#acheckeredpatioseries

When I managed to drag myself out of bed, Kiy stirred enough to snuggle a pillow, but remained fast asleep.

My bare feet hit the hard wood floors and I shook my hair once to free the bed head. I stretched as I yawned, striding the corridors, hoping I wouldn't get lost again.

I did like how new everything felt. But it also felt like something else too—permanent. And that was a feeling I haven’t had in a long time.

When I reached the kitchen, I went straight for the fridge. If our bedroom was soft and fuzzy, then our kitchen was a fireball. It isn’t because of the crimson tiles plated between the small window and the stove. Or the fact that she placed red pots and pans, hanging above our island counter.

It’s the only room I’d believe had sizzled alchemy. When Kiy isn’t savoring a new masterpiece, she’s quiet, book in one hand, steamed jasmine in the other. Always from a cracked mug she refused to kill; one from our cabin fever.

I plopped fresh eggs on the stove and watched them simmer and hiss. I took out another pan and coated the bottom with butter, enough to brown the brioche with no charred bits.

If Kiy was cooking, it'd be a controlled chaotic mess.

Not uncomfortable, but a justifying charge.

The counters would be like her own symphony of fresh air. Flames would leap higher for her, garlic would soften faster. Even the sizzling oil would know how to behave.

I swear it’s more than a setup recognized by her own hands.

I know I’m not a chef.

It doesn’t take a chef to realize the magic she can cultivate. Stacked herbs in clay jars, a cutting board strained from a hundred meals, a bowl of fruit that always seems to regenerate.

The morning sun through the window above the sink always does wonders to her curls in the morning. I’d noticed it around the same time she hums softly to herself.

Though, I’ll never tell her.

The air would linger on with cayenne, brown sugar, and… cinnamon? Sometimes she would drift with flour on her cheek, and I’d feel like she belonged to the sun.

As I plated our breakfast and washed the pans thoroughly before placing them on the dry rack, another thought crossed my mind.

This is the only room in the house where she’s fully herself—heat, sweetness, power, ease.

And when she’s there, the whole house feels like it has a heartbeat.

| KIY

I couldn’t hear his heartbeat anymore.

My arms swept the bed lazily, confirming his absence. My eyes glanced at the clock over our plush comforter.

It’s 7 a.m.

I groaned at the sight, turning over. We only slept for three hours. Three.

The only hours that we weren’t… you know, busy.

Every room was touched by us. From our eco chamber living room to our oceanic bathroom, landed us in a bedroom filled with milk and honey.

Mic had me on the wall, bent over a soft chair, pinned against our spacious shower, and rocked into me on our soft bed.

My fingers felt my lips, remembering exactly where they been. On his lips, his neck, his chest, and—-

I shook my head, my thoughts stopped. I could spiral down into grotesque images, or I could drag myself out of bed to greet my man. A glimmer of amusement came.

My man.

It’s been a while since I’ve allowed myself to fully embrace the emotions I’m experiencing now: serenity, peace, and love.

I love Micah with all my heart.

Our house now served as a sanctuary for our passionate yet composed souls. After months of being together and months apart, nothing changed about him.

Mic remained exactly the same—kind, thoughtful, sweet, funny, and perhaps a bit delirious.

But by now, we both were.

Perhaps a little intoxicated by each other’s company.

When he convinced me to stay in last night, I couldn’t say no. There would be other work parties. It was almost if nothing mattered when he was here with me. The way his body expressed him missing me, I wanted to melt down into a swoon-felt pool.

I inhaled sharply. Didn’t bother checking my phone as I did constantly alone. With Mic here, I didn’t need to.

But…

I did catch a whiff of the breakfast he didn’t hide setting up in the kitchen. Coated smells settled in my stomach, my mouth actually watered.

I leaped from the bed, scurried to the bathroom to pee, brush my teeth, twice, then wrestled my hair to look like a presentable pinecone. I used one of the newer picks he gave me from Barbados. This one had a wooden oak feel, coated in their flag. Once my hair looked like an auburn palm tree, I was satisfied.

I trailed down the hallway, wearing one of his black button-ups, left open. I wore my black sports bra, laced, and daring panties. I knew even after last night, it would be the best greeting.

And I wouldn’t be a fitting girlfriend, if I let him eat alone.

“Get a load of that.”

I complimented the breakfast he worked on. Freshly scrambled eggs with a hint of herb butter, cinnamon brioche, and sliced fruit.

His smile reached his eyes and tugged at my heartstrings. My arms swarmed his bare torso, Mic greeted me with a glorious kiss that made my knees buckle a little.

“Good morning to you too, my prowler.”

“Prowler?” I questioned, sitting on the counter next to him.

Our dining was always inconvenient, we never sat properly at the dining table unless we had guests. Plus, it was located near the back door entrance.

It was sometimes our living room, sometimes the porch, or right here—me on the counter, him leaning against it, picking at his plate.

I continued, “And how’d I get that name?”

“You know how,” he chuckled, before whispering close to my neck. “Even the ocean heard you last night.”

I hit him playfully on his chest. I was chewing through a piece of brioche when his fingers caressed my bare thighs like bolted feathers. Made me hyper sensitive.

“Stop.” I warned him. “For once, I wanna eat. And for once, we need to come up for air.”

“Says you.”

Mic stole a piece of my toast, ripping against the edges with his shiny teeth, antagonizing me. “It’s been months since I’ve tasted you.”

“Weeks,” I corrected. He always seemed to stretch time along with him. “I was there, remember? I stayed with you instead of going to the press conference. Even though Autumn is gonna come for my head.”

He waves off that thought, as he cleared his plate. Then took mine along with it after I was finished. “I’ll straighten it out. Tell Zune to chill her ass out too.”

My head shook, remembering our match-making Christmas party we thought was about us.

It clearly wasn’t.

Though we didn’t know it, our small gang seemed to square off quite nicely.

Autumn and Zune were the most surprising pair. But even after our traveling and search for a house, Autumn helped me with Poetic Ink Co. start up and Zune made sure her micro-managing didn’t get too outlandish.

They've been on plenty of dates since then, and certain buzz from the biggest online magazines told me they were madly in love. Something she needed to cease all her street loving.

“Have you talked to any of them since you gotten back?” I asked, and he pulls me in instantly and my breathing synchronized with his.

Micah shook his head. “No, and I’m already dreading all the calls and messages I need to respond to. Even in paradise, they still need hand holding.”

I chuckled softly. “Those are your guys.”

“And those are your girls.” He’d rebuttal.

“Maui is good for them,” I said with confidence. Especially when all of us needed a good soft landing to come to. “Once Autumn moved here after Zune’s business trip, it’s like rest followed like dominoes.”

“Then, that will make us excellent game masters.” Mic pecked my neck before looking past my shoulders, then frowned.

“What is it?”

I glanced over my shoulder and noticed a parallel vision beyond our kitchen arch. It landed on two shadowy figures approaching our front door.

Our stain-glassed double door—a project I completed as soon as our boxes arrived—created a technicolor display of sunlight. It also allowed us to see guests before they arrive, making it a win-win situation.

Mic groaned and wiped his face. “Company I would rather not entertain.”

I shook my head, pushing him off so I can check who it was. I grabbed a pair of his joggers, laying on the chair, and slid them over my ass. When my hand did turn the door, I was greeted with a storming Autumn who had an apologetic Zune trailing behind her.

She was dressed with a tropical sundress that made her deeply melaninated skin glow brighter. Her face beat with a cherry red gloss and matching eye shadow. Zune, opposed to her, walked a fit he would hoop in, stretched out blue T and long balling shorts.

“You must have a great excuse to why you are blowing my calls. And ditched me to handle all those reporters last night.” Autumn blared through the door like a bulldozer. “I was convinced you were dead. Since that’ll be the only way for you—“

Her ranting stopped when she saw Micah leaning against the arch, his arms crossed against his chest. She side eyed Zune, who was already dapping his life long friend up. The men kept snickering like a couple of kids.

“Nice to see you too, Auttie.” I responded, closing the door behind them. And gestured my greeting that of a maid. “Please grace us with your presence.”

She smacked her lips. “This isn’t funny. I almost put out an Amber Alert.”

“Well as you can see, I am alive and definitely not missing.”

“Uh huh.” Her judgy eyes scanned me from head to toe before looking between Mic and her cackling boyfriend. “You could’ve at least told me you were too busy getting dicked down.”

The guys lost it and was practically rolling on the floor in laughter. I gasped sharply and hit her softly. “That’s not fair! Do I ever pull you away when Zune comes around and interrupts our meetings, our venues, our interviews?”

She huffed and gracefully sat down crossing her legs, like a queen waiting for a plea.

“So enlighten me. Did you or did you not miss an extraneous event because your man was home?” She leaned around me and dipped her head to the side, letting her bleached curls fall off her shoulder, eyeing Mic again. “Hi, by the way.”

“Hi Autumn,” Mic seemed to gain hold of his laugh. He comes up behind me for support. His arms coasting my shoulders as our fingers interlocks. “Don’t patronize my girl too much. It was my idea to keep her home.”

“Thanks for sharing that with the class.” She shakes her head. But she couldn’t talk when it came to her own relationship. And with that realization, she gets up fairly quickly. “I need a smoke and I doubt your zen ass rolled anything.”

Mic and I side-glanced before he kissed my forehead and took Zune to the den. Or at least what’s left after dresses from an unattended event spilled over. I go over to a wooden embroidery box just above the fireplace and smile back at her, holding two options.

“Rose or lavender hemp?”

“Bitch, both.”

| MIC

While Kiy talked Autumn off a ledge, I poured Zune a drink from the bar. Whiskey, citrus peel, sphere cube—a simple sermon in a glass. I slid it to him, and he knocked it back like hydration.

“I don’t wanna have to check your woman, man,” I warned, half-joking, half-serious.

Zune waved it off as he dropped the empty glass on the counter. “It won’t come to that. But you know how she is with Kiy. It’d take the apocalypse to break those two up.”

He flicked a rolled napkin toward the bin and landed a clean, disrespectfully perfect three. He held his pose like it was part of his birthright.

“Still… someone could’ve let us know you came back.”

“I was busy.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Man—do I bug you about your sex life?”

“Hell no,” he grinned, swinging his barstool toward the couch as I migrated over. “Which is why I’m intrigued. Your trips never end early. What happened? Groins was calling?”

Yes! Loudly. More than I care to admit. Kiy does that. She makes it worthwhile every time.

My eyes cut at him when I lied: “No.”

Zune lifted both hands like the spirit moved him. “Aye, y’all are in love. Believe me, I get it. But next time you wanna have an all-day smackdown, at least let us know you’re alive.”

I smacked my teeth and flipped through sports channels. Nothing worth watching. So we settled on 2K25, controllers warm in our hands.

Just before the tip-off, I added, “You’re no better than your bopping girl out there.”

“Takes one to know one,” Zune cheesed.

I slapped his controller down and drained the three before he even recovered.

| KIY

I caught a glimpse of Mic gaming with Zune as I passed the den to grab Autumn fresh squeezed pineapple juice.

Both of them looked like overgrown teenagers nobody could pry apart—yelling, cursing, arguing fouls like the world depended on pixelated pride. Somehow, it made my heart glow.

I loved seeing him like this. I loved seeing him, period.

“You are gone,” Autumn teased as we settled on the front porch for our impromptu meeting.

Out here, she could cloud herself in rose and lavender smoke without me getting too wrapped up in Mic’s body every time he shifted in the other room.

I smiled and set her glass on the side table. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Oh yes, hef, you do.”

Autumn dragged from the rose blunt before passing it. Then she lit the lavender one and started our rotation—two blunts, two women, and the ocean performing for us.

“You, Miss Kiyanna, are a stickler for communication. And the one night we needed that skill? You flaked harder than chips.”

The sigh that left me nearly turned into a cough from the smoke. “I’ll make it up to you, Auttie. Whenever you need. Full, undivided attention.”

“Mhm.”

She didn’t believe a syllable, and honestly, I couldn’t blame her. I did feel guilty leaving our magazine launch in her hands—but she’s also the reason I trusted it would stand. When I finally walk away from corporate for good, she’ll run it smoother than silk.

She flicked the rose roach into the ceramic ashtray, then side-eyed me. “I know you’ve got god-tier multitasking. But with this partnered event coming up? You gotta be ready. That means… answer your damn phone.”

I chuckled, knowing my phone had been on the nightstand untouched for hours.

“Without a moment more, your Highness.”

| MIC

Looking up from the TV, I catch this man peeking through the blinds, spying on his lady out on the porch.

Zune was always a pouty sore loser—team lost 3–0 and he nearly raged on my controller until I checked him. Once he calmed his ass down, he shifted his attention to what he called “other pressing matters.”

Now he was being hella creepy about it.

I never thought I’d see the day. This is a man who will bite the head off a music label exec for messing with artist rights. Same man who scared the CEO of Columbia Records into a white-flag apology tour. And he’s just a sound engineer. No corporate power, no titles—just talent and reputation sharp enough to draw blood.

I debated saying something, but after I crushed his winning streak, I figured mercy was the wiser path.

Love makes you do the strangest things anyway. Like ignoring the entire planet for 15 hours and 33 minutes.

But who’s counting?

It was good while it lasted. Now we had people in the house, and I had to pretend I wasn’t staring at Kiy every time she existed. The way my dress shirt hung off her, sculpting everything I already knew by heart. Her sports bra holding her perfectly—no, distractingly—well. Her laughter glowing louder than the sun, and those damn panties? She definitely went shopping before I got home.

She looked unreal eating that brioche out of my hand. I’ll never get tired of feeding her.

“Aye, Mic—prepare yourself,” Zune chuckled, still holding the blinds like he was auditioning for “Nosy Neighbor of the Year”.

“For what?” I muttered, turning my head toward that goofy expression stuck on his face.

Shuffled car doors slammed outside—multiple, loud, chaotic.

Shit.

“The gang’s all here,” Zune confirmed.

Before I could even get a grip, the house filled with a thunderclap of voices.

“GIRL! LOOK AT YOU!”

Stembie’s voice cracked straight through the walls, followed by a chorus of squeals as the girls swarmed Kiy. I closed my eyes and braced myself—my afternoon had officially been hijacked.

Out in the foyer, Stembie was doing a full two-step with Kiy, spinning her like she was unveiling her at a fashion show. “New house! New man! Everything brand new, bitch!”

Kiy hugged her tight, rocking with her laughter. “You’re ridiculous, Stem.”

Julia came storming in with Chris carrying a tray of baked sorcery. She hollered across the room, “But you better have the tea! We heard about your little lock-in!”

I brushed past all of them to stand behind Kiy, sliding my arms around her chest and pulling her back against me. She grabbed my arms, grounding me.

“Y’all need to stop slandering my baby,” I said, kissing her cheek. “She takes real good care of me.”

Everyone burst out laughing before piling in the house.

“We know!”

“How we the ones who helped them see each other, and get punish for it?” I asked, deadpan.

She pulled me down by the collar and kissed me—slow, sweet, final. The world went silent in my head. I didn’t focus on the irritation, only her lips and the soft press of her tongue

“I’ll thank you later,” she murmured into my ear.

I had no choice but to cave.

People were in our home. We needed to be proper hosts. Even if I wanted to drag her upstairs and ignore the entire human race.

But the house was already splitting into two worlds: the ladies drifting to the living room—vinyl spinning, blunts passing, Julia and Kiy setting out baked goods while Autumn lit incense like she was summoning ancestors—and the gentlemen retreating to the den.

Zune slapped my shoulder as he passed. “Alright, lover boy. Come take this L in 2K.”

I didn’t move yet. Kiy caught my eye from the rug, laughing with her whole body, golden light all over her skin. It hit me in the chest—hard.

She leaned in to Autumn, whispering something that made them both scream-laugh. My throat tightened. Warm and messy and familiar.

Home.

Finally, I peeled myself away and walked into the den.

Zune shoved a controller into my hand. “We taking bets on how fast you fold.”

Chris didn’t even look up. “Man came home two weeks early and thinks he’s slick.”

Gabe poured whiskey over ice with that knowing smirk. “You ready to tell us what’s got you glowing like a guilty saint?”

I dropped onto the couch and pretended 2K required all my attention. “Y’all worry too much,” I muttered.

Kiy’s laugh drifted in from the other room—bright enough to warm the walls.

They stared at me for not hiding what I'd noticed. The kind of look brothers give when the truth is loud even if you won’t say it.

Zune leaned back. “Mic…it’s not that we worry.”

Gabriel patted my shoulder before making himself comfortable on the couch. “It’s that you’re cooked.”

I didn’t deny it.

Couldn’t.

Not anymore.

My pen tucked behind my ear, I closed my latest entry and saw Kiy drifting off to sleep.

I chuckled, her neck resembling a toddler. I lean her head back against my shoulder… us snuggled in a luxury cocoon I might have spent an arm for.

Sure, I spoil her. A lot. But her presence gave me a lot of warm feelings I’d never let go. The blanket, pulled our body heat, and the window drawn close create a cozy atmosphere.

My eyes darted to the last picture she flipped through, causing my curiosity. I zoomed in on it a few times, settling on a unique position that we both enjoyed. Her ass in the air, and my face hovering right there.

Thank god for a tripod.

I edited it in black and white. I didn’t care if no one saw it (since it wouldn’t be publicized), but thinking about her like this… remembering the moans bouncing off the walls as our bodies clapped against each other…I stiffened before it could be stopped. My dick pressed against tight fabric, only made it impossible to be comfortable.

I sighed, knowing how to deal with it so I could sleep. I lowered my headphones and stared at Kiy. Sleep. Unmovable. Then, my hands wiggled around in my sweats. I wore looser boxers, and it wasn’t hard to grab onto him. He strung out like a chording string, and the heat grew more intense.

“Shit,” I muttered. I was about to get off on a picture, but this wasn’t the first time. I didn’t want to wake her up. Besides, I knew how to take care of myself and be discreet.

One stroke.

Groan.

Second stroke.

Another groan.

Quietly, under my breath, I thought about how captivating she assembled as Claudette. My mind led back to the steamboat hallways and corridors with untold secrets. Betrayal. Her French words went from my ear to my arousal. And I wasn’t surprised how bold she became as her. In another life form.

When I grabbed her in the hallway, as secrets became known, my body wanted to take her then. Her French garment suit—torn. The fog swallowing us whole. The Nile becoming a witness as I persisted on tattooing my name onto her shivering body.

Shit.

Finer than wine.

Couldn’t believe murder mystery dinners left me wanting and her vexed, needing me to arrive in her pussy.

Kiy told me she wanted role playing. Some time ago. When I’d imagined her speaking ferocious French things to me, my head lean back and my eyes were filled with excited anticipation.

“Damn.”

My precum covered my hand. I wiped it against my Calvin’s. I began again, closing my eyes. Then, I beat myself faster and faster until—

Those familiar soft lips enveloped me, and I nearly jumped out of my seat.

“Kiy—!”

My other hand flew to my mouth, biting down hard. It was a chilling sensation, convinced she was asleep and couldn’t hear me. But her head continued to bounce as her lips greeted me, repeatedly.

Soft.

Subtle.

Warm.

“Fuck.” I uttered. But her spontaneity was exactly what I needed. My headphones fell and the camera escaped my hold, she adjusted herself. Now on her knees in front of me, I was glad the cocoon held us privately.

“Keep going. Fuck—baby—you’re taking me all in.”

And she didn’t stop until my knuckles were white and there were stars in my eyes. My chest heaved up and down, catching my breath. Then she unzipped her jacket, threw it over my head.

Everything went completely black. At first it was a moment of silence. And with my eyes covered, I couldn’t control much of anything. It felt so fucking good not to.

“Oh!”

Her warmth struck, raw. She slid down onto my dick and I melted inside her. The heated retention blew my resolve. I wished her riding the shit out my dick. Her hips slowly grinding, rubbing me, back and forth. A steady rock, I almost lost.

“Ha.” I huffed, winded. “Ha. Kiy baby, don’t stop. Take me. All the damn way.”

I couldn’t fathom what she was doing. It was a risk for us both, but that didn’t matter. The repercussions were far away. And our bodies, slicked with heat. I groped her ass, bringing our collision to the moon.

How did a simple hand stroke escalate into a surreal moment—her riding me mid-flight?

I couldn’t question her. My mind wandered freely. Her making love to me, our bodies moved better than oil machinery, unraveling me gradually.

And her climax, glorious. Me feeling every pulse her pussy made after the fact. We took on a different state of surrender, unable to resist this heightened pleasure.

I let go soon after her, spilling like the secrets did not too long ago. It was a shot in the dark that we didn’t plan for consciously. It’s like we both gave up our hearts in one decision.

She felt so fucking amazing.

“Oh, Mic!”

Gabriel laughed as we went out for celebratory drinks the next day. We were at Waikiki’s exclusive club, Sky Leila. He and the guys weren’t letting me off the hook on every single detail that had me join the Mile High club with them.

“You got some? In the air? I’m blown away.”

“Hey man, keep your voice down,” I warned him. “But yeah, she took care of me.”

“What a woman.”

Zune mentioned that. He and Chris were playing pool, and he executed a trick shot that resulted in two balls landing in the same pocket.

My eyes shrunk. I’m starting to think Zune would’ve made a play to Kiy if I wasn’t around. He and Autumn are fluent like that. But too bad, I was here. And I wasn’t losing the one person who made living prosperous.

“Careful. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Bruh. You’re about to become a married man.” Chris remarked. “Trust me, there’ll be more stories to tell.” He patted me on the back before taking his shot.

“Aye, welcome,” Zune clapped in admiration. “It’s about time you joined the club. You’ve been traveling so much that I was starting to worry.”

I raised my glass and gazed directly into it, dismissing his comment with a shrug. “I’m only sharing this because… well, I didn’t pull out.”

They all stared at me, as if I had grown antlers or something.

I continued preparing for my round with Gabriel. “It wasn’t like she gave me much choice. She caught me off guard.”

Zune, seated and sipping whiskey, couldn’t help but wonder, “And she… what? Ain’t she taking birth control?”

I shook my head, leaning on the pool stick. I couldn’t help but smile. “Nah. And that’s your second strike. You a little too invested.”

Kiy trusted me enough to be completely free with her body. And it was a honor—to hold that trust—in so many positions I’d get her in.

That’s why I didn’t stop her, and couldn’t stop myself either. The feeling surged through me, warming me from the inside out.

Plus, I did promise her. She would be the mother of our kids, someday.

“Damn.” They all uttered in unison.

Chris wagged his finger. “I sensed something was amiss about you all the moment we arrived. That was a life-altering decision.”

Gabriel broke into a fit of laughter at the top. “But are you ready for what comes after?” We all stared at him, and he chuckled again. “No pun intended.”

“Yeah,” I said. Not hesitating. It didn’t only shock them. “I am.”

Zune shivered, a chill running down his spine. “Oof. Married and a father? That bachelor card long gone.”

I clenched my teeth and said, “Fuck you. You’re next. As much you and Autumn go at it.”

“We go at it because I know she’s good,” Zune replied. “Lord knows we’re not ready. We have too much prime left. Besides, she’s about to reach the peak of her career. Only the fastest lane here, ya dig?”

I pushed his shoulder, and he suddenly perked up. “Besides, we only have one chain per group. You and Chris have already fallen. Gabriel and I gotta be extra cautious.”

“Oh, that’s been settled.” Gabriel shot back. “My sunflower and I made up our minds that we’ll be the wealthy auntie and uncle.”

Zune dapped him up. “Aye, come through on that.”

Night had settled over Waikīkī like a velvet curtain. Neon rippled across the ocean-facing windows of Sky Leila, and the bass from downstairs thumped through the floor like a second heartbeat. The kind of place where secrets floated between glasses of whiskey and the city lights looked close enough to steal.

Gabriel leaned over the pool table like a scientist studying a rare specimen. Except the specimen was me.

“Man,” he said, dragging the word out like taffy. “You really just dropped that like it was nothing.”

Chris whistled low. “Not nothing. That’s the kind of sentence that changes tax brackets.”

Zune laughed into his drink. “Nah, forget tax brackets. That’s the kind of sentence that changes bedtime.”

The table erupted.

I rolled the cue stick between my palms, trying to look calm while lining up my shot. The ball cracked clean against the rack. Two dropped.

Inside though… my mind was somewhere else entirely.

Not to Cairo.

Or the plane.

Not even the night.

It was the look on Kiyanna’s face when she said she’d stopped taking them.

She wasn’t nervous.

And it wasn’t calculated.

She was free. Soaring.

Like she’d stepped out of a cage no one else even knew she was in.

That kind of freedom does something to a man. Makes the future stop looking like some distant country and more like a door you’re already walking through.

Zune snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Yo fatherhood, you still with us?”

I blinked. “Shut up.”

Gabriel laughed so hard he nearly scratched his shot.

Chris leaned against the table, studying me with that older-brother expression he wore sometimes now. Ever since the adoption thing started moving forward.

“Real talk though,” he said quietly. “You sound different.”

“Different how?”

“Happier. Lived.”

Those words landed heavier than the cue ball.

Happy? Yeah, I am.

But lived?

Only because when she is with me, I feel so fucking invincible.

Funny how guys act like it’s a prison sentence. Like peace is some kind of trap.

Gabriel chalked his cue. “Man went from international mystery man to suburban dad arc in one flight.”

Zune lifted his glass toward me. “To Mic. The first of us to fall gloriously into domestic bliss.”

They all laughed again.

I raised my drink anyway.

“To whatever comes next.”

The glasses clinked.

Outside the windows, the Pacific stretched into the dark like a living thing breathing under the moon. And for the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel like something I had to outrun.

It felt like something I’d already chosen.

Kiy

“Come on out and let us see now,” Julia called through the changing room curtain. “I have another selection if you’re worried.”

She had taken full command of bridal shopping until Autumn finished her meetings. I didn’t mind. It was comforting watching Julia operate with purpose, clipboard energy and all.

Autumn, meanwhile, was still bulldozing the business world. Poetic Ink Co. had become a beast. She’d already closed three signage deals this week—including one with a boutique winery that apparently made bottles too pretty to open.

She’d already volunteered them for our wedding.

Which was sweet. Except we didn’t even know where the wedding was yet. My thoughts drifted somewhere else entirely.

The plane.

The soft cocoon of that ridiculous first-class pod Mic insisted on buying. The quiet hum of the engines. The way the cabin lights dimmed until the world outside felt like nothing but clouds and midnight.

The moment I decided to be spontaneously driven, I didn’t stop him from pooling into me. In fact, I rode him all the way through, to the point of existential pleasantries.

I could still feel him if I thought too hard. My hips rolling into his, his breath caught against my shoulder while we tried—and failed—to stay quiet.

The memory made my stomach twist.

It had only been a few days.

Friday would tell me everything.

My palms dampened as the thought circled again. Was I ready to be a mother?

“Kiy,” Julia called again.

“Yeah,” I answered automatically. “Coming.”

I pushed through the curtain.

The reaction hit me instantly.

Gasps.

Julia’s hand flew to her mouth before tears rushed out like she’d been waiting for them all morning. Stembie blinked rapidly, pretending to swat invisible dust from the air.

Autumn arrived, champagne in one hand and her oversized pink Marc Jacobs bag dangling from the other. She froze mid-step.

“Well damn,” she breathed.

She walked over and helped me onto the little podium.

“And this is the first one?” she asked, shaking her blond curls. “Girl… he’s not going to know what hit him.”

I looked down at myself.

Ivory sequins across a ballroom gown clung across my shoulders like scattered starlight, the fabric flowing down into a long embroidered train. Sunlight from the boutique windows caught every tiny bead, throwing little sparks across the mirror.

The pins in the back held everything together, but I already knew.

This dress was right.

I could walk out of here happy.

But Julia would absolutely accuse me of cursing the wedding if I didn’t try on at least three more.

“Alright,” I sighed. “What’s next?”

Autumn lifted one manicured finger.

Shit, I thought. I’ve been made.

I became very interested in the stitching along the bodice. She circled me slowly, eyes narrowing like a detective.

“I haven’t seen you in a minute,” she said. “But something about you is definitely different.”

“You’re crazy,” I laughed nervously. “Come on, we’ve got dresses to get through.”

“Mm-mmm.”

She grabbed my arm before I could escape back behind the curtain. Her purse landed on a nearby bench with a dramatic thud.

“You look like a changed woman,” she said. “And desert heat doesn’t do that.”

My hands folded in front of me instinctively.

“I don’t know yet,” I blurted. “Dammit, Autumn. I cannot keep anything from you.”

Her smile widened with pure victory.

“As your maid of honor,” she said proudly, “you should know that by now.”

Stembie leaned forward. “Hold on. Someone want to fill the rest of us in?”

I exhaled and smoothed the dress over my hips.

“I’d rather not,” I admitted. “But she will make me say it anyway.”

My eyes lifted to all three of them. My spine braced for impact. “Our last flight was… eventful.”

Autumn nearly choked on her champagne.

“How eventful?” she grinned. “Like the kind that leaves your man—”

“Let me say it!” I squealed.

They froze.

“We may have joined the Mile High Club…” I swallowed. “…and possibly the parenting club.”

The boutique fell eerily quiet.

Even through the walls we could hear heels clicking across the marble floor as associates helped other brides. But inside our little room, time stalled.

Every face turned toward me.

“Y’all,” I said softly. “Please say something.”

Julia moved first.

She wrapped her arms around me so tightly I almost lost my balance on the podium. Tears slipped onto my cheek.

“I’m happy for you,” she whispered. “And Mic. You may not know yet… but if anyone deserves to be a mother, it’s you.”

“Julia…”

I held her just as tight.

I knew that conversation wasn’t easy for her. For years she’d imagined motherhood a different way. But after the adoption interview, something in her heart had shifted.

She’d found a new path to love.

Stembie leaned back in her chair like her brain had short-circuited.

“Seems like yesterday I drove you to go get that man,” she said. “And now you might be somebody’s mama.”

Autumn stepped forward and took both my hands. “You’re not alone in this,” she said gently. “Whatever happens, you have us.”

She squeezed my fingers.

“We’ll raise the little tyrant together.”

I laughed through sudden tears.

“And that includes Julia’s future baby too,” she added.

The handkerchief made its way to me next, courtesy of a slightly stunned boutique associate standing nearby.

I dabbed my eyes as my girls surrounded me.

This was my reality now.

And for the first time in a long time… I didn’t feel like I had to face it alone.

We stepped out of the boutique slightly buzzed, dresses and champagne still floating in the air around us. The afternoon sun spilled across the sidewalk like it had been waiting for our little parade of laughter.

“Y’all hungry?” Stembie asked first. “Let’s hit a food truck. I’m craving shrimp tacos.”

Autumn snorted. “Look at her. You’d think she was the one eating for two.”

Stembie flipped her off and kept walking toward the parking lot. “Don’t ever wish that on me. I plan on being rich auntie for life.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” I said, slipping the keys from Autumn’s hand. “And I’m driving.” They gave me suspicious looks but climbed in anyway.

Her pink Porche curved along the coast until we pulled up to a sleek black storefront glowing softly against the ocean.

Shelly Noir.

A new Black-owned seafood spot everyone had been whispering about. Inside, warm lights bounced off polished wood and brass fixtures.

The air smelled like butter, cayenne, and something deeper—slow-cooked and sacred. Jazz drifted through the room from a trio near the window, the trumpet bending notes that floated out toward the sea.

Once we settled into our reserved table, Autumn snapped her fingers twice after the first bite.

“Come through, Baton Rouge,” she said, eyes widening. “It’s like Mardi Gras moved to Hawaii.”

“Right?” I laughed.

And that wasn’t even the best part.

The chef had prepared a special Louisiana tasting menu just for us. Each dish arrived like a small celebration—blackened shrimp, buttery cornbread, and a gumbo so rich it felt like somebody’s grandmother had personally blessed the pot.

Julia paused mid-bite, studying the room like a detective chef. “How did you even find this place?” she asked.

“Mic,” I said simply. “This was supposed to be our anniversary dinner spot. But he wanted something more private that night.”

I smiled to myself. “They catered the whole evening though. Didn’t miss once.”

Stembie leaned back, shaking her head while the jazz hummed around us. “Let me find out this man isn’t just booking trips,” she said. “He’s planning entire culinary adventures.”

I grinned.

“That’s not all.”

Right on cue, the restaurant staff approached our table carrying small black boxes and ivory envelopes.

Autumn’s eyes widened immediately.

“Oh my God,” she shrieked when she opened hers. “You said you deleted this picture!”

I shrugged.

“I lied.”

Inside each envelope was a photo from our Mardi Gras trip—laughing, dancing, beads tangled everywhere. Beneath it sat a laminated card with gold lettering that read: Will You Be My Bridal Maid?

And tucked inside the velvet boxes were emerald-and-gold pearl sets I collected from the house the day we flew back.

“You all deserve the best,” I told them softly as the waiter set down their signature cocktails. “And I would be honored if you stood by me on my wedding day. ”

For a moment nobody spoke.

Stembie blinked hard like she was fighting tears.

“Girl, stop,” she groaned, pressing a hand to her chest. “Between this and the baby news, y’all really trying to send me into cardiac arrest.”

The table burst into laughter as she dramatically fanned herself with the menu.

Outside the windows the ocean shimmered under the setting sun, and inside Shelly Noir the jazz kept playing like the whole night had been written for us.

“Shit.”

My lip bit down hard. My hand split between her hair and the comforter. “Baby.”

Her mouth closed around me and moved like sucking me was no contest. And I was on the verge of losing everything.

“I love…when you do this.”

Her mouth warmed me perfectly. Her hair shook around like dancing fire, feeling every inch of me. Taking me in like I was her survival. Shit. Right now? She’s mine.

She continues to blow me. Never rushing. Every chance made me squirm and my muscles tighten around every gag she pushed through. I know I was deep but she led me here. She knew how to get arise out of me. And from her captivating throat to her tongue, my mind melted in a pool of sweat and feverish undertones.

Her sounds were utterly degrading, yet I couldn’t help but devour them. As she consumed me, and then—

“Fuck!” My body trembled with a wild chill that radiated throughout the entire room.

Her hand groped my jewels as I paced her rhythm before I took flight. She was bent over the edge of the bed, and her ass a beautiful sight. My hand occasionally smacking, a disruptive force. While she lavished all my reasoning. I stood directly in front of her, split between watching and craving.

“Kiy,” I warned, feeling the heat flickering around me, my legs faltered. “I won’t be able to—.”

“Let go.”

She disregarded me like the wind being silenced. She seized my torso and rocked me against the current. I roared against a sharp slick flash with my eyes rolling back. And my arms dropping, weightless. The Nile had vanished. Leaving me in a coma. A framed one. Where she conducted all my movements.

I blinked a few times, seeing her forcefully swallow. It was a lot that spilled in her mouth. She leaked a little and used her hand to catch the rest. Making sure each fingers of hers were clean.

My fingers lifted her chin, wiping her teary eyes. She was a mess. Freshly—my mess. I would catch her wrecked look every time. I parted her mouth slowly, pushing two fingers against her tongue. She twitched while I smirked.

“Put it in.”

Shit. Her voice poured like her sex was lingering a frequency. A frequency I always met. Until the very end. I carried her in my arms, lifting her ass with my knee and held her hands above her hand. She wobbled until the balance stilled. Then I slowly sunk into her, waking up so many desperate desires.

“More Mic.” She taunted me. Though, her body kept her honest. She was soaked. A few streams ran down her leg but I ignored this. My fingers fell inside, stroking her bud, tasting all she offered me.

Only me.

Purely divine.

Her voice—shaken—rose hairs off my ears. “My legs shouldn’t be there by morning.”

“Kiy.” I almost buckled. Relieved I didn’t bust. Our thrusts gotten too lucid. My head only held air. “You can’t tell me that and not have me go harder.”

I pulled back, making the tip visible. She whimpered. God, she really loved me. And I was going to continue to show her my heart. All of it. By working her pussy like a steel drum.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

“Fuck.” I muttered. “Plus—the way you feel….sodamngood,” I let her hands fall to squeeze her breasts repeatedly. “You can convince me of murder.”

Her face, flushed with heat and friction held her award winning smile. But her screams after were the perfect atonement to her beautiful demise.

I gripped her ass, harder than before. “You can say—or scream—anything you want.”

| Kiy

The waiting room sat on the edge of the steamboat’s wing, half indoors, half surrendered to the river—upholstered chairs arranged as if they were bracing for gossip. Warm lamplight hummed against polished wood while the Nile exhaled just beyond the rail, close enough to hear, too far to interrupt. It felt like a threshold space, where secrets queued patiently before being allowed inside.

“Gather around, everyone!”

To celebrate our desert excursion, Peggy and a few others put together a full murder-mystery dinner, bells and whistles included.

Characterized garments waited for us in standard-issue mailers outside our cabin doors. I asked Mic how they even got our measurements. He said he’d had to fill out the usual questionnaire before he could accept the trip. Casual. Slightly ominous. Very on theme.

Peggy looked radiant in yellow, sequins streaming like captured sunlight. A feather boa framed her shoulders, golden gloves sealing the illusion. She was Miss Aurora Windleblossom—a wealthy aristocrat with a disturbing past—and she wore it like a well-kept secret.

Rayne arrived as an English newsie: white cap, black button-up, denim knicker-style trousers, crimson suspenders cutting clean lines through the look. She played Butch Lawry, hopelessly pining for a 1920s waitress who wouldn’t spare him a glance.

Her character mirrored her partner’s. Elaine—whom we met as soon as we boarded—played Virginia Rose, a waitress turned old-Hollywood actress. She wore a powerful blue uniform, glittering red heels, a pink apron, and a golden pen pinning her dark, tightened curls in place. She popped pink bubblegum relentlessly, standoffish, eyes trained on the Nile like it owed her money.

Micah was cast as a Cuban prince—Agustí de Erbtide Green—who fell into a slow, rigid love with a French novelty writer. Me. He lounged in a vintage leather chair while I sat near his right arm. He wore a deep velvet coat, long and dramatic, with a layered black high collar, a structured vest, metallic buttons, and gold chains draped like punctuation marks.

My character was Claudette Desjardins. Calculated. Intolerant of discrimination and petty theft. A heart of ice until a Cuban prince softened it with song and devastatingly good food. I wore a cool blue three-piece suit: tailored vest with soft buttons, draped wide-leg trousers, a crisp white button-up beneath. A brown briefcase rested near my leather boots. My hat sat in my gloved hand as I examined the fabric, pretending not to watch him.

The rest of the characters blurred at the edges, but I remember Dr. Khatibi—a world-renowned scientist who’d uncovered a groundbreaking cure. A ringmaster from a famous circus. A mysterious traveler. A pirate. A stocky businessman. A cook. A health minister.

Too many secrets for one river. The Nile flowed on anyway, unimpressed.

“Each of you should have received a letter with your package,” Peggy explained, pacing the center of the room. “It contains confidential information—who you are, and why you’ve all ended up here. A good mix to start. Who would like to go first?”

A silence pooled. Then the health minister cleared his throat.

He wore a single-framed glass resting over his left eye, a flipped gray mustache, and a suit so plain it seemed intentional.

“Where’s the loo?” he blurted, hiccuping mid-syllable.

We blinked. Only then did we notice the empty bottle of schaaps dangling from his fingers. The minister swayed side to side, awaiting instruction like a man who’d misplaced both dignity and gravity.

“Oh—it’s…” Windleblossom—Peggy—studied him, momentarily stunned, before snapping back into character. “Down the hall. Far right.”

“Are we eating now?” Butch Lawry—Rayne—asked. “Before there’s any murder business, I’d rather do it on a full stomach.” Her fingers slid down her suspenders and ended in a snap.

“Yes, yes,” Windleblossom replied briskly. “Off you go—to the dining portion of the evening. Can someone see to it that Mr. Downey is all right?”

“Mr. Downey, Madame?” I asked as we began filing down the hall, passing her in a narrow line.

“The health minister.”

“I’ll go,” Dr. Khatibi said calmly. “Everyone else—dining hall. Quickly.”

Cocktail hour gathered us like static. Murmurs overlapped, low and wary. The silvery chandelier trembled with the boat as the sun slipped toward the horizon, the river bruising into evening. We chose corners instinctively. No one trusted the geometry of closeness.

“Meu lar—your frown lines,” Agustí murmured.

I adjusted my hat and lifted my glass. “It’s already begun,” I whispered.

“Even so, don’t let your enemies mark you,” he warned, smiling into his drink. Then, softer, “We have company.”

We lifted our heads in unison.

Sir William John stood nearby—a former stockbroker, once connected to a colleague whose story I’d declined to tell.

“Claudette.” He tipped his hat and bowed with unnecessary flourish. “You look well. An invitation too? Your old champ sends his regards.”

Agustí stepped in front of me, smooth as shadow. “If I were you, I’d mind my manners.”

Sir William raised his hands. “No offense intended, I assure you.” He flicked a lighter open and shut. “Enjoy the evening—both of you.”

I nodded after his retreat. “You didn’t need to do that. I could’ve—”

Agustí’s expression stopped the sentence cold. He leaned in and murmured a trail of Portuguese—low, deliberate, unrepeatable.

I gasped, stepping aside to hide the bloom in my face, the river outside laughing quietly at my expense.

The cook burst through the doors in a panic, his chef’s hat torn, apron soaked dark with blood. He was breathless when he announced, “Din—dinner is served.”

Trays followed him in a quiet procession. We looked at one another, clocked the details, and asked nothing. Silence seated us. Even so, alliances were already forming—subtle glances, angled shoulders. Everyone played their part well. Perhaps too well.

“My, my,” Virginia Rose said, breaking her silence at last. She twirled her gum, then tucked it neatly behind her ear. “This all looks delicious. Aren’t those steak bites imported?”

“Good eye, my beloved flower,” Butch said, lifting a finger with a small, knowing smile. “That explains the blood on the apron.”

“Est-ce que…?” I murmured. “He did seem very hasty, no?”

Agustí slipped a napkin from beneath the table and rested it on my thigh, his fingers tracing slow circles through the linen. Our code. Someone was already lying.

“Where’s the health—Mr. Downey?” I asked aloud. “And neither the doctor nor the aristocrat have returned.”

“Aye, fair lady has a point,” the pirate said, tipping his feathered hat aside. “No one’s gone that long unless there’s mutiny.”

“You mean foul play?” Sir William scoffed, flinging a butter knife so it clattered against his mostly empty plate. “Ridiculous. The only crime here is this course. Why can’t anyone serve steak properly?” He rose and headed for the bar, lighter flicking in restless rhythm.

“If it displeases you, Sir William,” the cook said, reentering the room, “you are free to leave this ship.”

“That’s an idea,” Sir William replied, eyes trailing the cook with unpleasant interest as he passed. “But who would entertain you, Layette?”

The room inhaled sharply.

Layette—the disgraced diver turned chef. The headlines came rushing back: the shuttered restaurant near Cairo, the scandal, the once-lauded three Michelin stars now treated like a punchline. Since foreclosure, he’d been drifting the Nile, collecting grudges.

“And suddenly, I have no appetite,” Agustí muttered, pushing his plate away. The others followed, a quiet flock.

“Please,” Layette snapped. “There is no poison here.” He lifted a butcher knife and drove it into one of the steak bites. Red juice spilled onto the plate, pooling thick and theatrical. He swallowed the meat whole, wiped the blade on his already ruined apron, and said, “See?”

“Then why were you invited?” someone asked.

“Aurora,” he said, circling the table with a bottle of the darkest wine. “She asked me to accompany this… gathering. And now, seeing you all, I understand why.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Butch said sharply. “I don’t take kindly to judgments made before conversation.”

“No offense, Mister Lawry.” Layette bowed, still gripping the bottle. “Only that she promised me a dinner I wouldn’t forget.”

“Apologies! Apologies!” Windleblossom arrived flushed and breathless, fidgeting with her garments as Dr. Khatibi followed, silent as a reprimanded child. “The first course is served—excellent.” She seated herself and fanned her face with an embroidered fan far too expensive to misplace.

“You’re familiar with Layette, Miss Windleblossom?” I asked immediately.

“Layette? Ah yes.” She laughed lightly, dipping bread into her wine and eating it without pause. “I knew this would raise questions, but I assure you—he’s as clean as a whistle.”

No one commented on the manners.

“And Mr. Downey?” Agustí pressed.

“Steven?” she said too quickly. “Oh heavens, no. That schaaps has him out for the night.”

“Entre autres choses,” I murmured.

“Pardon, my dear?” she called from the end of the table.

I smiled. “Bouchées de steak à l’ail sur pain français. Exquisite.”

“Oh mercy, madame,” she said, fanning herself again. “I hoped you’d be fond of it.”

The dining hall dissolved into the clatter of clearing plates and low, guarded conversation. Glasses chimed. Knives scraped. Somewhere beneath it all, the boat groaned forward.