head. “You be careful and don’t leave to go anywhere on your own.”

With her head still reeling from the news of today, Annie went upstairs to pack a suitcase for her first trip up north. She knew it wasn’t a cause to feel excited but she couldn’t help but feel a little giddy at the thought of seeing the city for the first time and seeing Jeanie and the rest of her family.

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

The ride to Chicago was quicker than Annie expected, even with two stops along the way one in Illinois where Black and white folks sat in the same train cars. Annie tried her best to not seemed surprised by everything.

Nadine met them at the train station with a radiant smile on her face. She dressed like she had stepped out of a magazine. “Lil Annie, come give yo auntie a hug girl!” 

Annie rushed over to wrap her arms around her aunt. “I missed you so much, Aunt Nadine.” She pulled back to smooth Nadine’s hair back into place. “I’m still wearin’ that dress you sent me for my birthday.”

They caught up as they walked to Nadine’s car and loaded their luggage in the trunk. “I been tellin’ Peter that we needed to get y’all up here. I know Mama don’t care too much for it but, Annie, you gone like Chicago. Jeanie at the house almost every week when she get time from work. How long y’all here for?”

“A week,” Helen said at the same time that Big Mama said, “A few days.” They looked at each other.

“A week,” Annie confirmed defusing the tension before it had time to build. She looked out the window at the tall buildings gasping in wonder at their height. She’d never seen anything like this in the Delta. Even Memphis didn’t have skyscrapers like these.

The three women would stay in Nadine’s finished basement that had a bed and a pullout couch. Annie got to meet some of her younger cousins who had never been down South. They had a lot of questions about living on a farm.

“Y’all really kill the pigs and eat ‘em?” Seven-year-old Margaret asked over dinner.

“Baby, you eating pig right now,” Peter laughed at his daughter’s expression when she realized the meat she had been eating was one of her favorite animals.

“Peter, don’t tell her that,” Nadine admonished. “We just got her to understand that broccoli don’t feel pain when you bite into it.”

After the kids and Peter went to bed, the women sat in the living room talking about various things and it came back to why they were in Chicago.

“So why y’all really here, Helen?” Nadine stared intently at her older sister. “I know it ain’t just about bringing Annie up north for the first time. Not with y’all just showin’ up like this.” She eyed Annie suspiciously. “Oh, Annie, you ain’t—”

“No, she is not, Nadine.” Big Mama was offended by the accusation that hung in the air. “My Annie don’t get up to the stuff summa these girls get up to. She grown now and we wanted to show her more than what she used to. Is that all right with you, Nadine?”

“Goodness, mama! It was only a question. I should’ve known better than to think you’d let her outta your sight long enough for anything like that to happen.” Nadine lit a cigarette and took a puff. “Still, I know Helen and she ain’t jus’ gone jump on a train in the middle of the night to Chicago without thinkin’ on it for a long time. Ain’t that right Helen?”

Shifting her eyes to Annie briefly, Helen sighed. “The girl was losin’ her mind down there. Needed a change real quick, right Annie?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Annie said stiffly. “Everybody got married or moved away so I wanted to come up see you and Jeanie.”

Nadine didn’t buy it but she knew better than to continue to press the issue and changed the subject to lighten the mood.

***********

Smoke Moore sat in his office going over the books for each club he and Stack owned. Smoke thought Stack was crazy when he suggested putting all of their money into three clubs with no gambling rooms where they put on the best up and coming blues and jazz singers. The sound was different than just blues or jazz. There was more of a rocking beat that fused the two together with the soul of gospel.

It was making its way through the urban centers all over the country and Stack wanted them to get in on it early enough to make a killing. Now looking at the profit they brought in from folks packing out their clubs to hear this new sound, Smoke was thankful they went all in.

He rubbed the side of his face, where a faint raised scar trailed down his cheek. It was only visible to people who stood too close and Smoke never let anybody stand too close. As he felt the scar, he thought to the envelope in his desk. He had thought about ways to see Annie Love again when the opportunity came in the form of her pleading uncle who needed help paying his debts to some gang leader in Harlem. He chose the twins because they were from the same hometown. They didn’t deal in loansharking but they were willing to help out a fellow Clarksdale native in this case.

Howard Love promised to pay them back but offered the deed to his family’s land if he couldn’t pay. Smoke never seen a more pathetic sight than a man offering up everything his family built just so he can run around pretending to be a big shot.

He had planned to take the deed back down to Clarksdale and deliver it to DeLaurine personally after the Rising Star competition they had going on ended tomorrow night. Maybe then she’d see that he was an honest man just trying to make a living. He wanted to hope that it would be his chance to see Annie again but he felt foolish thinking that somebody didn’t already take her hand and give her a baby. 

Realizing he was breaking his own heart, Smoke closed the ledgers in front of him, left his office, and went upstairs to observe the performers and the crowd from the second level. He sat in his usual chair that gave him a full view of everything happening below. Some folks from record labels stood along the railing watching the performers. They paid good money to get first pick of the next big names in music.

He lit a cigar giving it a short puff while he waited to be served his whisky neat. He tapped his feet along to the rhythm and scanned the packed crowd for any sign of trouble. Stack was on the other side of town at the other club while the smallest one was being managed by one of their military buddies, Buford ‘Bizzy' Jones.

His whisky was sat down next to him as the next musical act went on. A group of women with big hair and form-fitting dresses performed a fast-paced number that had the audience chanting for more. Smoke noted the men from the record labels talking back and forth obviously disagreeing on who would approach the group of women. 

He looked into the crowd again and saw a face that instantly made him stand up. Her hair had started to gray around the edges but he couldn’t forget the gentle face of the woman who only called him by his first name, like they were family. Helen Love. He looked around her and had to grab the railing in front of him to hold him steady. Annie Love was in his club in Chicago. Resisting the urge to run down into the crowd, he caught a glimpse of DeLaurine’s glowering face and felt his hopes to reconnect with Annie and Helen fade. They weren’t there to enjoy the music. They were there for the deed.

*******

Annie wanted nothing more than to get lost in the music and dance along with the crowd, but she knew they didn’t come here for that. She looked around seeing if she could find one of the twins. It didn’t take long to spot Smoke on the second level frowning at them. She knew he wasn’t one to smile much but the anger on his face didn’t sit right with her. She smiled and waved at him. He simply pointed to a door to the left of the stage where a man stood blocking it.

Grabbing her aunt and grandma, Annie led them through the crowd and to the door. “Mr. Moore is expecting us,” Annie smiled sweetly at the man who looked up at Smoke to confirm before opening the door and allowing them to enter.

Smoke made his way down the stairs like each step was a chore. “Can’t say I’m that surprised to see the Love women this far away from Clarksdale.” He brushed past them in the narrow hall. “My office this way.” He pointed to a door at the end of the hall. Inside he put out his cigar and sat in his chair, gesturing to the women to take the seats in front of the desk.

“Y’all havin’ fun in Chicago?” Smoke wasn’t one for many jokes but he needed somethin’ to lighten the mood. The expressions on the women looked like they were doing a funeral march. His eyes landed on Annie. The roundness of youth still appeared on her face but their time had obviously allowed her to blossom into a beautiful woman. The richness of her dark skin almost had Smoke bouncing in his seat. His calm façade was soon to fail if he stared at her any longer.

No one responded to his question. He cleared his throat and started to speak but was interrupted by DeLaurine’s harsh tone.

“You a evil man. Takin’ what don’t belong to you from somebody too stupid to know up from down,” she spat, her eyes raging.

“Big Mama!” Annie scolded like her grandma was a toddler that needed correcting.

“Hello to you too, Mrs. Love.” Smoke responded dryly. “Annie. Ms. Helen. Can I get y’all anything to drink?” His eyes lingered on Annie who was looking around the office trying not to meet his gaze.

“Don’t you go actin’ like you got manners now, boy, when you done tricked that worthless son of mine into givin’ up my granddaddy land!” She stood and beat her fists on the desks.

There was a time that Smoke would’ve cowered at the sight of DeLaurine’s anger. Now he kind of took pleasure in it. Here he was, doing good for himself despite the vicious things she said about him and his brother. She was at his mercy and she still talked to him like he was gum on her shoe.

“I ain’t trick nobody, Mrs. Love and I ain’t seek nobody out. Yo son came to me and I helped him because—“ He looked at Annie whose worried eyes burned into him. “We from the same place and I didn’t feel nobody needed to lose a child like that. Not even you.” His last words left no doubt of how he felt about DeLaurine Love.

“We can pay you back, Elijah,” Helen spoke up. “Surely Junior’s debt wasn’t as much as that land cost.”

Smoke shrugged. “Maybe without the interest. Yo brother got up to a whole lotta no good in Harlem and ran to Chicago when it got too hot for him.”

Helen’s eyes widened at the notion that her brother could’ve incurred that much debt. “Well what can we do to get the deed back? We can pay in installments.”

“I didn’t loan the money out in installments, Ms. Helen.” An idea rolled over in Smoke’s mind and he almost felt as wicked as DeLaurine thought him to be. “Annie, you like those flowers I sent you?” He took little pleasure in her panic as she looked away from him.

“Yes, Mr. Moore, they were very nice thank you.” Annie looked down at her lap, the tips of her ears burning.

“What flowers? Annie, what he talkin’ about?” DeLaurine looked at her granddaughter confused.

“It was a long time ago, Big Mama.” Annie refused to look her grandma in the eyes.

“You deserved much more than flowers, Annie. Look,” Smoke tilted his head to show her the spot where the cut had been. “Used that salve just like you showed me and almost no scar. Can’t even tell.”

DeLaurine started to connect the dots remembering the time Annie got a big bouquet of flowers three years ago after she had returned from out of town. “Annie! You had him in my house?!” She felt like she was losing control of everything. Her favorite grandchild snuck this thug into her house and hid it from her all these years. 

“Mama, stop all that. It was the herb shack and I was there with ‘em. Annie helped Elijah with a cut and he left. Ain’t much to get worked up over.”

Not knowing what to say, DeLaurine just sat back in her chair feeling betrayed by everyone in the room.

“Mr. Moore, I’m glad the salve worked for you but we still need to get that deed back.” Annie had to steer this conversation away from her before she melted in her seat. “I’m sure there’s somethin’ you’ll take in exchange for it. Seem like things goin’ well for you up here. How you gone run a farm all the way down in Clarksdale?”

“Hmm,” Smoke mused rubbing his chin. “You right about that. Ain’t never been good at tendin’ fields or herdin’ chickens.” He pretended to think on it more. “And I am willin to give the deed back over if we can come to an agreement. Maybe make some sort of arrangement.”

“What you want?” DeLaurine leaned forward prepared to accept whatever terms he set.

“Annie,” Smoke said simply.

“Mr. Moore!” “Elijah!” Annie and Helen said at the same time both looking at Smoke like he’d lost his mind.

“You can’t have my Annie. She ain’t part of this. She soon to be married anyway.”

Looking down at Annie’s hand in case he’d missed a ring, he sighed internally when he saw that her hands were bare. “Don’t look like she is. Is you, Annie?” He met her gaze and stared intently into her big brown eyes.

She hung her head and glanced down into her lap not quite sure how to take the way he was looking at her. “No, Mr. Moore.”

“Fine, just take the land! You won’t get my baby though.” DeLaurine stood up and tried to pull Annie out of her seat.

“Big Mama, stop!” Annie’s voice bounced off the walls. “I can decide this for myself.”

The older woman huffed and pulled her purse on to her shoulder. “Well I ain’t gone stay here for this bullshit. Everybody done lost their damn minds.” She walked out the door slamming it behind her.

“What you want with me, Mr. Moore?” The dread Annie expected to feel was genuine curiosity. What use could Smoke Moore have for her over the three hundred acres of land he now possessed?

“I reckon what any man want when he can’t get a woman off his mind for three years. I want your hand in marriage, Annie.”

Feeling every single emotion she could in that moment, Annie just sighed. “Aunt Helen, can you give us a minute?”

“You sure, baby?” Helen didn’t feel her niece was in any danger but she didn’t want her to feel like she had to do this alone.

“Yes, ma’am.” Annie’s voice was steady and sure. She waited for the door to close before leaning forward. “What you want with me, Smoke? What game you playin’ right now?”

He wasn’t sure how he felt about her calling him Smoke but he couldn’t help but feel something stir in him when she talked to him like that. “I want you, Annie. Don’t act surprised a man wanna make an honest woman of you.”

“I ain’t surprised.” Annie flipped her hair. “You ain’t the first, Mr. Moore.”

“Who else is it?” He clenched his fist. 

“Don’t worry about that. I marry you and then what? You’ll give back the deed to my grandma? We stayin’ here or you comin’ down to Clarksdale? I gotta sit at home while you tend to ya clubs all night? What you want with me?” Her chest heaved as her breathing grew heavy with each word.

“Annie, if you can tell me that you ain’t thought on me for the past three years, I’ll give you this deed and y’all can go back home and you can marry whatever boy too stupid to let you come to Chicago without him.”

She just folded her arms across her chest, not looking him in the eye. “That don’t mean much, Mr. Moore. I thought on a lot of things these past few years. Don’t mean I wanna marry ‘em.”

“But you ain’t thought about ‘em like you thought about me, huh? And we ain’t gotta marry tonight. Just let me show you I can be good to you.” He moved from behind his desk and sat beside her. Pulling her hand into his, he placed a soft kiss on it.

Annie’s breathing hitched recalling the time when Stack did the same thing. “This your idea of romance, Mr. Moore? No ring, you don’t get down on one knee?”

Smoke chuckled. “I’ll get you a ring.” He started to kiss up her arm but remembered her aunt was just outside the door. “I’ll get down on both knees if you say yes.”

“And you gone give the deed to my grandma, right?” Annie tried to ignore how close he was to her and the way it made her pulse quicken.

“Soon as we jump the broom,” Smoke promised pulling her hand to his chest so she could feel the way his heart beat for her.

Without thinking, Annie ran a finger along the barely visible scar on his cheek. “Then I guess you got a proposal to plan, Mr. Moore.” She walked out of the office without another word leaving Smoke to stare at the closed door, the scar on his face tingling like she had applied the salve again.

*********

Back at Nadine’s, Big Mama refused to say a word to Annie or Helen. Nadine brought it up to Helen who downplayed their mother’s bad mood.

“You know how she get when she been outta the Delta too long and folks don’t wanna do stuff her way.” Helen rolled her eyes. “She’ll be all right.”

Groaning, Nadine put her hand on her temple. “Helen, please stop this. What is going on? Is it Mama? Annie? What is happening?”

Helen just smiled weakly and patted her sister on the shoulder. “You talk to Frannie lately?”

The frustration on Nadine’s face switched to guilt at hearing the name of her firstborn daughter. “You know she ain’t want nothin’ to do with me. How she doin’? Found her a fella yet?” There were so many mistakes that Nadine had made when she had Fran at 15-years-old. She didn’t fight her mother when she insisted that Fran stay in the Delta when Nadine moved to Chicago to start a new life. Calls between them were usually Fran begging to join her mother up north and Nadine finding every excuse why that wasn’t possible.

By the time she was 14, Fran stopped calling altogether and referred to her as Nadine whenever they saw each other during the holidays.

“You sho ain’t talked to her then.” Helen laughed. “She say she don’t care to deal with no man or his babies. She gone help Mamie with her lil one when it come but she ain’t keen on havin’ one of her own.” 

A tear dropped down Nadine’s face at the reminder that she didn’t know her own child very well and she had no claim to her. “I guess that’s on me too, hm?”

“Not that one. That’s all ya mama’s doin’.” Helen couldn’t help but roll her eyes again. “She ain’t never made marriage seem like nothin’ much but a deal and a chore.”

The two sisters continued to talk and exchange stories through the night while Annie laid in bed trying to get her grandma to talk to her. In all of her life, Big Mama never gave her the silent treatment. But right now, with Annie’s future tied to a man she knew her grandma despised, the only thing she wanted to hear was that it would be okay.

“You gone be mad at me forever, Mama? Elijah say he gone give the deed back when we married. Ain’t that what all we work for? To keep the land with us? I ain’t much of a sacrifice if that’s what it come down to.”

Big Mama turned around to face Annie. “I’m gonna kill ya uncle when we get back. This his fault.”

Annie sighed. “Uncle Junior ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed but, Mama, we gone get the deed back. What make me so special that we need to let the twins keep our land?”

Sighing, Big Mama reached over and placed her hand on Annie’s face. “You special because you is, Angelise Lynn Love. Your soul is pure and it always was. I try to keep folk away that won’t do you no good. I know why that Moore boy want you, cuz he see the good in you too and he wanna take it for hisself.”

Placing her hand on her grandma’s, Annie sighed again. “He got good in him too, Big Mama. And my soul ain’t pure like you think.”

“Yes it is, Annie. That’s why you agreein’ to marry him to make sure we don’t lose everything. You know why I keep you close to me? Because I seen men like him destroy stuff they should’ve never been near. It happened with all my girls, even ya mama.” She took a deep breath. “When you was born, you was a small lil thing and you was sick. The midwife told us you probably wouldn’t make it long but I had a dream about you, Annie. You was stronger than anybody. And when I woke up, I knew that’s what you was gon’ be. Me, ya mama, Helen, Nadine, and even Big Margaret was in that shack night and day putting stuff together to help you get better and you did. I don’t know if it was the herbs or the prayer, but somethin’ worked. I knew then I had to keep the world from hurtin’ you. May have gone a little too far at times, but I needed to keep you safe.”

Annie had heard the story of her birth but never heard about the dream Big Mama had. It put more things into perspective but it didn’t change the way she felt in the current moment. It wasn’t like she was head over hills for Smoke Moore, she wanted to protect her family just like they had been doing for her and the best way was to get the deed back. “I think you did a good job of keepin me and the other girls safe, Mama but I think now it’s time for us—me—to see life for what it really is. It might hurt, but it gotta happen. If he good to me, will you be nice to him?” Annie didn’t want to live her life split between her family and her husband like her aunt Margaret, Mamie’s mama, who barely spoke to anyone in the family anymore.

Big Mama tutted. “You think he gon’ be?”

Annie nodded biting her lip, the wetness from her eyes seeping into the pillow. “Say he would. I’ll cut him if he not.” Her laugh echoed in the dark basement. “If I tell you somethin’ you won’t get mad, right?”

“Why, you burn down the house or somethin?” Big Mama giggled at her own joke. “Go ahead and say it.”

“I—please don’t get mad—when he left the shack that day, I felt like I wanted to see him again and I been feelin’ like that for a while now. Felt nice seein’ him tonight. I know you think that he evil or he the devil but that ain’t what it feel like to me.”

Big Mama closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, keeping the words on her heart to herself. “You gon go see him tomorrow?”

“Nope!” Annie smiled widely in the darkness. “If he want me, he’ll find me.”

A cackle erupted from Big Mama. “Always better when a man like you more’n you like him. Then he’d do anything to keep ya. If he hurt you though, I’ll kill him and that brother of his.”

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

“What the fuck is you sayin’ right now?” Stack Moore wasn’t sure if he should take his brother to the hospital or throw him in the lake. He poured another glass of bourbon and handed it to Smoke. “The same witch that put a gun to my head for foolin’ around with her granddaughter, just walked out when you said you wanted to marry another one of her granddaughters? No gun, no spells or shit?”

Smoke shrugged. “She ain’t wanna hear what Annie was gone choose. Hell, she was ready to give up the land over Annie.”

“Question is, why is you givin’ the land up over Annie? You don’t even know her.” Stack wasn’t keen on just handing the deed back over when they spent a lot of money bailing out Howard Love.

Lifting the bourbon to his mouth, Smoke shook his head before taking a sip. “You ever meet somebody and have them live in your bones? That’s what Annie’s like for me, Stack. She ain’t scared of me and she don’t think I’m the devil.” He ran his finger along the scar line. “It’s more than that too, but I had to get her fo’ she was somebody else’s.”

“Look like Howard Love bein’ a dumbass might’ve helped you out. Unless you was gonna go back down to Clarksdale for her.”

Smoke didn’t meet his brother’s eyes. “I wasn’t gone hope for her to magically appear, but she did. Got me thinkin’ it’s for a reason.”

“Well, she better be worth three hundred acres.” Stack downed the rest of his drink. 

He didn’t say it, but Smoke knew Annie was worth more than all the land in the world and he’d give it all up just for her.

The next night, Smoke searched and searched the crowd to see if Annie had come again. It took him to the end of the performances when they announced the winner for him to see she wasn’t there. Sucking his teeth, he put out his cigar and ran downstairs to his office. He needed to find her. He knew her sister Jeanie had moved up here and she had an aunt here too so when the club was empty, he made a few calls.

********

Annie had made biscuits for breakfast and was pulling them out of the oven when Nadine’s phone rang. She giggled at her little cousins as they bounced excitedly for hot biscuits and jam. Helen had taken a trip up to Detroit to see her adult children, Marcelle and Marceline and their aunt Nell, while Big Mama was in the bathroom fixing her hair.

“Put some butter on mine, please Annie!” PJ licked his lips at the sight of the perfectly golden biscuits. 

“I just want peach jam, Annie!” Little Margaret exclaimed tugging her cousin’s nightgown. 

“Go on and sit at the table and I’ll bring ‘em to ya,” Annie directed the two towards the dining table while she prepared their biscuits how they requested them. She scooped some of the eggs that Nadine cooked onto their plates and gave each a piece of sausage. “Okay, I got some of the best cookin’ in Chicago on these plates and I ain’t got nobody to give them to.” She held the plates in her hands and pretended to search for the kids.

“We right here!” PJ raised his hand and laughed at his big cousin.

“Where? I don’t see anybody.” Annie continued to look around making the siblings squeal in amusement. “Wait! There y’all go!” She winked at them and put their plates down. “Now, you gotta eat all ya breakfast if you wanna spend sometime playin in the park later on. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am!” The two agreed before digging into their breakfast.

Annie turned around to fix her own plate but was stopped by the sound of the phone being slammed down on the receiver. She stopped and looked over at Nadine who was eyeing her. “What?”

“That was Jeanie. She on her way over.” Nadine pulled out a cigarette and lit it still keeping a careful eye on Annie.

Ordinarily, news like this would make Annie excited but judging by the look on her aunt’s face, it wasn’t a regular social visit. “That’s good. I can’t wait to see her.” Her eyes stayed focused on the food in front of her.

“Annie, cut this out right now. Why is Smoke Moore calling around trying to find you? What you got yourself into?” Nadine stood close to Annie and lowered her voice so the kids wouldn’t hear.

Annie scoffed at the notion that she was the reason for any of this. “I ain’t got myself into nothin, aunt Nadine. Smoke ain’t no trouble, he just checkin up on me, I’m sure.” She looked down and busied herself with fixing her plate.

“Why would he be checkin’ up on you, Miss Annie? How y’all know each other and how he even know you in Chicago?”

“I helped him out a few years ago after he got cut up. Wasn’t nothin’ much but he appreciated it. I dropped by his club the other night and talked to him there.”

Nadine rubbed her temple. “How the hell were you even around when he got into a fight, Annie? What you been doin when Mama ain’t watchin?”

“I ain’t been doin’ nothin’. Mr. Moore was thankful for my help three years ago and he…hewannacourtme.” The last part came out in a rush. She stuffed her mouth full of biscuit so she didn’t have to respond to the wild look on her aunt’s face.

“He wanna do what? This is crazy, Annie. You know this is crazy. Mama ain’t gonna allow that.”

“I ain’t gonna allow what?” Big Mama walked in fully dressed with her hair in curls.

“Smoke Moore been callin around bout Annie. Got Jeanie all unsettled. She about to come over.” Nadine took a long drag from her cigarette. “And Annie talkin about he wanna court her. Tuh!”

DeLaurine looked at her granddaughter and to her daughter without a word. “Annie put me some jam on one of them biscuits.”

“Wait wait wait.” Nadine held her head like it was going to explode. “You know about this, Mama?”

“I know that Annie is grown and she can make her own decisions without my input.”

“Oh,” Nadine said plainly, her face neutral now. “So when you sent Francine out there to shovel pig shit for messin around with one of them Moore twins, she deserved that, huh? And we all know Annie is the favorite around here, so she gets to what? Marry one of ‘em?”

Big Mama pointed a finger at her third child. “Nadine, watch it. However you feel about me don’t keep me up at night but you watch how you talk about my baby.”

“Your baby? So she grown and can make her own decisions and she a baby? Okay. Does your baby know—

“Nadine! Cut it out!”

Annie’s face burned with all she wanted to say and all she had to keep hidden right now. “I know what folks say about his daddy, Aunt Nadine. I think everybody got it wrong about him just like some folks get it wrong about us. Ain’t like I’m walkin down the aisle with him tomorrow.” Her face bloomed with heat. It wouldn’t be tomorrow but it would happen nonetheless.

“Where is lil Annie?” Jeanie’s voice came from the front of the house and got closer. “I know Big Mama gon’ be HOT if she find out.” Jeanie stormed into the kitchen and took in the faces of her grandma, aunt, and baby sister. “So she already know?”

Nadine nodded. “And she don’t care. Annie grown now. Grown enough to handle gangsters courtin’ her.”

“I knew it,” Jeanie walked over to her sister. “I knew that night you came out his office that he was gon’ want you. You too good and trustin’ sometimes.”

“Stop!” Annie held up her hand. “Stop talkin to me like I’m a stupid child that don’t know what the world like. It took him three years to even get to this point. If he wanted to hurt me, he had chances before now. If he’s gonna hurt me, then I guess that’s a lesson I’ll have to learn just like everybody in life got to.” 

“Does Mama know?” Jeanie asked, her arms folded across her chest?

“No, and you ain’t gon’ tell her, Jeanie.” Annie turned back to her breakfast. “If you pick up that phone and dial her, you ain’t gon like what Imma do to you. Let me tell her when I get back home.”

“So how will it work with Smoke bein here and you back in Mississippi?” Jeanie asked.

Annie shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “He courtin’ me, I’m not courtin him. That’s for him to figure out but I’m goin back home. Go ahead and eat somethin while ya here, Jeanie. Chicago ain’t feedin’ you right.”

“I hope you know what you gettin into, lil Annie.” Jeanie shook her head and picked up a biscuit.

The phone rang for the second time that morning. Nadine got up silently to answer it. After a few moments she called for Annie. She handed her niece the phone without looking her in the eye.

“Hello?” Annie didn’t need to hear his voice to know who was calling.

“I shoulda figured you wasn’t gonna make it easy on me,” Smoke chuckled. “Called all over Chicago tryna find you. How ya doin?”

Annie tried to ignore the way her heart fluttered at the sound of his voice. This was basically a business arrangement not anything for her to get all excited about. “You wouldn’t’ve had to call all over Chicago if you asked the right questions the other night, Mr. Moore. Got my sister and aunt Nadine goin’ crazy.”

“You right. I was just happy you said yes, I guess I forgot to ask where you were stayin.”

“Now, I ain’t said yes to anything yet, Mr. Moore. You gotta ask the right way.”

“And then you’ll say yes?”

“Maybe. Maybe somebody else will get to me before you.”

“They won’t have the chance to, baby, I promise you that.”

Instead of being frightened by the danger in his voice, it sent a pleasant tingle through Annie. “Well, I won’t wait forever so you better get on it.”

“I will, baby, I will. How long you in Chicago for? I wanna take you out.”

“Til Sunday. Where you tryna take me?”

“Hmm, a few places. Ain’t like the Delta up here. Got a lot more to see.”

“Oh, I would’ve never guessed,” Annie said sarcastically rolling her eyes.

“Stop rollin yo eyes at me,” Smoke said firmly with a hint of playfulness in his tone.

She almost dropped the phone. “How you know—”

“That pretty face ain’t changed much since the last time I saw you. You rolled those big brown eyes at me a few times three years ago.”

“Who knew Smoke Moore could be a sweet talker? You say that to all your women or am I special?”

“Ain’t no other women. Just you, baby.”

“Mmhmm, where you trying to take me?” She listened as he described where he wanted to take her.

***Back in Clarksdale***

Marcy was all questions when the three women got in the car. “How’d it go? Did ya get the deed back? Annie, you like Chicago? How was Jeanie? I gotta go up there and see my baby soon. What about Nadine, Peter, and the kids? They doin’ all right?”

“Marcy, just get us to the house,” DeLaurine instructed her eldest child. “I need to put my feet up.”

Once they got home and unpacked the car, Annie attempted to take her luggage upstairs but was stopped by her mama.

“How was your first time in Chicago? Jeanie show you around?”

Annie’s eyes lit up at the memory of her short time spent with Smoke. “It was fun. Jeanie ain’t have much time to show me around but we spent a lil time together. I got to see a lot.”

Marcy nodded. “So did Nadine take you around?”

“Let me go put my things away and I’ll tell you.”

Marcy eyed her daughter curiously definitely catching a weird vibe. “Okay, hurry up so I can hear all about it.” She looked for Helen and found her in the kitchen storing stuff they brought from the North in the cabinets. “How’d it go, Helen? Why Mama and Annie actin’ like that?”

Helen chuckled. “It went fine. Annie had a good time. I saw Marcelle and Marceline. Lil Marcy say she want to come down and visit soon. And Marcelle! Oh, he’s doin’ so good up there. Helping with all the court cases they got goin on about segregation. Aunt Nell did a good job with them two.” She smiled sadly. “She was up and about. Couldn’t get her to sit down for a second.”

Marcy’s heart ached thinking of her niece and nephew sent to live with their aunt up north. “That’s good to hear. Y’all get the deed back?”

Annie walked in. “We will. Mr. Moore ain’t never intend to keep it anyhow, I don’t think.”

“Mr. Moore?” Marcy asked. “And how much will it cost to get it back from him cuz I know it ain’t free.”

“Well it will be when I marry him to get the deed back,” Annie tried to say as casually as possible but her voice cracked slightly at the end.

“When you do what?” Marcy was sure she heard wrong.

Annie took her mama’s hands in her own. “Mr. Moore’s only request was that I marry him and we can get the deed back. It ain’t a big deal at all.”

Marcy’s brain short-circuited for a moment before she moved Annie to the side and walked out of the kitchen. “Where is your Big Mama? Mama! Mama!”

“I know you ain’t callin me like you the one brought me in this world and not the other way around. What you want Marcy?” Big Mama stepped out of the dining room with her hands on her hips.

“What the hell is Annie talkin’ about she marrying Mr. Moore? I let you take her away from here and she come back engaged to him? Why you give her up like that?” Tears sprang to Marcy’s eyes.

Annie joined them. “She didn’t. I reckon both of y’all feel the same way about Elijah, mama. I agreed to his terms myself.”

“Oh so now it’s Elijah?” Marcy looked back at her mama. “Why you ain’t stop it? Offer more money?”

“You think this what I wanted, Marcy? The girl is grown and got a mind of her own. He wouldn’t accept no money anyway. None we had.”

“What you mean by that, Mama? What Junior got himself into?”

“I don’t know! Enough that he went beggin the Moore twins to save his behind and now my Annie got wrapped up in this mess too.”

“You want to marry him, Annie?”

“If he ask nice enough.” Annie shrugged. “I know you got your mind made up about Elijah but I promise, he is really sweet to me. Even if he can be a lil stubborn sometimes.”

“Why you talkin like you already got to know him, Annie?” Marcy’s eyes flashed in anger and disbelief. “You been seein’ him?”

“No! Just the three times. Once in the healing shack three years ago, when we all went to his club the night after we got to Chicago, and when he showed me around. Aunt Helen was there every time.” She left out the time in his office knowing that it would not help to be completely truthful right now.

“Three years ago. Huh.” Instead of trying to make sense of what she was hearing, Marcy dipped her head as tears fell down her face. “And you wanna marry him?”

“I want to get the deed back, Mama, but I think if I marry him, he’ll be good to me.”

Scoffing, Marcy shook her head and turned away from her youngest child. “You don’t know shit, Annie, but I guess you’ll find out.”

The first time Annie ever met Smoke Moore, she was eighteen, and was two weeks done from finishing her schooling. She wanted to celebrate with Pearline, some of her cousins, and Jeanie who was back in town.

After that day spent in Memphis, Big Mama let Annie do more things without her. If Annie wanted to go to town, she had to be dropped off by Marcy, aunt Helen or one of her older cousins and she had to be back at the spot she was dropped at no later than 7pm.

If she went out with her cousins, she had to promise not to leave their sides and she had to be back no later than 9pm. But no matter what time it was, day or night, she always had to carry a switch blade in her garter under her dress. Annie had to make sure a false pocket was in all of her dresses so she could easily access the blade.

Jeanie took her time styling and pinning Annie’s hair wanting to look her best her first night out as an official adult. 

Annie even put on lipstick that their mama bought her in Memphis a few months ago. Sliding into a royal blue dress that hung off her shoulders, she felt as grown as she looked. 

Big Mama and her cousin Tiny from Cleveland, Mississippi drove to Little Rock to see some of their family and wouldn’t be back until late the next day. Though she found it hard to leave Annie behind and she would never admit it to anybody but God, Big Mama figured Marcy was right. She had to let go, a least a little for right now, and let Annie know the world on her terms. The crushing hug she gave to Annie before they left just showed how difficult it was for her to accept this truth.

Marcy walked in to see Annie twirling in front of the full-length mirror and Jeanie cheering her on. “You gone tire yo’self out fo’ you even get down there good.” She chuckled at her daughter and went to zip up her dress in the back. A pang in her chest stopped her short. “I got two grown babies now.” She brushed away a tear and took a seat on the bed. “Fo’ ya know it, y’all gone be jumpin’ the broom. Ya daddy woulda cried seein that, like he cried when y’all was brought into the world.” 

This caused Annie to turn around. Marcy hardly ever spoke about her late husband. She’d tell Annie and Jeanie a few stories here and there but none where it sounded like she missed him too terribly. “I didn’t know daddy cried when we was born. He cry a lot?” Annie wanted to know more about the man who died when she was only two and Jeanie was three.

Shaking her head, Marcy wiped another tear. “Only when it came to his girls. He was crazy ‘bout y’all.” She swiped her sleeve across her eyes and stood up to walk back over to Annie. “You go have fun tonight. Jeanie, you better keep an eye on her! Don’t you be walkin’ off without her.” Even though she didn’t want to admit it, Marcy had picked up Big Mama’s habits of fussing over Annie. She even moved into the big house, not able to stand the silence of her own without Jeanie there.

“Oh, I won’t leave her side, but I cannot be blamed if one of the fellas just snatches her away.” Jeanie tossed a smile to her little sister.

Their older cousins, Mamie and Fran waited for them downstairs and showered Annie with complements as they turned to walk out the door.

Aunt Helen came charging down from her room. “Wait!” She held up four small bags each with a string around them. “Marcy, I can’t believe you lettin’ them go out without these.” She placed a gris gris in each of her nieces hands. “Keep these on ya tonight, okay? Tie it to ya garter, put it in the top of ya dress, pin it in ya hair, I don’t care just don’t drop these.” 

Of Big Mama’s five daughters, Helen was the one that held on to the root and spirit work the most. Marcy was more focused on the more practical side like the treatments and tinctures she created but she was known to burn sage and tend to her alter from time to time. They taught all the girls in their family some of the hoodoo practices they grew up with, but with some of the family moving up north and the pull of the modern world, only Helen really kept up with it in earnest.

They left the house with the promise that they’d be back no later than midnight. Jeanie drove them to the part of town where the Black folk in Clarksdale would go to lay all their burdens down. It was a row of juke joints, bars, and gambling houses where the blues played every which way.

“Okay, we meetin’ Pearly at Jay’s Juke and we’ll spend some time there before goin’ to Mama  Ree’s and then King’s. If we get split up for more than 5 minutes, start walking back to the car. I mean it Annie. Don’t let none of these niggas charm you into they backseat.”

Annie scoffed. “I ain’t stupid, Jean. Ain’t here for no man. Here to enjoy myself.” The peak of Annie’s frustration was how everyone still treated her like a child.

Mamie leaned up from the backseat, “You ain’t gotta be stupid to fall for one’uh they tricks. Don’t even let ‘em give you a drink, Annie. They think ya owe them somethin.”

“Y’all come on, ya just scarin’ the po’ girl,” Fran interjected ready to get the night over with. Loud music and sweating wasn’t Fran’s idea of a good time but she wanted to see that Annie enjoyed herself.

The women exited the car and made their way to Jays Juke. On the way, they endured jeers and whistles from some of the men standing outside. Jeanie was stone faced as she led Annie to Jays. Annie couldn’t help but want to cover up after hearing a comment about how good her breasts looked.

She tapped Jeanie on the shoulder. “Why they sayin’ that stuff? Ain’t they know that ain’t how you talk to a woman?”

Rolling her eyes at her sister’s naivety, Jeanie continued forward. “This how men is, Annie. You been under Big Mama too much and ain’t been out into the world yet. Don’t pay ‘em no mind and if they get too close, cut they ass.”

They arrived at Jays and met Pearline who was leaning against the side of the building talking to a finely dressed man in a red hat. “Stack, you can tell yo story to anybody that’ll listen but Pearly ain’t singin’ for $5 and a couple glasses of whisky.” She ran her fingers along his shoulder. “I know you good for more’n that. Heard y’all made out like thieves in Chicago.”

Stack held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, Pearly, $10 and all the whisky you want.” He leaned in closer to whisper something in her ear.

She giggled and swatted his shoulder. “Mr. Moore, you playin’ with fire right now. I’ll be down in a bit. Let me prepare a little first.”

A cough from Jeanie caught Pearline’s attention causing her to stand up straight and put distance between her and Stack. “Pearly, we here for Annie tonight, not makin’ deals with the devil.” Jeanie eyed Stack suspiciously.

Mischief glowed in Stack’s eyes as he flashed the gold in his mouth. “Well, Jeanie Love! My word! Ya Big Mama ain’t got you locked up readin Bible verses tonight?” He laughed at his own joke. “Wait, it ain’t Bible verses. She got you learnin’ spells and shit.” 

Annie wasn’t keen on violence but she did not like the way he spoke about her Big Mama. “Yea, she learned us how to keep a nigga in his place if ain’t nothin’ come out his mouth but disrespect.” She stepped close to Stack who looked at her in wonder.

He was taken aback by how she stepped to him but a different kind of fire burned in his eyes, one that Annie hadn’t seen since the last time she danced with Horace Jones, Jr. “You must be Princess Annie!” He took off his hat and took her hand in his. “I do apologize for my language. I didn’t know I was in the presence of royalty.” He made a show of bowing low before kissing her hand. Spotting Mamie, he sent a sly smile her way. “Look like it’s a family affair tonight. I’m surprised DeLaurine Love let this many of her princesses out to be with us peasants.”

Mamie rolled her eyes. “It ain’t the peasants she don’t like, it’s the toads pretendin’ to be princes she ain’t too fond of.” She reached over and pulled Annie’s hand from his. “Put ya lips on my cousin again, and I’ll feed ‘em to our hounds at home.”

Stack held up his hands. “Mamie, you know I’on mean no harm. Man can only be surrounded by so much beauty fo’ he forget hisself.”

This caused all of the Love women to groan in annoyance. “We don’t care to remind ya, Stack.” Fran turned her nose up at him.

The playful look left Stack’s face as he started to move closer to Fran almost like he was being pulled by strings.

Annie was about to reach for her blade when a booming voice shook her to her core.

“Stack! Nigga, what you doin?” A man with Stack’s face stomped over to him. The glare on his face seemed permanent like he’d never attempted to smile in his life. “Yo ass forget we tryna run a business? I ain’t come all the way back down here for you to try to fuck everything in a dress that walk by.”

The tips of Annie’s ears burned from hearing such language but she was grateful Smoke came to save his brother. A chuckle escaped her lips gaining the attention of both Smoke and Stack.

Smoke looked her over, narrowing his eyes at her and then at the other women. “Y’all folks know y’all out here talkin to niggas who don’t know when it’s time to handle business?” Everybody in the Delta knew Big Mama Love was not one to let her girls be out like this.

The girls all laughed while Stack seemed to just let his brother’s comments roll off of him, still eying Fran who had made it her business to look everywhere but at Stack.

Annie, feeling bit more brave shrugged. “If they don’t, you won’t tell ‘em, right?” She winked at Smoke having no clue the effect the small gesture had on him. “They jus wanna show me a good time tonight. That all right with you, Mr. Moore?”

Stunned speechless by the way this nameless woman talked to him, Smoke just nodded. He grabbed Stack who had recovered his infamous smirk and led him back to a building on the far end of the street.

Pearline squealed when they were out of earshot. “Annie! You talked to Smoke Moore like that and he ain’t have nothin’ to say! Yo Big Mama must be teachin’ you some spells!”

The five women went into Jays so Annie could have her first glass of liquor and they could dance a little while the live band played.

Annie had drank wine before, not too much to where she’d get anything but a light humming in her head. The whisky burned as it went down her throat, causing her to go into a coughing fit with Jeanie laughing and patting her on the back.

“You’ll get used to it, lil Annie!” Her big sister encouraged. 

They spent some time in Jays dancing, shooing away any man that got too close to Annie. After a bit, Annie started to feel weightless from the whisky. She felt herself being dragged outside where the air was cooler. 

“Annie, you was a hit, girl!” Mamie wrapped her arms around her cousin also feeling the effects of the whisky. “Let’s go to Mama Ree’s.”

“Wait,” Pearline stopped the group. “I told Stack I’d sing at they spot tonight. It won’t take long, just one song.”

Fran scoffed. “Pearly, I can give ya $20 if we ain’t ever gotta set foot near Stack again.” She looked at Pearline’s fallen expression and tilted her head. “Unless you got another reason fa wantin’ to be in there.”

Not meeting Fran’s eyes, Pearline just shrugged. “You had your reasons few years ago.”

“Pearline!” Jeanie slapped her friend’s arm for revealing something she told her in confidence. “Now why you wanna start stuff up tonight?”

Fran seemed unfazed by Pearline’s comment. “Go on then. Imma take Annie to Mama Ree’s.” She grabbed Annie’s arm to help her down the steps.

Annie resisted and pulled her arm back. “I wanna hear Pearly sing, Frannie. We can jus’ go, listen to her and go to Mama Ree’s after.”

In the end, the group decided to split up with Annie, Jeanie, and Pearline going to the twins’ place and Mamie and Fran going to Mama Ree’s and them all planning to meet up in an hour.

Inside the twins’ place, people were packed from wall to wall dancing, drinking, and sweating. A large man with a guitar strapped to him played riffs that stirred the crowd causing them to stomp and clap in rhythm. 

The energy of the room wrapped around Annie and pulled her in. She stepped forward to join the crowd but was stopped by a hand on her arm. She looked up to see a familiar face. “Christopher!” Throwing her arms around her classmate, she had to stand on her tiptoes to speak directly into his ear. “Yo daddy let you in places like this?”

“I can say the same about yo Big Mama. She must not be in town.” Christopher was a head taller than Annie but his boyish grin made something in her flutter. 

Jeanie tapped her sister on the shoulder, seeing now that she had someone to keep her company. “We gone move closer to the stage so Pearly can go up when it’s her time.” She looked at Christopher. “Don’t you take her outta here, now. Y’all dance and enjoy ya’selves but don’t go sneaking out.”

Heat bloomed in Annie’s face at what her sister was implying. “Gone, Jeanie! We jus talkin!” She shoved her laughing sister away from her and turned back to Christopher who was sporting a goofy smile.

“I’d certainly like to do more than just talk, Annie.” He held out his arm for her to grab. “Let’s do some dancin’.” He pulled her to the dance floor once she accepted his invitation. The pair stood close to each other, allowing their bodies to be taken by the rhythm of the music and letting time fall away.

Annie didn’t know if it was the whisky or the blues that made her feel untamed but she could feel herself growing addicted to it. It was different than when she was younger and sneaking out. Now, something stronger coursed through her veins. Something stronger than want. Desire. Without putting too much thought into it, she grabbed Christophers shirt to pull him down and plant a kiss on his lips regretting it almost instantly. His lips were too dry and too stiff.

It took nothing for Christopher to respond in kind and wrap his arms around Annie to pull her closer like she was his to claim.

She pulled back feeling the heat in the room constrict around her. She wasn’t sure how long they had been dancing—maybe a lifetime or more—but her dress was soaked and sweat dripped down her face and chest. “Imma step outside for a little bit, it’s getting a little stuffy.”

Outside, the two caught their breaths and allowed the soft night breeze cool them down as they leaned against the front of the building.

“Annie, I ain’t know you liked me like that.” Christopher moved in front of her placing his hands on either side of her head staring down into her big brown eyes.

The nerves that Annie expected to come stayed buried under the two glasses of alcohol she drank earlier and she looked everywhere but him trying to find some way to escape but he towered over her. 

Christopher leaned down to say something in her ear but was interrupted by the sound of a man crying and pleading. 

The two looked to the source of the noise and saw a bloodied-faced man on his knees with his hands up. Smoke Moore loomed over the man with blood on his right fist. “Please, Smoke! I was just—” A fist to his temple caused him to slump over into the dirt below.

Smoke waved a finger and a group of men picked the sleeping man up to move him away from the front of the building. He turned without a word to go back into the juke wiping the blood off his face in the process.

Something in Annie made her push Christopher away when she noticed it was Smoke’s own blood on his face. The few street lights made it easier to see that it was coming from a cut that stretched from his ear to his chin. She moved towards him, not even thinking about what she was doing or listening to Christopher trying to call her back. “Mr. Moore!”

Smoke looked up and turned towards a voice he heard earlier that night. Annie Love. He could handle drunk men with blades and bad gambling habits just fine. He couldn’t handle whatever DeLaurine Love would do to him and his brother if word got back that her girls were at their place tonight. He held his face and kept walking, content to ignore the woman walking quickly towards him.

“Mr. Moore!” Annie caught him by the shoulder and turned him around like it was nothing. “Let me look at that.” She had no idea why she felt the need to make sure he was okay after seeing him beat that man.

Pulling away from her, Smoke held his face as more blood poured out. “It ain’t nothin.” He looked behind her for her sister and cousins and only saw a confused Christopher standing a few paces behind her like he was ready to snatch her away at any second. That angered Smoke much more than the cut on his face. “Find ya folks and get outta here.” 

Annie rolled her eyes. “Mr. Moore, I done seen men fightin’ before. Just don’t want that to get infected or nothin’.” She pointed to his face. “Let me see how deep it is.” She pulled his hand from his face and studied the cut, holding his chin and tilting his head for an easier view. “I can clean it up for you now and you can come out to the shack tomorrow mornin for some salve to put on it. Keep it from scarrin up too bad.”

Smoke pulled his head back out of her grasp. “I ain’ worried ‘bout no scarrin’ got plenty mo’ where that came from.” And he wasn’t about to catch heat from her grandma about being on their land. DeLaurine told everybody who was anybody that the SmokeStack twins was rotten just like their daddy. Hard to do honest business when everybody thought you were the devil anyway.

Quirking a brow at him, Annie just shrugged. “With a face like yours, Mr. Moore, maybe you should be. Folks get to thinkin’ they can leave their mark on it.” 

It would’ve been best if he walked away. If he pretended he never met Annie Love but something in her big brown eyes told him to trust her. He gave a short nod and walked towards a side door, hearing her footsteps following closely behind him.

“Annie!” Christopher bounded up to her. “You lost yo mind? Where you think you goin with him?” He grabbed Annie’s arm just in time for Smoke to turn around.

Snatching back from Christopher, Annie rubbed her arm. “I’m going to help him with the cut on his face. I’ll be back out in a minute.”

A rage in Smoke almost bubbled to the surface before he felt Annie’s soft hand on his arm and a look pleading with him to let Christopher be. “She’ll be back in a lil bit but you grab her like that again, I’ll give you a cut to match mine.”

Christopher’s mouth gaped like a fish as Smoke and Annie disappeared through the side door.

There wasn’t much lighting in the back of the building so, Annie stuck close to Smoke as he led her upstairs to a dimly-lit office. “You got any clean rags or bandages in here?”

Smoke went to the wooden cabinet that sat on the far side of the room and opened it. He pulled out a medium-sized white tin that was embossed with a red cross. He handed it to Annie. “It should have everything you need for now.”

“I like when a man has what I need,” Annie said without thinking. Those two glasses of whiskey were still controlling her it seemed. “Shoot! I ain’t mean it like that, Mr. Moore.”

Smoke did his best not to crack a smile and feel the sting of the cut. “I know what you mean, Annie.” He sat in his desk chair and watched as Annie pulled what she needed from the first aid kit.

She tore open a foil packet of iodine soaked cotton swabs. “This gone sting. I don’t want you fussin and cussin at me when I put it on this cut.” She tilted his head so that she had a good look at the damage before she swiped over it with a swab and watched it bubble from

Although he was no stranger to pain, the sting of the iodine caught him off-guard and he grabbed Annie’s waist like it was the last thing he’d ever hold on to. “I’m sorry. Ain’t mean to.” He put his hands by his side.

“Ain’t bother me none,” Annie shrugged. “My aunt Helen say if you feel like you gone float away, sometimes you just grab on to whatever is closest.” She continued to clean the wound. “What that man do to make you beat him so?”

It wasn’t a conversation he cared to have but he definitely didn’t want to have it with Annie Love and make her more scared of him than she probably already was. Then her family would have another reason to hate him. “That ain’t somethin you need to concern yo’self with.” It came out a lot harsher than he intended it to but he wasn’t in the business of being soft for folks.

“Well if it get you a blade to the face, I would certainly like to know, Mr. Moore. What if the same thing happen to me?” She wasn’t phased by his tone. If anything it was nice to have somebody not talk soft to her like she was a little kid.

Not knowing if he should take it as a joke or not, he chuckled. “Girl like you shouldn’t be in no gamblin rooms no how. You ain’t gotta worry about it happenin to you.”

“A girl like me, huh? What kinda girl would that be, Mr. Moore?” She dug around in the first aid kit again and pulled out gauze and tape. “You got any petroleum jelly around here? Don’t want the gauze stickin’ to the cut.”

“Yeah. It’s in that far cabinet over there.” He pointed to another wooden cabinet on an opposite wall.

Annie made her way to it. “You gone answer my question? What kinda girl am I?” She retrieved the container and walked back over to Smoke and leaned against the desk.

“You Love women all the same. Prim and snooty.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Smoke regretted them.

Gasping, Annie slammed the petroleum jelly down on the desk. “Now wait a minute. I ain’t ask you to pass judgement on my family. If you feel that way about me, that’s fine. I guess we all feel someway about people we ain’t never met. I heard you was the devil and I ain’t see much tonight that make that untrue.” She resumed her task despite her frustration at him. She coated her finger with the thick grease and rubbed it on the cut.

“Maybe I am the devil. Still don’t change the way you Loves walk around with ya noses turned up at everybody.” Years of his and his daddy’s anger at the Love women had flowed out and he didn’t know how to stop it.

“Mr. Moore, you obviously know nothin about my family. We help a lot of people in the Delta.”

“No you exploit a lot of people in the Delta. Sellin em fake cures and spells and shit. Pigs on your farm doin em any good other than givin them high blood pressure?”

Stopping her work, Annie looked at him stunned. His face was as angry as she’d ever seen anybody be. “And what ya juke joint doin other than turnin good men into drunks and makin ‘em give away everything they work for?”

“I’m survivin’ just like you, princess. Some of us don’t have our great-great-granddaddy’s money to live off of though.”

The switch blade was out of her garter and at his throat faster than he could blink. “You watch yo’self, Mr. Moore. You got lucky with this one on your face, but I know how to empty a pig quicker than the time it would take for you to run out that door to scream for help.”

Even with her knife at his throat, Smoke felt the furthest thing from fear. In fact, he’d prefer to be scared to what he was actually feeling—a rising passion for Annie Love. He simply nodded and waited for her to lower her knife. “Where you learn how to draw a knife like that?” He hated to think she’d have to use it often but was impressed by her quickness.

With her heart threatening to burst through her chest at the realization that she put a knife to Smoke Moore’s throat, she dressed his cut with gauze and stood back to check that it was secure. “My mama taught me a thing or two. Don’t sleep on this side of your face tonight.” She needed to get out of there. “I’ll make up some salve for you to come pick up in the mornin.” With the extra gauze, she wiped her oily finger. “I’ll be up first thing and my Big Mama won’t be there.”

Smoke nodded not knowing what to say. “Thank you, Miss Annie.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Moore.” With that she practically bolted out of the office and down the hall to the door they entered into. Once out, she was met with angry shouts from Jeanie, Mamie, Pearline, and Christopher.

“What the hell you thinkin, Annie, goin in there with that man?” Jeanie’s disgust was evident on her face as she checked her sister over. “I told you not to run off with no man and it was Smoke Moore you followed?”

Her stomach was still in knots from what happened in Smoke’s office, her mind was barely registering what Jeanie was saying. “I was just helpin him. He didn’t do anything to me.”

“That ain’t the point, Annie!” Mamie wagged her finger. “What if the man he beat came back with a gun and you was caught between ‘em, huh? It’s more ways for a man to hurt you than with his own hands. And a man like that don’t mind other folk gettin hurt on his behalf.”

Laughter bubbled in Annie’s throat. “Y’all makin too much of it now. That man ain’t no wild animal don’t know how to restrain hisself.”

Pearline crossed her arms, her hair half down and her skin clammy. “And since when did lil Annie come to know so much about Smoke Moore?”

“Well, he ain’t do nothin’ to me.” Annie held her arms out and did a slow circle so they could all see she was unharmed. “He don’t bite.”

Jeanie gripped her arm and led her away from Club Juke. “You bet not let Big Mama hear you got that close to him. She’ll never let you out again, no matter how old you get.”

They continued to berate her choice to help Smoke but their words went in one ear and out the other. Annie just couldn’t get the look in Smoke’s eyes out of her head. Her blade to his throat didn’t scare him. He didn’t even flinch. There was something else she saw but she couldn’t name it. Or maybe she didn’t want to. 

Her heart was still racing and with folks yelling in her ear and Smoke Moore’s eyes unnerving her, she was at her wits end. “Okay! I heard y’all the first time!” She wanted to pull her hair out. “I only went to help him and I’m here now. You ain’t gotta fuss about it! Now it’s still some time left in the night and I wanna dance some more.” She also needed another drink. Ignoring the calls for her to stop, Annie walked toward Mama Ree’s.

“That girl done lost her damn mind tonight.” Jeanie was ready to snatch her sister up and just go back home and she told her cousins such.

“No, Jeanie. That’s the problem now,” Fran finally spoke up. “Annie been under Big Mama all her life. She ain’t get to sneak out all the time like we did. She ain’t get to make the mistakes we did. If she did, maybe she wouldn’t have disappeared on us like that. She grown now though and we gotta treat her like she is.”

“Thank you, Frannie.” Annie hugged her cousin. 

“Girl, you owe me a dollar for those two drinks since you so grown now.” Fran rolled her eyes and patted Annie on the back.

***********

The next morning, Annie woke to a pounding in her head on the floor of the den covered in a quilt. Her tongue felt like sandpaper against the roof of her mouth and her bladder felt like it was about to explode. She rolled over to the couch were Fran was sprawled out and pulled herself up. She looked around and noticed everybody was still sleep in their clothes with Mamie loudly snoring from her spot next to where Annie laid previously. Jeanie had taken up residence on the love seat with it fitting her height perfectly and Pearline was draped over the armchair.

Making her way to the bathroom, using the wall to keep her upright, Annie groaned at the sunlight that filtered through the windows as she recalled the events from last night. The relief she felt after emptying her bladder almost made her cry. She sat on the commode for a moment thinking back to the drinks she had and the dancing she did and Christopher. The slight flutter in her stomach had returned. 

She had her eye on Christopher for a while but she knew Big Mama would find a way to control the situation. So, Annie kept her feelings to herself hoping to make her feelings known after they finished school and Big Mama could accept that she was an adult. 

It was pure luck that she was able to see him last night because his daddy was like her Big Mama—against all the sin and shame that happened at those blues clubs. He ran a respectable business, a clothing and shoe store for colored folks in Clarksdale, and he wasn’t about to have his kin shaming his name gambling, drinking, and gyrating over everything that moved.

The ache in Annie’s head persisted as she thought about when she’d meet Christopher again. She cleaned up before leaving the bathroom and trudged upstairs to her room to get out of her dress that smelled of cigarette smoke and shame. Smoke. She forgot she told him to come by this morning after seeing that cut on his cheek. What was going through her mind, she’d invite a man like that out to their family home? 

If Big Mama found out, she sure would never see Christopher again because Annie would be locked in her room for the rest of her life. She moved as fast as she could with her body stiff from dancing and sleeping on the hard floor to change and creep back downstairs. 

The morning air assaulted her senses as she closed the front door soft enough where no one could hear. A ball of fur ran up to her sniffing at her legs and whining. Annie looked down at Finny, her hunting beagle she got a few weeks before she graduated high school.

His big ears flopped over his head as he jumped up waiting for Annie to pet him. Annie just scooped him up to silence his whining and took him with her to the herb shack.

“Finny we gone get in a lot of trouble if that man show up here and folk find out so you gotta be quiet and I’ll give you all my breakfast ham for a week.” She looked at the dog in her arms whose tongue lolled out of his mouth at the sound of the word ham. 

They made it to the shack and Annie started pulling ingredients from the shelves that lined the walls to place them on the counter in the middle. She hoped Smoke Moore didn’t show up but she could get rid of him quicker if the balm was already made.

As if the world was against her this morning, she heard the sound of a car pull up in front of the house. She looked up to see a crimson Ford Custom with an unmistakable figure at the wheel. Running to the door of the shack, she waved to get his attention hoping no one in the house heard the car. 

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

Smoke cursed to himself the whole way to the Love herb shack. He just knew this would end with a bullet in his ass but, for some reason he couldn’t explain, he got in his car this morning to see Annie Love so she could give him something for the cut on his face. That’s what he told himself at least, but the closer he got to the Love family farm, the stronger the pull he felt. Like something bigger than him was leading him right to her. 

The cut wasn’t too deep, but it was enough to leave a mark and as Annie said, he didn’t want folks thinking they could start marking up his face. Her voice played in his head through the night as he tried to sleep. She barely said much to him, but it was enough to put him in his place each time.

He pulled up to the front of the big house and took in its looming presence. He knew it had been built from decades of the family working the land it stood on and it not only housed the souls in it, but it sheltered them from the cruel lives of folks like him.

Movement from his periphery caught Smoke’s attention. Annie stood in the door of a small shack waving him over. He turned the wheel and drove his car the short distance to the shack before getting out. He flexed his hands to stop them from shaking as he walked up to greet Annie. “Mornin’, Miss Annie.” He took off his hat and joined her inside before his shoes were assaulted by a small dog with gold and black spotting his white fur.

“Go ahead and have a seat right there.” Annie pointed to a wooden stool that sat next to the counter in the middle. “Don’t mind Finny, he ain’t used to company this early but he don’t bite none.” She pointed to an empty corner and ordered Finny over. “I ain’t had much time to fix this up yet. Jus’ woke up.” She placed her palm to her head for a moment before continuing to add things to a small glass bowl.

Her voice was heavy with sleep and less playful than it was last night. “S’alright. You get home okay?” Smoke didn’t know much of what to say to her. It was apparent by the tired look in her eyes and her wild hair that she was still feeling the effects of whatever she got up to after she left their place.

“I’m here, ain’t I?” Annie snapped, vigorously stirring up the mixture. She held her head again and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Mr. Moore. I ain’t feelin’ too good this mornin.” It didn’t help that their conversation from the previous night was still ringing in her head.

Smirking at her apparent hangover, Smoke just shrugged. “Seem like you learnin a lesson, same as me.” He pointed to the gauze he taped on his face. “Gotta know when to stop.”

Annie scoffed at the idea that she was anything like Smoke Moore. “I ain’t no drunk, Mr. Moore, jus got a lil carried away.” She stopped mixing and walked over to him to inspect the bandage. “You sleep on this any last night?

Angling his head up so Annie could get a better look, Smoke shrugged and flexed his hands. “I ain’t mean to if I did.” 

“You get cut a lot?” The words left Annie’s mouth before she could stop them. The pounding in her head got worse as she realized what she said. “I ain’t—that ain’t none of my business.”

Instead of taking offense, Smoke smirked easily at the comment. “Mostly in the military during training. Ain’t too many cuts come from other folk’s blades.” He meant to say it casually but it came out like a warning.

Annie’s breathing hitched and she turned away from him, not liking the glint in his eyes or the warning in his tone. “Ever think of doin’ somethin’ other than fightin’ all the time?” Taking out a bottle of iodine and a few cotton balls, she moved closer to him to remove the gauze. 

“Oh, it ain’t all the time. Just when it’s necessary.” He hissed at the gauze being pulled back feeling the sting of the cut.

Annie tried to be gentle as possible as she removed the tape but Smoke’s hiss stopped her. Finny sat up and whined a little. She examined the gauze and saw it was stuck to the cut. “Finny, stop actin’ like you the one hurt over there. Mr. Moore gon be alright.” To Smoke she said, “I gotta wet this so it come off clean.”

Smoke nodded before she went to grab a bottle of clear liquid from one of the shelves. His pulse raced as she moved back in front of him, her sweet scent invading his nostrils. Suddenly he felt water dripping from his face catching him off-guard and causing him to flinch.

“It’s just water, Mr. Moore. Gotta soak this so it ain’t pullin’ at ya skin.” She proceed to peel back the gauze easily. “See? Wasn’t so bad. Sorry, I got ya clothes wet.” She didn’t sound sorry at all. She slid on a pair of latex gloves she had laid out before opening the bottle of iodine solution. Tipping the bottle of iodine on to the cotton ball with one hand, she held Smoke’s arm with the other. “This gone burn and I don’t want you yankin’ away from me.”

The wet cotton against the cut caused a sting that intensified causing Smoke to grab on to the thing closest to him: Annie’s hips. He went to pull back put was stopped by a squeeze on his arm. Finny ran over with a whimper and sat by his leg.

“S’alright,” Annie said calmly as she continued to work wondering if the lightness in her head was from last night’s whiskey or his hands on her. “I’m almost done with this part.” She finished cleaning the cut and dropped the used cotton ball on to the counter top. She blew on the cut to cool the burning sensation she knew Smoke was feeling.

Feeling his head grow light from the burning of the iodine and Annie’s cool breath providing some relief, Smoke held on to her a little tighter to keep himself upright.

“This gone keep it from scarrin up too bad.” Annie held up the glass bowl with whatever mixture she prepared. “It’s a salve with some petroleum jelly and herbs.” She scooped some onto her finger and ran it over the cut. “You wanna put some of this on twice a day before you wrap it.”

The salve tingled but the coolness of it all but erased the pain from the iodine and from the cut itself. Smoke’s shoulders relaxed. “You musta put some of that magic in there. That feel good.”

Annie couldn’t help but giggle at the look of ease on Smoke’s face. “Ain’t got too much magic, Mr. Moore. You’ll have to ask my aunt Helen for some of that.”

“Ask me for what?” Helen’s voice came from the door. She took in the sight of her niece standing close to the notorious Elijah Moore and tending to his wound while he had a grip on her hips.

The pair jumped apart like they had been caught doing something indecent. Annie held her hand to her chest to calm the heart that was threatening to beat out of her chest. “Goodness, Aunt Helen!”

“Goodness to you too, Annie. Elijah.” She looked at his startled face and winked.

Smoke stood up causing Finny to stand with him. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Miss Annie offered to give me somethin’ for this cut. Ain’t lookin to cause no trouble for her.” Or me. He knew this was a bad idea from the jump. He picked up his hat so he could leave but was pushed back down by the force of Annie’s hand.

“You ain’t goin’ out like this, Mr. Moore.” Annie dipped her finger into the salve again. “Only trouble you gone cause is Aunt Helen chasin’ you down to make sure this done right.”

Helen made her way around the counter to the other side of the shack allowing her niece to continue. “Better listen to the girl, Elijah, or you’ll have me to deal with.”

Smoke’s wariness turned into confusion. The Love women hated the Moore men. At least they hated him, his brother, and their daddy. Growing up, Big Eli would always cuss and complain about the “Love witches” and how they had put a curse on him. Smoke knew for a fact that DeLaurine had no warmth in her heart for them especially after the way she held a gun to Stack’s head when he made the mistake of fooling around with Francine Love a few years back. So why did Annie and Helen act like his presence in their home was no big deal?

Annie saw the confusion in his eyes. “Aunt Helen like to help folk that need it, she ain’t one to judge.” She paused and noticed the grin on her aunt’s face. “Well, she ain’t one to judge too much. Unlike the rest of us, she ain’t got her ‘nose stuck up in the air.’” She nudged Smoke playfully.

“I appreciate it,” Smoke breathed in relief but realizing just how out of line he was last night when he judged the Love family. “Know I ain’t really welcome ‘round here.”

It wasn’t something Annie could disagree with. It was best Helen was the one to find them and not Marcy or any of the other women in the house. “You along with a few others, Mr. Moore, but my butt on the line too so you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout it gettin back to my Big Mama.”

Smoke tried to crack a smile but thought better of it when he felt the burn of the cut.

“I know this gone be hard for you, but try not to smile too much in the next few days,” Annie joked feeling more at ease with Aunt Helen present. “Don’t wanna open the cut again.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Smoke said seriously. He couldn’t recall a time when someone took care of him like this without being required to. He knew his reputation preceded him and his face was fixed in a permanent glower that made folks steer clear which he was fine with for the most part. But he had to admit, being fussed over and cared about felt good.

Annie cut the gauze to length and placed it gently on Smoke’s face before putting the roll of tape in his hand. “Pull the tape until I say stop.” He followed her order so she was able to cut off the correct amount of tape to hold the gauze in place. She took the tape back and rolled out the rest of what she needed to cut and place around the rest of the gauze. “There you go, Mr. Moore.” She stood back to examine her work and beckoned Aunt Helen over to take a look.

“Did good, Annie,” Helen approved. “Elijah, you don’t wanna be sleepin’ on this or gettin’ it wet. You gone put some of the salve on—” She was interrupted by Annie’s pleading eyes. “I’ll let Annie tell ya since she made it an’ all.” Helen went back to the corner where she resumed crushing herbs while her niece finished up with Elijah Moore.

Taking a small wooden spoon and an empty palm-sized tin, Annie scooped the rest of the salve into it and placed a lid on top to fit snuggly. “You gone use it twice a day, once in the morning and once before you go to bed but don’t lay on it. If you roll over in ya sleep, put a pillow behind ya so it’ll wake ya up. After a week, you can stop using the gauze and just put the salve on it. If it get sweaty and dirty, you can clean it with iodine.” She placed the bottle she used on top of the tin. “Now I ain’t mind doin’ this for you, Mr. Moore, but don’t make a habit of get ya’self all cut up, ya hear?”

Smoke had to resist another smile but his eyes showed it all the same. “Yes, ma’am, Miss Annie.” He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a stack of bills.

With wide eyes, Annie grabbed his hand with all the money in it. “You put that away, we don’t work for money in here.” She looked around the shack like the presence of money would cause it to collapse. 

The look of fear in Annie’s eyes had Smoke quickly putting the money away. “I can’t just give you nothin for patchin’ me up.” He stood and grabbed his hat, noticing how Finny stood closer to him.

“You gave me a chance to do my work.” Annie busied herself clearing off the counter. “Just don’t go out there doin’ it again. I know them hands is good for somethin other than fightin. Can’t promise you I’ll be able to help next time anyhow.” If it wasn’t for the glasses of whiskey, maybe she wouldn’t have offered to help him last night. Maybe. But the flutter in her stomach was telling her something different.

“Well, thank ya, Miss Annie.” He turned to Helen who had stopped what she was doing. “Thank you too. Ms. Helen. Y’all won’t see me in here again but I appreciate ya.”

A knowing look crossed Helen’s face. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Elijah, but you better get going fo’ the rest of the ladies in the house come out to ask about the car in the yard.”

He took one last look around the shack before stepping out into the Mississippi morning. Finny tried to follow him but was held back by Annie promising him extra ham. As he drove away, an ache made its home in his chest and wouldn’t leave until the next time he saw Annie Love.

———————-

Clouds streaked the early morning sky, creeping over the sun that peeked over the horizon. The spring air was fragrant with goldenrod and honeydew, and when the sun glared, water could be seen glistening atop blades of grass.

The pair had fallen asleep in Smoke's bed after staying up all night watching movies. They'd gone back and forth, each picking something that was significant to them, inching closer with each laugh or gasp of shock. Annie had wound up in his arms during a scary movie, and he had ended up with his head tucked into her neck while watching a romcom. It was a simple date, but it was special.

Smoke's arms surrounded Annie as she slept. He held her tight, felt for every shift of her breath and tightened his hold when she tried to move. He craved her closeness, and for the past few months—as their relationship flourished—he began to feel the absence of something that needed to be filled.

The earliest he could remember The Feeling was three months ago.

That night, he'd taken her out to some concert she'd been begging to go to, and as he watched her, the emotion budded. Her eyes were bright as she looked toward the stage. And the lights illuminated her face in a way that showed off her excitement perfectly. In that moment, his mind dipped off into thoughts that were far from chaste. He decided then that he'd do anything to make her happy enough to make that face again, to have his reaction to it be just that strong.

The Feeling persisted for weeks after that, blooming when she decided to try on a few options for a party she was going to. She couldn't decide what was best, and he was the only person available to give their opinion. Each outfit got skimpier and skimpier, and as he sat on her bed, watching her twirl for him, a pillow found its way into his lap.

He wasn't naive about his feelings, but Smoke had never actually done anything like that before. In 23 years, he'd done nothing sexual with another person; But with Annie, he was finally ready to go that far. He loved the person she was: her personality, her body, her laugh when he said something stupid about how they were both too damn nervous to give this a try when they were back in high school together. He loved her, and he could no longer resist The Feeling.

His body curled into hers, hands smoothing out his shirt that covered her back. She was beautiful like this—prettiest in the mornin'—he was known to say. Smelling the side of her neck, he jumped when she shuffled.

“Why you lookin' at me like that,” she groaned, stretching her over-exhausted body into his. Her fingers sought him out, pulling his body closer so she could bury her face in him to escape the light.

“‘Cause you sexy in the mornin’,” he drawled. His cadence was slow, the words slurring because he was both tired and turned on. Annie immediately picked up on his state.

“You betta' stop talkin' to me like that,” she chuckled, clutching onto him tighter. One eye peeked out to take a look at him, and her face flushed with heat from the intensity of his gaze. “Ion know if you ready for all this sexiness.” It came out as a joke based on conversations they'd been having for months about The Feeling and how she'd take care of him when he was ready. Recently, he'd been growing bolder. He complimented her body more—how he loved her thighs and her ass and how her titties sat just right. He allowed The Feeling to linger longer, pressing his needy body up against hers for momentary relief. They’d both been wanting it to the point where it took over their thoughts.

“I'm ready for it,” Smoke groaned, arousal strong. “I can handle all of it.”

Immediately following his declaration, his fingers began dragging along her thighs—because he knew just how to get her in a heady mood. His movements were slow and deliberate, and Annie rewarded him with soft moans before her lips met his. Plush lips against plush lips, their bodies fell into a rhythm of give and take.

They took their time, went carefully because it was still too early in the morning to do anything else. Dew still covered the edges of flowers outside, a crispness in the air that aided the moment.

Annie allowed her fingers to explore the man before her. They outlined the plains of his chest. They dipped over the curves of his abs. And when she came to the edge of his boxers, hers fingers toyed with the material, lips leaving his in time to feel the addicting tremble of his breath.

“You trust me,” she whispered into the quiet air, slow and steady. She held onto him, desperately needing the closeness because something about this was making her feel raw. He responded with a shudder, words broken with need.

“Ye-yes,” he breathed, “I'll always trust you.”

Annie, marveling at his honesty and clarity, almost allowed a moan to escape her lips. There was something about the way he'd been vulnerable about being a virgin, something about the way he trusted her to control this moment. He gave her a feeling that restored something in her, like this was her first time all over again, and in a few years, she might actually consider this It.

She rewarded the man was a kiss to the edge of his jaw, and when her hand found its way into his boxers, that same way-too-addictive shuddering breath landed on her cheek. She dragged her fingers down the length of his dick, capturing his arousal on the tip of a finger.

“I ain’t never,” Smoke choked out, groaning at the view of Annie sucking that finger into her mouth. “I ain’t ever been this turned on before.” And instead of responding with words, the woman simply hummed in acknowledgment before shifting her position on the bed. She pressed the man’s back into the mattress and settled atop his thighs. Unceremoniously, Smoke’s shirt that covered her upper body was pulled over her head, leaving her in nothing but a pair of panties, darkened where they sat against her. “Damn,” he commented, reaching out for her.

His face found comfort between her breasts with practiced ease, and Annie laughed as he held himself there and breathed in her scent.

“You always end up there,” she laughed heartily. And it was true. Whenever he’d had a hard day or a good day or a boring day, all he wanted was to lay up in her chest for comfort. Warm breath ghosted her skin.

“It’s my favorite spot,” he grumbled against her, hands somehow on her thighs again, pulling her into him.

Flushing, Annie reached down and dragged his chin up. She looked into his eyes, and when he melted at the sight of her, she dove in. When their lips met this time, it wasn’t soft and slow and careful; It was sharp and fast and greedy. Smoke’s hands found her hips, and his thumbs wedged found themselves in the groove where hip and thigh met. With ease, motion was made and pace was set. Her clothed pussy grinded against his dick, dragging up the length of him and forcing both of their bodies to shudder.

Smoke had never felt this good in his life. He’d never felt so consumed by something, and he never wanted to feel anything other than this. His palms found her ass next, taking up as much flesh as he could and keeping her hips in that tempting roll. He wanted her, craved her, but when he flipped their position and was leaned over her heaving body, he had no idea how to move forward.

“Baby,” Annie whispered, noticing the way his eyes darted away in a mix of shame and fear. He didn’t look at her straight on, and when her hand came up to his cheek, he jumped in shock. “Elijah,” she whispered to gain his full attention. “I told you I’d take care of you. I got you, and if you wanna stop, we can—”

“I don’t want to,” he nearly shouted, frightened that the very thing he wanted, craved, was beginning to slip from his grasp. Annie’s eyebrows were raised and a goofy smirk tilted her lips. “I-I don’t wanna stop,” he tried again, voice cracking. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, baby,” she breathed pulling him down on top of her. Naturally, her mouth found the edge of his jaw because she couldn’t get enough of that tremble when she did something that felt too good for him to contain it. “Take these off,” she whispered in his ear. Her hands pulled at his boxers—the only thing on his body—and when he moved in a rush to obey her, she removed her own panties.

Kneeling between her open legs, Smoke groaned when he saw her arousal, glistening up at him. His mouth watered. His tip flushed. She was the most beautiful sight, and he made sure she knew that. The man whispered about her beauty into her left ear, how he was addicted to her, how he’d love her the length of his life, how he felt so safe and taken care of. He made sure she knew what she did to him and just how much he needed her in his life.

When the tip of his dick nudged itself between her folds, they both needed a second to collect themselves. Their conjoined warmth and wetness was almost too much to bear, and when Smoke began moving his hips to drag himself across her clit and back down to her entrance, they both wept.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, breath growing heavier. “How you feel so good?” The words were slurred, disbelief dripping off of each syllable, and although he asked the question rhetorically, he was beginning to think maybe he did need some explanation.

“You ain’t even got the tip in yet,” Annie laughed from her chest. She threw her head back when Smoke rubbed her clit back and forth. She was wet enough that she could hear it, and with the way Smoke was looking between her legs, she could only imagine the sight he was being met with. “Make sure you go in at an angle,” she instructed, placing a pillow beneath her lower back. They both needed this to be easy and enjoyable. The longer they waited, the more their arousal clawed through them and the more they grew worried about fucking this up.

What surprised Smoke first was how he slipped inside with such ease, but what surprised him most was how he could feel every shudder, ever shift, every vibration from the inside. With nearly half of his length tucked away inside of her, Annie pulled Smoke down so that their chests were flush, so that their breaths mingled.

“Can I move,” he questioned, voice breaking as he contemplated how long he’d be able to last once she gave him the go ahead. The feeling of her surrounding him was glorious, and the normally unflappable man felt anything but calm.

“Yeah,” she permitted, eyes dazed and dripping with emotion. Annie’s jaw cranked open as she eyed the man above her. They were both perfectly ruined for each other, so gone over the feeling of their bodies becoming one.

His hips moved timidly as he got a feel for the situation. And successfully delivering the man confidence, he stroked her walls in a slow rhythm when her hands landed on his ass in encouragement. Each thrust made them quake. Each drag made them moan. Each breath passed from one to another had them ready to break apart no matter how early in was in their pursuit.

“You doin’ so good, ‘Lijah,” Annie cooed, kissing his temple. His hips sped up, and hers rose to chase him every time he dragged out to the tip.

Breathing shakily, Smoke watched as the sun fell over Annie’s face. It floated through the windows, lighting up her eyes the same way the lights did at that concert—when he first got The Feeling. He decided in that moment, as her brown eyes revealed every fleck of honey in them, that the sun rose just for this. For her.

“You perfect,” he breathed, addicted, and butterflies flooded her body.

Neither of them wanted to tap out just yet. Neither of them wanted to let go. But when Smoke would pull out to the tip, Annie would pulse around him in a way he couldn’t resist. And when he’d bottom out again, a glorious pressure would form in the base of her stomach.

They continued to meet each other in the middle, arms holding on tight, bodies ready to give up the good fight.

And when they came, it was done simultaneously. They couldn’t do anything but surrender together, to each other.

Breaths hot.

Bodies trembling.

Morning dew fading away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

word count: ~2,200

a/n: i'm still accepting requests! i have one more that i really want to get to, but i'm looking for anything interesting. smut, fluff, angst, whatever you got for me!

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

it was her friend's graduation outing and she didn't want to be the only one to not show up when it mattered most. no matter how much she wanted to crawl back in bed and watch reruns of law and order suv.

aneika decided on a black bandage dress and black heels with the gold ysl holding them up. if she was going to go out she might as well put on her good shit. annie just hoped she wouldn't regret this at the end of the night.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

annie's mood was looking up but that was to be expected when your friends are as lit as her's were right now. the feeling that she had prior was melting away by the minute due to the atmosphere her group created. drinks were flowing, the dj was playing hit after hit, and all her girls looked good.

partition by Beyonce was the next song to come on. aneika lost all home training as she and her friends raced to the dance floor. she grinded her hips against her friend, drunk giggles escaping freely. she sighed deeply as she thought about how she always sung this to smoke. but she wouldn't be one of those " i miss my man" bitches, at least not right now. maybe later though..

she continued to dance until she felt her homegirl, asia, stumble into her back. before she could even turn around to ask what was wrong, she heard words that ensured the night was about to take a turn for the worst.

"damn bitches can't say excuse me" asia yelled out to another group of girls pushing their way through the sea of people.

"ian gotta say nothing if ion want to ho" that feeling was back in annie's chest. she knew something was about to pop off.

"girl shut the fuck up" another one of annie's friends said back.

next thing you know a drink flew and a heel came next. annie thought for a few quick seconds. thought about what would happen after the fight. what would happen if smoke found out.

but that was a later annie problem.

she swung on the girl across from her. fists punching harder and harder with each swing. each hit connecting more than the last. in her mind she knew this was crazy but she would always have her friend's back no matter what. she would think of the consequences later.

the girl got one good punch in before what aneika assumed was security snatched her up. legs kicking and body turning trying to make an escape.

the night time air smacked annie in the face as she was sat down on the curb.

"sit down and chill the fuck out" the security guard said as her friends were sat down next to her.

annie bounced her leg fast, adrenaline spreading through her body like a virus. she could not wait to tell her man about this shit. she picked up her phone and hit the only contact pinned in her phone.

elijah saved under the name "jah jah 💋" since he hated when she called him that name.

jah jah 💋

why tf i just get into a

group fight at the club😭

aneika 😐

i'm otw

annie put her phone down and continued to rethink her life decisions. she knew smoke was going to pissed ALL the way off when he came to get her but a part of her didn't really care at the moment. aneika would cross that bridge when she came to it.

"so you hoes think it's okay to put y'all hands on people now" this random man approached the group of women.

annie picked up her phone and began to scroll through instagram because there was no way in hell he thought he was talking to her like that.

" yea you too bitch" the man spat stepping directly in front of annie.

"who tf you talking to???" anieka looked up irritation seeping back into her blood just as quickly as it had left.

"you was the one swinging on my girl so wassup. keep that energy with me!"

"nigga fuck you! grown ass man arguing with women. find you something safe to do for real!!" annie said back to him, accent coming out stronger now that he had took her there.

while they were arguing, smoke turned the corner to the club on one wheel. base booming as he parked on the curb beside the building entrance. he hopped out swiftly when he caught sight of some nigga standing in his girl's face.

the man didn't get a chance to respond as smoke shoulder checked people to move through the crowd forming quickly around them.

"ima tell you one time to back up out her face." he said voice level despite how mad he was.

aneika knew this was the wrong time but seeing her man handle shit does something to her.

"or what" the man said with a fake air of confidence. smoke could see straight past the bravado he was trying to display. elijah was never one to do too much talking.

next thing annie knew, smoke's fist crashed into the dude's jaw. he didn't stop when he heard the cracking noise. eli kept punching even when the dude hit the ground. aneika's man was just like her for real.

"smoke stop and come on. before they call the police on yo crazy ass!!" she said trying to pull smoke off the man who was starting to lose consciousness. he ignored her at first. the man thought it was cool to talk to women any kind of way. especially elijah's. smoke didn't think he had learned his lesson just yet.

the man lay slumped on the concrete. blood staining his cheap white tee when eli let go finally, kicking the man one last time. he just wanted to be a lil extra. he turned around gripping annie's face in his hands.

"you good mama?" his eyes searched her face top to bottom looking for anything out of place.

she giggled still kind of adrenaline high and tipsy from all the lemon drops.

"yea i'm good. this been one crazy night man. " she laughed again.

"what you laughing for? you know damn well you not supposed to be out here fighting and shit" smoke scowled at her. he wasn't really angry at her, more so at the danger that could have took place if he hadn't showed up.

"babyyyyy. they were messing with asia and you know i was not letting that shit slide. that's my bitch. " aneika shrugged her shoulders, she didn't see anything wrong with her actions.

"if asia went to jail were you going too?" he raised an eyebrow at her.

"you don't remember freshman year of college babe? been there done that." annie looked up at him goofily.