#melodicfic

Your eyes slid over him. He was covered in a tailored tweed 5 piece suit and his bulk couldn’t be hidden. Thick arms, a broad chest and a wicked smile with golds peaking out. 

Smoke Moore. Nothing better. 

You took him in. 

“Ain’t you gonna let me in?” He grinned and leaned on your door frame. 

You squinted your eyes at him. Thoughts of that night at the Juke years ago surfaced. Your breath caught in your throat. 

“You ain’t never needed me to do that before.”

He sucked another mouthful of smoke from his cigarette. And blew it towards you. Your eyes watered a bit and you glared, gripping the doorframe tighter. 

“Maybe I need you to now.” There was a beat. 

“You don’t need an invitation. You just come and go as you please. I’ve given up on trying to keep you away. It’s a waste of time.”

He smirked something fierce. 

“Yeah you right. I was just fucking with ya.”

He flicked the cigarette into the grass and pushed past Annie, not without placing his paws on her body to maneuver her out of the way. 

One hand grabbed her waist, the other palmed her heavy breast before squeezing past her and into her quaint home. 

Smoke had it made for her. For them. 

One of the last things he did for her before he skipped town. 

——

He’d picked her up from her rotten daddies house and told her to pack a bag. He strapped her into that car and drove them over to the tiny plot of land he’d procured. And there it sat, a little home. 2 bedrooms and a “kitchen meant for cooking” as he called it. 

He held her as her eyes watered and whispered. 

“You like it baby girl? It’s yours. You ain’t never gotta worry bout a place to lay your head again.”

And there they spent the next 2 days holed up and christening the house. Even the kitchen meant for cooking. 

_____

Smokes eyes took the place in. The small house he’d bought, you’d made it into a home. You brought in an ice chest and had decorated it, your personality showed in every corner. 

He smelled bacon on the stove and the nostalgia hit him like a brick. 

“You making greens?”

“What’s it to you?” You replied with your back turned towards him. 

He loved your greens.

You didn’t know what to do with him back in your space. You felt activated. Didn't know whether to run to him or away from him.

You took a deep breath and composed yourself. And turned around only to see him fishing for a cigarette. 

“Don’t you smoke that shit in here.” You snapped. 

He looked at you and paused before nodding and sliding the pack back into his jacket pocket. 

He lifted his hands up. 

“You’re right sweet girl. My bad. I know you don’t like that in the house.”

“Thank you.” You whispered to yourself. Feeling relief at the inch of control you had gained back. 

He knew you thought it was a nasty habit and if he wanted to smoke, he’d have to do it outside your home. 

Say what you wanted to say about Smoke, he knew how important this space — your home — was to you. And you didn’t want anyone to ruin it. Even the man who built it for you. 

“Why are you here?” You asked. 

“We’re back now. I’m back now. For good.”

You scoffed.

“What you had all your fun? Running around Chicago with your brother? Fucking all them northern whores?” You sneered. 

His eyes watched you. You hated how they could see right through you. You weren’t jealous. You were hurt. 

His eyes glowered. “Watch your mouth.”

How could he just give you the best few days of your life and just leave without a trace? Leaving you to hear news about him and his brother through the grape vine. 

How dare he tell you what to do?

“Or what?” You snapped back. This was 4 years of pain. Of hurt. Of anger. 

“What, you tired of them? Wanted to swing back on down and fuck your southern whore too? Taste the mother fucking rainbow?”

“You not no whore Annie.” He warned again. 

Your eyes shimmered with angry tears. 

“How you know I wasn't up and down these streets? You not the only one who likes to fuck.”  You snapped back. 

He smirked a knowing smile on his lips. 

“You wasn’t fucking these niggas. You forget that I know you. You wouldn’t let em get a chance.” 

And you hated him because it was true. 

“Fuck you Smoke.” You spat. You could almost see the vein pop from his temple. 

Smoke didn’t like an attitude. Whether he deserved it or not. 

“I done told you to watch that mouth ain’t I?” He snapped before undoing his belt and stalking towards you. 

You backed up against the wall. Fiery defiant eyes staring back at him. 

He bullied his way into the space between your plush thighs. Sticking his face into your neck and breathing deeply. He kissed you.  Once. Twice. 

“Why are you back?” You whispered brokenly. 

He ignored your question and worked quickly to push your dress over your thick hips. 

“You weren’t ever this rude before Annie.” He mused while manipulating your body to be exactly where he wanted it to be. He knew your body like the back of his hand. You was his and nobody else’s. 

That was law. 

His fingers found your sex and you couldn’t help the gasp that left your lips. 

Smokes fingers stroked between your folds before sliding into her. The wetness soaked his fingers immediately. 

He kept his eyes on your face. He loved the faces you made. And right now your head was thrown back and your plump lips parted slightly. 

Quickly the sound of the small home was filling with deep breathing and whimpers. 

“Why? Are you back?” You managed to breathe out between moans. 

Was he here for good or was he just passing by? 

“I must not be doing a good job if you still asking me all these questions…” he mused. He added another finger for good measure. 

Unfortunately, that did shut you up. 

He took the other hand and palmed at your breast and tweaked a nipple and you groaned deeply. 

He smiled, nothing but pure joy on his face. 

“You ain’t have nobody here to tell you… to teach you your manners. That's why I came back.” He stated. 

He bent his fingers within you once before sliding out and replacing them with his tongue. 

He expertly licked into you. Letting your essence coat his lips. 

Smoke loved him some you. When he had his fill he stood up and captured your lips in his. 

You tasted yourself on him. 

He looked down at you. You were thoroughly debauched. “You ready for me?” 

You nodded lazily, you could barely think straight. Smoke liked you this way sometimes. Pliant and easy. He could move you any which way he wanted. 

He graciously turned you around and pressed you into the wall. 

“I’m gonna fuck you now princess. And you gon’ like it.”

“Yes daddy.” You whispered and that’s what drove Smoke to press himself right into you, and he felt you stretching to accommodate him. 

Now it was his time to groan. 

“Fuck.”  He spat out. 

You giggled. That didn’t last long as he pulled out slowly and thrust back in with intention. 

That giggle turn into a graphic sound he would file away for later. You were so responsive for him. 

There you began your dance. Smoke began a slow and intentional rhythm. Whispering sweet nothings into your ear the entire time. 

Still your question persisted despite the pleasure filled fog which filled your head. 

“Why you back Smoke?” You managed to whisper. 

He grunted. You wasn’t letting this go. Could he blame you? 

He changed his pace, to something more punishing. Something that would make you forget you were angry with him at all. 

“Why? I needed to set you straight. That’s why. Remind you of how to act right.” He thrusted after each sentence. 

Your moans got louder with every thrust. But he kept his pace. 

“You got this attitude because I ain’t been here to fuck it outta you. And for that baby I was wrong.” He crooned into your ear. 

“It’s my fault.” He stated. 

He pumped into you relentlessly. And you took every thrust like a champ. 

“Blame me mama.” He whispered. It almost got quiet in the room.

The unspoken "not yourself" conveniently omitted from the end of his sentence. Just two bodies doing a dance as old as time. 

He reached over to grip your breasts again and pluck at your nipples. 

Your broken moans filled the space. He knew your body like no other. You were made for him. 

“That’s right.” He encouraged, he loved to hear you. 

“I’m back now baby. Daddy’s here and he’s gonna take such good care of you.” He breathed heavily into your ear. 

You were overcome with emotion. Your eyes watered. Was that a promise? You couldn’t do another broken promise. 

“Don’t you say that Elijah. Don't you dare lie to me. I can’t take it anymore.” You panted out. 

“You’ll take what I give you.” He snapped. 

Why was he like this? Why did you love this? 

Your head dropped low. Because he was right. You would take what he gave you. Even if it was lies or castles built up in the sky. 

You were a fool. And you loved him. 

He slid his hand into your hair, grasping your curls. 

You were Smoke’s to play with. To have, hold, fuck and scold. You didn’t pretend you didn’t know it.

“Chin up.” You tilted your chin up and his grip on your curls tightened. 

“Good girl.”

You moaned.  

He kissed your ear before speaking. 

“This time I ain’t lyin’.” He kissed your cheek. 

This was feeling good. You were barley listening. He could tell you he could sprout wings and fly right now and you’d believe him as long as he didn’t stop. 

“I’m back for good. I did what I needed to do out in Chicago. For you. For us. We don’t never gotta worry about money ever again.”

“It was never about the money.” You managed to gasp out. 

“Shhhhh.” He coaxed. 

That was another thing that came up in the past. Smoke was money motivated. He didn’t understand that you just wanted him.  Nothing else. 

He never wanted to be under the control of another man because of some money. So he went and got him some. 

“I think…" He pondered for a bit before continuing.

"I think I’m gonna fuck a few babies into you tonight Annie. Your body was made for it. For me.”

Your walls immediately clenched onto him. 

“Gonna have a bunch of em fat and happy running all around this place.”

Tears dripped from your eyes. The pleasure, the visuals, the stimulation. It was all too much. 

He didn’t stop. 

“You want that baby girl? Want daddy to put a couple babies in you?”  

You wailed. Short circuited even. 

Because Smoke knew. He knew that’s all you ever wanted. Him. And a family. And he wouldn’t tease you about that. 

“Yes! Yes! I want — “

“Yeah? You gonna have to say please mama. You how I feel about them manners.” He grinned wickedly. 

How he managed to stay aware enough to play you like this was beyond your comprehension. 

“Please!” You wailed out. 

“Please what?”

“Please make me a mama!”

His finger slipped to your clit quickly and he watched your face in wonder as your orgasm washed over you.  

You clutched onto him desperately to prevent yourself from falling. 

“That’s my girl.” he hissed.  Before thrusting and unloading his seed right into you. 

—

It’s been a few hours and you and Smoke were laid out in a blanket on a cot on the floor. 

Drunk on each other. 

He had fed you peaches from the jar right from his hands and had quelled any fears you’d had about him leaving you again, from in between your legs. 

“If it’s a girl we gon' name her Amiyah. After my mama.” You whispered into his chest. 

He kissed your head. “Whatever you want.”  

“And if it’s a boy I wanna name him Erik Stevens.”

He furrowed his brow. 

“Erik Stevens? Where you get that name from?”

“I don’t know I just like it. You don’t like it?” You asked, looked up at him. 

He scoffed. “That sounds like the name of a bandit.”  

You pinched his skin between your fingers. “Hey.” You frowned. 

He looked down at your big brown eyes and melted. 

“You really like that name?” 

You nodded. 

“Aight, I can be convinced.” He brought you closer to him and you both just sat in silence basking in your love.

He scoffed again. “Erik Stevens…”

“What is your problem?” You asked perplexed. Fingers stroking his chest. 

“I don’t like it. He sound like a boy who ain’t go no manners.” 

“Oh brother.”  ___

I so enjoyed writing this. I hope yall enjoy!!

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That particular Tuesday morning, she'd been in good spirits.

Stack remembered that too — the specific quality of her mood, light and anticipatory, the way she'd hummed while she dressed and come to find him in the warm tangle of the bed where he was still trying to talk himself into consciousness.

She'd perched on the edge of the mattress and put her hand on his arm. "I'm heading out. Market first, then Decatur."

"Mm." He'd found her hand without opening his eyes. "Your flowers."

"My wisteria," she corrected, with the primness of a woman defending something she knew was ridiculous and had decided not to care. "They were coming in beautiful last week. I want to take some cuttings before the heat gets to em’."

"You and them flowers, I swear." He'd cracked one eye open to look at her. She was already done up — hair pinned, a pale yellow dress, looking like the kind of morning a man would want to wake up into. "Normal women collect dishes. Spoons. You out here unnaturally attached to a weed."

"Wisteria ain’t a weed."

"It's growing on an abandoned fence, in the middle of—"

"It is not a weed," she said, with great dignity, and he'd laughed and pulled her down and kissed her temple and her cheek and the corner of her mouth until she was trying not to smile and failing completely.

"You a crazy woman," he'd murmured into her hair. Fond. Helplessly fond.

"You in love with this crazy woman," she'd said back, soft and certain, and pressed her lips to his jaw before she stood and smoothed her dress and went.

He'd listened to her footsteps move through the house. The quiet of the front door.

Then he'd turned his face back into the pillow and gone back to sleep, easy and untroubled, because it was Tuesday and Annie was going to the market and then to her flowers and then home.

That was how Tuesday worked.

The juke was quiet in the late afternoon — the interim hour between the day men leaving and the night crowd arriving, when the place belonged mostly to the staff and the sound of chairs being set right.

Stack was going over the week's receipts at the back table when Deacon Hollis wandered in, which was not unusual. Deacon was seventy-something and had been drinking at this particular establishment through three different owners and two of his own wives. He came in most afternoons for one glass of something and whatever conversation was available.

He settled at the bar and said to the boy wiping down the counter, "Busy on Decatur Street today. Had to go all the way around."

Stack didn't look up.

The bar boy made a sound of mild interest.

"Some kind of commotion," Deacon continued, with the relish of a man who had no urgent business anywhere and could therefore linger on details. "Couple hours back, maybe more. Police come through, asked some questions. Seemed like somebody saw something they shouldn't have, or something got moved that shouldn't be."

Stack turned a page.

"Right near that empty lot," Deacon added. "The one with all them purple flowers on the fence."

Stack's hand stilled on the page.

Just his hand. Nothing else visible changed — not his expression, not his posture, nothing that the room would have clocked as meaningful. But his hand stopped moving, and in the space behind his eyes something very cold and very focused began assembling itself.

The lot with the purple flowers.

Annie's lot. Annie's Tuesday. Annie who had left that morning with a cloth in her bag for wiping down the blooms and had said I want to take some cuttings before the heat gets to them and whom he had not heard from since.

He set the receipts down.

"Deacon," he said, and his voice came out even. Measured. "What time you say that was?"

Deacon turned on his stool, pleased to have an audience. "Oh, two o'clock maybe? Half past? The officers was already gone by the time I come through, but old Ruth from the dress shop was still standing outside talking about it. Said she'd seen a woman—"

Stack was already standing.

Deacon blinked. "You alright, son?"

But Stack was already moving through the back, already pulling the curtain aside that separated the main room from the office where Smoke was doing what Smoke was always doing — sitting with numbers and a cigarette and that particular quality of stillness that could mean anything or nothing.

Smoke looked up.

He took one look at his brother's face and put the cigarette down.

"Talk," he said.

Stack talked. Smoke listened with the unnerving focus he brought to all things that required it, and when Stack finished, Smoke didn't say anything for a moment. Just looked at the middle distance. Doing the same arithmetic Stack had already done and arriving at the same unbearable sum.

Then he stood, picked up his coat, and said, "Let's go find out."

They found out.

A man named Lenny Briggs, one of their runners, who had heard something he hadn't known what to do with and had been working up the courage to come to the juke when Stack found him first on the corner of Fifth and Marsh. Lenny had the look of a man who would have preferred not to be found.

He told them what he knew.

Slim’s men — a rival outfit who had been circling the east side numbers territory for the better part of a year, looking for a pressure point, looking for the particular lever that would bring the Moore brothers to a table they hadn't chosen. They had found their lever. They had taken her off the street somewhere between the market and the lot — right around the wisteria, which Stack would think about for a long time after — and they had her at the old Beaumont property on the south road.

Lenny gave the address with the energy of a man trying to make a down payment on his own continued wellbeing. Stack received the information without expression, said "Thank you" in a voice that was quiet and even and somehow worse than shouting, and turned south.

Smoke fell into step beside him and put one hand briefly on his brother's arm. The old signal. Wordless. Be smart. We get her first. Everything else after.

Stack's jaw was granite. He nodded once.

They were smart. They were fast.

There were two men outside and three within.

Smoke handled the outside — efficient, practiced, the kind of violence that begins and ends cleanly because it has a purpose and knows what that purpose is. Then he pushed through the door.

Stack was still in the room with the last one.

The man was on the floor. Had been on the floor for a while, by the look of it. Stack was crouched over him, one knee on the ground, and he was not finished. The man had stopped being a threat some time ago and Stack had continued anyway, methodical and terrifyingly quiet — no rage in his face, which was somehow worse than rage. Just something hollow and absolute, like a door that had been opened onto nothing.

Smoke stood in the doorway for a moment and watched.

Then he said, "Stack."

Stack didn't stop.

"Stack." Harder this time. Not a shout — Smoke didn't shout — but weighted. The kind of voice that expected to be heard.

Stack's hand stilled.

He stayed crouched for a moment, breathing. The sound of it filled the room — ragged, too fast.

Smoke crossed to him and put one hand on the back of his neck. Firm and present. "She's in the back," he said, low. "She's okay. We got her. Come on back now."

A long beat.

Stack looked down at what was in front of him. Something shifted in his face — not quite recognition, not quite regret. More like a man surfacing from very deep water and finding the light strange.

He stood. Didn't say anything. Just turned and walked toward the back of the building, and Smoke followed, and neither of them looked back at the room.

The door came off its hinges.

Not broken — removed. Stack had simply decided it was in his way and dealt with it accordingly, and Smoke caught it without breaking stride and set it against the wall with the quiet efficiency of a man long accustomed to making the world cooperate, and stepped through the threshold behind his brother.

The room was dim. Smelled like damp wood and kerosene and something metallic that neither of them dwelled on.

And there, in the far corner —

There she was.

Their matriarch. Their woman. Their Annie.

Smoke exhaled. Just the one breath. One single moment of relief so complete it was almost physical, before he folded it away and put it somewhere safe.

Stack didn't bother with any of that.

He crossed the room in four long strides. Annie barely had time to register him before he pressed her back against the wall — not rough, not cruel, but absolute. Like he needed something solid behind her. Like he needed to know she couldn't be taken anywhere else.

"Stack—" Smoke started.

The younger twin didn't hear him. Or if he did, it didn't matter.

His hands came up to her face. Both of them. Palms bracketing her jaw, thumbs moving across her cheekbones, fingers pressing back into her hair. Frantic eyes cataloguing everything — the dried tear tracks, the slight swelling at her wrist, the small cut at the corner of her lip that made something behind his eyes go very briefly and very darkly wrong before he forced himself onward. Keep checking. Keep confirming.

Here. Alive. Breathing. Theirs. Home.

Annie had never felt more precious than in that moment. Not cherished — that was too soft a word for what was happening. Something rawer. Something that lived below language.

Once he had confirmed what he needed to confirm, he swept down and claimed what had always been his.

Blood still painted his face. She could smell the iron as he descended, and some distant sensible part of her registered that it should frighten her — the state of him, what it implied, the fact that none of that blood was his.

But she was not always a sensible woman when it came to these men.

She let him have it. Let him take the kiss like it was owed — because it was. Raw and primal and a little gruesome the way all true things are a little gruesome. His chest heaved against hers, and his hands were trembling — Stack's hands, which she had never once seen tremble — moving over her arms, her sides, her face. Touching. Feeling. Verifying.

She felt it all move through her like weather. His fear. His fury. His absolute, immovable devotion.

I know, she thought. I know, baby. I know.

She murmured it into his hair when he finally broke, forehead dropping to her shoulder, a shudder moving through him she felt with her whole body.

"I know. I'm here."

Smoke stood back and watched.

Because Stack needed this. Maybe Annie needed it too — to be held this completely, this desperately, after hours of not knowing when or whether. But Stack needed it most. So Smoke stayed where he was and gave the man the room.

Annie met the older twin's eyes over Stack's bowed head.

Nothing passed between them except everything. She saw the tightness at the corner of his jaw. The controlled version of the same thing Stack was barely containing. She held his gaze until she saw his shoulders drop a single fraction of an inch.

I see you. I'm alright. He's alright. We're alright.

Stack made a sound then — small and cracked and quiet, pressed into her shoulder. The kind a man makes only when he doesn't mean to. She felt it like something giving way.

She pulled him in tighter.

"It's okay," she murmured, hand pressing flat between his shoulder blades. "I'm here, baby. I ain't goin' nowhere."

He held on.

Annie had been the one taken.

But it was Stack who felt like he had lost his heart.

A long moment passed. Then, muffled against her shoulder, rough and still unsteady — somewhere between a reprimand and a man who had been terrified into raw honesty:

"And you ain't gon’ do no shit like that again."

Annie closed her eyes.

Her hand moved slow and steady through his hair.

"No," she said softly. "I ain't."

Smoke pulled the lamp low before he sat at the foot of the bed.

It was well past midnight. The house had gone completely quiet. Annie lay in the middle of the bed, Stack curved against her back with his face tucked into her hair, one arm thrown across her waist like a man holding on even in sleep.

Cleaned up now. Dressed down. The blood long gone — Annie had done it herself at the basin, quiet and methodical, and Stack had sat on the edge of the tub and let her. Had not said a word while she washed his hands and his face and his split knuckles, which told their own particular story that she had received without comment and without flinching.

She was awake. Smoke had known she would be.

"He out?" Smoke asked, low.

"Mm. Fought it some." Her hand moved slowly through Stack's curls. "But he's out."

A beat of quiet between them. The lamp flame held steady.

"You alright?" he asked.

"I'm whole," she said. Her particular answer — the one that meant something more than fine and less than undamaged and asked him to understand the distance between those things.

He accepted it. He would look at her properly in the morning.

"Elijah." Soft but weighted.

"I'm listening."

She was quiet a moment, eyes on the ceiling.

"I ain’t never seen him like that," she finally said.

Smoke was quiet too, for a long stretch of seconds.

He had been there. He had witnessed what Annie had not fully seen — what had happened in those rooms before they reached her. He knew the shape of what his brother had done, and he knew that Stack, of all people, of all the men Smoke had stood beside in all the years of their lives — Stack was not supposed to be the one who went that far past the line.

"No," Smoke said. "Neither have I."

She absorbed that. Let it settle.

"Was it bad?" she said.

"Depended," Smoke said, "on which side of it you were on."

A breath that was almost a laugh. "That ain't an answer."

"It's the honest one." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking at his brother's sleeping face. The furrow still between his brows, even now. "He went past what was needed. Kept going after it was done. I had to call him back." A pause. "Twice."

Annie's hand stilled in Stack's hair for just a moment. Then resumed.

"He was ahead of me the whole way there," Smoke continued, quieter now. "I known Stack all my life. Watched him in situations that would've laid other men down. He's always had something working up here even when he's pushed — he thinks. He's always been able to think." He paused. "Tonight he wasn't thinking."

"What was he doing?" she said.

"Feeling," Smoke said simply.

Annie closed her eyes.

Stack shifted against her in his sleep, brow tightening, and she made a soft sound and his face smoothed again, like he could hear her even under everything.

"He knew something was wrong before anyone told him," she said. Not quite a question.

"Yes."

"How?"

Smoke was quiet for a beat. "Your flowers."

Annie stilled.

"Deacon came in talking about a commotion on Decatur. Near the lot." Smoke glanced at her. "Stack was across the room. He heard the words purple flowers and that was all it took."

Something moved across Annie's face. Too complicated to name.

"All those Tuesdays," she said softly.

"He knows your Tuesdays, Annie." Smoke's voice was matter of fact, the way he said things that were simply true and required no decoration. "He knows how long the market takes and which way you walk and what time you're usually back. He noticed before any message came. Before anyone came to us at all. He put it together himself."

She was very quiet for a moment.

"Lord," she breathed.

Outside, the wind moved through the pecan trees, that soft sound of a summer night settling into itself.

"You need to say something to him when he wakes," Smoke said. "Not about what happened in that room — he doesn't need to explain himself and you don't need the details. But he needs to hear that you see him the same." He looked at her steadily. "That tonight ain’t change your eyes when you look at him."

"It didn't," she said. And then, smaller: "It just — added to what's already there."

Smoke held her gaze for a moment. Then nodded once, slowly.

"And me," she said, after a breath.

"And you," he confirmed.

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," he agreed. "When he's with us and you've both rested. But Annie." His voice dropped a register, quiet and absolute. "What you love doing, where you go — none of that changes. But how you move through the world when we not with you?" He held her gaze. "That's the conversation we're gon’ to have."

Annie's chin lifted slightly. She didn't argue it. But she held his gaze long enough to communicate that it would be a conversation and not a sentencing, and Smoke acknowledged that with the smallest dip of his head.

Good enough for tonight.

He rose and came around to his side — the familiar geography of their life, every night for years — and settled in.

The bed held all three of them, as it always had.

Annie lay in the dark and looked at the ceiling and listened to the two men breathing, one deep in sleep, one slipping toward it.

She thought about that morning. The yellow dress. The cloth she'd tucked into her bag for the blooms. Stack's voice still rough with sleep, laughing at her — you and those flowers, I swear — and pulling her down and kissing her like she was something ridiculous and wonderful and entirely his.

Crazy woman.

Your crazy woman.

She pressed her lips to his temple in the dark. Soft as a secret.

His arm tightened across her waist even in sleep.

Love should be calm, she thought. Peaceful. The kind of thing you can sleep inside of and wake up still held by.

But she thought about the words purple flowers landing across a quiet room. About the hand going still on the receipts. About Smoke’s thirty-some years of knowing someone so well that the wrong silence sounded like a scream.

The act of love, she thought, was something else entirely.

She exhaled.

She was home.

They were home.

Outside, somewhere, her wisteria grew on its rotting fence — untended, extravagant, stubbornly beautiful — and knew nothing about any of it.

______

A/N If you could find it in your hearts to forgive me? 🥺 Don't know what to say that would explain this absence so I'm not going to say anything. Feels like all I give ya'll is excuses for real. I am okay. Doing well. Life is just lifeing, interviewing for a new job (pray I get it!) I'll be in Chicago next week actually. So I'll def do some writing there :) Hope you're all well. Hope you enjoy this bite sized piece of our lovely trio. Love you <3

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This work of art is part of "The Moore Kind" universe. Where Smoke, Annie, and Stack exist as a Trio. If you'd like to learn more about them, check out My Masterlist 😘

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Stack was leaning against the archway, a little too relaxed, wine already heavy in his hand.

“I’m always civil,” he grinned. “I’m a delight.”

Smoke didn’t say anything at first. Just sat back at the table, stiff as iron, nursing a glass of whisky like medicine. He’d need it tonight. They both would.

“I ain’t lying to nobody,” he muttered, low.

Annie sighed. Not because she disagreed — but because she understood.

They weren’t happy about this. Never had been. Melody had a way of turning Annie into someone else — smaller, unsure. And the boys hated that. Hated watching the bold, beautiful woman they loved contort herself to keep the peace. To keep her peace.

So when Annie told them that Melody was gonna be in town and wanted to visit, the news wasn’t met with enthusiasm.  When they protested she had shut them down, said that special word — family — and the boys knew they didn’t have a chance at dissuading her. 

She laid down the final plate and crossed the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel that didn’t need cleaning. Her shoulders were tight. Her smile too practiced.

Melody was Annie’s half-sister. Same father, different everything else. Product of an affair that tore Annie’s whole world sideways and maybe even took her mother to the grave.

She was pretty, and soft-spoken when it served her. But she had a way of reaching back into Annie’s life like she had a claim to it. Like their shared blood gave her a right to rewrite things. Rewrite her.

Melody said things like they’d grown up hand-in-hand. Like Annie hadn’t spent her real childhood alone, and Melody hadn’t moved in only after her world fell apart. 

She touched too casually. Said too much. Knew too little.

And yet… Annie kept trying. Trying to stitch something together out of all the scraps they’d been handed. Trying to make a family out of splinters.

There was a knock at the door.

The roast was carved. Greens passed. Biscuits buttered and cooling fast.

On the surface, everything looked like a proper supper. But Smoke hadn’t touched much of his food, and Stack had started drinking like the only way through the night was to float on top of it.

Melody leaned back in her chair, swirling her glass like she had something wise to say. Her gaze landed on the cornbread.

“Reminds me of when Mama used to burn the bottoms,” she said with a giggle. “She’d scrape off the black parts with a knife and pretend it was on purpose. Said it ‘kept you humble.’”

Annie’s fork paused mid-air.

Stack didn’t look up, but his mouth twitched.

“You remember that, don’t you?” Melody added, too quick. “That little yellow-handled knife she used for everything?”

Annie swallowed. Set her fork down quiet.

“She wasn’t my mama.”

Melody blinked, like she hadn’t expected that to sting.

“Well—no, obviously,” she said, waving a hand like it was silly to be so exact. “I just meant… your most recent mama. I mean, she was in the house.”

“She was in the house,” Annie said evenly. 

Melody laughed, high and a little breathless, like she could laugh her way out of what just happened.

“Well,” she said, putting her glass down, “family’s funny like that, huh?” She added before placing a hand on Annie’s forearm.

Smoke’s eyes followed the movement with precision.

“So,” Melody said brightly, trying to start a conversation “y’all ever thought about kids?”

The question hung there, syrupy sweet with expectation.

Annie blinked. “We— We’ll know when we’re ready.”

Melody’s husband Frank leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the show.

The man chuckled, low and grating. “Ain’t it about time though? Clock don’t wait forever. ‘Specially for women.”

Smoke’s knuckles tightened around his fork.

“I gotta admit,” he said, folding his arms over his chest, “I didn’t know what to expect, comin’ out here. Lotta stories floatin’ ‘round town.”

Stack’s eyes flicked up from his plate. Smoke didn’t move.

“Oh yeah?” Annie said, keeping her voice polite. “And what kinda stories are those?”

The man shrugged, like he was being reasonable.

“Just… folks wondering how something like this works. Three people under one roof. Two men sharin’ a woman —brothers at that. Sounds more like trouble than a marriage.”

Smoke still didn’t look up. But Annie could feel the shift. Like pressure building under floorboards.

“I mean, hell. Where I’m from, we call that a love triangle, not a household.”

Annie opened her mouth, but Stack beat her to it — voice easy, even playful.

“Well lucky for us, you ain’t from here.”

Melody gave her husband a look — the kind that meant you’re doin’ too much — but he didn’t seem to notice.

“I just think kids need structure,” he said, “Two fathers under one roof? That’s confusion, not discipline.”

Now Smoke looked up. Real slow.

“You do a lot of childrearing yourself?” he asked.

The man blinked. “Beg your pardon?”

“You talkin’ like you got a full house somewhere. How many you got?” the man had a menacing smile plastered on his face.

“…None yet.”

“Then hush.”

The man frowned. Then Frank reached across the table — not for the biscuits, not for the salt. For the gravy boat.

But instead of asking, he leaned in close, placing a steadying hand on Annie’s shoulder as he reached.

His thumb brushed against the strap of her dress.

Too familiar. Too firm.

“’Scuse me, darlin’,” he said, casual like he did it all the time.

It wasn’t the touch — it was the way he didn’t rush to remove it.

Smoke saw it. So did Stack.

And Annie flinched — just slightly — but enough to be noticed.

That should’ve been enough. But Melody’s hand went out — again — brushing Annie’s arm like they were girls sharing secrets instead of strangers dressed in matching last names.

"Mama used to say, ‘Ain’t no shame in wantin’ a real man.’ Guess you took that to heart, huh, sis? You went and got yourself two!"

Annie winced once more. It was soft, but Smoke saw it. And that was the last straw.

Smoke set his glass down. Quiet. Too quiet.

“You need to stop touchin’ her so casually.” he said pointing at the woman.

Melody’s hand stilled against Annie’s arm. Her smile wavered.

“Excuse me?”

“Smoke,” Annie said quickly, trying to smile, trying to control the room. “It’s fine.”

He didn’t blink. “It ain’t.”

Stack leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowed but not joking anymore. “He’s right. You don’t know her like that. You ain’t earned the right.”

Melody’s brows arched, scandalized.

Annie stepped in faster this time, voice low but firm.

“Enough.”

She turned toward Smoke, hand light on his shoulder. His muscles were rigid beneath her palm.

“She’s family,” she said softly. “Let’s not do this right now.”

Stack leaned back, sucked his teeth, clearly biting something back. Smoke didn’t move at all.

“She ain’t family to me,” Smoke muttered.

“She is to me,” Annie snapped. “And that should be enough.”

That silenced the table — just long enough for Melody’s husband to break it again.

“Well,” he said, with a smirk, “nice to see someone wearing the pants in this house.”

Stack’s jaw tightened.

“Stack,” Annie warned, before he could speak.

He didn’t. But the damage was done.

Melody giggled, smoothing her napkin on her lap like nothing had happened.

Annie went to gather the plates.

“Dinner’s done,” she said. “Why don’t we move to the sitting room? I’ll bring coffee.”

She didn’t look at Smoke. Didn’t look at Stack either. She just carried the dishes to the kitchen, heart pounding, wishing it all felt less like a lie.

_

The front door clicked shut.

Silence.

Not the quiet kind, but the loaded kind. The kind that rattled inside your chest and made your ears ring.

Annie stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed tight, like she was bracing for impact.

Smoke’s jaw flexed. Stack didn’t move.

For a beat, nobody breathed.

Annie exhaled, hard. “Don’t start.”

“I ain’t startin’. I’m finishin’. The hell was that?” Smoke’s voice cut through the kitchen.

She turned, dish towel clenched tight in her hands. “What was what, Smoke?”

“You told me to stand down. You just about told Stack to shut up. While they sat at our table, runnin’ they mouths and touchin’ you like they know you.”

“They’re family.”

“No,” he snapped. “They’re not. That man disrespected you. And her? She touched you like she’s the one that tucks you in at night.”

“Stop it.”

Stack stepped in carefully, voice low. “She made you flinch, baby. We saw it. You don’t flinch with us.”

Annie bit her lip. Hard.

“I just wanted one peaceful night. I didn’t want a scene.”

“You wanted peace—so you offered us up like sacrificial lambs,” Smoke said, voice growing sharp.

“That ain’t fair.”

“No? You let her talk like y’all shared a childhood. Let that man spit on our marriage with a smile. Then told me to hush?”

“You think I don’t know who she is?” Annie’s voice cracked “I lived with her. She slept in my mama’s bed two weeks after she was buried. She was Daddy’s second chance and my reminder that I’d already lost.”

Her eyes glistened, but she didn’t cry.

“I was just trying to keep the damn evening from fallin’ apart. You think I liked it? You think I didn’t hear every little dig, every look, every word?”

“Then why the hell ain’t you say somethin’?” Stack asked. 

“Because I’m tired!” she shouted. “Tired of everything bein’ a fight. Tired of defendin’ my choices, my house, my men. I just wanted a quiet dinner!”

Smoke’s voice dropped cold. “Then don’t invite people who only show up to remind you that you alone.”

Annie’s shoulders pulled back like he’d struck her. 

“Alone?”

“You got us. But when they’re here, you act like you don’t.”

The room felt smaller. Angrier. Like the walls were listening.

“I ain’t the one you should be mad at, Annie,” Smoke said.

“No. You’re just the one who wants to be mad for me.” Annie didn’t look at him.

He leaned back. Only slightly. But Stack caught it. Smoke prided himself on taking care of his family. He’d be the bad guy if it meant that they were ok. So for Annie to throw that in his face? It was low. 

Annie turned on him. “What? Go on then. Call me out my name. You been waitin’ all night.”

“I been waitin’ for you to stop pretendin’ you owe that woman somethin’. Stop shrinkin’ yourself so she can feel taller.”

“And I been waitin’ for you to realize the world don’t revolve around your damn temper!”

“Y’all—” Stack tried.

“Elias, stay out of it.” She pointed at him.

That did it. Stack’s hands dropped. He stepped back, mouth flat.

Smoke’s voice turned dangerously soft. “You tellin’ him to stay out, but you let them strangers walk right in and put hands on what’s mine?”

Annie’s nostrils flared. She stepped in close.

“Don’t talk to me about ownership. I’m not some bitch you can pull by the leash when I embarrass you.”

Stacks head whipped around. Shock coloured his face. 

“Annie. Don’t,” Stack warned softly — they didn’t talk like this to each other. 

Smoke’s voice dropped low and clipped. “You gon’ wanna be real careful with me right now, woman.”

“Or what?” Annie challenged. “You gon’ bark louder? Show me why everybody outside scared of you?”

He stepped forward. Stack moved fast, blocking him.

“Enough.” Stack said. “We don’t do this shit. This ain’t us.”

“No,” Annie said. “This is exactly who we are. Pretendin’ this ain’t built on shaky ground.”

Looked like Frank’s words had planted a seed. 

Stack moved like she’d slapped him.

“You think it’s shaky?” Smoke’s voice shook. “You think we ain’t holdin’ you up every day? Lovin’ you, buildin’ you back from the goddamn inside?”

His voice cracked — just slightly.

“I would burn this house down to protect you,” he said, softer now. “And you out here handin’ matches to people who never cared whether you froze.”

“She disrespected you, Annie,” Stack said, voice stiff. “Right to your face. And you smiled through it. Made us smile through it too.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Annie laughed bitterly. “Was I supposed to let y’all growl and swing your dicks like dogs markin’ a tree?”

“Watch your mouth,” Smoke said slowly.

“No—you watch yours. I let you bark, posture. The minute I asked you to sit like a man, you sulked like a whipped boy.”

There it was. The heat. The disrespect.

“Annie…” Stack said, quiet, alarmed. 

“I’ll beat the breaks off a nigga for touchin’ you,” Smoke said. “You lucky I didn’t.”

“Elijah—they’re family.” she tried to plead.

“So you gotta put up with disrespect?”

Annie threw her hands up, all syrup and sass. “The Moores got morals tonight!”

Stack cursed under his breath. Smoke went still as death.

“Fix them lips to say somethin’ crazy again, Annie,” Smoke warned. “See if I don’t remind you why you call me daddy.”

She tilted her head. “You sassin’?”

“C’mon now y’all…” Stack said half-terrified.

Smoke stepped closer, his voice dropping into something dark and dangerous. “It’s gon’ be real hard to take you serious if you got my seed drippin’ from your hole. Test me.”

Annie’s throat bobbed. She was gonna take that bait.

“Do not,” Stack said, sharp and urgent.

Too late.

“Annie’s sorry — ain’t ya, baby?” he tried, reaching for a lifeline.

“The hell I am,” she snapped.

“Don’t be a hero,” Stack warned, tension threading through his voice. “He gon’ turn you out, and I’ma join him.”

Annie looked at him, eyes glittering. Daring them both.

Smoke started up once more, “We’ll paint your insides white just how you like it. Remind you you the property of the Moores — no one else’s.”

“Property? That’s what I am to you?” she shot back. “A place to plant your damn flag?”

He shrugged. “You said it, not me.”

“I ain’t land. You don’t own me.”

“You act like disrespectin’ us is rent you pay,” he shot back, voice cold. 

That line came from somewhere deep — deeper than Smoke usually let show.

“If I’m so damn disrespectful,” Annie stepped in close, venom curling her words, “why you still crawlin’ back to this disrespectful pussy every night?”

Stack looked away. Smoke didn’t blink.

“That’s right,” she pressed. “You talk all this mine mine mine shit, but you only feel like a man when I’m on my knees, beggin’ for it.”

“Fix them lips, woman,” he said, low and mean.

“What? You don’t like it when I talk back? Only like me with your dick down my throat?”

“It make a fine picture.” Stack muttered from the side. 

“I like it when you remember who’s keepin’ you safe. Lovin’ you every goddamn day while you spit in our faces.” Smoke reasoned.

“I’m done talking to you.” she spoke lowly. 

“C’mon now,” Smoke said, voice soft and twisted. “Say somethin’ real filthy. You good at that when your jaw’s slack and your legs spread.”

“Smoke,” Stack snapped. “You know what you doin’. Stop provokin’ her.”

“Nah,” Smoke said without even looking at him. “She a big girl. She can take whatever daddy dish out, right?”

Stack stepped in. “It ain’t fair, Smoke. You know it ain’t fair.”

Smoke paused. Just a second. There were two of them. One of her. It was unbalanced. Always would be.

He sighed, started to lift a hand — maybe to apologize.

But he didn’t get the chance.

Annie spat in his face.

It hit his cheek and stuck.

For one sharp breath, nobody moved.

Annie stood perfectly still, chest rising hard. Her jaw clenched, eyes shining—not with tears, but with fury. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

Then Smoke cracked.

Stack caught him hard at the chest, shoving him back.

“Don’t.”

Smoke went still.

The spit clung to his cheek, hot and humiliating. He didn’t wipe it. Just stared — right at her.

Annie’s hands curled into fists at her sides. Her spine was stiff, posture defiant. But there was something flickering in her eyes now. 

“I wanna fuck that disrespect right outta her,” he muttered, voice low and rough.

He stepped toward her — not to strike, but to claim, to punish her with the only kind of control he knew wouldn’t break her.

Annie’s breath caught. Just barely.

Stack stepped in fast — arm out, body angled between them.

“And we don’t do things that way,” he snapped, sharp and firm.

Their eyes locked. For a long, brittle second, it felt like something might break.

“You want her like that? Broken?” Stack asked his brother. 

The picture he painted with that statement stung. 

He didn’t want her like that. Giving in because she didn’t have a choice. Because he “bested” her. 

He wanted it offered to him, because she felt like he deserved it. He didn’t wanna take it. 

“You keep pushin’, you gon’ scare her,” Stack said, quieter now. “And she don’t deserve that from you.”

That stopped him.

Smoke’s jaw ticked hard, and he deflated. 

Behind Stack, Annie was still frozen in place—arms locked at her sides, as if afraid any movement might shatter the silence.

“Take a walk,” Stack added. “Right now. Before you say somethin’ you can’t unsay.”

Smoke didn’t move.

“I got her,” Stack said, gentler now. “You… go cool off.”

Finally, Smoke blinked. Swallowed. His eyes never left Annie.

“You make sure she’s okay,” he said, hoarse.

“I got her.”

Then he turned and walked out — quiet, controlled, like a storm bottled in a man.

Annie stood frozen.

Then sat — slow and stiff — like someone letting herself fall without a net.

Stack stayed standing, chest heaving like he’d just run a race.

“You alright?” he asked quietly.

She didn’t answer.

He dropped to a knee beside her.

“He lost his temper. He shouldn’t’ve. You know that.”

She nodded — barely.

“I made him,” she said.

“No,” Stack replied. “You matched him. That’s different.”

A beat passed. He reached for her hand.

“You still ours,” he said. “Ain’t nothin’ shifted in that.”

She squeezed once. 

“He didn’t even flinch,” she whispered. “But his eyes… they changed.”

Stack squeezed her hand. “He was mad. That don’t mean he stopped carin’.”

“He’s scared. Same as you,” Stack said. “That’s what it is—fear dressed up as fire.”

She exhaled hard, like she’d been holding her breath for hours.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You meant it,” he cut in gently but firm. “Don’t lie to me.”

That shut her up. Her mouth pressed into a hard line.

“You meant it,” Stack said again, softer this time, “and that’s what’s eatin’ him up.”

Silence fell between them. Heavy. Thick with things they couldn’t take back.

She looked toward the door, then back at Stack.

“You mad at me too?”

He sighed. “Don’t matter what I’m feelin’. You’re my wife. My family. I stand with you—even when I don’t like how it went down.”

“I’m sorry, Stack,” she whispered.

He gave a small shrug. “Don’t be sorry. Be sure.”

Then he stood and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Her eyes fluttered closed at the touch.

“I'm gon’ fix my plate again,” he murmured. “If I don’t eat, I get mean.”

That earned him the smallest laugh. But it was what he needed to hear. Enough to know she was still with him.

“I set aside your favourite,” she murmured, voice rough but soft. “Kept it warm in the oven… in that little dish with the blue trim. Knew you’d want a snack later.”

He paused, and his eyes flicked to hers — just for a second. That did something to him.

“Always lookin’ out,” he said, almost to himself.

Then, quieter: “Love you, baby.”

One more kiss to her head. Then he turned for the kitchen, shoulders squared a little taller than before.

__

The door creaked open.

Smoke stood in the threshold like he wasn’t sure he had the right to come back in. Smoke looked different. Not unraveled — not quite. But quieted. Like whatever storm had rolled through him had lost its bite, leaving behind a man instead of a tempest.

Annie didn’t turn. She sat curled on the couch, knees tucked beneath her, her hand still in Stack’s. The fire had burned low, its glow casting soft shadows across the room. Silence pressed in like fog.

Smoke stepped inside, slow and cautious, like a man testing floorboards for landmines. His eyes found her first. She didn’t flinch. But she didn’t look up, either.

“I scared you,” he said, voice low.

No one answered.

He stood there a beat longer, hat in hand, shoulders heavy.

“I talked about ownin’ you. Fuckin’ the disrespect outta you,” he went on, his voice thick. “That ain’t love talk. That’s not somethin’ you say to the woman you love.”

Annie shifted slightly. Stack’s thumb moved gently over her knuckles.

“I ain’t proud of it,” Smoke murmured. “I’m sorry.”

Still, neither of them spoke.

Smoke let out a breath through his nose, rough around the edges.

“I was mad you shut us down,” he said. “Mad you didn’t let us defend you. But I didn’t come at you like a husband. I came at you like a man who forgot what kind of woman he had.”

That made her look up.

Her eyes were still red, but she met his gaze steady.

“You did scare me,” she said softly.

Stack’s jaw ticked, but Annie gave his hand a squeeze—like she was okay.

“And I hurt y’all too,” she added. “Shut you down in your own home. Made you feel unheard. That wasn’t right.”

She stood, slow and deliberate. Smoke didn’t move.

“You and Stack… you’re my peace,” she said. “My anchor. And tonight I treated you like a storm. All ‘cause I let my past talk louder than the two men who actually built something with me.”

She stepped toward Smoke now, close enough her chest brushed his.

“I’m sorry I spit,” she said, quieter still. “That was… uncalled for. And beneath me.”

Smoke’s brow furrowed, something soft and pained flickering in his eyes. His hand came up, cradling her jaw.

“You still ours?” he asked.

She nodded once.

“Yours. Always.”

Behind them, Stack smiled to himself. 

Then Annie turned to Stack.

The man looked caught off guard—his brows lifted, lips parting like he wasn’t expecting the spotlight.

“I’m sorry I made you feel secondary today, baby,” she said. “Like your opinion didn’t matter. Like you were less than.”

“Whoa, now—I ain’t say all that,” Stack replied, lifting a hand.

“You didn’t have to,” she murmured. “I see now what I was doing. And it was wrong. You’re every bit a part of this, and I treated you like a bystander. I’m sorry, Elias. Truly.”

Stack blinked. For a second, he didn’t know what to say.

Smoke chimed in, voice low. “And thank you.”

Stack looked over.

“I was losin’ my head in here,” Smoke said. “And you got me right. You always do.”

“Well,” Stack drawled, clearing his throat and smoothing down his collar. “Now that y’all mention it… you right. I am the star of today’s show. Glad that’s been properly acknowledged.”

That earned him a chuckle from both Annie and Smoke.

He folded his arms and leaned back, cocky as ever. He thrusted his chin at Annie “You can show me your gratitude in peach cobbler.”

Annie arched a brow. “Peach cobbler?”

“Yes ma’am. And don’t cheap out it either. I need hella peaches in there.” he said dead serious. 

“And you—” he looked at Smoke, “you can take stock at the juke for the next week.”

“Three days,” Smoke countered.

“Five.”

“Deal.”

They shook on it, solemn as preachers. 

Annie laughed—quiet, but real—and turned to glance over her shoulder.

“Well,” Stack said, breaking the lingering tension with a dry drawl, “now that everyone’s sorry… can we go back to actin’ like Melody’s husband don’t eat with his damn mouth open and ask questions like ‘what y’all do for money’ like he ain’t got food crumbs in his mustache?”

Annie barked a laugh. Smoke cracked a grin despite himself.

“Mm,” Annie said, eyes dancing, “maybe I’ll go spit on him next time.”

Smoke raised a brow. “You better not. I’m the only one gettin’ that kind of disrespect.”

She smirked. “So… the ‘fuckin’ the disrespect outta me’ thing… that still on the table, or?”

Stack groaned, loud and dramatic, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m leavin’ the room.”

“No, no,” Annie said quickly, reaching out to stop him. Her voice softened. “I want all my boys,” she murmured. “My family. With me tonight.”

Stack froze.

Smoke looked up at her—really looked.

Smoke’s lips brushed her temple. Stack kissed her shoulder.

The house, so loud just an hour ago, fell to hush.

Just heartbeats.

Just them.

And the slow, quiet burn of still belonging to one another.

__

A/N Thought I'd give ya'll a variation of some angst for the trio but I'd actually end it off so I don't leave you in perpetual pain like I did in Touch of a Woman 🤪 For those curious about what fic in this AU would come after this... you'd enjoy Signed in Crayon, Sealed in Cash 💰

Always eager to hear your thoughts and encouragement it keeps me writing. Can't wait to hear what ya'll think 🥰

____

My other works can be found in My Masterlist. Thanks for reading!

___

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Annie’s breath caught, a smile spreading across her face. 

The box was deep blue, clearly expensive. She opened it with careful fingers.

A necklace. Diamonds arranged in an intricate pattern, delicate but striking. The kind of thing that cost more money than most people saw in months.

“Elijah,” she breathed. “This is—it’s beautiful.” 

“It’s gon’ match your dress.” He picked it up, the gems catching the light. “Here. I got it.”

Annie lifted her chin as he draped the necklace around her throat, his fingers brushing her skin as he worked the clasp.

“There,” he murmured, his hands resting on her shoulders as they both looked at her reflection. “Perfect.”

It was perfect. The stones gleamed against her dark skin, elegant and striking.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Mm.” His hands slid down her arms slowly, then back up. “Speaking of… I heard somethin’ real interesting today.”

Annie’s stomach tightened at his tone. “Oh?”

“Mhm.” His fingers traced along her collarbones, just above the necklace. “Ran into Marcus Webb. He mentioned you was by his shop last week.”

Her heart started pounding. “I—yes, I stopped by—”

“Said you was bartering with him.” Smoke’s voice was casual, but his hands had stilled on her shoulders. 

“Something about your herbal remedies in exchange for… what was it? Some fabric? Some special buttons?”

Annie swallowed hard. “It was just—I wanted some lace. For a project. And Marcus said his wife’s been having trouble sleeping, so I offered to make her some of my chamomile blend in exchang—”

“Now why…” His hands slid back up to her neck, fingers playing along the edge of the necklace. “Why would you need to do that?”

“It was just—”

“When you have a husband,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, his breath warm against her ear, “who can pay for it?”

“I didn’t think—”

“When your husband has given you money for it?” He continued. His fingers traced along her throat, not tight, just… there. 

Present. 

“I give you an allowance every month, don’t I?”

“Yes—”

“You got access to all the accounts,” His lips brushed the shell of her ear, and despite everything, Annie felt heat pool in her stomach.

“So explain to me, angel. Why you bartering like some woman whose man can’t provide for her?”

“It wasn’t about the money—” Her voice came out breathier than she intended.

“No?” His hands slid down, fingers trailing along the neckline of her dress, the tops of her breasts. “Then what was it about?”

Annie’s eyes fluttered closed. “I just… I liked the idea of trading. Of using something I made to get something I wanted.”

“Something you made.” His hands continued their slow exploration—along her sides, her waist, back up. “Like those folks are worthy of the things you make with your own two hands.”

“Elijah—”

“You see how that looks?” His mouth was at her neck now, lips brushing her skin between words. “My woman. Trading her goods like she ain’t got a man taking care of her. Like she gotta hustle for fabric and buttons.”

“That’s not—” She gasped as his teeth grazed her pulse point. “That’s not how it was—”

“How was it then?” His hands splayed across her stomach, pulling her back against him. “Explain it to me, sugar.”

“I just wanted—” Her breath hitched as one of his hands slid higher, thumb brushing just below her breast. “I wanted to make something. To trade something I created—”

“Mm.” The sound was almost a growl against her throat. “And how you think that makes me look? When people see my wife trading herbs for notions? What they gon’ think about the kind of man I am?”

“Nobody thinks—”

“Everybody thinks, baby. You know that.” His hand cupped her breast through the fabric of her dress, and she bit back a moan. 

“Everybody watching. Everybody talking. And now they’ll be talking about how Elijah Moore’s woman out there bartering.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Are you?” He turned her around to face him, and the look in his eyes made her thighs clench. “Are you really?”

“Yes—”

“Then tomorrow,” he said, his voice firm despite the heat in his gaze, “we goin’ to Marcus Webb’s shop. Together.”

Annie’s eyes widened. “Elijah—”

“You gon’ cancel whatever deal you got with him. And I’m gon’ pay for whatever it is you wanted.” 

His hand came up to cup her face. “In front of everybody. So they can see that you don’t need to trade nothin’. Because your husband provides.”

“Please,” Annie whispered, mortified. “Don’t—don’t make me do that—”

“Ain’t making you do nothing.” His thumb brushed her bottom lip. “Just correcting a misunderstanding. Making sure everybody knows you taken care of.”

“That’s gon’ to be so embarrassing—”

“Good.” He leaned in, kissed her slowly, deeply, until she was breathless. “Maybe the embarrassment will help you remember next time. Will help you think before you go making deals behind my back.”

“I wasn’t—it wasn’t behind your back—”

“You ain’t tell me about it, did you?”

She couldn’t argue with that.

“Tomorrow,” he repeated, pulling back. “Ten o’clock. We goin’ together. Wear something nice.”

“Elijah—”

“That’s the end of it, Annie.” But his voice was softer now, and he kissed her forehead. “Now finish getting ready. We got a gala to get to.”

He walked out, and Annie sat there, staring at her reflection.

At the expensive necklace around her throat.

At the desire in her body from his touch.

At the trapped look in her own eyes.

~The Next Day ~

Annie wore a dove gray dress with white gloves, hair pinned up neat, looking every inch the respectable wife of a successful man.

She felt sick the entire drive to Marcus Webb’s shop.

“Smile, angel,” Smoke murmured as they walked up to the door. “You look like you headin’ to a funeral.”

The bell chimed as they entered, and Marcus looked up from behind the counter, his expression shifting when he saw who it was.

“Mr. Moore,” he said, straightening immediately. “Mrs. Moore. Good morning.”

“Morning, Marcus.” Smoke’s hand was firm on Annie’s lower back. “We here about that arrangement my wife made with you.”

Marcus’s eyes flicked to Annie, then back to Smoke. “Oh. Yes, sir. The chamomile blend for some lace and—”

“There’s been a change of plans,” Smoke cut in smoothly. “My wife won’t be trading her remedies. Instead, I’ll be purchasing whatever she needs. Cash.”

“Oh.” Marcus cleared his throat. “Of course, sir. That’s—that’s no problem at all.”

“Good.” Smoke looked at Annie. “Show him what you wanted, baby.”

Annie wanted to die. Two other women were in the shop, pretending to browse but clearly listening to every word. She recognized one of them—Judith Hayes, known for spreading gossip faster than wildfire.

“The ivory lace,” Annie said quietly. “And the pearl buttons.”

“Excellent choices,” Marcus said, moving to get them. 

“Your wife has wonderful taste, Mr. Moore.”

“I know she does.” Smoke’s hand stayed on Annie’s back, possessive and warm. “That’s why I make sure she has access to the best. Don’t I, angel?”

“Yes,” Annie whispered.

Marcus wrapped the items carefully while Smoke pulled out his billfold—thick with cash, more than necessary, making a point.

“How much?”

“Oh, it’s—let me see—” Marcus calculated quickly. “Twelve dollars total.”

Smoke pulled out a twenty, set it on the counter. “Keep the change.”

“Sir, that’s too much—”

“For the inconvenience,” Smoke said smoothly. “And to make sure we all understand—my wife don’t need to trade for nothing. Anything she wants, I provide.”

“Yes, sir. It’s very clear.”

“Good.” Smoke picked up the wrapped package, handed it to Annie. “Anything else you need while we’re here, baby?”

Annie shook her head, neck hot.

“Then let’s go.” He nodded to Marcus. “Good doing business with you.”

As they left, Annie could feel Judith’s eyes on her back. Could practically hear the story being formed—how Elijah Moore had come in to pay for his wife’s purchases, how he’d made it clear she was taken care of, how he’d shown everyone who was in charge.

In the car, Smoke’s hand found hers.

“See?” he said quietly. “That wasn’t so bad.”

Annie stared out the window, the package in her lap feeling heavier than it should.

“You understand now?” he continued. “Why I needed to do that?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Good girl.” He squeezed her hand. “Next time you want something, you buy it. Because your husband makes sure you got the money for it. You understand?”

“I understand.”

He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed her knuckles. “That’s my girl.”

And Annie sat there, the expensive necklace from last night still around her throat, and wondered why being taken care of felt so much like being owned.

By the time they got home, Smoke’s mood had shifted—satisfied, pleased. He pulled her into the kitchen, pressed her against the counter, kissed her until she was breathless.

“You looked so pretty in that shop,” he murmured against her mouth. “Standing there in that dress, wearing my necklace. Everybody knowing you mine.”

And despite everything—despite the embarrassment, despite the control, despite the way her independence seemed to slip further away every day—Annie’s body responded to him.

Because that was the most confusing part.

She hated what he did.

But she loved him when he did it.

—-

Annie’s fingers twisted in her lap uselessly. As they always did when Smoke fed her.

“What’d you get into today, doll?”

“Spent some time working on my cinnamon rolls.”

His mouth ticked up.

“You likin’ that good cinnamon I got you then?”

She smiled and hit him on his chest.

“It’s real nice. Smells—different than the normal one.”

“Mhm. I’ll have to keep picking it up for you then.” As if cinnamon from across the seas was plenty. Like flour or sugar.

“Another expensive thing you’ll keep spoiling me with.” She said with disapproval. 

“You deserve it. You worth every penny and more.” He had that look in his eyes. The one that scared Annie a bit. That deep devotion.

Then he held the fork to her lips once more.

Annie had long given up fighting Smoke’s obsessive tendencies. He was always… intense. She knew that. But the longer they stayed together, the worse it got. 

Yet still she tried. 

“Was thinking… of goin’ to the beach with the girls this weekend.”

She watched him grip the fork tighter.

“No.”

“Elijah you —“

“I said no.”

“You didn’t even let me finish.” She deadpanned. 

“Don’t need to. I look like the type of man that lets his woman run around in public half naked?”

“Smoke, it’s just a bathing suit—”

“Exactly.” His voice was calm. Too calm. “And every man on that beach gon’ be looking at you in it.”

“They not gonna—”

“Annie.” He set the fork down, turned to face her fully. 

“You think I’m stupid? You know how men think. You know what they see when they look at you.”

Her stomach twisted. “So I’m just supposed to stay here? Never go anywhere?”

“You can go plenty of places. Just not half-dressed in front of strangers.”

“Pearl and them are going—”

“Pearl and them ain’t my concern. You are.”

“This ain’t fair.”

“Life ain’t fair, angel.” He picked up the fork again, held it to her lips. “Eat.”

She turned her head away. “I’m not hungry anymore.” Crossing her arms. 

His hand caught her chin—not rough, but firm. Turned her face back to him.

“Don’t be childish,” he said quietly. “You need to eat.”

“I said I’m not—”

“And I said eat.” His thumb stroked her jaw, gentle despite the steel in his voice. “I ain’t gon’ ask again.”

Annie’s eyes filled with tears, but she opened her mouth.

He fed her the bite, watching her chew, his expression softening slightly.

“There you are,” he murmured. “See? That ain’t so hard.”

The humiliation burned in her chest. 

Later that night, Annie tried again.

“What if we compromised?” she said as they got ready for bed. “What if I wore something more… modest? A swimming dress instead of—”

Smoke didn’t even look up from unbuttoning his shirt. “We already talked about this.”

“No, you talked. I ain’t get to—”

“Because there ain’t nothing more to discuss.” He turned to her now, and something in his expression made her step back. 

“You think I’m bein’ unreasonable? You think I’m too controlling?”

“Yes.” She hissed. 

“You rather be with a man that don’t give a damn?”

“I ain’t say that—”

“You ain’t have to.” He moved closer, and Annie’s back hit the vanity. “But let me explain something to you, angel. Every day, I make sure you safe, make sure you provided for, make sure nobody even thinks about disrespecting you.”

His hand came up to cup her face, thumb brushing her cheek.

“And you wanna go parade around in front of strangers? In a bathing suit? Where I can’t protect you? Where any man can look at you, think about you, want you?”

“Smoke, it’s not like that—”

“It’s exactly like that.” His voice was soft now, almost tender. “And the fact that you don’t see it? That’s exactly why I gotta be strict with you. Because you too sweet, too trusting. You don’t understand how men are. How the world is...”

“I understand—”

“No, baby, you don’t.” He leaned in, pressed a kiss to her forehead. “But that’s alright. That’s what I’m here for. To understand for both of us. To keep you safe even when you don’t realize you need keeping safe.”

Annie’s throat was tight, eyes shinning with tears. “I just wanted one day. One day with my friends.”

“And I gave you an alternative.” His hands moved to her shoulders, rubbing gently. “I already told you. Why they can’t come here? I got you a creek on the property. It’s private. Quiet. And it’s safe.”

“Smoke, it ain’t the same!”

“It’s gon’ have to be the same.” His voice hardened. “You ain’t goin’ to no public beach ass naked.”

“You can’t just—”

“I can and I am.” He pulled back, started finishing unbuttoning his shirt. “Discussion’s over. You wanna invite your friends here for a swim day, that’s fine. But you ain’t goin’ out there half-dressed where I can’t see you.”

“So I’m a prisoner now?”

He turned sharply, and the look on his face made her flinch.

“A prisoner?” His voice was dangerously quiet. “A prisoner. In a house I built for you? Wearing clothes I bought you? Eating food I provide? That’s what you think this is?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“No, you said it. So let’s talk about it.” He moved closer, and Annie pressed back against the vanity. “A prisoner don’t got her own house. Don’t got her own bank account with money in it every month. Don’t got a man who worships the ground she walks on and would kill for her without thinking twice.”

“Smoke, please—”

“A prisoner don’t got choices, Annie. But you got choices. You can invite your friends here, swim in private, be safe. Or you can pout about not getting your way like a child.”

Tears spilled over. “Stop it. Please.” 

His expression shifted immediately, softening. “Don’t cry.”

“Then stop making me cry!” She snapped annoyed at herself for showing weakness. 

“Then stop workin’ my nerves!” His voice rose, and she sobbed harder. He ran a hand over his face, exhaled hard.

“Ion like making you cry, angel. You know that.”

“Then why do you keep doing it?” She whispered. 

“Why you keep pushin’?”He cupped her face in both hands, made her look at him. “You keep trying to do things that ain’t safe, Then I try to protect you, you act like I’m the villain.”

“You are smothering me,” she whispered.

Something flickered across his face—hurt, maybe, or anger. Then it was gone, replaced by that calm, controlled expression.

“I’m goin’ to bed, Annie.”

“Smoke—”

“I’m goin’ to bed.” He stepped back, turned away. “I’ll sleeping in my study tonight. Wouldn’t want to… smother.”

He walked out, and Annie was left standing there, crying in their bedroom, feeling like she’d done something wrong even though she wasn’t sure what.

Chapter 2 >>> Coming Soon. _________

A/N This is part 1 of 3 chapters. You know me, working and posting everything but what I'm supposed to be posting. I do want to say, I promise, I will write every submission, nudge or recommendation ya'll send my way. It may take me a little time, but I'll defintely do them. I don't take ya'll for granted. Thank you for your patience with me <3 If you want to know how this story will go check out the original post HERE. ___

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Pearline shot her a look. "Don't play wit’ me girl. I seen you with them boys. Both of them. At the damn same time."

Annie's choked on the tea. "It's not—we not—"

"Mm-hmm." Pearline set the tea cakes on a cooling rack, then poured them both tea. "Start from the beginning. And don't leave nothing out."

So Annie told her.

About the conversation in their living room. The boundaries they'd set. The way they looked at her. The way being with them felt like coming home and falling off a cliff at the same time.

Pearline listened, nodding occasionally, asking questions.

"So you seeing both of them," she said finally. "For real, for real."

"Yeah girl," Annie said quietly. "Is that… too much?"

"Too much?" Pearline laughed. "Girl, you know I'm the last person to judge anybody's love life."

Annie smiled, relieved. Then quieter: "How's Daniel?"

Pearline's whole face softened at the name.

"He's good," she said, breaking a tea cake in half. "Real good, actually."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Pearline took a sip of tea, then set the cup down carefully. "We been talking."

"About?"

"Moving," Pearline said quietly. "Up north. New York, maybe. Chicago."

Annie's eyes widened. "Up north? Pearl, that's far as —"

"I know," Pearline cut in. "But it'd be easier there. He could just… be. Without all this."

She gestured vaguely, and Annie understood immediately.

"Every day," Pearline said, voice tight. "Goes to work at the ironworks with all them white men. Laughs at they jokes. Keeps his mouth shut when they say things that make his skin crawl. Comes home exhausted from pretendin’."

Annie reached across the table, squeezed her hand.

"Why he keep doing it?" Annie asked softly. "If it's killing him?"

Pearline was quiet for a moment.

"The money," she said finally. "White men at the ironworks make three times what coloured men make doing the same work. Sometimes more."

She looked up, met Annie's eyes.

"It's killing him, yeah. But the money's real, girl. It's what lets us even dream about moving outta here. Building a real life somewhere else. You think we could afford New York on what he'd make if folks knew he was coloured?"

Annie shook her head slowly.

"So he goes every day," Pearline continued. "Pretends. Smiles. Takes their money. And saves every penny so one day we can leave and he can stop."

"That's a lot to carry," Annie said quietly.

"It is," Pearline agreed. "Some days I think it ain't worth it. That we should just say to hell with the money, to hell with passing, be together honest even if we broke."

"But?"

"But I seen what being broke does to people," Pearline whispered. "Seen how it traps you. Keeps you stuck. And Daniel—he don't want that for us. Don't want us scraping by, barely surviving. He wants us to have a real chance."

She picked at her tea cake.

"So he keeps going. Keeps passing. Keeps saving. Even though it's hard."

"How long he been doing it?"

"His whole life, basically," Pearline said.

"His mama was real light. His daddy too, though his daddy had some Indian in him. Daniel came out looking like he could be some Italian. So his mama told him early: 'You got a choice your cousins don't. Use it.'"

She picked at her tea cake.

"So he did. Got work he wouldn't have gotten otherwise. Makes money he couldn't make if folks knew. But it's killing him, Annie. Living a lie every day."

"Does anyone else know?" Annie asked. "About y'all?"

"Just you," Pearline said. "And we keeping it that way. Because if the white folks at his job found out he was coloured? They'd run him out of town. Maybe worse."

"And if coloured folks found out he's passing?"

"They'd call him a traitor," Pearline finished. "Say he turned his back on his people. So we stuck. Can't be seen together nowhere ‘round here."

"That's why y'all talking about moving."

"Yeah." Pearline's voice was soft now. "Up north, in the big cities, he could stop passing. Could just be a light-skinned coloured man with a dark-skinned coloured woman. Nobody'd look twice."

"But that's far from now," Annie said gently.

"Far from now," Pearline agreed. "We ain't ready yet. Still figuring out what we are. If this is real or just… I don't know. Right now we just enjoying our moments. Taking it day by day."

She looked up, met Annie's eyes.

"But it's hard, Annie. Real hard. Meeting two counties over so nobody recognizes him. Him pretending to be something he ain't all day, then coming to me and finally breathing. It ain't sustainable."

"You love him?" Annie asked quietly.

"Yeah," Pearline said without hesitation. "I do. And he loves me. But I don't know if love's enough when you can't even walk down the street together."

Annie squeezed her hand tighter.

"At least you got time to figure it out," she said. "Least y'all ain't in immediate danger."

"Not immediate," Pearline agreed. "But it's there. Always there. One person recognizing him when he's with me. One slip. One person from his job seeing us together. That's all it'd take."

She pulled her hand back, wrapped both hands around her teacup.

"So yeah," she said with a tired smile. "You with two men at once ain't even the craziest thing happening in this kitchen."

Annie laughed—soft and understanding.

"Guess we both got ourselves into something complicated," she said.

"Complicated somethings," Pearline agreed. "But good somethings. Right?"

"Right," Annie said softly. "At least I hope so."

"Them twins treating you good?" Pearline asked, steering the conversation back.

"Yeah," Annie said. "Real good. They're… careful with me. Respectful. Keep asking what I need, what I'm comfortable with."

"That's how it should be," Pearline said firmly. "Don't let them run over you, make you do anythin’ you don’t wanna.” 

“You know me better than that.’

“I do, but it’s two of them, one of you. Just be careful.”

"I know it’s scandalous…"

"It’s more exciting if it's scandalous, ain’t it?" Pearline said with a grin while wiggling in her eyebrows.

“Girl you so nasty!, We ain’t gone there yet.” Annie groaned hands covering her face. 

“I know, but when ya’ll do? Imma need them details hunny.” She said sitting back.

“Now tell me about these rules y'all set. Because I need to know how two men are sharing one woman without killing each other."

Annie laughed, feeling lighter.

They spent the next hour talking—about the twins, about Daniel, about navigating love when the world made it complicated.

About taking it day by day.

About being brave enough to try.

And when Annie finally left, walking home in the late afternoon sun, she felt steadier.

Less alone.

Because Pearline understood what it meant to risk something for someone.

To choose love even when it was hard.

The walk home was quiet - just her footsteps on the dirt road and the sound of birds settling in for evening. Annie’s mind drifted as she walked, thinking about what Pearline had said.

Love that’s worth having is usually love you gotta fight for.

Made her think about her own mama. About the kind of love she’d had.

Or hadn’t had.

Her mama - rest her soul - was a good woman. Kind, sweet, pretty. But Annie couldn’t understand why she’d ended up with her daddy.

Her father wasn’t a bad man necessarily. Worked a decent job in the mines. Provided for them the best he could. But he was just... there. Annie wouldn’t say she knew much about him as a person. He was only a figure head. “Yes Sir.” “No Sir.” and that was that. When she was bold enough to ask her mother why she chose him she would always say: 

“He ain’t perfect Annie, I know that. But I made this choice long ago, now I gotta live with it.”

Their marriage was loveless and tired. He always took jabs at her mother, snide remarks about her hair, her stature, her competency. But he ain’t raise his hand on her. And in their time, there was something to be said about that. 

Annie thought about Stack’s hands on her waist the day before. Gentle. Reverent. The way he’d looked at her like she was something precious.

“You so beautiful,” he’d whispered. Not because he wanted something. Just because he meant it.

That’s what hands were supposed to do. Hold. Cherish. Not tear down.

Her mother was a Christian. Raised Annie Christian too. The church was in her. On her. It was her culture. But Annie wasn’t blind to the politics and antics of church folk. It’s what kept her mother married to her father. It’s what kept her unfulfilled so long. And a part of her, deep down, thought it was a part of the reason her mother was dead too. 

“At least he ain’t out there gamblin’ and chasin’ women Annie.”

The only valid reason for a divorce per her Bible. 

Turns out, he was indeed — out there —chasin’ women. One woman specifically. But her mother found that out late in life and that likely made it worse. The life she could’ve lived, could’ve had, had she known. 

She understood her mama. Kind of. It wasn’t bad enough to leave. But it sure as hell wasn’t good. Annie had always believed that love wasn’t something that was meant to be endured. It was meant to be enjoyed. 

She tried not to think about the end too much. It was messy. 

Her mama dying the way she did—heartbroken, stressed, realizing too late what her husband really was. The other woman. The other child. The years of lies.

And then her daddy moving that woman and her child into their house. The house Annie grew up in. Making Annie live there with them like some kind of ghost. A reminder of what he’d done. What he’d destroyed.

Pearline’s mama had been the one to save her. Saw how thin Annie had gotten, how quiet. How she moved through that house like she was apologizing for existing.

“You come stay with us, baby,” Pearline’s mama had said. “Ain’t no child should live like that.”

And Annie had. For years. Until she was old enough to stand on her own two feet.

Her mama had left her a little house. Modest. But it should’ve been her own.

Instead, her daddy made her buy it. Made her pay for her own mother’s house like she was some stranger off the street. Fifteen dollars a month for four years. Four years of scraping and saving and working herself to the bone. Four years of her daddy showing up with his hand out, cold as winter, taking her money without so much as a “thank you” or “I’m sorry for what I did to your mama.”

But she’d done it.

Paid every last cent. Got that deed with her name on it. Moved into that little house and made it hers.

It was why Annie worked so hard. Saved her coins. Because she’d learned early that you couldn’t rely on anyone else. Not fathers who betrayed you. Not promises that turned out to be lies. Not love that was supposed to be forever but disappeared the moment something shinier came along.

You could only rely on yourself. On what you earned with your own two hands.

And that house—small and modest and hers—was proof.

Proof she’d survived.

Proof she’d made something of herself despite everything.

Proof that she didn’t need nobody.

But when the twins went and put money on her books.

Not in her hand directly—they likely knew her too well for that. Knew she’d refuse, pride all wounded and back straight.

But they’d gone around town. Left money in her name. Paid up her accounts. Told them all the same thing: “Whatever Annie needs, she gets.”

She didn’t know whether to be grateful or furious.

Now? She settled on something in between.

Because the thing was—it would help.

She hated that it would, but it did.

For the first time in years, she wouldn’t be counting every penny. Wouldn’t have to choose between fixing the porch step or buying a new dress. Wouldn’t be laying awake at night doing sums in her head, trying to figure out how to make it all stretch.

The money she’d been using for groceries and fabric and getting her hair done—she could put that toward the house now. Fix the leak in the roof she’d been ignoring. Get that back window replaced. Maybe even paint the shutters like she’d been wanting to.

Little things. But things that made the house feel more like hers. Less like something she’d barely scraped together and more like a home she was building.

And the twins hadn’t asked for nothing in return. Hadn’t held it over her. Hadn’t made her feel small for needing help.

They just… did it.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world to take care of her.

She turned onto her street, saw her little house waiting for her.

White clapboard. Small porch with the third step that squeaked. Window boxes she’d planted herself.

Mama’s house.

Her house.

But maybe…

Maybe letting someone help didn’t mean she was weak.

Maybe accepting care didn’t erase everything she’d earned.

The twins made her think about that.

Her mama had been trapped by a man who took and took and gave nothing back. Who tore her down. Who made her small.

But the twins?

Stack made her feel cherished. Seen. Like every smile she gave him was a gift he didn’t take for granted.

Smoke made her feel protected. Secure. Like he’d burn the world down before he let anything hurt her.

They seemed to give without asking. Provided without making her feel like she owed them her soul.

This was different. They were different.

She climbed her porch steps, key in hand, and paused at the door.

Tonight she’d be with them. Both of them. Out in public where everyone could see.

She was scared.

But she was also… excited.

Because maybe, just maybe, this was what love was supposed to feel like.

Not endured.

Enjoyed.

She unlocked the door and stepped inside to get ready.

—-

Annie changed outfits three times.

The first dress—too plain. Made her look like she was going to church, not dinner.

The second—too bold. Cut lower than she usually wore, made her feel like she was trying too hard.

The third—a deep plum that hit just right, cinched at the waist, made her skin glow. Simple but striking.

She stared at herself in the mirror, twisting to see the back.

This is fine. This is good.

But her hands were shaking as she pinned her hair.

It wasn’t the dress. Wasn’t even really the dinner.

It was what came with it.

People. Eyes. Whispers.

All of Clarksdale watching her walk into Hank’s with both twins and trying to figure out what the hell that meant.

Annie took a breath. Then another.

You not hiding. You not ashamed.

You chose them. They chose you.

Now act like it.

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.

She grabbed her shawl, checked herself one more time, and opened it.

Both of them stood there.

Smoke in a pressed shirt, vest buttoned neat, hat in hand. Clean-shaven, composed, every inch the gentleman.

Stack beside him in dark trousers and a crisp white shirt rolled at the sleeves, suspenders sharp against his chest, grin already forming when he saw her.

“Damn,” Stack breathed.

Smoke’s eyes tracked her from head to toe—slow, deliberate, appreciative.

“You look beautiful,” he said quietly.

Annie beamed. “Thank you. Y’all clean up nice yourselves.”

Stack offered his arm. “Shall we?”

She took it.

Smoke fell into step on her other side.

Stack held the car door open, hat in hand and Smoke held her hand as she settled into the car. 

And together, they headed toward Hank’s.

The restaurant sat on the corner of Main and Oakwood—brick building, warm light spilling from the windows, the sound of conversation and laughter drifting out into the evening air.

Annie had been here a dozen times before.

But never like this.

Never with both of them.

Her steps slowed as they approached.

Smoke noticed immediately. “You alright?”

“Yes,” she said. “Just… nervous.” Lips between her teeth, the uncertainty clear.

“We ain’t gotta do this right now, sugar,” he said. “We can go somewhere else. Somewhere quieter.”

“No.” Annie straightened her spine. “I want to. I just need a second.”

Stack squeezed her hand where it rested on his arm. “Take your time, mama.”

She breathed. Once. Twice.

Then nodded.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

They moved toward the door.

Stack reached it first—pulled it open, held it wide.

Smoke’s hand found the small of Annie’s back as she stepped through.

And just like that, they were inside.

The restaurant wasn’t packed, but it was full enough. Maybe fifteen, twenty people scattered across tables. Families. Couples. Groups of friends.

Conversation hummed—forks scraping plates, glasses clinking, someone laughing loud near the back.

Then Annie walked in.

Flanked by both Moore twins.

The hum didn’t stop exactly.

But it shifted.

Heads turned. Eyes found them. Conversations paused mid-sentence as people registered what they were seeing.

Annie. With both of them. Together.

She felt the stares pressing into her.

She kept her chin up. Kept walking.

Smoke’s hand stayed steady at her back. Stack moved ahead slightly, leading them toward a table near the window—not hidden, not too exposed. Just right.

He pulled out her chair.

She sat.

Smoke took the seat to her right. Stack to her left.

Bracketing her. Protecting her without making it obvious.

The eyes didn’t stop.

Annie could feel them. Every glance. Every whisper behind hands.

A woman two tables over leaned toward her companion, said something low. The companion’s eyebrows shot up, gaze cutting toward Annie.

A man near the bar did a double-take. Nudged his friend. They both stared.

Three women in the corner—young, pretty, dressed nice—watched with expressions that ranged from curious to outright hostile.

Annie’s hands twisted in her lap beneath the table.

“Breathe,” Smoke murmured beside her.

She did. Shallow. Not quite steady.

Stack reached under the table, found her hand, squeezed once. “You doin’ just fine.”

The waitress appeared—older woman, kind eyes, professional smile.

“Evening, gentlemen. Miss Annie.” Her gaze flicked between the three of them, but her expression stayed neutral. “What can I get y’all to drink?”

“Water for the lady,” Smoke said. “And whatever she wants after that.”

“Sweet tea,” Annie said softly.

“Two whiskeys,” Stack added. “Neat.”

The waitress nodded, writing it down. “I’ll be right back with those.”

She left.

The silence at their table felt heavy.

Annie glanced around—tried not to make it obvious—but she could still feel it. The weight of attention. The speculation.

What are they doing?

Is she with both of them?

How does that even work?

“Stop,” Smoke said quietly.

She looked at him. “Stop what?”

“Worryin’ about them.” His eyes stayed on hers, steady and sure. “They don’t matter.”

“They staring.”

“Let ’em.”

Stack leaned back in his chair, draped one arm over the back of hers—casual, possessive, unbothered. “We knew this was gonna happen. Folks talk. That’s what they do.”

“I just…” Annie dropped her voice lower. “I feel like I’m on display.”

“You are,” Stack said simply. Then, at her look: “But not in a bad way. You beautiful. You here with us. Course people gon’ look.”

“Stack’s right,” Smoke added. “This town been watchin’ us our whole lives. Now they got somethin’ new to watch. Give em’ time. They’ll move on.”

Annie wasn’t so sure.

But she nodded anyway.

The waitress returned with drinks. Took their orders. Left again.

Slowly—carefully—Annie started to relax.

Smoke and Stack kept the conversation going. Asking about her day. Telling her about theirs. Stack made a joke that pulled a real laugh out of her, and for a second, she forgot where they were.

Forgot the eyes.

Forgot everything except the two men sitting with her, looking at her like she was the only person in the room.

Then the food came.

And things got… noticeable.

Smoke cut her a piece of his steak without asking—slid it onto her plate like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Stack poured her more tea before her glass was even half-empty.

When she reached for the salt, Smoke handed it to her before her fingers made contact.

When she dropped her napkin, Stack had already bent to retrieve it.

They weren’t trying to make a scene.

They were just… taking care of her.

But to everyone else?

It looked coordinated. Intentional. Like they’d rehearsed it.

The meal went smoother after the initial stares died down. By the time they finished, Annie felt steadier.

Like maybe this could work.

Like maybe she could get used to this.

Stack pushed his plate back, stretched. “That was good. Real good.”

Smoke nodded, already reaching for his wallet.

“I need to take a leak,” Stack said, standing. “Be right back.”

He squeezed Annie’s shoulder as he passed, then disappeared toward the back of the restaurant.

Smoke counted out bills, left them on the table with a generous tip.

“I’m gon’ pull the car around,” he said to Annie. “So you don’t have to walk in the dark.”

“I can walk—”

“I know you can.” His eyes held hers. “But you don’t have to.”

He stood, grabbed his hat. “Wait here. Stack’ll be back in a minute, then y’all come out together.”

“Okay.”

He pressed a brief kiss to the top of her head—quick, casual, like he’d done it a thousand times—and walked out.

Annie sat alone at the table.

Well. Not alone exactly.

The restaurant was still half-full. People finishing dessert, lingering over coffee. The low hum of conversation filled the space.

She smoothed her dress, tried to look comfortable sitting by herself.

Tried not to feel the weight of eyes still watching.

Just a minute, she told herself. Stack’ll be right back.

But then—

“Annie?”

She looked up.

Thomas Fletcher stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, smile easy and familiar.

Thomas.

She’d gone on three dates with him two years ago—maybe four. Enough to know he was nice enough, respectable enough, and boring enough to make her want to chew her own arm off.

Her stomach dropped.

“Thomas,” she said carefully. “Hi.”

“Thought that was you earlier,” he said, stepping closer. “Saw you with them twins. Didn’t wanna interrupt.”

Something in the way he said them twins made her spine stiffen slightly.

“We were just having dinner.”

“I saw.” He glanced at the empty chairs, and his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “They leave you already?”

“No, they—” She stopped. It wasn’t any of his business. “They’ll be back soon.”

“Ah.” Thomas pulled out Stack’s empty chair, sat down without asking. “Mind if I keep you company while you wait?”

Yes, she wanted to say. I do mind.

But the words stuck in her throat.

This was Thomas. He wasn’t a bad man. Just… persistent. Oblivious. The kind of man who didn’t understand that “no thanks” meant “no thanks,” not “try again later.”

“Sure,” she said instead, voice tight.

Thomas settled in, leaned back like he had all the time in the world.

— Outside —

Smoke walked to where he’d parked the car—a block down, tucked along the side street.

He wanted tonight to be special. Wanted Annie to feel taken care of. He thought they did a good job. This was just a glimpse into their future.

He reached the driver’s side, pulled the door open— Then paused.

From here, he had a clear view through Hank’s front window. The angle was just right. He could see their table.

See Annie. See a man sitting in Stack’s chair. Smoke’s hand tightened on the door handle. He watched. He leaned forward, saying something that made Annie smile—polite, uncomfortable, but still a smile.

His hand gesturing as he talked, getting closer to her space with every word.

Smoke’s jaw flexed.

Stack’ll be back any second, he told himself. He’ll handle it. But he didn’t get in the car.

Just stood there. Watching.

— In the Washroom —

Stack dried his hands, checked his reflection. Hair still neat. Shirt still pressed. He looked good. Annie looked better, he thought with a grin.

Tonight had gone well. A few stares, yeah, but nothing they couldn’t handle. And Annie—she’d been nervous at first, but she’d relaxed.

Laughed. Let them take care of her. That’s all he wanted.

He pushed open the washroom door, stepped into the hallway— And stopped.

From here, he had a partial view of the dining room. Could see their table.

See Annie.

See a nigga sitting where he’d just been sitting. Stack’s smile died. He started forward— Then stopped. Forced himself to slow down.

To watch.

He was talking. Annie was nodding, hands folded in her lap. She looked… uncomfortable.

But she wasn’t telling him to leave. Stack’s fingers curled into fists at his sides.

She can handle it, he told himself. She don’t need you barging in. But his feet wouldn’t move.

He just stood there. Watching.

— Back at the table —

“You look good tonight, Annie,” he said. “Real good. All dressed up.”

“Thank you.”

“Special occasion?” His tone was light, but there was something underneath it. Something searching.

“Just… dinner.”

“Just dinner,” he repeated, nodding slowly. “With both of them. At the same time.”

Annie’s hands twisted in her lap. “Thomas—”

“I ain’t judging,” he said, raising his hands. But his smile was tight. “Just trying to understand, that’s all. It’s… different. You gotta admit that.”

“I don’t have to admit anything.”

“Fair enough.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “But you and I used to talk, Annie. Remember? We had some good times. That church picnic—you made those little tea cakes everybody loved.”

“I remember,” she said quietly, not meeting his eyes.

“You should make those again sometime.” His voice dropped lower, more intimate. “I been thinking about them. Thinking about you, if I’m honest.”

Annie’s stomach twisted. “Thomas, I don’t think—”

“Two years ago, you told me you wanted to take things slow,” he continued, voice still friendly but with an edge creeping in. “Said you wasn’t ready for anything serious. And I respected that, Annie. I gave you space. I was patient.”

“I appreciate that—”

“Do you?” The friendliness cracked slightly. “Because from where I’m sitting, it don’t seem like you needed space. Seems like you just needed… something else.”

Annie’s spine stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Thomas’s smile faded. “Come on, Annie. You here with both twins. At the same time. Walking in with them, sitting between them, letting them—” He gestured vaguely. “Whatever that is. So clearly you ready for something. Just wasn’t ready for me.”

“Thomas, that’s not fair—”

“Ain’t it?” His voice was harder now. “I got a decent job. I go to church. I’m respectable. I would’ve treated you right, Annie. Would’ve given you a good life. A proper life.”

“I don’t—”

“But instead you with them.” He said it like a curse. “Men with reputations. Men everybody know ain’t—” He stopped himself, jaw tight.

Annie’s heart was pounding. “I think you should go.”

“I’m just trying to understand.” But he wasn’t moving. “What is it about them? What they got that I don’t?”

“Thomas, please—”

“Is it the danger?” His eyes were hard now, all pretense of friendliness gone. “That what you like? Men who—”

“Stop,” Annie said, voice shaking.

“I’m honest. I’m decent. I would’ve married you, Annie.” His hand moved across the table toward hers. “Still would. You don’t have to do this. Whatever this is with them. You got options.”

Annie pulled her hands into her lap, away from him.

“You got me,” Thomas said, leaning closer. “A good man. A church man. Not—”

“I need you to leave,” Annie said, stronger now.

“Annie—”

“Now, Thomas.”

She started to stand.

His hand shot out, caught her wrist.

Not gentle. Not friendly.

Possessive.

“Wait,” he said, and there was something desperate in his voice now. Angry. “Just—just hear me out—”

Annie froze, staring at where his fingers circled her wrist.

“Let go,” she said quietly.

“I just need you to understand—”

“Let go, Thomas.” Her voice was stronger now, but her heart was hammering.

“You making a mistake with them—” His grip tightened. Not enough to hurt. But enough that she couldn’t pull away easily. “They ain’t what you think they are, Annie. Men like that—”

“Thomas—”

“You think they gon’ respect you?” His voice dropped, bitter and ugly. “You think walking around with both of them ain’t gon’ make people talk? You think that’s the kind of life you want?”

Annie tried to pull back. His fingers tightened.

“You really think they’re better than me?” he asked, leaning in closer. “After everything I—”

— outside —

Smoke saw it.

The hand.

The touch.

Annie pulling back.

The man holding on.

He dropped the car door.

Didn’t close it.

Just left it open and started walking.

Fast.

— inside —

Stack saw it too.

Saw the man reach across the table.

Saw Annie try to pull away.

Saw him hold on.

“Motherfucker,” he breathed.

And moved.

___

“Let go of me,” Annie said, louder now.

“Annie, I’m not trying to hurt you—”

“You are hurting me.”

Thomas blinked, looked down at his hand like he was surprised to find it there. But he didn’t let go.

“I just need you to listen—”

A shadow fell across the table.

Then another.

Thomas looked up.

Smoke stood on one side of the table, face calm but eyes lethal.

Stack appeared on the other, jaw tight, hands flexed at his sides.

Both of them.

At the same time.

Thomas’s hand dropped from Annie’s wrist like he’d been burned.

“Evenin’,” Smoke said quietly.

Too quietly.

Thomas stood fast, chair scraping. “We was just talkin’—”

“Didn’t look like talkin’,” Stack said.

“I was just—she and I used to—”

“Used to,” Smoke repeated. “Past tense.”

Thomas steadied himself. “I wasn’t doin’ nothin’ wrong—”

“You touched her,” Stack said flatly.

“I barely—”

“So you sayin’ you did then? Touch her?” Smoke asked low and gravely. 

The restaurant had gone quiet.

Every eye on them.

Thomas looked around—saw the stares, the judgment—and his expression hardened.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “Can’t even have a conversation—”

“You wasn’t conversatin’,” Stack said. “You was pushin’.”

“She ain’t tell me to stop—”

“She did, but she shouldn’t have had to,” Smoke said, voice dropping even lower. Dangerous. “You should know better.”

Thomas’s jaw worked. He looked at Annie—really looked—like he was waiting for her to defend him.

She didn’t.

“You need to leave,” Smoke said.

“You can’t tell me—”

“Just did.”

For a long moment, nobody moved.

Then Thomas exhaled hard, grabbed his coat from the back of the chair.

“You got a different kind of taste, Annie,” he said.

Stack stepped forward. “Say somethin’ else—”

“Stack,” Smoke warned quietly.

But Stack didn’t move.

Just stared at Thomas until the man looked away.

Thomas threw some bills on a nearby table and walked toward the door.

But before he left, he glanced back one more time.

“Imma see ya’ll around,” he said—not quite a threat, but close.

Then he was gone.

The silence in the restaurant was deafening.

Annie stood frozen, still cradling her wrist, hands shaking.

Smoke turned to her immediately, expression softening.

“You alright?”

She nodded. Didn’t trust her voice.

Stack was still staring at the door, chest rising and falling hard, but he turned back to Annie.

Saw her cradling her wrist.

“He hurt you?” Stack asked, voice tight.

“No,” Annie whispered. “Just… scared me.”

Smoke’s jaw flexed.

“Let’s go,” he said quietly

Nobody argued.

Stack offered her a hand and she took it, let him pull her close. 

They walked out together—Annie between them, their presence a shield against the stares that followed them all the way to the door.

Annie didn’t look back.

Didn’t see the way people were whispering.

Didn’t see the mixture of judgment and concern on their faces.

She just held tight to Stack’s hand and kept walking.

—

The car was quiet at first.

Smoke driving. Annie in the middle. Stack on the passenger side.

Nobody spoke.

The only sounds were the engine’s low rumble and the occasional passing car, headlights cutting through the darkness before disappearing again.

Annie stared at her hands in her lap.

The same hands Thomas had grabbed. She could still feel it—the pressure of his fingers, the way he’d held on even when she tried to pull away. The way his voice had changed from friendly to bitter to something that made her skin crawl.

Her wrist didn’t hurt. Not really.

But she kept rubbing it anyway.

Stack noticed.

His hand reached over in the dim light, found hers, covered it gently.

“You ok?” he asked quietly.

Annie nodded. Didn’t trust her voice.

“He shouldn’t have done that,” Smoke said from the driver’s seat. Voice tight. Controlled but barely. “Put his hands on you like that.”

“I know,” Annie whispered.

Her throat felt thick. Eyes stinging.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Not now.

But the tears came anyway.

Quiet at first. Just wetness on her cheeks that she tried to wipe away quickly, hoping they wouldn’t notice in the dark.

Stack noticed.

“Mama,” he said softly, squeezing her hand.

That made it worse.

The gentleness. The concern. After everything—after the stares at the restaurant, after Thomas, after she’d just sat there like an idiot letting him talk and talk until he grabbed her—

They were still being gentle.

A sob escaped before she could stop it.

“Hey,” Stack said, turning in his seat. “Hey, it’s alright—”

“It’s not,” Annie choked out. “I should’ve—I should’ve told him to leave. I should’ve—”

“You ain’t did nothin’ wrong,” Smoke cut in, eyes still on the road but voice firm.

“I just sat there—”

“Because you were trying to be polite,” Stack said. “Because you kind. That ain’t your fault.”

“He wouldn’t have done it if I’d been clearer, if I’d—”

“He did it because he’s a man who don’t respect boundaries,” Smoke said flatly. “That ain’t on you.”

Annie shook her head, tears coming faster now.

All night she’d been so nervous. Worried about the stares, about people judging, about doing something wrong. And then she had done something wrong—let Thomas sit down, let him talk, let him get too close—

“It’s ruined,” she whispered.

“What is?” Stack asked.

“Tonight. Our first—” Her voice broke. “It was supposed to be nice and I—”

"Annie." Smoke's voice was quiet but commanding.

She turned her head toward him.

"Ain't nothin' ruined," he said, glancing at her briefly before his eyes returned to the road. "You hear me?"

“But—”

“Nothin’,” he repeated. “We had a great dinner. Man came at you wrong. We handled it. That’s what we do.”

“But everyone was staring—”

“Let ‘em stare,” Stack said. “We don’t care about them.”

“I do,” Annie said miserably. “I care. They gon’ talk. They gon’ say—”

“They was always gon’ talk,” Smoke said. “From the moment you walked in with both of us. You knew that.”

She had known that.

But knowing it and living it were two different things.

Stack’s thumb rubbed gentle circles on the back of her hand.

“You did well tonight,” he said softly. “You walked in there with your head up. You sat with us. You let everyone see.”

“And then I let Thomas—”

“Thomas,” Smoke cut in, voice hard now, “ain’t your concern no more.”

Annie’s stomach twisted. 

“Elijah—”

"I mean it." He glanced at her again, and the look in his eyes made her stop asking.

Something in his tone made her stop asking.

They drove in silence for another moment.

Annie wiped at her face, trying to pull herself together.

Stop crying. Stop being weak. They’re gonna think you can’t handle this.

But the tears kept coming.

Quiet, exhausted tears that she couldn’t seem to stop.

She was so tired.

Tired of being scared. Tired of second-guessing everything. Tired of feeling like she had to be strong all the time because she’d been doing it alone for so long she ain’t know how to be anything else.

The familiar streets of her neighbourhood started appearing.

Her house was coming up soon.

After a while, Smoke pulled up in front of her house.

Put the car in park.

Nobody moved.

Annie stared at the small house—the familiar whitewashed wood, the porch with the squeaky third step, the window to her bedroom that suddenly felt impossibly lonely.

Too quiet.

Too empty.

Too far from them.

“Annie,” Smoke said softly.

She didn’t look at him. Just kept staring at her dark house, rouge tears still running silently down her face.

The thought of going inside alone—of sitting in that empty, quiet space after everything tonight—made her chest tighten.

“Angel, look at me.”

She turned slowly, eyes red, cheeks still wet.

His expression cracked slightly at the sight of her.

“Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s get you inside.”

Annie’s breath hitched.

She opened her mouth. Closed it.

Looked down at her hands—one still clasped in Stack’s, the other twisted in the fabric of her dress.

“Can I…” she started, then stopped.

Both twins waited.

“Can I what, baby?” Stack prompted gently.

“I know it ain’t proper. I know. But can I…” She swallowed hard. “Can I stay with y’all tonight?”

Smoke’s entire body relaxed.

The words came out small. Almost a whisper.

“I don’t… I don’t want to be all alone tonight.”

Smoke’s shoulders relaxed.

Like he’d been holding his breath and could finally exhale.

“Yeah,” he said immediately. “’Course you can.”

“You don’t have to ask twice, mama,” Stack added, squeezing her hand.

Relief flooded through her so fast it almost made her dizzy.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Nothing to thank us for,” Stack said.

Smoke drove past her street without slowing down.

Didn’t even hesitate.

Just kept going, heading toward their place instead.

Annie exhaled slowly, something unknotting in her chest.

She wouldn’t be alone tonight.

Wouldn’t have to sit in her empty house replaying everything, wondering if she’d ruined it, wondering if they were angry with her.

She could just… be with them.

Safe.

“You sure you ok?” Stack asked after another moment.

Annie nodded. “Yeah. Just… shook up, I guess.”

“That’s understandable,” Smoke said.

They drove in silence for a few more blocks.

Annie’s tears had slowed now. She wiped at her face again, embarrassed.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “For crying.”

“"Don't apologize for that," Smoke said firmly. "You allowed to feel what you feel."

Annie nodded, throat tight again.

They were almost to the twins place when Stack suddenly sat up straighter.

"Shit, we needa turn around."

"What?" Smoke's head turned toward him for a second before his eyes went back to the road.

"She needs her things"

"What things?"

"Women things. Like..." Stack gestured vaguely with his free hand. "Man, I don't know. I just know women need shit that we don't have."

Annie held a hand to her mouth, a smile breaking through despite everything. She placed her other hand on Stack's thigh.

"I’ll be okay" she said softly. 

First real smile they'd seen in the past hour. 

“I'll make do. Thank you for thinking of me." She leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek.

His eyebrows shot up. 

"Always, mama," Stack said, covering her hand with his, the other to touch his cheek.

Smoke glanced over at her, caught that small smile, and something eased in his expression.

The rest of the drive passed quietly.

Not uncomfortable quiet.

Just... quiet.

Annie sat between them, hand still held in Stack's, and tried to breathe.

Tried to believe what they'd said-that she hadn't ruined anything. That it wasn't her fault. That they weren't angry with her.

The tears had mostly stopped by the time they pulled up to the twins' place.

Smoke cut the engine.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Then Stack squeezed her hand one more time before letting go.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get you inside.”

Smoke came around to her side, opened the door, offered his hand.

Annie took it.

Let him help her out of the car, steady her when her legs felt shaky.

“We got you,” Stack said from behind her.

And standing there—between them, their presence solid and warm on either side—Annie finally believed it.

They had her.

She didn’t have to do this alone.

Not tonight.

Maybe not ever again.

___

When they got inside, Annie stood in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped around herself, feeling small and raw and exposed.

“You need anything?” Stack asked. “Water? Something to eat?”

She shook her head, then hesitated. “Can I… can I take a bath?”

The twins exchanged a quick glance.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Smoke said. “We don’t use the tub much—just got basic soap in there—but I can get it running for you.”

“That’s fine,” Annie said quietly. “I just need… I just need a minute.”

“I’ll get it started,” Smoke said, already heading down the hall.

Stack lingered, hands in his pockets, watching her with worried eyes.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

Annie’s laugh came out wet and broken.

He stepped closer, hesitated, then pulled her into his arms.

She went willingly, burying her face in his chest, breathing him in.

“We got you,” he murmured into her hair. “We ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

She nodded against him, not trusting her voice.

A few minutes later, Smoke appeared in the doorway. “It’s ready.”

Annie pulled back from Stack, wiping at her face. “Thank you.”

She started down the hall, then paused.

Both twins were still standing there, looking at her with identical expressions of concern and restraint.

“I’ll be quick,” she said.

“Take your time,” Smoke replied.

She disappeared into the bathroom, and the door clicked shut behind her.

For a long moment, neither twin moved.

Then Stack let out a slow breath. “She in there naked.”

Smoke’s jaw ticked. “I’m aware.”

“In our house.”

“Stack—”

“I know, I know.” Stack dragged a hand down his face. “We goin’ slow. We takin’ our time. We bein’ respectful.”

“But she in there naked,” Smoke finished, voice strained.

They stood in tense silence.

“Whose shirt she wearin’ after?” Stack asked suddenly.

Smoke blinked. “What?”

“She can’t put that dress back on. So whose shirt she wearin’?”

Another beat of silence.

“Mine,” both of them said at once.

They looked at each other.

“I gave her my shirt last time,” Stack pointed out.

“Exactly,” Smoke countered. “So it’s my turn.”

“That ain’t how—”

“Gentlemen.”

They both turned.

Annie stood in the bathroom doorway, wrapped in a towel, edges damp and curling around her temples, eyes still red but calmer now.

“I can hear you,” she said, voice hoarse but with the faintest hint of amusement.

Both twins had the decency to look sheepish.

“Sorry,” Stack muttered.

Smoke cleared his throat. “I’ll get you something to wear.”

He disappeared into his room, came back with a clean shirt.

Handed it to her without meeting her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

She went back into the bathroom, closed the door.

The twins retreated to the living room like they’d been scolded.

Neither spoke.

Then Stack moved to the couch, dropped down heavily, elbows on his knees.

Smoke stayed standing, hands in his pockets, staring at nothing.

"She too soft," Stack said finally.

Smoke's jaw ticked. "Yeah."

"That's why we like her though," Stack continued, quieter now. "She kind. She sweet. She ain’t got a mean bone in her body."

"I know."

Stack looked up at his brother. "But she can't be like that out there. Not when niggas think they can just—"

He stopped. Shook his head.

"I know," Smoke said again.

They were quiet for a moment.

Water running in the bathroom. Distant sounds of the neighbourhood settling in for the night.

"She don't know how to protect herself yet," Stack said. "Don't know how to shut that shit down."

"No," Smoke agreed. "She don't."

"So we got some guidin' to do."

Smoke nodded slowly. "Mhm."

It wasn't a long conversation.

Didn't need to be.

They both understood what needed to happen.

Annie was theirs now. That meant teaching her. Protecting her. Showing her how to exist in their world without losing what made her her.

But that was a conversation for another day.

Tonight, she just needed them close.

Stack nodded, stayed on the couch.

Thinking about the way that man had sat down like he had grabbed her like he had a right to.

She too soft, he thought again.

But that was alright.

They'd teach her.

They had time.

—-

Thirty minutes passed.

Maybe longer.

Finally, the bathroom door opened.

Annie emerged—clean, languid, wearing Smoke’s shirt that hung to her mid-thigh. Her edges were still damp, her eyes low and sleepy.

She looked exhausted.

Wrung out.

But steady. 

Both twins stood as she entered the living room.

“Feel better?” Smoke asked.

“A little,” she admitted. “Thank you.”

“’Course.”

Silence stretched between them.

Annie’s hands twisted in the hem of the shirt.

“I want —” She stopped. Swallowed. Tried again. “I want both of ya’ll tonight.”

The twins went completely still.

Stack’s eyes widened slightly.

Smoke’s throat worked.

“I know I’m asking for a lot,” she continued quickly, voice barely above a whisper, completely oblivious. “I know we said we’re taking things slow. But I don’t— want to choose between you. I just need—”

“Annie,” Smoke’s voice came out rough. Strained.

She looked up at him, confused by his tone.

“You sure?” he asked carefully. “You sure that’s what you want? Tonight?”

“I—yes?” She blinked, uncertain why he looked so tense. “Is that okay?”

Stack cleared his throat. “Baby, we just wanna make sure you… ready for that.”

Annie’s brow furrowed. “Ready for what?”

The twins exchanged a loaded glance.

“For… both of us,” Stack said slowly. “At the same time.”

Annie stared at them.

Then her eyes went wide.

“Oh! Oh—no, I ain’t mean—” 

“I just meant… can we all sleep together? Like, actually sleep? In the same bed?”

The tension drained out of both twins so fast it was almost comical.

Smoke let out a slow breath. “Jesus, woman.”

“You can’t just say things like that,” Stack muttered, running a hand over his face.

“I’m sorry!” Annie’s hands clutched at the bottom of the shirt  “I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to—”

“It’s fine,” Smoke said, but his voice was still a little rough. “Yeah. Yeah, we can all sleep together.”

“Just sleep,” Stack confirmed, more for himself than for her.

“Just sleep,” Annie agreed.

Smoke shook his head, something like a smile tugging at his mouth despite everything.

“Come on,” he said, gentler now. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He led her down the hall to his room—the bigger of the two bedrooms, bed wide enough for three.

Stack followed close behind, turning off lights as they went.

Smoke's room was bigger— though it had never held more than one before tonight.

Annie stood beside the bed, uncertain.

"Which side—" she started.

"Middle," both twins said at once.

She blinked. "Oh. Okay."

Stack pulled back the covers while Smoke dimmed the lamp on the dresser.

Annie climbed in first, the mattress dipping under her weight. The sheets were cool and clean, smelling faintly of soap and something distinctly Smoke—tobacco and cedar and something else she couldn't name.

Stack slid in on her right, settling on his back with one arm behind his head.

Smoke took the left side, closer to the edge, lying on his side facing her.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Nobody spoke.

Just three people in a bed, breathing in the dark.

Then Annie shifted—turned onto her side toward Smoke—and tucked herself against his chest.

His arm came around her automatically, hand settling on her waist.

Behind her, Stack moved closer, his chest pressing against her back, his arm draping over both her and Smoke.

Annie let out a shaky exhale.

"Better?" Smoke murmured.

"Yeah," she whispered. "Better."

Her breathing started to even out almost immediately—exhaustion finally catching up with her.

The twins waited.

Listened.

After about ten minutes, her body went slack against Smoke's chest. Her breath deepened, slowed.

Asleep.

The twins waited.

Listened.

Stack's arm tightened around both of them, and over Annie's sleeping form, he met his brother's eyes in the darkness.

No words needed.

They'd handled worse than Thomas Fletcher.

And they'd get to him too.

But later.

Tonight, they had this.

Their woman, safe between them.

Right where she belonged.

Smoke's hand continued its slow path up and down Annie's back until his own eyes grew heavy.

Stack was the last to fall asleep, listening to Annie's soft breathing, Smoke's steady heartbeat.

Three people in a bed.

Three people becoming something neither of them had planned for but both of them wanted.

This was just their beginning.

___

A/N I have been working on this forever. Chopping and changing before I realized I'd just have to post ts lmao. So here is chapter 4. We learn more about Annie's lore and family life. I feel like I have an issue where I can't just say some shit happened. I have to build everything out and its so annoying in a way because it takes me forever to make a post 😭 So thank ya'll for the patience. I have so many different parts of this fic written, but since we're burning nice and slowwwwww, I'll slot them in eventually. What was once supposed to be 4 chapters and an epilogue... has spirled into something so much more. 😭 Thank ya'll for rockin' with me. Always happy to hear your thoughts/predictions/opinions. Pls give me a crumb of dopamine during this depressive episode lol. Love yall! 💗 Canadian winter is a crime against humanity. In unrelated news it was a damn snowstorm today smh. Okay love you. Bye

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This work of art is part of "The Moore Kind" universe. Where Smoke, Annie, and Stack exist as a Trio. If you'd like to learn more about them, check out My Masterlist 😘

___

All Fic Taglist - Interested in my future works? Let me know if you'd like me to add you to my tag list. (Also lmk if you want me to remove you. No hard feelings I promise.)

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Cornbread scratched his head. “I saw her. Earlier today. When I was dropping off at Hank’s. She was behind the bar. Serving.” He said it plain, like it wasn’t a live grenade.

The boys shared a look before Stack started. 

“That wasn’t Annie. Because Annie dont work, do she Smoke?” Stack shot at his brother over his shoulder. 

“Annie don’t work.” The older responded flatly.

“That’s right. Cuz Annie ain't got no bills. Annie got any bills Smoke?” He asked his brother. 

“Annie ain’t got no damn bills.” The older confirmed. 

A picture was forming now. Smoke didn’t like it. Hadn’t thought much of how she’d been slipping out in the afternoons lately—just as they were settling into sleep. Kissing them both goodbye like it was nothing.

Back by eleven. Smelling like sweat and sugar. He’d chalked it up to her wandering ways. She got restless. But she didn’t work.

Smoke stood from his stool, slow and measured. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. But Cornbread wasn’t the lying type. The man was many things, but not a liar. 

He stalked closer as Stack kept going.

“Annie don’t pay bills. So she don’t need to be working for no money. Definitely not for no damn Hank, and especially not serving no drinks.” Stack concluded. 

Cornbread rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn’t trying to stir anything up. He just figured they knew. He let out a breath and tried to explain.

He’d been hauling crates with Filly—usual route. Made the stop at Hank’s around 5. Sun had teeth that day, hot on the back of his neck. 

Inside, the bar was its usual dark, sticky self. And there she was. 

Annie, behind the bar like she’d always been there. Dress stuck to her back, brow damp. Laughing at something Hank said.

She didn’t see him.

He wanted to wave. Say something. But Filly was already honking the horn, yelling about the next stop.

So he let her be.

“I ain’t lyin’. You can ask Filly too,” Cornbread said, nodding toward the young man hauling in the last crate.

“Yeah, that was Miss Annie at Hanks, can’t miss that laugh of hers.” The boy shared a smile, not knowing what he was walking into.

Silence fell thick as a quilt.

Smoke’s jaw flexed. Stack clapped a hand on Cornbread’s shoulder.

“Preciate you for stopping by.” Smoke said, a tight smile on his lips and a prompt for the man to hit the road. 

“You’re a good man, Cornbread.” Stack said as he started him towards the exit.

Cornbread hesitated at the barn door. “She ain’t in trouble is she?”

“Trouble? Nah, she not in no trouble.” Stack replied, smiling with his golds peaking out. 

But for some reason, Cornbread had a feeling she had walked straight into it. 

___

Earlier that day…

The house was still, heavy with the kind of silence that only came when the boys were down for the count.

Smoke and Stack had come home just before dawn—fed and full, stretched out like kings in the wide bed they shared with her. By the time the sun crept through the curtains, they were out cold, deep in the kind of slumber that wouldn’t break for hours.

Annie sat on the edge of the bathtub, taking her twists down and fluffing through her curls with slow, idle movements. The house was too quiet. She looked at the clock—just after noon. She’d already done her chores. Her hands itched for something else.

The days were long now. And with the boys sleeping till sundown and business slow this week, Annie had too much time to think. She’d stopped by Hank’s the day before to drop off a tonic for his gout, and he’d looked at her with those tired eyes and said, “Wish I had someone with hands like yours behind the bar. Just till Margie gets back.”

She hadn’t answered then. But now, hours into silence, she found herself slipping on a cotton dress and pinning her hair back. Nothing fancy—just a shift dress and low heels. Something easy to move in.

“I’ll be back before they even wake up,” she murmured to herself, grabbing her purse. “Just a couple hours. Help Hank out. Stretch my legs.”

She left a note on the kitchen counter, though she doubted they’d see it. They never looked for notes—they looked for her. The words she wrote weren’t a lie, not exactly. But she left out the part about where she was going—and why she wouldn’t be back before sundown.

__

Annie was in trouble.

Stack’s eyes bugged out. “You seeing this?”

Smoke didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Smoke was seeing it. He saw Annie—there, behind a bar, pouring a drink for a patron. Wearing that soft cotton dress she liked, sleeves rolled up, hair pinned. She looked pretty. Capable. Like she belonged.

And that made it worse. Smoke made it clear early on that he never wanted her to have to answer to another man for money. He would make sure that she would never have to. He had a big thing about taking care of his family. Taking care of his woman.

He loved that Annie made her own money and pursued he own passions. Smoke nurtured that entrepreneurial spirit in her, helped her with her business. And she made a fair amount from it. He’d pay for whatever herb she needed that grew across the country to be delivered. Just so that Annie could hone in on her craft and work on new treatments for her customers.

But where she stood right now? This wasn’t her business. This wasn’t her passion. It was the antithesis of everything Stack wanted for his woman. A threat to what he believed made him a man.

She spotted them just a second too late—two shadows seated at the back of the room, dark and still. Her heart sank the moment she met Smoke’s eyes. Stack’s face was easier to read—surprised, maybe even a little amused—but Smoke? He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared.

The boys had picked a table in the back of the venue, tucked away from view but still with enough of a vantage to see the action.

She dropped the towel and ditched the apron with haste and headed over the the boys table.

“I’ll meet y’all at the house,” Smoke said, voice flat.

“Smoke, I can explain,” Annie called out, taking a hesitant step toward him—but he was already turning away, flagging down the stock boy.

“Where’s your boss at?” Smoke asked. “I got somethin’ for him.”

Stack shook his head as he looked at Annie with a little pity. He personally wasn’t too fussed with Annie working. As long as the patrons kept their hands to themselves and Annie stayed strapped he thought she’d be fine.

But Smoke? That was a different story. Stack knew how his brother felt about their woman being in someone else’s domain.

The way Smoke acted, you’d think she was on the damn pole. 

Stack stood and stretched like he’d just finished a meal. “Let’s go, sweet bits,” he said, gently placing a hand on the small of her back to steer her toward the exit.

She resisted for a second, glancing back—hoping, maybe, that Smoke would stop her. Say something. But he was already disappearing behind the swinging doors.

Stack almost felt bad for Annie. Almost.

He wasn’t really mad—not the way Smoke was. He didn’t mind her working, not in theory. But working for another man in a place like this? And doing it behind their backs? That was where things got sticky.

She might’ve been able to get away with it if she opted for being a seamstress. But a damn barmaid? Stack wouldn’t be able to save her from her brother's wrath even if he wanted to.  The duo left the bar as instructed and headed home.

They were in the bed awaiting her fate as Stack pulled Annie back against his chest, his arms snaking around her to cup her breasts with slow, greedy hands. 

First he just held them, they were heavy and he loved that. 

“I could play with these — with you — all day.” He felt her relax into him. This would take her mind off of things until Smoke got back. Quell any anxiety.

Slowly he began to rub her nipples between his fingers expertly.  He was in his element and she was in heaven. He paid attention to her breasts and all she did was lean back and whine. Like a princess. At times her hands overlapped his as she joined him in teasing her tits. 

“You like that mama?" A kiss to her cheek "I know you like it when we give these girls attention. You're greedy for it.” 

She could feel his dick pressing against her back and her mouth watered. She slid her hands behind her back to grasp at the man’s covered cock. She listened as Stacks voice hitched. 

“Oh baby you’re so sweet, tryna take care of me.” Stack looked at his watch, did they have time? Could they have a little fun before his brother came back? 

“We gotta be fast.” he said but before they could get into it they heard the front door slam.

They paused their play for a moment when they saw Smoke walk into their bedroom and shut the door. 

He didn’t regard them. He slowly began to remove his cuff links and roll up his sleeves. 

As he was undoing his belt he looked up and locked eyes with Annie. Perhaps the only time he’d done so that night. 

 “You wanted to be seen, didn’t you?” Smoke asked. His voice was quiet, not cruel. That made it worse.

Smoke walked straight toward her — slow, deliberate, without saying a word. He knelt between her legs, ignoring Stack's hold on her, and slid his hands up her thighs to pull her hips forward, closer to the edge of the bed. His grip was firm. Possessive. It was a silent claim, and it told her everything words hadn’t yet said.

He shoved her dress up to her hips. She knew this was her moment. To plead her case — to appease Smokes anger. 

“Smoke — I can explain —“

“Shhhh”. Stack whispered in his wife’s ear. 

In response she struggled in his arms. Stack held her close to his body with a smile. 

“How about you show Smoke your pussy baby? I think he wants to see how greedy she is.”

She shook her head and tried to close her knees and avoid Smoke's hot gaze. 

Stacks hands were fast. Dropping from her tits down to her thick thighs quickly. 

“No, no. Keep em open.” His hands forced her knees back apart, for her sex to be exposed to his brother's view. 

“Be good.” Stack murmured —

“She hasn’t been,” Smoke said coldly, without looking up. “That’s the problem.”

When Smoke placed his mouth on her sex she threw her head back, eyes raised to the sky. She could feel him in every part of her body. His tongue expertly licked her from her clit to her opening snaking through her folds to sip every drop of her essence.

She didn’t know if she wanted to cry or thank him.

“Look at Smoke Annie. He tryna teach you something. He’s showing you what happens when you don’t listen.”

Smoke worked with experience and precision. He knew his woman and all her parts. Knew how she liked to be touched. It wasn’t long before she was on the brink of an orgasm, and then he just… stopped.

She gasped, and there he was, on his knees looking her straight in her face. Her lip trembled.

A tear slipped of her eye and began a trail down her face. Stack licked it.

Annie began sobbing. She could tell what kind of night it was gonna be. 

“Smoke only tryna help you baby. He’s doing it cuz he loves you.” he crooned into her ear before kissing her cheek. 

Almost satisfied with her ruin Smoke went right back to work licking into her sensually. 

Stack matched that and began to play with her nipples once more. He pulled them, obsessed with how she responded when he did.  The pain bit and then subsided and her shallow breaths encouraged him to keep going. 

She gasped. “Please.” 

“Smoke’s still mad about that bar,” Stack whispered. “But he’ll forgive you. He always does.”

Throughout this entire ordeal. Stack was his brother's mouthpiece. The older hadn’t said many words. Annie didn’t know where his head was at. 

“He’s quiet, huh?” Stack whispered, grinning. 

And it continued like that. Smoke sipping from her pussy and bringing her to the brink of her pleasure before stopping and starting back up again. He made sure to look her in the eyes when he stopped right before she orgasmed. 

He wanted to see her disappointment. Her frustration. For her to feel like how he was feeling right now. 

He kept her desperate and wanton with his ministrations on purpose. It was pleasure and punishment all at once.  

“Stack please. Please —“ She begged with little reservation. “I need it.” “Please let me cum.” She wailed as he her brought her right to the edge before pulling away and sitting back. Watching the confusion ripple across her face once more.

“You begged them like that too?” Smoke asked, still between her thighs, voice low. “You make those sounds for them?” His grip on her thighs tightened. 

It dawned on her once again that he’d left her hanging. He turned his attention right back in to suck on her clit. He rubbed his tongue against it, lapping at it, savoring the noises that came from her lips as a result of his wicked actions. 

But then she moaned his name. Not Stack’s. His.

It broke something in him.

Smoke growled low in his throat, and for a second the precision was gone — replaced by hunger, raw and unchecked. His fingers sank deeper, rougher. His mouth moved like he needed her to cry out again, louder this time, for him.

“Say it again,” he rasped against her sex. “Say my name like you mean it.”

And she did. Over and over again. 

Still he persisted. At a certain point in the evening Annie stopped begging and started repenting. 

“I’m sorry daddy. I’m so sorry.”  Now they were getting somewhere. 

Smoke paused. He didn’t look at her. But she felt the way his hands softened, just slightly, against her skin.

“Good,” he finally said before diving back into her sex, fingers curling inside her. 

“Smoke I — I’m sorry.” She let out desperately. Her head flung back. She wanted him to hear her. She meant it. 

“You’re doing good baby. Keep that up, Smoke’s gonna be nice to you. Gonna be real nice and give you what you want.” Stack encouraged with a kiss to her tear stained cheek.

Hearing her apologies and desperate breathless whines worked to subdue Smoke’s anger. He could feel the anger subsiding — sliding back into himself. The teasing wasn’t in vain. She was seeing the error of her ways. 

When he had had his fill of her moans and apologies, he decided to give in. 

“Annie.” The first word he’d said in a while. Her eyes were unfocused. 

“Look at me.” And she did. He held her gaze as he stroked her insides with his two fingers and thumbed at her clit. 

She could feel it coming, coupled with the way Stack tweaked her tits and the way pleasure was building in her chest. She was almost scared of how her orgasm would take her. Scared of the feeling that was to come. Still she held his gaze.

She mouthed the words ”Please” but no sound came out. The one final suck of her clit into his mouth did it and sent her over tumbling over the edge. 

She bucked and Stack was startled for a moment before he held her body to himself as her orgasm crashed over her. She was a fucking wonder. 

“Look at you. Look at you.” Smoke praised softly as she wailed — the sound came from deep within her. It was primal. Through it all, Smoke stayed on his knees, between her legs to lap at the essence that freely flowed from her. 

In a way, at that moment all of them could sit back a little easier. The tension in the room melted alongside her orgasm. As if they experienced the same oxytocin she did. They waited for her to catch her breath.

Slowly — Smoke stood up. 

He gripped her chin softly and looked down at her. She was wrecked. Her lips were parted and her chest moved up and down. His thumb skimmed her kiss swollen bottom lip. 

“Open your mouth.” He spoke softly. 

Annie opened her mouth almost immediately. Like she was craving what would come next. Like she was hungry for it — for him.

Her eyes locked with his as he spat into her mouth. 

“Keep it open.” He spoke once more.  

And she did. 

Smoke wanted to see. Wanted a visual on how they — how he — owned her. And how she wanted to be owned too. It was reciprocal. The two held each others gaze, almost communicating to one another through micro expressions. 

You hurt me. You’re mine and nobody else’s. 

I love you. I’m yours. I'm sorry. 

“Swallow.” She closed her mouth and her eyes and swallowed what he’d given her. 

Stack scrunched his nose up.  “Ya’ll nasty as hell.”

“Smoke?”  She breathed. He crouched down and pushed the tendrils of curls out of her face.  Her hand reached out to him seeking connection and he was quick to hold it. To rub his thumb over her knuckles and comfort her. To place a chaste kiss on her hand. 

He looked up at her frame. She wasn’t in no state to have any kind of conversation right now. 

“Yes baby?” he loved her so fucking much it was scary. His Annie. 

“ I never —“ she started before her cut her off. 

“Tomorrow mama. You're okay. You rest. We’ll talk all about it tomorrow.”

He reached up and placed a kiss on her head. It was shiny with perspiration but Smoke didn’t care. She was his. 

She sat back into Stacks chest getting comfortable as Smoke went in and wiped her down with a rag. 

They settled into a soft and comfortable silence. There was a reverence in the air. 

Stack stroked her hair and placed light kisses behind her ear. 

Smoke began whispering sweet proclamations of love into her skin. Almost in worship.

“You did so well.”

A kiss on her ankle. 

“You’re perfect.”

A kiss on her knee. 

“We love you so much.”

A kiss on the inside of her thigh. 

Annie basked in their love, letting the feeling wash over her — filling her heart with warm affection. 

Smoke’s position at her feet pouring praise into her skin felt symbolic. Despite what transpired that night, it was her who owned them.

He rose to see her face.

“You’re ours, Annie,” Smoke said softly, brushing her curls back. “Don’t make us doubt that again.”

Whatever happened today? It was water under the bridge. They’d talk about it tomorrow. She’d worked hard tonight — paid her penance. 

She was loved, safe, and protected under the watchful and attentive eyes of her partners.

The hurt had been seen. The apology had been heard. The slate, quietly, was clean.

And with that knowing, she let slumber take her over. ____ Interested in my future works? Let me know if you'd like me to add you to my tag list. My other works can be found in My Masterlist. Thanks for reading!

Though they were already close—close enough that she only needed to sway forward slightly, bare feet quiet on the floorboards.

When she did, Smoke reached out—hesitated for half a second—then let his hand settle on her arm. Warm. Steady. Grounding.

"You eat today?" he asked.

Annie blinked. Of all the things she'd expected him to say—

"I… I had something this morning."

His throat worked. "That ain't what I asked."

"I—"

"Since you been here," he clarified, eyes searching her face. "Stack feed you?"

She shook her head.

Something dark flickered across his expression. Not anger at her. At the situation. At himself for not being here.

"Sit,”  he said, already moving toward the kitchen.

"Elijah, you don't have to—"

"Sit. Down."

The firmness in his voice made her knees weak.

She sat.

Smoke moved around the kitchen with practiced efficiency—not fast, not showy, just steady. He pulled eggs from the icebox, butter from the counter, a bowl from the shelf.

Annie watched him, hands folded in her lap, Stack's shirt still warm around her.

The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. Just… full.

Full of things neither of them knew how to say yet.

He cracked eggs into the bowl—three, four, five—whisking them with a fork. Dropped a thick pat of butter into the pan. It hissed and spit, filling the kitchen with that rich, golden smell.

"I wasn't expectin' to see you today," he said finally, not looking at her.

"I know."

"I'm glad you came."

Her throat tightened. "You are?"

He glanced over his shoulder, brow raised. "You think I wouldn't be?"

"I just… I showed up without asking. Fell asleep in Stack's bed. Made things—"

"Complicated?" he offered, turning back to the stove.

"Yeah."

He poured the eggs into the pan, tilting it slightly to spread them even. "You think we scared of complicated?"

She didn't answer.

"Annie." He looked at her then, spatula in hand, expression serious. "We asked you to do this. You think we ain’t know it was gon’ be messy sometimes?"

"I just…" She trailed off, not sure how to finish.

He slid the spatula under the eggs, folding them gently. "You thought we'd get in a fight over you."

It wasn't a question.

"I heard you," she admitted quietly. "Through the door. You and Stack."

Smoke went still for a second. Then continued cooking, slower now.

"What'd you hear?"

"Enough."

He nodded once. Set the pan aside, let the eggs rest.

Then he crossed to where she sat, pulled out the chair beside her, and dropped into it.

Close. Close enough that their knees almost touched.

"I ain't gon' lie to you," he said. "It's hard sometimes. Sharin’ you. Not because we don't want to—but because both of us want all of you."

Annie's breath caught. She'd never been wanted like that. Didn't know what to do with being wanted like that.

"But that ain't your problem to fix," he continued. "That's ours. Me and Stack? We figure that out. You just gotta let us take care’ you the way we need to."

Tears pricked at her eyes. 

"You cryin'?" His voice softened, thumb reaching up to catch a tear before it fell.

"I'm just—" She laughed wetly. "Y'all are a lot."

"Good lot or bad lot?"

"Good," she whispered. "Terrifying. But good."

He smiled then—small, but real—and stood to plate her food.

He sat and set it in front of her. Fluffy eggs, buttered just right, still steaming.

“Thank you.” 

She reached for the fork. 

He was faster.

Took it from her hand before she could protest.

"Elijah—"

"Let me," he said quietly.

And there was something in his voice—something raw and almost pleading—that made her stop.

Made her nod.

He scooped up a forkful, brought it to her lips.

"Open."

She did.

The eggs were perfect. Rich and soft and everything she didn't know she needed.

He watched her chew, eyes never leaving her face.

"Good?"

She nodded, swallowing.

He fed her another bite. Then another.

The intimacy of it—of him sitting there, patient and focused, taking care of her in the most basic, essential way—made her chest ache.

"Why you doin' this?" she asked softly.

"Doin' what?"

"Feedin' me. Takin' care of me like this."

He paused, fork hovering between them.

"Because I can," he said simply. "Because you mine now. And I take care of what's mine."

Mine.

The word should've scared her.

Should've felt possessive, controlling, too much too soon.

But coming from him—steady, certain Smoke who'd spent the whole evening just wanting to see her—it didn't feel like chains.

It felt like safety.

She took another bite from his hand, eyes locked on his.

His gaze dipped—just for a second—to where Stack's shirt had slipped further down her shoulder. Then back to her face.

"I understand Stack got us into some trouble," Smoke said, voice even but with an edge she hadn't heard before.

Before she could respond the forkful of fluffy eggs was lined up at her lips. 

She hesitated before she took them, chewing slowly before responding. 

“Ya’ll not in trouble.”

“No?” He asked, cocking his head. 

She shook her head. 

“Tell me what happened.”

“He ain’t tell you?”

“I wanna hear it from you.”

"I came because of the money," she said between bites.

His expression didn't change. 

"The money y'all put on my books around town."

“That was a rogue operation.” He said plainly. 

Her brow furrowed slightly. 

"You didn't know?"

"No."

Oh.

Oh.

So Stack had done it alone.

Without telling Smoke.

That explained the tension she'd heard earlier.

"He put money down at the grocer," she explained. "The seamstress. The salon. The gas station. Everywhere I go, people tellin' me my account's already paid for."

His Adam's apple bobbed. "And you didn't like that."

"I felt…" She searched for the word. "Exposed. Like the whole town knew somethin' I didn't. Like I ain’t have control over my own life."

He nodded slowly, processing.

“He put money on my books everywhere,” she finished. “Didn’t ask. Didn’t warn me. Just… did it.”

Smoke fed her another bite before speaking.

“You felt got.”

She nodded.

“You ain’t like not knowin’ what’s goin’ on.”

She nodded, taking another bite from his hand. 

“I’m grown.”

“That so?” Another tilt of his head. 

“I can take care of myself.”

No response. Just eggs. 

“You ain’t got nothin’ to say?” she finally snapped, though her voice was soft.

He blinked once, slow.

Then—

“One of your straps is fallin’, angel.”

Her breath caught. She glanced down. Sure enough—her left shoulder was bare, the slip hanging low. Stack’s shirt had near dropped of her shoulder. 

Smoke rose from his chair.

Moved to stand behind her.

Large hands—warm, steady—slid the wayward strap back into place.

But he didn’t stop there. His fingertips lingered, tracing the curve of her shoulder, the slope of her neck.

"You should be grateful," he murmured, voice dropping low, "the only thing he did was put money on your books."

Annie's breath hitched.

"Smoke—"

"You not hearin' me."

His hands moved to adjust the back of her slip too—slow, reverent—then let his palms rest lightly on her upper arms.

"I had it my way?" His voice was rough now, barely controlled.

"I'd have you draped in the finest furs."

Her lips parted, traitorous, the way they always did when Smoke handled her soft. 

"Only the best wine touchin' your lips. Cheese from France. Olives from Italy. Dresses cut from silk, jewelry from across the seas."

She shivered, it was a wonder how he made spoiling sound like a threat. 

"Me and my brother?" His voice dropped even lower. "We gon' do all of it for you."

Her thighs parted without thought, betraying just how deeply his words were working on her.

He noticed — of course he noticed — and his hands continued their path downward, fingertips grazing her hips before settling at the hem of Stack's shirt where it hit her thighs.

“Stack should’ve waited. Should’ve talked to you first. I told him that.”

His fingers lifted the fabric just an inch—just enough to feel the heat of her skin.

No more.

The temptation was great, his restraint was greater. 

Then he pulled back, smoothing the shirt down.

Like it hurt him to stop.

Annie's chest rose and fell, shallow and fast.

There were moments – this being one of them – when Annie wished he was a worse man. 

She reached for him without thinking. Her fingers curled into his shirt—small, unsure, but wanting.

"Elijah…" she whispered.

He shut his eyes.

Just once.

Like the sound of his name on her tongue had punched the air out of him.

When he opened them again, he was hanging by a thread.

She looked at his mouth.

Not boldly.

Not like a challenge.

Like a prayer.

"…please?"

The word was soft. Barely air.

But it detonated something inside him.

She tried again, fingers tightening on his shirt.

Want shining plain as day.

He groaned—low, tortured—and caught both her wrists gently in one hand.

"Annie."

Her name was a warning and a plea.

"Keep lookin' at me like—"

He broke off, chest rising too fast.

Smoke leaned in until his forehead touched hers, breath shaking like he was holding back a storm.

"I ain't turnin' you down," he murmured, thumb brushing her knuckles in something close to worship.

"I ain't rejectin' you."

A beat. His jaw flexed.

"But we said slow."

She made a soft sound—half protest, half understanding.

"So right now?" He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. "Right now you gon’ finish your eggs."

Her lips parted, still dazed. Still wanting.

"And then we'll talk," he continued, voice rough but steady. "All three of us. About the money. About what you need from us. About how this gon’ work."

He released her wrists slowly, like letting go cost him something.

"Okay?"

Annie nodded, throat tight.

"Okay," she whispered.

He pressed one kiss to her forehead—chaste, reverent—then stepped back.

Picked up the fork.

Fed her one more bite.

And Annie—still trembling, still wanting—let him take care of her.

Because for the first time in a long time, she didn't have to do everything alone.

She had them.

And they had her.

-

After she finished eating, Smoke cleared the plate without a word.

Washed it. Dried it. Put it away.

Annie watched him move—controlled, methodical, like he was working through something in his head with every motion.

When he turned back, his eyes found hers.

“You ain’t been in my room yet.”

Her heart skipped.

“No,” she said softly. “I haven’t.”

“You want to?”

It wasn’t a demand. Wasn’t even really a question.

It was an offering.

Annie nodded.

Smoke crossed to her, offered his hand.

She took it.

He led her down the hall, past Stack’s door—still open, the red silk visible from where they stood—and stopped at the door opposite.

His room.

He pushed it open, stepped aside to let her enter first.

Annie crossed the threshold slowly, taking it in.

The contrast to Stack’s room was immediate.

Where Stack’s was all warmth and chaos—red silk, furs piled high, clothes draped over chairs—Smoke’s was clean. Controlled. Intentional.

Dark wood furniture, perfectly aligned. A single fur—white and grey, stretched across the foot of his bed like fresh snow. No clutter. No mess. Just space, carefully curated.

It looked like him.

Felt like him.

“What you think?” His voice came from behind her, close but not crowding.

“It’s beautiful,” she said honestly.

She moved deeper into the room, fingers trailing over the edge of his dresser. Everything had a place. Cufflinks in a small dish. A watch laid carefully beside a stack of folded handkerchiefs. Ledgers lined up on the shelf, spines perfectly even.

“You this organized everywhere?” she asked, glancing back at him.

His mouth twitched. “You sayin’ I’m uptight?”

“I’m sayin’ you like things a certain way.”

“And Stack don’t?”

She smiled. “Stack likes things the way they feel good in the moment.”

Smoke huffed a quiet laugh. 

Annie turned back to the room, eyes landing on the bed.

“Sit,” he said softly.

She hesitated, then lowered herself onto the edge of his bed.

The mattress was firmer than Stack’s. The sheets crisp and cool beneath her thighs.

Smoke stayed standing for a beat, just watching her.

Then he moved.

Crossed the room, dropped to one knee in front of her.

Annie’s breath caught.

He reached for her foot—bare, dusty—and lifted it gently into his lap.

“How’d you get here?” he asked, voice quiet.

“Walked.”

He went very still.

“From where?”

“From town. Most of the way.”

He grunted. Clearly displeased. 

“Next time you call for us. We come get you.”

“You don’t have a phone.”

“Then you send word. You don’t walk alone.”

His hands were warm, careful, as he examined her foot. Checking the heel, the arch, between her toes—looking for cuts, blisters, anything that might hurt her.

“You got a blister formin’ here,” he murmured, thumb brushing the back of her heel.

“It’s fine—”

His eyes lifted to hers. “You shouldn’t have to walk anywhere alone. Not when you got two men who’d come get you.”

“Why you keep doin’ this?” she asked again softly.

“Doin’ what?”

“Takin’ care of me like I’m somethin’ fragile.”

He looked up at her then, eyes dark and serious.

“Because you are.”

“I’m not—”

“Not fragile like you’ll break,” he clarified. “Fragile like you precious. Like you matter.”

Her throat tightened.

He set her foot down gently, picked up the other one.

“I can’t forget you in here now,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Her hand moved without permission—just her fingertips at first, barely brushing his temple.

He went still.

She traced down slowly—the edge of his cheekbone, the sharp line of his jaw. Learning the geography of his face with touch instead of sight.

When her palm finally settled against his cheek, his eyes closed for just a breath.

Then her other hand joined the first, cradling his face between them.

“That what you want?” she asked. “To remember me here?”

He looked up at her, jaw flexing beneath her palms.

“Every room, Annie. Every corner. Wanna see you everywhere.”

The weight of that statement settled between them.

Not possession.

Presence.

He wanted her woven into his life. Into his space. Into every part of him that mattered.

“Elijah—”

“I know.” He stood, helped her to her feet. “We goin’ slow.”

“We are,” she confirmed, even though her body was screaming the opposite.

“But I needed you to see this,” he said, gesturing around the room. “Needed you to know you belong here. Not just in Stack’s room. In mine too.”

Annie’s eyes stung.

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Come on,” he murmured. “Stack should be back soon.”

“Where’d he go?”

“Out. To give us space.” Smoke’s mouth quirked. “Probably pacing the block, waitin’ for permission to come home.”

Annie laughed wetly. “Y’all are ridiculous.”

His lip quipped up. "Maybe," Smoke said. "But you here anyway."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead—gentle, grounding—and led her back toward the kitchen.

Where they'd have to figure out what came next.

-

Annie sat at their kitchen table, belly full of eggs and, wearing Stack’s shirt over her slip, bare feet tucked under her.

The twins sat across from her—Smoke to her left, Stack to her right. Close but not crowding.

The easy warmth from dinner had shifted into something more serious. Intentional.

Smoke’s hands were folded on the table. Stack leaned back in his chair, but his eyes never left her face.

“We need to talk,” Smoke said quietly.

Annie’s stomach flipped. “Okay.”

“About how this works,” Stack added. “The three of us.”

She nodded, throat suddenly tight.

Smoke leaned forward slightly. “You heard us last night. Through the door.”

It wasn’t a question.

Heat crawled up Annie’s neck. “I… yeah. Some of it.”

“Then you know we had to figure some things out,” Smoke continued. “Between us. About how we move with you.”

“But that was just us,” Stack said. “Now we need to talk to you.”

Annie looked between them, heart picking up speed. “Am I in trouble?”

Stack’s expression softened immediately. “No, mama. You ain’t in trouble.”

“We just need to make sure we all on the same page,” Smoke said. “About what this is. What we expect. What you need.”

Annie swallowed. “Okay.”

Smoke’s eyes held hers, steady and sure. “First thing—communication. If something bothers you, you tell us. Both of us. Not just one.”

“We can’t fix what we don’t know about,” Stack added.

“And if we do something that makes you uncomfortable,” Smoke continued, “you say so. Right then. No waiting. No letting it sit.”

Annie nodded slowly. “Like the money thing.”

“Exactly like the money thing,” Smoke confirmed. “You came to us. That’s what we need. Always.”

“But I only saw Stack,” she said quietly. “You weren’t here.”

“Don’t matter,” Smoke said firmly. “You came to one of us, that’s comin’ to both of us. We tell each other everything when it comes to you.”

Stack nodded. “No secrets between us. About you or anything else.”

Annie processed that. “So if I tell one of you something…”

“The other’s gonna know,” Smoke finished. “That a problem?”

She thought about it. About privacy. About trust.

“No,” she said finally. “I don’t think so. Long as… long as y’all don’t make me feel like I’m being talked about behind my back.”

“We won’t,” Stack promised. “It ain’t gossip. It’s just making sure we both know how to take care of you.”

Smoke’s hand moved across the table, palm up. An invitation.

Annie placed her hand in his.

His fingers closed around hers, warm and sure.

“Second thing,” he said. “Your safety. Your comfort. That comes first. Always. Before what we want. Before what feels good to us.”

“If you need to stop something, you stop it,” Stack added. “Don’t worry about our feelings. Don’t worry about disappointing us.”

“We grown men,” Smoke said. “We can handle it.”

Annie’s throat tightened. “What if I don’t know what I want?”

“Then you say that,” Smoke said simply. “And we slow down til you figure it out.”

Stack reached over, tucked a curl behind her ear. “This ain’t a race, mama. We got time.”

“All the time you need,” Smoke confirmed.

Annie looked down at their joined hands. “What about y’all? What do you need from me?”

The twins exchanged a glance.

“Honesty,” Smoke said. “Even when it’s hard.”

“And patience,” Stack added with a slight smile. “We still figuring this out too.”

“We ain’t never done this before,” Smoke admitted. “Sharing a woman we both serious about. We gon’ mess up sometimes.”

“But we’ll fix it,” Stack said. “Long as you tell us when we do.”

Annie nodded, something easing in her chest.

“Third thing,” Smoke continued, voice dropping slightly. “When you out there—in town, at the market, wherever—you’re ours now. People gon’ know that. People gon’ talk about that.”

“We can’t protect you from the talk,” Stack said quietly. “But we can make sure nobody disrespects you to your face.”

“What does that mean?” Annie asked.

“Means if somebody steps to you wrong, you tell us,” Smoke said. “Man or woman. Don’t matter.”

“We’ll handle it,” Stack finished.

Annie’s pulse quickened. “Handle it how?”

“However we need to,” Smoke said evenly.

The weight of that settled over the table.

“I don’t want y’all fighting because of me,” Annie said.

“Ain’t about what you want,” Smoke said, not unkind. “It’s about respect. You with us now. That means something.”

Stack’s hand found her shoulder. “You don’t gotta worry about it, mama. Just know we got you.”

She looked between them, seeing the steel beneath the gentleness.

These weren’t men who made idle promises.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“And speaking of being out there,” Smoke continued, shifting slightly, “we got a request.”

Annie looked up. “A request?”

Stack rubbed the back of his neck. “More like… we asking you to consider something.”

“For our hearts, really,” Smoke added, mouth twitching slightly.

Annie’s brow furrowed. “Your hearts?”

“When you gotta go somewhere,” Smoke said, “into town, to the market, anywhere that’s a bit of a walk—we’d appreciate it if you’d let one of us take you.”

“Or at least let us know you going,” Stack added. “So we ain’t sitting here wondering.”

“Y’all want me to… check in?” Annie asked slowly.

“We want you to use us,” Smoke corrected. “We got a car. We got the time. No reason for you to be walking long distances when we right here.”

“Especially in the heat,” Stack said. “Or when it’s getting dark.”

“Or when you carrying things,” Smoke added.

Annie bit her lip, trying not to smile. “Y’all worried about me?”

“Terrified,” Stack said, grinning now. “We can’t take the stress.”

“Just thinking about you walking all the way into town in this heat—” Smoke pressed a hand to his chest dramatically.

“Might kill us,” Stack finished.

Annie laughed, the sound surprising her. “Y’all are ridiculous.”

“We serious,” Smoke said, but his eyes were warm. “You with us now. People know that. And we just… we’d feel better knowing you safe. Knowing where you at.”

Annie looked between them—these two grown men trying so hard to ask instead of demand.

“So if I need to go somewhere…” she said slowly.

“You let us know,” Smoke said. “We’ll take you. Or if we busy, we’ll figure something out.”

“And if it’s just down the road or to a friends or something close?” she asked.

“Then you go,” Stack said with a shrug. “We ain’t saying you can’t move. Just… maybe don’t walk five miles in the heat by yourself when you got two men with a car who’d be happy to drive you.”

“For our hearts,” Smoke added, deadpan.

Annie shook her head, smiling despite herself. “Y’all really that worried?”

“Yes,” they said together.

She looked down at her hands, something warm settling in her chest.

They weren’t demanding. Weren’t controlling.

They were just… worried. Protective. Wanting to take care of her.

“Okay,” she said softly.

“Okay?” Smoke asked.

“I’ll take it into consideration,” she said, lips twitching. “Try not to stress y’all hearts too much.”

Stack grinned. “That’s all we asking.”

“But I ain’t promising nothin’ if y’all busy and I need something from town,” she added.

“Then you send word,” Smoke said. “We’ll make ourselves un-busy.”

“Or we send Cornbread,” Stack offered.

“Point is,” Smoke continued, “you ain’t gotta do everything alone no more. We here. Use us.”

Annie nodded slowly. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you.” Smoke’s hand squeezed hers.

The conversation settled into comfortable quiet. The weight of everything said—boundaries, expectations, promises—hung in the air but didn’t feel heavy. Just… present.

Annie glanced toward the window. The light had shifted, gone softer. Later than she’d realized.

“I should probably head home,” she said, though something in her chest tightened at the thought.

“No,” both twins said immediately.

She blinked. “No?”

“It’s late,” Smoke said, voice firm but gentle. “And dark. You ain’t walking home alone.”

“We could drive you,” Stack offered. “But—”

“But we’d rather you stay,” Smoke finished.

Annie looked between them. “Stay here?”

“You safe here,” Smoke said simply. “And we got the space.”

“Plus you already slept earlier,” Stack added with a slight grin. “Might as well finish the night proper.”

Annie’s pulse quickened. “Where would I…?”

“My bed,” Stack said immediately.

“My bed,” Smoke said at the same time.

They looked at each other.

“She already slept in yours,” Smoke pointed out.

“Exactly,” Stack said. “So she probably comfortable there.”

“That’s why she should take mine,” Smoke countered. “To be fair.”

“Fair to who?”

“To both of us.”

Stack crossed his arms. “I’m taking the couch then.”

“Like hell you are,” Smoke said. “You take the couch, I gotta hear about your back hurting all week.”

“Then you take it.”

“I ain’t taking the—”

“I’ll take Smoke’s bed,” Annie cut in.

Both twins stopped. Turned to look at her.

“You sure?” Smoke asked.

Annie nodded. “It’s fair. Stack already let me sleep in his bed earlier. So…” She shrugged, trying to seem more casual than she felt. “Smoke’s bed tonight. Y’all can figure out the rest.”

Stack’s grin spread slow and wide. “See? She gets it.”

Smoke’s expression softened, something warm flickering in his eyes. “Alright then.”

Annie stood, suddenly aware of how this night had unfolded—how she’d gone from upset and uncertain to… here. Fed. Safe. Staying.

She crossed to Stack first, rose up on her toes, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “For earlier. For listenin’.”

His hand came up to her waist, steadying her. “Anytime, mama.”

Then she turned to Smoke. Reached up and cupped his face gently, thumb brushing his jaw before she kissed his cheek too.

His eyes slid closed. 

“And thank you,” she said quietly. “For dinner. For… everything.”

His hand covered hers briefly. “You don’t gotta thank me, sugar.”

She smiled—small, a little shy—then stepped back.

“Goodnight,” she said softly.

“Night, mama,” Stack said, voice warm.

“Sleep well,” Smoke added.

Annie turned and headed down the hall, bare feet quiet on the floorboards.

Both twins watched her go.

Watched the way Stack’s shirt hung on her, hem brushing the back of her thighs. The way her hips swayed with each step. The way her hand trailed along the wall as she found her balance in the dim hallway.

She reached Smoke’s door, glanced back once—caught them both staring—and smiled before slipping inside.

The door closed with a soft click.

For a moment, neither twin moved.

Just stood there in the kitchen, staring at that closed door.

Then Stack let out a long, slow breath.

“We in trouble,” he said quietly.

Smoke’s jaw worked. “Yeah.”

Stack looked at his brother. “You think she knows?”

“Knows what?”

“What she does to us.”

Smoke was quiet for a beat. Then: “No. Not yet.”

“Good,” Stack said. “‘Cause if she did, we’d be fucked.”

Smoke almost smiled. “We already fucked, brother.”

—-

Annie woke to silence.

Not the heavy, middle-of-the-night kind—but the soft, golden silence of early morning. The kind that felt like the world was still waking up, stretching, deciding what kind of day it wanted to be.

Sun filtered through Smoke’s curtains in thin, honeyed streaks, dust motes dancing lazy in the light. The air smelled faintly of cedar and tobacco—him—and for a second, she forgot where she was.

Then it came back.

Their apartment. Smoke’s bed. She’d stayed the night.

Annie sat up slowly, the sheets pooling around her waist. Stack’s still shirt hung loose on her frame, the fabric soft and worn from years of use. She rubbed sleep from her eyes, listening.

Nothing.

No footsteps. No voices. No sounds of anyone moving around.

They were still asleep.

She should probably stay in bed. Wait for them to wake up. Not go poking around their space like she lived here.

But curiosity—and something else, something softer—pulled at her.

Annie slipped out of bed, bare feet quiet on the cool floorboards, and padded toward the door. She eased it open just a crack, peeking out into the hallway.

The apartment was still dim, curtains drawn against the morning sun. Everything felt suspended in that in-between time—not quite night, not quite day.

Down the hall, Stack’s door was open.

She shouldn’t look.

She knew she shouldn’t.

But her feet carried her forward anyway, quiet as a breath, until she stood in the doorway.

And there they were.

Both of them.

Passed out in Stack’s bed like they’d collapsed there mid-conversation and never bothered to separate.

Stack sprawled on his back, one arm flung over his face, mouth slightly open. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, twisted from sleep, one leg hanging off the edge of the mattress.

Smoke was on his side facing him, still mostly dressed—pants, shirt barely undone—like he’d meant to stay up but lost the fight somewhere around 2am. His breathing was slow, steady, peaceful in a way Annie rarely saw when he was awake.

Brothers.

Together.

Comfortable in a way that made something warm and tender bloom in Annie’s chest.

They looked younger like this. Softer. Less like the dangerous men the town whispered about and more like… just them.

She smiled to herself, something aching and sweet settling behind her ribs.

Then she backed away quietly, closing Stack’s door with care, and headed for the kitchen.

The kitchen was small but organized—Smoke’s doing, no doubt. Everything had a place. Canisters lined up by size. Utensils hanging on hooks. Dish towels folded neat on the counter.

Annie opened cabinets slowly, careful not to make noise, taking inventory.

Flour. A little sugar. Eggs in the icebox. Some cornmeal. Butter wrapped in cloth.

Not much, but enough.

Bachelors, she thought with a small smile. They probably bought meals more than they made them. Ate at the juke or Hank’s or wherever was convenient.

But they had something. And she could work with something.

She found a bowl, a whisk, measured ingredients by feel more than precision. Back home, she made johnnycakes all the time—simple, sweet, filling. The kind of thing her mama used to make on Sunday mornings when money was tight but love was abundant.

Her hands moved through the familiar motions: mixing batter, heating the griddle, watching for bubbles before flipping.

It felt good to do this. To make something for them. After everything they’d done for her—feeding her, holding her, letting her sleep safe under their roof—this was the least she could offer.

The griddle sizzled. The kitchen filled with the warm, buttery smell of cakes browning on cast iron.

By the time she had a small stack plated, golden and perfect, she heard movement down the hall.

Footsteps. A low voice. Another responding.

Her heart picked up speed.

Annie wiped her hands on a towel, suddenly nervous.

What if they thought she was overstepping? Going through their things without asking?

What if—

Stack appeared first.

His hair would sticking up in three directions if it wasn’t so low cut, eyes still heavy with sleep, shirt completely unbuttoned now and hanging loose. He rubbed his face, yawned—

Then froze.

Just stopped dead in the kitchen doorway, staring at her.

“Annie?”

His voice was rough, still scraped raw from sleep.

Smoke appeared right behind him, moving slower, more careful. His shirt was still half-done, eyes sharper than Stack’s but still soft around the edges.

He saw her.

Saw the plate on the counter.

Saw her standing there in his shirt, flour dusted on her hands, looking like she belonged in their kitchen.

They both just… stared.

At her. At the johnnycakes. At the whole impossible, beautiful picture of it.

“Mornin’,” Annie said softly, suddenly self-conscious under the weight of their attention. “I, uh… I made breakfast. Hope that’s okay.”

Stack blinked. Slow. Like he was still half-asleep and maybe dreaming.

Then he looked at Smoke.

Smoke looked back at him.

Some silent conversation passed between them—fast, wordless, the way only twins could manage.

Stack turned back to her.

“You made breakfast,” he repeated slowly, like he was testing the words. Seeing if they were real.

“It’s just johnnycakes,” Annie said quickly, fidgeting with the towel in her hands. “Nothing fancy. I found what you had in the cabinets and thought—I mean, y’all let me stay, fed me, took care of me. It’s the least I could do.”

“You made us breakfast,” Stack said again, still not moving.

Smoke stepped forward—slow, measured, like he was approaching something precious that might spook and run.

He stopped at the counter, eyes locked on the plate. Then on her.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said quietly. Carefully.

“I wanted to.” Annie tucked a curl behind her ear, suddenly feeling exposed. “Is it… is it okay? I didn’t mean to overstep or—”

Stack crossed to the counter like he was in a trance.

Picked up a johnnycake with both hands like it was something holy.

Took a bite.

His eyes fell closed.

A sound left his throat—low, almost pained—and he chewed slow, deliberate, like he was trying to memorize the taste.

“My God,” he mumbled through a mouthful. “Oh my Lord.”

Annie bit back a smile. “It’s good?”

“Good?” Stack’s eyes opened, bright and a little wild. “Annie, this is—I don’t even—” He took another bite, bigger this time. “Where you been all our lives?”

“Stack,” Smoke said, a warning in his voice.

But Stack ignored him, already reaching for another johnnycake. “No, I’m serious. This what it’s like? Havin’ a woman around?”

Smoke shot him a look sharp enough to cut. 

“What?” Stack grinned, mouth full, completely shameless. “I’m just sayin’. We wake up to this? Somebody cookin’ for us? Takin’ care of us?” He gestured at the plate with his half-eaten cake. “Every morning? Sign me the hell up.”

“If he’s bein’ too much —“ Smoke started. 

“I ain’t bein’ enough,” Stack shot back. He looked at Annie, eyes soft despite the grin. “Seriously. Thank you. This is… it’s real good.”

Annie laughed despite herself, some of the tension bleeding out of her shoulders. “Y’all really don’t cook, do you?”

“We manage,” Smoke said, still standing there like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“Barely,” Stack corrected around another bite. “We buy food. We eat food. But make food?” He shook his head. “Nah. That’s a whole different thing.”

Smoke finally moved.

Crossed to her—not the counter, not the food—her.

He stopped close. Close enough that Annie could see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the way his jaw was still tight with something he wasn’t saying.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. Seriously.

Like she’d given him something more than breakfast.

Like she’d given him a piece of herself.

“It’s nothing—”

“It ain’t nothing.” His hand came up, slow and careful, and tucked a stray coil behind her ear. His fingers lingered for just a second—warm, gentle, reverent. “You’re in our home. Makin’ us food. Takin’ care of us.”

His voice dropped lower, rougher.

“That’s everything.”

Annie’s throat tightened, eyes stinging.

“Y’all are gonna make me emotional,” she whispered.

“Don’t do that,” Stack said quickly, suddenly at her other side. “We ain’t mean to—”

“Happy tears,” she clarified, laughing wetly. “These are happy tears.”

Stack’s whole body relaxed, grin returning. “Oh. Go ‘head then. I’ll allow it.”

Smoke’s thumb brushed her cheek once—soft, barely there—then he stepped back.

“Sit,” he said. “Eat with us.”

“I already—”

“Sit, Annie.”

The firmness in his voice made her knees weak.

She sat.

They settled around the small table—Annie between them, because that seemed to be where she lived now—and ate johnnycakes and drank coffee that was too strong and probably too old but tasted perfect anyway.

Stack kept making sounds of appreciation that bordered on obscene.

Smoke ate slower, more deliberate, but his eyes kept finding her. Watching her like he was trying to figure out how she’d managed to slip so completely into their lives in such a short time.

“You always cook like this?” Stack asked, reaching for his third cake.

“When I got the ingredients,” Annie said. “Mama taught me young. Said a woman who could make somethin’ outta nothin’ would never go hungry.”

“Smart woman,” Smoke murmured.

“She was.”

Something passed over Annie’s face—brief, sad—and both twins caught it.

Stack’s hand found hers under the table. Squeezed once.

She squeezed back.

They didn’t ask. Didn’t push.

Just let the moment settle, then moved on.

“So what you got planned today?” Stack asked, lighter now.

“Need to get home,” Annie said. “Get cleaned up. Handle some things. I got orders to fill, herbs to bundle.”

“Your work,” Smoke said.

“Mhm.”

“What kinda orders?” Stack asked, leaning forward slightly. Genuinely curious.

Annie smiled. “Mostly tonics right now. Mrs. Hayes needs something for her joints. Mr. Patterson’s got a cough that won’t quit. And Miss Ruth wants more of that sleep blend I made her.”

“Sleep blend?” Stack’s brow raised.

“Chamomile, valerian root, little bit of lavender,” Annie explained. “Helps folks who can’t settle at night.”

Smoke’s eyes tracked her face as she spoke. “Where you get all that? The herbs.”

“Some I grow myself. Some I buy from certain shops in the market. Some I gotta order special—those take time to come in.”

“From where?” Smoke pressed, and there was something in his tone—not pushy, just… filing information away.

“Depends. Sometimes from up north. Sometimes from traders passing through.”

He nodded slowly, like he was making a mental note.

Stack grinned. “So you basically a lil’ witch.”

“Stack—” Smoke warned.

But Annie laughed. “Some folks do call it that. I just call it knowin’ what plants do and how to use ’em right.”

“That’s real skill,” Smoke said quietly. “Not everybody got that kind of knowledge.”

Annie’s cheeks warmed. “My grandmother taught me. Said it was important for a woman to know how to heal. How to help.”

Smoke held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary.

Then nodded once.

Like he’d learned something important.

Annie changed back into her dress from yesterday—wrinkled now, lived-in—and met the twins at the door.

Both of them were already dressed, hats in hand, looking like they’d been waiting.

“Ready?” Smoke asked.

She nodded.

The morning air hit her face the second they stepped outside—cool, clean, touched with the smell of dew and woodsmoke from someone’s breakfast fire. The sun was already climbing, promising a warm day.

They fell into step easily. Stack on her right, Smoke on her left, all three of them moving in sync down the dirt path that led back toward town.

For a while, nobody spoke.

Just walked. Listened to birds calling, boots crunching on gravel, the distant sound of someone chopping wood.

It felt peaceful.

Easy.

Like this was just what they did now.

But the closer they got to town, the more Annie felt it—that creeping awareness of eyes. Of being seen.

The first person they passed was Old Mr. Leroy, sitting on his porch with his pipe.

He looked up.

Saw Annie.

Saw both twins flanking her.

His eyebrows climbed damn near to his hairline.

“Mornin’,” Smoke said evenly, tipping his head.

“Mornin’,” Mr. Leroy replied slowly, eyes still wide.

They kept walking.

Annie’s cheeks burned.

“He’s gonna tell everybody,” she muttered.

“Let him,” Stack said easily.

“Stack—”

“What?” He glanced at her, unbothered. “We ain’t doin’ nothin’ wrong. Just walkin’ a lady home.”

“Both of you,” she pointed out.

“Both of us,” he confirmed, grinning.

Smoke said nothing. Just kept walking, hand occasionally brushing the small of her back when they passed someone—grounding, protective, gone before it could be called improper.

They passed two more people before they hit Main Street.

Both stared.

One—a woman Annie vaguely recognized from church—whispered something to her companion and they both turned to watch.

Annie wanted to disappear.

“You alright?” Smoke asked quietly.

“Yeah,” she lied.

His hand found her back again. Stayed a second longer this time.

Then—

“Annie!”

All three of them turned.

A woman hurried toward them from across the street—early twenties, warm brown skin, hair pinned up neat, wearing a simple blue dress that made her eyes pop.

Pearline.

Annie’s chest flooded with relief.

“Hey, Pearl,” Annie said, smiling.

Pearline’s eyes flicked to the twins—quick, assessing—then back to Annie. Her smile widened, something knowing and playful dancing in her expression.

“Well good morning,” Pearline said warmly. “Ain’t this a sight.”

Stack grinned. “Mornin’, ma’am.”

Smoke tipped his head. “Miss Pearline.”

Pearline’s gaze lingered on them for a beat—taking in the way they stood on either side of Annie, the protective energy, the ease of it.

"Gentlemen," she said politely. Then, to Annie: "You look well-rested."

There was a weight to those words. A question.

Annie would blush if she could. "I'm fine. The boys were kind enough to walk me home."

Pearline's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Walk you home? From where, exactly?"

There was slow, genuine confusion on Pearline’s face before it clicked.

Oh.

Oh.

Pearline's smile grew. She pursed her lips the way she always did when she found something juicy.

"Well," Pearline said, drawing out the word. "Home is where the heart is, I suppose."

Stack snorted. Annie was sure Smoke hit him by the dull thud behind her, but she couldn't confirm.

"Both of 'em?" Pearline's tone was light, teasing.

"Both of 'em," Stack confirmed, still grinning.

Pearline’s smile didn’t falter. She stepped closer to Annie, lowered her voice just slightly—not quite a whisper, but soft enough that the twins had to strain to hear.

“You okay?” she asked, eyes searching Annie’s face with genuine concern.

Annie nodded. “I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure, Pearl.”

Pearline studied her for another second, then her smile returned—full, warm, genuine.

“Alright then.” She straightened, voice louder now. “Y’all take care of our girl, now.”

“Always,” Smoke said simply.

“Yes ma’am,” Stack added.

Pearline squeezed Annie’s hand once—a silent we’ll talk later—then paused. Her eyes flicked between the twins, something mischievous sparking in her expression.

She tilted her head, lips curving into a grin.

“At least she ain’t gotta worry about mixin’ y’all up in the dark.”

The words hung in the air for half a second.

Then Stack choked.

Like actually choked—coughed into his fist, eyes wide.

Smoke went completely still. His jaw dropped slightly, mouth opening like he wanted to respond but his brain had short-circuited.

Annie’s neck burned. “Pearline!”

Pearline laughed—bright, delighted, absolutely shameless.

“What?” she said innocently. “I’m just sayin’. Twins and all. Could be confusing. But I’m sure y’all got it figured out.”

She winked.

Winked.

Stack was still coughing. Smoke looked like he was struggling between outrage and reluctant amusement.

“Pearline Harris, I swear—” Annie started.

“I’m just playin’,” Pearline said, grin widening. “But really though. Y’all take care.”

She waved, turned on her heel, and walked off like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of Main Street.

The three of them stood there in stunned silence.

Stack cleared his throat. Once. Twice.

“Did she just—” he started.

“Yes,” Annie said flatly, neck still burning.

Smoke dragged a hand down his face. “Jesus.”

“I’m sorry,” Annie said quickly. “She’s—she don’t have a filter sometimes.”

“Don’t apologize,” Stack said, voice still rough. He was grinning now though, shaking his head. “That was… bold.”

“That’s Pearline,” Annie muttered.

Smoke was quiet for a beat. Then—

“I like her though.”

Annie blinked. “What?”

“She wouldn’t joke like that if she thought this was wrong,” he said, eyes still tracking Pearline’s retreating figure. “She checkin’ on you. Makin’ sure you good. But she ain’t judgin’.”

Annie turned that over in her head.

He was right.

Pearline had been protective—asking if Annie was okay, making sure she wasn’t being pressured. But she hadn’t looked scandalized. Hadn’t whispered warnings or tried to pull Annie aside for a lecture.

She’d joked.

Like this was just… a thing. A choice Annie made that Pearline respected.

“Yeah,” Annie said softly. “She’s good people.”

“We should get you home,” Smoke said. “Before anybody else stops us with commentary.”

Stack laughed. “I don’t think anybody’s toppin’ that.”

They started walking again.

But something had shifted.

The stares didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

Not with Pearline’s laughter still echoing in Annie’s ears.

Not with the twins flanking her—steady, unbothered, hers.

They walked her all the way to her front step.

The house looked smaller somehow, lonelier, after spending the night surrounded by them.

“Thank you,” Annie said. “For… everything. For letting me stay. For walking me home.”

“Don’t gotta thank us,” Stack said.

“We meant what we said,” Smoke added. “You need us, we’re there.”

Annie nodded, throat tight.

She started to turn—

“Annie.”

She looked back at Smoke.

“Tomorrow night,” he said. “Dinner. All three of us.”

Her stomach flipped.

“Out?” Her voice came out smaller than she meant. “In public?”

“If you  ready,” Smoke clarified, eyes searching her face. “If not, we can—”

“No,” she said quickly. “I’m ready.”

Stack grinned. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Annie lifted her chin. “I’m ready.”

“Good,” Smoke said. “We’ll pick you up. Six o’clock.”

“Okay.”

They stood there another beat—none of them quite ready to say goodbye.

The morning sun caught in Smoke’s eyes, turned them almost gold. Stack’s grin was soft, warm, pleased.

Annie committed the image to memory.

Then she smiled, turned, and went inside.

The twins watched until her door closed.

Stood there on her front step for a moment longer, neither quite ready to leave.

Finally, Stack broke the silence.

“She made us breakfast,” he said, voice soft with wonder.

Smoke shook his head, mouth twitching into something close to a smile.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “She did.”

They turned and walked back toward town together.

Side by side.

Already counting down the hours until tomorrow night.

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A/N - There's nothing like writing (and reading!) domestic fluff. Like yes please take care of Annie at home, being all sweet and restrained and cute. Lord I need it so bad. Just writing what I need in my life frfrfrfrf.

You guys have me wanting to extend this series! It was originally supposed to be 4 parts and an epilogue, but I'm feeling to extend. That or start another series but it's long asf. Who knows.

Have a pending Christmas fic that should drop next week.

I really appreciate your reblogs & comments and reactions. It keeps me writing 💗 Can't wait to hear what ya'll think!

Thanks for reading!

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This work of art is part of "The Moore Kind" universe. Where Smoke, Annie, and Stack exist as a Trio. If you'd like to learn more about them, check out My Masterlist 😘

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