Come as You Are

Jada Wilson wasn’t the type of girl who liked to lose. 

It wasn’t because she was mean, and it wasn’t because she thought she was better than everybody else. She liked working hard and seeing results. If she studied for a test, she expected a good grade. If she auditioned for something, she expected the spot. If she walked into a room, she expected to leave an impression. Most of the time life made sense to her because effort and reward usually moved together. Teachers remembered her because she participated. Boys noticed her because she was pretty. People gravitated towards her because she was funny. None of that felt complicated. 

It felt earned.

That was probably why Anissa “Annie” Landry irritated her so much.

She didn’t dislike her at first. At first Annie was barely a blip on her radar. Nothing more than another smart girl in her Honors Biology. They sat near each other, partnered on projects occasionally, and shared enough classes that familiarity came naturally. Jada liked her then. Everybody liked Annie. The problem was Annie seemed completely unaware of the effect she had on people. Teachers, classmates, and even complete strangers trusted her, confided in her, and listened when she spoke. Annie never seemed to chase attention, yet attention found her anyway.

By October, most of the freshman class already knew whose names lived at the top of the grade rankings. Annie. Jada. Malcolm. Sometimes another student slipped into the conversation, but those three stayed there consistently enough that everybody noticed. Jada noticed because she cared. Annie only seemed to notice only when somebody pointed it out.

Jada could admit that she paid more attention to Annie than Annie ever paid to her. Annie shrugged off good grades like they were nothing to celebrate, like success was something that simply found her whether she reached for it or not. She didn’t treat life like a competition. In fact, Jada found it frustratingly difficult to tell whether Annie ever competed for anything at all. Every conversation she had with Annie left her feeling like she was in a race by herself. Annie never bragged, gloated or rubbed anything in anybody’s face. If she had, Jada might’ve found it easier to straight up dislike her. Instead, Annie never seemed to fight for attention, yet attention found her anyway. That made everything worse.

And then there was Elijah “Smoke” Moore. 

She had World History with him and Stack, and found herself gravitating toward him. It wasn’t just because he was fine. All the girls thought he was fine as hell. Stack too. The difference was that after a while, his looks stopped being the thing she noticed first. He was quiet without being shy, smart without showing off, and funny whenever he actually felt like talking. She mentioned him in conversation casually enough that nobody thought much of it, including Annie. Looking back, she wasn’t even sure when curiosity became attraction. She started looking for him in crowded hallways and listening for his laugh across cafeterias. Which would’ve been embarrassing if it hadn’t happened to half the girls at school. It was the fact that he didn’t react to her the way other boys did. Most boys either flirted immediately or spent so much time trying not to stare that it became awkward. Smoke did neither. There was a quiet confidence about him. A steadiness that felt older than seventeen. The kind of confidence that never needed announcing.

He talked to her like everybody else. He remembered things she told him. Laughed at her jokes. Held entire conversations without once making her feel like he was trying to impress her or fuck her. At first she found it refreshing. Then she found it confusing.

The more time she spent around him, the more she paid attention to him. She noticed that the “quiet reputation” people gave him wasn’t entirely true. Smoke wasn’t shy. He just didn’t waste words. So when he did speak, people listened. There was a steadiness to him she didn’t find in other boys their age. 

Mike was sweet. 

Isoo was funny. 

Stack was…Stack. Impossible to ignore. 

But Smoke was something different. Being around him felt easy, and she wanted more of it. More of him.

By the middle of freshman year she started doing things she’d never admit to out loud. Lingering after class. Choosing seats closer to him when she could. Finding reasons to continue conversations that should’ve ended five minutes earlier. The frustrating part was that Smoke never treated her like a girl he was trying to avoid. He talked to her. Laughed with her. Sat beside her in class when the seating chart put them together. If he’d been rude, she probably would’ve gotten over her crush on him. 

Instead, he was kind. 

And kindness left far more room for imagination than rejection ever could.

If somebody had watched them from a distance, they probably would’ve assumed he liked her. Hell…she almost convinced herself of the same thing.

But she never expected Annie to factor into the equation.

One afternoon after school, a crowd of students lingered outside waiting for rides while the Mississippi heat rose from the pavement in visible waves. Stack was in the middle of a story and Smoke stood nearby having his own conversation with Mike. Jada walked over and joined them, enjoying the small satisfaction of making Smoke laugh at something she said. 

Then something happened. Something that anybody else would’ve overlooked. It should’ve been forgettable. Instead it became one of those memories that stayed rent free in her mind for years. 

Stack yelled something from across the parking lot and Smoke turned. Jada expected him to look at his brother. Instead his attention drifted somewhere over her shoulder. The movement was subtle enough that most people would’ve missed it, but she didn’t. She followed his line of sight and when it landed, her heart dropped. Annie stood near the curb with Pearline and a few other girls, her backpack hanging from one shoulder laughing at something one of them said. Smoke was looking right at her. Annie wasn’t flirting. She wasn’t loudly trying to get anyone’s attention. In fact, she looked completely unaware that Smoke was even looking hee way at all. 

Jada glanced back toward him and felt something in her chest tighten unexpectedly. His expression hadn’t changed much. There was no grin. No obvious reaction or giveaway that would’ve made the answer easy. What she saw instead was interest. Pure interest. The kind that settled naturally and comfortably, like he’d found exactly what he was looking for without meaning to. When Jada looked back, Annie looked up. Her and Smoke’s eyes met for barely a second before surprise crossed her face in that honest, unguarded way people managed when they weren’t expecting to be seen. Smoke looked away first and the moment disappeared so quickly that nobody else seemed to notice it had happened. The conversation picked right back up. Everything went back to normal as though a five-second interaction in a parking lot hadn’t just rearranged something inside her.

And Jada couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d just seen. 

The truth landed harder than she wanted it to. Smoke liked Annie. And not in the casual way boys claimed to like half the girls at school. It wasn’t in the temporary way crushes came and went every few weeks. He liked her. Liked her.

The part Jada couldn’t understand wasn’t that Smoke liked somebody. It was that the somebody was Annie. Annie wasn’t louder than anybody else. She wasn’t chasing him. Half the time she seemed completely unaware of him. And yet, out of all the girls walking those hallways every day, his attention found her.

Why Annie? 

The question stayed with Jada long after that afternoon ended. Not because she thought Annie wasn’t pretty, smart, or worth liking. Annie was all of those things. What bothered her was that she couldn’t figure out what Annie had that made Smoke look at her differently. 

The more she watched them over the following months, the more that question followed her around, and the harder it became to pretend she didn’t already know the answer. Once she noticed it, she started seeing it everywhere—in the way Smoke listened when Annie talked, in the way his attention settled on her naturally no matter who else was around, and in the quiet consistency of his choices. There were no grand gestures, no public declarations, nothing dramatic enough to become gossip. What existed between them was built from a hundred small moments most people would’ve overlooked and a hundred more that Jada couldn’t stop noticing.

At some point she started testing it. Nothing obvious or anything she couldn’t explain away afterward. A comment here. A joke there. Sitting a little closer than necessary. One time at a party she picked up Smoke’s cup and took a sip while she was talking, mostly because she could. Smoke didn’t notice. Annie didn’t react the way she envisioned. The conversations kept moving. At first she thought she’d proven nothing. Later she realized she’d proven exactly what she’d been afraid of. Neither of them acted like there was anything to compete for because they belonged to each other already.

That was the part Jada hated most.

Whatever existed between them had been there long before either one of them said it out loud.

Life eventually moved on the way life always did. High school ended. Annie left for North Carolina during their senior year and, for a while, it felt like she took part of the town with her. It wasn’t because people sat around talking about her every day, but because certain stories suddenly stopped being told. People changed. 

Smoke most of all.

Jada noticed that too.

The version of Smoke everybody knew after Annie left wasn’t an angry one. If anything, he became quieter. More closed off. He still laughed when something was funny, showed up when people called, and still worked, helped, and handled business the way he always had. But something about him felt absent, as though a door had closed somewhere inside and nobody knew how to open it again.

But life carried Jada away too, before she had much time to dwell on it. College came next. An engagement. Then a marriage. Neither lasted the way she’d hoped. By the time she moved back home and started building a career in real estate, she was older, smarter, and considerably less interested in fairy tales.

Then she ran into Smoke again.

One of his construction crews had been working on a property she was helping list and for a second she thought she hadn’t recognized him. Then he looked up and gave her a half smile and just like that, she was sixteen again. The attraction came back embarrassingly fast. Older now. More controlled.

But still there.

The difference was that adulthood gave her advantages she hadn’t possessed in high school. She didn’t have to sit around wondering whether a boy liked her. She could simply ask him to dinner. So she did. One dinner turned into another. Then another. At some point the conversation drifted toward old classmates the way it always did when people got older.

“Whatever happened to Annie?” Jada asked.

The reaction was immediate. Something closed. Smoke took a drink and looked away. “She live in North Carolina.”

Jada laughed. “I thought y’all would’ve been married with twenty kids by now.”

Smoke didn’t laugh. The silence that followed answered more than words ever could. A few minutes later he changed the subject entirely.

Jada never brought Annie up again. Later that same night she asked if he was seeing anybody.

“No.”

“You lookin’?”

“No.”

The answer should’ve discouraged her. Instead she smiled. “Well, lucky for you, neither am I.”

The arrangement that followed worked because neither of them pretended it was anything else. They spent time together. Ate dinner once in awhile. Called sometimes. Shared her bed often enough. Smoke was kind to her. Respectful. But from the beginning he made one thing clear. 

He didn’t want a relationship. 

He told her more than once that she deserved somebody capable of giving her what she wanted. More than once he told her that if she found that person, she shouldn’t let him stand in the way of it. 

Jada heard every word. 

The problem was…she kept hoping. 

Not because Smoke encouraged it, but because she thought time might. She thought consistency might. She thought enough good days stacked together could eventually become something neither of them planned. Maybe that was foolish. Maybe it wasn’t. Either way, she had started believing they still had time.

Then Mary called the day of the cookout.

Jada had been at the showing she was covering for a colleague. The conversation started normal enough, which should have been her first warning sign. Mary was never normal when she had gossip. By the time she finally got to the point, Jada wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Bitch, Annie’s back!”

Suddenly all those years she hadn’t spent thinking about high school came rushing back at once. The words settled somewhere unexpected. Surprising. The surprise lasted exactly three seconds before Mary delivered the second piece.

“The cookout at Pearline’s aunt house… it’s a party for Annie coming back home.”

That was the moment everything else disappeared. The noise of the clients asking about square footage faded into the background. The showing stopped mattering. Even Mary’s voice asking her what she was going to do became distant as another thought slid immediately into place. 

For the first time since hearing Annie’s name, she wasn’t thinking about high school anymore.

She was thinking about Smoke. 

He had been acting strange. Distracted. Quieter than usual. Looking at his phone more than normal. Now she understood exactly why he hadn’t seemed like himself. Some old shit came back up…. I ain’t figured out what to do with it yet. The pieces connected so quickly that Jada almost laughed.

Annie.

By the time she pulled into Aunt Cheryl’s yard, she already knew who she was looking for. The problem was she hadn’t expected to find them standing together.

And she for damn sure hadn’t expected to find them holding hands.

Smoke was holding Annie’s hand. 

On its own, that didn’t mean anything. 

People touched, hugged, and got caught up in conversations and forgot who was watching. 

What unsettled her was everything wrapped around the gesture. 

The look that had passed between them before Smoke finally let go. The way neither of them seemed aware of anybody else until she spoke. The strange sense that she’d walked into the middle of something already in progress.

For a moment nobody said anything. 

The sounds of the cookout continued around them as though nothing unusual had happened. Children ran through the yard screaming over water guns. Two men at the dominoes table accused each other of cheating. Mrs. Cheryl was threatening bodily harm if they didn’t quit acting stupid. The music changed somewhere behind her. Life continued moving. 

Yet standing there, looking between Smoke and Annie, Jada couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d interrupted a conversation neither of them had wanted to end.

The hand didn’t bother her nearly as much as Smoke’s face had. Over the past year she’d seen him tired, irritated, amused, distracted, and halfway asleep after a fourteen-hour workday. She’d seen him fresh off job sites and fresh out of the shower. She’d seen him after bad days and worse weeks. What she’d just seen standing across from Annie felt different.

There had been a lightness to him she couldn’t remember seeing, as though some invisible weight had disappeared without warning. Now the distracted silences, the moments he’d stared at his phone and seemed somewhere else entirely, made perfect sense.

What unsettled her more was how he looked at her. The surprise on his face had disappeared quickly enough.

The irritation hadn’t.

It was subtle. Most people would’ve missed it. Smoke wasn’t expressive enough for dramatic reactions. But Jada had spent too much time learning his moods not to recognize one when she saw it.

Every time she spoke, his attention drifted back toward Annie. When Annie looked away, his eyes followed her. And when he did look at Jada? 

The expression wasn’t warm.

It wasn’t guilty either. It looked closer to frustration. Like she’d walked into the middle of something he wasn’t finished with yet.

The realization settled heavily in her chest. She recognized that look too.

From high school.

Back when she’d stand beside him talking and catch him looking over her shoulder at Annie. When she’d convince herself she imagined it. 

Back when she still thought being patient would eventually change the outcome.

Still, Jada smiled. She had spent too many years learning how to smile through discomfort to stop now. 

“Annie.” Her voice came out warm and easy, exactly the way it was supposed to. “It’s been a long time.”

Annie smiled back automatically, but there was a delay to it that immediately caught Jada’s attention. She looked like somebody still trying to catch up to a conversation everyone else had already started. “Yeah. It has.”

“When did you get in town?”

“Thursday.”

“No kidding.” Jada adjusted the strap of her purse and glanced briefly toward Smoke before looking back at Annie. “Smoke didn’t tell me you were back.”

The sentence left her mouth easily enough, but she knew exactly why she’d said it.

She wanted to see. 

So Jada watched Annie carefully. The confusion arrived first, then recognition. Then something else. 

Jada recognized that look because she’d worn versions of it herself before. The moment when information rearranged itself into understanding. If she was being completely honest, some small, selfish part of her wanted Annie to understand. Wanted her to know she wasn’t just another person at the cookout. That Smoke existed in her life too.

Maybe that made her petty or even insecure. Maybe it made her exactly the same girl she’d been in high school. Whatever the reason, she couldn’t deny the small flicker of satisfaction when she saw it finally click for Annie.

Whatever Annie had expected when she came back to Mississippi, this wasn’t it. Jada watched her expectations crumble behind her eyes and Jada immediately felt guilty for her own smugness that followed. It wasn’t Annie’s confusion she enjoyed. It was the confirmation that she wasn’t invisible. For years she’d been the girl standing on the outside of whatever existed between Annie and Smoke. Now, for the first time, Annie was being forced to acknowledge that Jada occupied space in his life too.

Across the yard, movement caught her eye. Mary had finally wandered close enough to be useful and dangerous at the same time. The woman was carrying a red cup and looking entirely too pleased with herself. One glance toward Stack confirmed he had already figured out exactly who was responsible for this shit. Pearline looked ready to strangle somebody. Probably Mary. Maybe Stack. Maybe Jada. Possibly all three.

Jada almost laughed.

Almost.

Because standing there between Smoke and Annie, she had the uncomfortable feeling that this situation was about to become everybody’s problem.

“No kidding... Smoke didn’t tell me you were back.”

Annie wasn’t sure how to respond to that. The statement felt simple enough on the surface, but something about it snagged in her chest.

Jada laughed softly and shook her head.

“Then again, he ain’t really been himself lately.”

The comment was delivered so casually Annie almost missed it.

Almost.

Annie looked toward Elijah before she meant to. His attention was already on her.

Not Jada.

Her.

The conversations around them hadn’t stopped, but something in his posture had changed. His shoulders were tighter now. His expression quieter. Like he was listening to a conversation he couldn’t quite hear but already knew he wasn’t going to like the ending of.

Annie tried to focus on what Jada was saying to her. She really did. Jada was standing right there asking normal questions in a normal voice, smiling the same way she always had, and nothing about the interaction should have felt strange. 

People moved on. People dated. People built lives. Eight years had passed since Annie left Mississippi. She knew all of that. She understood it so completely that she almost became angry at herself for struggling with something that should have been obvious.

Still, her attention kept snagging on small things she couldn’t seem to ignore. The ease in Jada’s posture. The familiarity in her voice. And now that one sentence kept replaying itself in Annie’s head.

He ain’t really been himself lately.

It wasn’t what Jada had said. It was how she’d said it. Like she knew what normal looked like. Like she’d been close enough to notice the difference.

But Elijah wasn’t looking at Jada at all. Every time Annie glanced up, his eyes found her again. Concern. Like he could see something growing and didn’t know how to stop it.

Annie couldn’t process that at the moment. She couldn’t stop noticing that nobody around them seemed surprised Jada was standing there. Not Stack and definitely not Pearline. The realization arrived gradually, settling into place one piece at a time.

Jada wasn’t visiting Elijah’s world. She was already a part of it.

“Mississippi must seem different now,” Jada said with a small laugh.

Annie looked at her. “What?”

Jada smiled. “I said Mississippi must seem different now.”

“Oh.” Annie forced a smile. “Yeah.”

The conversation continued around her, but Annie found herself looking past Jada and toward Pearline. The glance was brief. It didn’t need to be longer. Something flickered across Pearline’s face the moment their eyes met, and Annie felt her stomach drop before her mind fully caught up.

Suddenly the entire day looked different.

Pearline sitting on the edge of the bed while Annie changed clothes for the hundredth time. Her listening to her talk about Elijah. Her watching her spend an entire afternoon slipping back into old memories she should have known better than to trust.

None of those moments had felt unusual at the time. Standing here now, they rearranged themselves into something else entirely.

Pearline looked away first.

And that hurt more than anything Jada had said.

Annie smiled automatically when somebody laughed at a joke she hadn’t heard. The expression felt strange on her face. Around her the cookout continued without interruption. Auntie Max was waving a paper plate around while telling a story loud enough for half the neighborhood to hear. Everything looked exactly the same as it had fifteen minutes ago, yet everything felt completely different now.

She looked toward Elijah before she could stop herself and immediately regretted it.

He was still looking at her. 

He wasn’t really talking anymore. Stack had said something. Mary laughed. Jada answered somebody’s question. Elijah hadn’t reacted to any of it. His attention remained fixed on Annie, his expression growing more troubled the longer she stood there pretending everything was fine.

Concern sat plainly across his face now, and the sight irritated her more than it should have. Concern meant he knew something was wrong. Concern meant he could see it happening. Concern meant he was watching her fall apart in real time.

That was the final straw.

Because Annie could handle disappointment. She could handle awkwardness. She could even handle finding out Elijah had moved on. 

What she couldn’t handle was standing here feeling exposed. 

Feeling foolish. 

Feeling like the only person who hadn’t known what was happening. 

The humiliation crept in quietly, attaching itself to every memory she’d made since getting off the plane. Every conversation. Every question. Every moment she’d allowed herself to hope for something she had never said aloud. By the time she finally spoke, her voice sounded perfectly normal.

“Excuse me.”

Nobody would have noticed anything wrong. Nobody except Elijah and Pearline.

Annie saw it immediately when Elijah straightened and took a small step forward. The movement was instinctive, the kind people made when they sensed trouble coming. For a second it looked like he might say something. Explain something. Stop her. Annie didn’t give him the chance.

“Y’all enjoy yourselves.”

The smile never left her face as she turned toward the house. She heard Pearline call her name before she reached the steps, but she kept walking anyway. The screen door opened and closed behind her, muting the sounds of the cookout almost instantly. Only then did she allow herself to stop pretending she was fine.

The bedroom door clicked shut behind her, muting the noise from the backyard without silencing it completely. Music still drifted faintly through the floorboards. Every few minutes a burst of laughter floated up from downstairs, followed by the low hum of conversation and the occasional shout from Aunt Cheryl whenever somebody touched food they weren’t supposed to touch. The sounds were familiar enough to be comforting. Instead they made Annie feel trapped. The cookout was still happening. Everybody was still down there. 

The world hadn’t stopped just because hers suddenly felt off balance.

She crossed the room and dragged her suitcase onto the bed. The zipper caught halfway open and she jerked it harder than necessary, dislodging the contents inside. A shirt disappeared into one corner. A pair of jeans landed on top of it. One sandal followed before she stopped and stared at the mess she’d created. Nothing about it resembled packing. The blue sundress she’d rejected earlier that morning still hung over the chair near the window. Seeing it there brought back the memory of standing in front of Pearline’s mirror for nearly an hour while her friend laughed and told her she looked fine. At the time she’d told herself she was nervous about coming home. Looking at the dress now, she realized that hadn’t been entirely true. 

Nobody spent forty-five minutes deciding what to wear to a family cookout unless some part of them cared who might be there.

The thought followed her to the dresser. The bottle of tequila sat exactly where she’d left it earlier, half-forgotten beside a hairbrush and a tube of lip gloss. For a second she just stared at it. Then she twisted the cap off and took a long swallow straight from the bottle.

The liquor burned all the way down, sharp enough to make her wince. She stood there waiting for it to do something useful. Numb her. Distract her. Slow her thoughts down. Instead the burn faded almost immediately and left everything else untouched.

Jada’s face remained exactly where Annie had left it.

So did the sound of her voice.

Smoke didn’t tell me you were back.

That was the problem. 

Jada had said them the way people said ordinary things, the way people spoke when they weren’t thinking twice about what they were revealing. There had been familiarity in the statement. History. Conversations Annie hadn’t been a part of. Enough conversations that her return to Mississippi had become information Jada expected to have. Annie took another drink and walked toward the window before she could think too hard about it.

The backyard stretched beyond the trees in patches of movement and color. She couldn’t make out individual faces from here, only clusters of people gathered around tables and lawn chairs while smoke drifted lazily upward from the grill. Somewhere down there Elijah was probably sitting beside Jada.

The thought arrived uninvited and irritated her immediately.

Smoke could date whoever he wanted. He wasn’t married. He wasn’t obligated to explain himself to her. Eight years was a long time. Long enough for people to build entirely different lives.

She knew that.

She believed that.

The problem was that knowing something and feeling it turned out to be two very different things.

Every time she tried to reason her way through it, her mind circled back to the same uncomfortable place. Not that Elijah had moved on, it was that she’d spent the entire day realizing she never had.

She took another shot. The tequila burned less this time, or maybe she was just getting used to it.

What she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about was Jada.

It was because it was Jada.

The same girl who always seemed to be measuring herself against Annie back in high school. The same girl who smiled while making comments that left Annie wondering whether she’d imagined the insult. The same girl who spent years trying to figure out why Smoke paid attention to Annie and not her.

Annie closed her eyes. Immediately she hated herself for thinking it. It wasn’t fair. Elijah didn’t know any of that.

Not really.

He knew Jada the same way everybody knew Jada. Funny. Smart. Beautiful. He hadn’t been standing beside Annie during those hallway conversations. He hadn’t seen the looks. He hadn’t felt the subtle edge hiding beneath the smiles.

Still, the thought lingered.

Did he know?

Annie stared back out the window.

Didn’t he know how she felt about Jada? Didn’t he know she’d never really trusted her? Didn’t he know enough about Annie to know that this, out of everything, would fucking hurt?

The questions sounded ridiculous the second they formed, because what exactly was Elijah supposed to do with information like that?

Avoid a woman for eight years because his high school girlfriend didn’t like her?

The idea was absurd. Annie knew it was absurd. Yet somehow that didn’t stop it from hurting. 

The truth was she hadn’t spent the day grieving what Elijah had with Jada. She’d spent the day imagining what might still exist between her and Elijah. That was the part she couldn’t forgive herself for. 

Not the jealousy.

The hope.

That truth settled over her slowly as she sat on the edge of the bed. The photographs. Geneva talking about Elijah carrying her inside when she fell asleep on his shoulder. The way everybody at the table had spoken about them like they were inevitable. The way Elijah had looked at her after learning she never wanted to leave. 

The warmth of his hand around hers. 

None of those moments would’ve mattered if some part of her hadn’t been carrying hope onto that plane from North Carolina. She hated admitting that, even to herself. Hope felt childish at twenty-five. Hope felt irresponsible after eight years. Yet the evidence sat all around the room. The dress she’d changed out of three times. The suitcase she’d never fully unpacked. The mixtape buried somewhere among her things. She hadn’t come to Mississippi looking for closure. 

She’d come looking for possibility, and now she felt stupid for pretending otherwise.

Another swallow of tequila disappeared before she realized she’d picked up the bottle again. The burn barely registering anymore. What did register was the growing discomfort that had nothing to do with Jada and everything to do with Pearline. 

The longer Annie sat there, the more the last two days began rearranging themselves. Pearline encouraging her to come. Pearline listening to every story about Elijah. Sitting on the edge of the bed that morning while Annie changed clothes. Watching her spend an entire afternoon slipping back into old memories she should’ve known better than to trust. 

None of those moments had felt strange when they happened. Looking back now, they felt different. Heavier. Like pieces of a puzzle she hadn’t realized she was assembling.

Annie stared at the bedroom door and tightened her grip on the bottle. She didn’t know exactly how long she’d been sitting there, but she knew Pearline well enough to know what would come next. 

Pearline hated conflict. Hated disappointing people even more. There was no chance she was leaving Annie up here alone. Sooner or later those footsteps would come down the hallway. Sooner rather than later the door would open. The thought should’ve prepared her. 

Instead it made the hurt settle deeper. 

Because for the first time since walking into the house, Annie stopped thinking about Jada standing beside Elijah and started thinking about her best friend downstairs, the one person who had known exactly how much hope Annie had carried back to Mississippi and said nothing at all.

Pearline didn’t knock.

The door opened slowly before Annie could tell her not to come in, and the look on her face was so familiar Annie almost hated her for it. Concern. Caution. The expression Pearline wore whenever she thought somebody was about to make a bad decision.

Unfortunately for both of them, Annie had already made several.

Neither of them spoke at first. Pearline’s eyes moved from the open suitcase to the tequila bottle resting beside Annie’s leg before finally settling on Annie herself. Annie knew exactly what she saw. Red eyes. A half-packed suitcase. Clothes scattered across the bed. One sandal near the bathroom door and the other somehow buried beneath a blouse sleeve hanging halfway out of the luggage. The packing wasn’t real. Annie knew it. Pearline probably knew it too. She’d managed to put three shirts into the suitcase and somehow remove four. Every few minutes she found herself folding the same piece of clothing she’d already folded before throwing it into a different corner of the room.

“How much of that you done drank?”

Annie glanced down at the bottle. “Enough.”

Pearline sighed and stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

The sound made something tighten in Annie’s chest.

“You ain’t finna leave.”

Annie laughed under her breath and reached for another shirt. “The hell I’m not.”

“You drunk.”

“I’m buzzed.”

“Annie.”

“I’m grown.”

Pearline rubbed a hand across her forehead.

The movement irritated Annie so bad. The careful voice irritated her. The patience irritated her. The concern irritated her. All of it felt like somebody trying to calm her down before she’d even been allowed to be upset. 

She shoved another armful of clothes into the suitcase and immediately regretted it when the zipper refused to cooperate. The tequila bottle found its way back into her hand before she even realized she’d reached for it.

Pearline watched her struggle with the suitcase for another minute before speaking again.

“I was gonna tell you.”

Annie stopped. She couldn’t help it. The words settled somewhere deep enough to hurt.

Slowly she looked up. “No you wasn’t.”

“I was.”

“When?”

Pearline opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

Annie laughed. The sound wasn’t pleasant. “Exactly.”

“I didn’t know how.”

The answer hit Annie harder because it sounded honest. Honest and useless at the same time. She looked away before Pearline could see it landed. 

Outside Annie could hear laughter. She hated them for laughing. 

“You could’ve started with the truth.”

“I didn’t know what the truth was.”

Annie took another swallow from the bottle. The burn was gone. “What truth?”

Pearline hesitated. “Them.”

The word sat between Annie and Pearline.

“I thought they was just fuckin’.”

Pearline shifted from foot to foot. “It didn’t look serious.”

Didn’t. Past tense. Annie heard it. Her stomach dropped.

“What changed?”

Pearline froze.

The hesitation told Annie almost everything.

“What changed, Pearline?”

For a second it looked like Pearline might refuse to answer. Then she sighed. “I saw them Thursday.”

Annie frowned. 

Thursday.

The word rolled around in her head before settling into place. The restaurant. That strange feeling she’d had all night. The uncomfortable certainty that somebody familiar was nearby. The way she’d caught herself looking around for no reason she could explain.

Pearline acting strange afterward. Starting a sentence and never finishing it. Looking at her like she wanted to say something before changing her mind.

The pieces connected so quickly Annie almost felt sick. “He was there.”

Pearline didn’t answer.

“He was there with her.”

Still nothing. The silence told her everything she needed to know.

Annie stared at the bottle in her hand before taking another drink. The tequila was more than half gone now. At some point she’d stopped counting. Her face felt warm. Her thoughts felt loud. Every emotion she’d spent the last eight years carefully suppressing seemed determined to show up all at once.

“You saw them and still said nothin’.”

“I wanted to.”

Annie laughed.

The sound came out sharp enough to make Pearline flinch.

“No you didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t, ’cause if you did, you would’ve.”

“I really did, Annie.”

Annie shook her head and looked away.

Outside, the yard erupted into laughter after. The sound drifted through the screen window and landed in the room like an insult.

She took another swallow from the bottle.

“Fuck, Pearline, I could’ve handled him messin’ with ANYBODY else.”

Pearline’s face changed immediately.

“Annie—”

“No. I’m serious.” She laughed again and wiped at her eyes. “I could’ve handled some random girl.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them. “Some girl from Jackson. Memphis. Atlanta. Hell, California.”

Pearline stayed quiet.

“But Jada?” Annie shook her head. “Jada of all people?”

The room fell silent, because Pearline knew. Maybe not every detail.

But more than enough.

Enough to remember the little imsults disguised as jokes. The competition Annie never agreed to participate in. The way Jada always seemed to know exactly where she stood with Elijah. Enough to understand why hearing her name hit differently.

“You should’ve told me from jump.” Annie looked down at the bottle in her hand. “You should’ve told me the second you saw them.”

Pearline sighed. “She ain’t hate you, Annie.”

“Don’t do that shit.” The warning came fast. “Please don’t sit up here and act like you don’t know what I’m talkin’ about.”

Pearline looked away.

Exactly.

“That’s what I thought.” Annie laughed and immediately wished she hadn’t, because now she sounded bitter.

Maybe she was.

“I know it sound stupid.” Her voice cracked. “I know he don’t owe me shit.” Another laugh. Smaller this time. “And I know he got every right to move on.” She stared toward the window. “But for some reason hearin’ it’s Jada make me sick to my fuckin’ stomach.”

The confession hung between them. Raw. Embarrassing.

Honest.

“And that’s why I’m mad at you.”

Pearline frowned.

“Cause you knew that.” Annie looked back at her. “You knew exactly how that was gonna hit me.”

Annie sank onto the edge of the bed and looked down at the shirt in her hands. At some point she’d stopped packing and started moving things around just to keep her hands busy. The same shirt had gone into the suitcase three separate times and somehow kept ending up back on the bed. The tequila wasn’t helping anymore. It had moved past the point of making her feel better and settled into that dangerous place where every thought felt louder than it should.

“You know what the crazy part is?”

Pearline looked up. “What?”

Annie laughed, but there wasn’t any humor in it. “I still would’ve came.”

For a minute neither of them said anything.

Annie picked up the shirt and started folding it. Then unfolded it. “I would’ve still got on the plane.”

The words surprised her because she hadn’t realized they were true until she’d said them out loud. She would’ve come for Aunt Cheryl and Uncle Lewis. For Geneva and Auntie Max. For Pearline. For Stack. For the cookout. For every piece of home she’d spent years pretending she didn’t miss. And somewhere in that list sat Elijah too. Not that she expected anything from him. Or because she thought eight years could disappear in a weekend. But because he mattered whether she wanted him to or not.

Pearline watched her carefully.

Annie laughed again and wiped at her face. “That’s the part that got me.” She looked down at the bottle. “You should’ve told me anyway.”

Pearline lowered her eyes. “I thought if y’all talked—”

“There you go.” The words came out tired more than angry. Annie shook her head. “That’s the part you keep missin’.”

Pearline started to talk, then stopped.

Annie looked toward the window where the sounds of the cookout drifted in through the screen. “You keep tellin’ me what you thought.”

Her voice cracked. “What about me? What about what I wanted?”

Pearline’s face tightened immediately.

Annie hated herself a little for saying it. The regret didn’t make it less true. “You knew.” The words came quieter now. Which somehow made them worse. “You knew and watched me get off that plane.”

Silence.

“You knew and watched me talk about him.”

Pearline looked away.

“You knew and sat on this bed while I changed clothes fifty fucking times.”

The tears finally came. Hot. Embarrassing. Impossible to stop.

“And you still brought me here.”

Pearline looked devastated now.

Good.

A terrible thought. An ugly thought. One Annie hated the second it crossed her mind. But it was there anyway. 

“You watched me hope.”

The room seemed to shrink around them as Annie’s words settled into the space between them. Outside, somebody shouted something followed by laughter. The sound drifted through the screen window and disappeared into silence neither woman seemed willing to break.

Pearline stared at her. Then something in her expression changed.

Exhaustion.

“You think I wanted this?”

Annie looked away.

“You keep talkin’ like I sat around plottin’ on how to hurt you.”

“I ain’t say that.”

“You don’t gotta say it.” Pearline wiped at her face with the heel of her hand before crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “For two fuckin’ days I’ve been watchin’ this happen knowin’ eventually you was gonna look at me exactly like this.”

Annie didn’t answer because she was looking at her exactly like that.

“You think it was easy watchin’ you get off that plane smilin’?” Pearline laughed once, but there wasn’t any humor in it. “You think I didn’t know why you was really nervous?”

“Pearline—”

“No. Let me finish.” The words came out sharper than anything she’d said all evening. “You wasn’t nervous about no cookout and you know it.”

Annie looked down at the shirt twisted in her hands.

“You talked about him the whole ride from the airport.” Pearline’s voice softened again. “You talked about him while you unpacked.” 

Another breath. “You talked about him when we went to breakfast.” Another. “You talked about him every time his name came up like you was tryin’ real hard to convince yourself it didn’t matter.”

The tears Annie had been fighting rose all over again.

Pearline shook her head. “And every time I thought about tellin’ you, I’d look at your face and think maybe I was wrong. Maybe Smoke and Jada wasn’t serious. Maybe they would’ve ended whatever they had goin’ on by now. Maybe y’all could finally sit down and talk.”

Annie swallowed hard. The words should’ve made her feel better. Instead they somehow made everything worse. For the first time since the argument started, she could see exactly how Pearline had convinced herself to stay quiet. Not that she thought she knew best, but she wanted the same impossible thing Annie wanted.

“I was hopin’ too, Annie.”

Annie closed her eyes.

The confession hit differently than everything else Pearline had said. Anger she knew how to carry. Embarrassment too. But this felt heavier. It forced her to acknowledge something she’d been trying very hard not to look at. Pearline hadn’t been trying to hurt her. Pearline had been hoping right alongside her, building entire possibilities out of half-finished conversations and old memories that she wanted so badly for them to be true.

Pearline looked down at her hands. “Remember when I told you I left my charger at Stack’s apartment?”

Annie frowned. The question felt random enough to pull her briefly out of her own misery. “Yeah.”

“I ain’t leave no damn charger.”

Annie stared at her while her facial expression said DUH.

Pearline laughed once and shook her head. “I went back and straight up asked him.”

The room grew quiet.

“I wanted to know if what I saw was real.”

Annie’s stomach tightened.

Pearline rubbed her palms against her jeans. “I asked Stack straight up.”

“What’d he say?”

“That Smoke and Jada wasn’t together.”

The answer came immediate. Like she’d replayed the conversation a hundred times already.

“He said they wasn’t serious. Said they wasn’t in no relationship.”

Despite herself, Annie almost laughed.

Pearline kept going. “I asked him twice.” The confession sounded pathetic now. “I kept askin’ different ways hopin’ he’d tell me somethin’ else.”

Annie looked away.

“Cause if he would’ve told me they was serious…” Pearline swallowed. “If he would’ve told me Smoke was in love with that girl or plannin’ a future wit’ her or somethin’ like that, I’d have told you right then.”

The words settled heavily between them.

“Shit, Annie, I would’ve told you before we even got to Cheryl’s house.” Pearline’s voice cracked slightly. “That’s why I didn’t know what to do.”

Annie stared at the floor because that sounded exactly like something Pearline would do—convince herself this was reasonable. It sounded exactly like something done with love that still managed to hurt anyway.

“You still didn’t let me choose.” 

The words came out quiet. 

Pearline’s shoulders dropped. For a second she looked as tired as Annie felt. Her mouth opened slightly before closing again. Whatever explanation she’d been holding onto all evening seemed to collapse beneath the weight of those six words.

Annie reached for another pile of clothes and shoved them into the suitcase harder than necessary. The zipper caught again. Frustrated, she yanked at it. Something beneath the clothes came loose, and a plastic case slid free, tumbling across the comforter before bouncing onto the floor near her feet.

Both women looked down.

The mixtape.

Not the mixtape Elijah made her all those years ago. Not the one she’d refused to listen to all those years ago, but somehow carried with her through college, breakups, apartments, and every version of herself she’d become after leaving Mississippi.

This was a new one.

The one she’d spent weeks putting together before coming home. The one hidden beneath folded shirts because she hadn’t been brave enough to admit why she’d packed it in the first place.

For a long moment neither woman moved. Then Annie bent down and picked it up. 

Pearline’s eyes followed the plastic case before lifting back to Annie’s face.

Something flickered there. Understanding. Somehow Annie hated that most of all, because now Pearline knew. 

Not that she still loved Elijah.

But how much.

The truth settled quietly between them. Annie wrapped her fingers around the mixtape, tucked it beneath her arm, grabbed the suitcase, and forced the zipper closed.

“Annie—”

“Fuck all y’all.”

Pearline took a step forward. “Annie.”

“No.” She wiped angrily at her face. “I came down here lookin’ stupid as fuck.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.” Her voice cracked hard enough to make her wince. “I did.”

The tears started again. Hot. Humiliating. Impossible to stop.

“And I blame you for lettin’ me.”

Pearline flinched.

Annie hated herself for saying it. Hated herself even more for not taking it back.

Then she grabbed the suitcase handle and headed for the door before Pearline could stop her.

Smoke kept his eyes on the house long after Annie disappeared inside.

Around him the cookout continued without interruption. Some old head at the dominoes table accused a young nigga of cheating. Again. Tired of hearing Aunt Cheryl fussing, Uncle Lewis stepped in and threatened to throw both of them out of the yard if they didn’t shut the fuck up. Children ran through the grass screaming while music drifted lazily from the speakers near the patio. 

The normalcy of it all felt strange considering how quickly the afternoon had changed. Ten minutes ago he’d been standing beside Annie listening to her laugh. Now she was inside the house and Pearline had gone after her wearing the same expression people wore when they already knew trouble was waiting on the other side of a door.

He replayed the last few minutes in his head whether he wanted to or not. Annie’s hand in his. Jada’s voice. The way Annie’s guard went up the moment she understood Jada wasn’t standing there as an old classmate. The look she’d given Pearline afterward stayed with him most. There had been hurt in it. Confusion too. But beneath both sat recognition, like she’d suddenly understood something nobody had bothered to explain to her.

Smoke didn’t know every piece of what had just happened, but he recognized the result. Annie thought he and Jada were together. Not casually seeing each other. Together-together. The certainty settled heavily in his chest because it explained the expression he’d seen on her face before she walked away.

What unsettled him wasn’t that she’d misunderstood the situation.

It was that seeing him with another woman had hurt her at all.

Somebody shoved a plastic cup into his hand.

Stack.

“The good shit,” his brother said before dropping back into his chair.

Smoke glanced down at the bourbon. Aunt Cheryl only brought it out for family and special occasions. Under different circumstances he probably would’ve appreciated it. Instead he took a swallow and tasted almost none of it.

A few minutes later he found himself reaching for a cigarette.

The lighter clicked.

Smoke took a slow drag and watched the front porch through a haze of smoke that did absolutely nothing to settle his nerves.

Beside him, Jada smoothed a hand over her blouse and adjusted her position in the chair.

“Thought you had a showing today.”

The question made her blink. “I did.”

“You said you wasn’t comin’.”

“I changed my mind.”

Smoke nodded once, but his attention had already drifted back toward the house. The answer sat wrong with him for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. She hadn’t called. Hadn’t texted. Some part of him couldn’t stop wondering whether things would’ve unfolded differently if he’d known she was coming. The thought irritated him. Jada hadn’t done anything wrong by showing up to a public cookout. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that the afternoon had veered off course the moment she stepped into it.

“You mad I’m here?”

That pulled his attention back to her.

“No.”

The answer came easily because it was mostly true. He wasn’t mad she came. He just couldn’t understand why she hadn’t mentioned it. Over the last year they’d fallen into routines. Nothing serious. Nothing that required explanations. Still, telling somebody you were showing up somewhere after saying you weren’t seemed like information worth sharing.

Jada studied him for a moment. “You ain’t really looked at me since I walked over here.”

The words were light. Teasing. At least they tried to be.

Smoke glanced at her. “What?”

“You keep starin’ at that house.”

His jaw tightened around the cigarette. The expression vanished almost immediately, but not before Jada caught it.

He knew she did. Over the last year she’d gotten good at reading him.  Unfortunately, Annie had always been better.

Before Jada could say anything else, Mary wandered over carrying a red cup and entirely too much satisfaction. Stack noticed her at the exact same time.

“There she go.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Oh Lord.”

“Nah.” Stack pointed directly at her. “Nah. Bring yo’ ass over here.”

Smoke looked between them. Mary suddenly became very interested in her drink. That alone made him suspicious.

“You ain’t change your mind.”

Jada’s eyes flickered. “Elijah—”

“You was already comin’.” The words landed quietly. “You could’ve told me.”

The silence that followed was answer enough.

Something tightened in his chest. He turned his attention to Mary. “What you do?”

“I ain’t do shit.”

“That’s a muthafuckin’ lie.” Stack exclaimed.

“It ain’t.”

Stack laughed. “Jada just magically decided to show up after tellin’ my brother she wasn’t?”

Jada’s head turned. Mary looked away. Smoke’s eyes narrowed. The silence lasted a little too long.

“Mary.”

“I was just talkin’.”

“There it is.” Stack threw his hands up. “There it is right there. That’s the shit I be talkin’ about. You stay runnin’ yo’ fuckin’ mouth.”

Mary looked offended. “How was I supposed to know she’d actually come?”

Stack stared at her. Then at Jada. Then back at Mary. “You serious?”

The pieces settled into place one by one. Smoke looked at Jada. Then Mary. Then back toward the house.

Something tightened in his chest.

Pearline still hadn’t come back outside. The front door remained closed. The upstairs windows remained dark. From where he sat, the entire house looked still. Meanwhile his mind kept returning to Annie’s face. Not the smile she’d forced before excusing herself. The look right before it. The moment she’d looked from Jada to him and then toward Pearline. The hurt in her eyes had been so quick most people probably would’ve missed it.

He hadn’t.

That was the problem. He hadn’t missed any of it. Not the confusion, the disappointment, or the moment it all clicked.

The feeling settled heavy in his stomach because he knew exactly what she’d seen. Maybe not every detail. Maybe not the history. But enough. Enough to think he and Jada were something they weren’t. Enough to believe she’d shown up in Mississippi only to discover he’d moved on.

The thought bothered him more than it should have.

Life kept moving around him, but Smoke couldn’t. Every few seconds his eyes found the house again. The cigarette burned down between his fingers. The bourbon now gone.

Stack watched him do it. Then he sighed. “You need to go talk to her.”

“Pearline with her.”

“For now.”

Smoke leaned back in his chair. “What that supposed to mean?”

“It mean Annie upstairs cussin’ Pearline the fuck out right now.”

Despite everything, a small smile threatened at the corner of his mouth.

Stack pointed toward the house. “You know I’m right.”

Unfortunately, he was.

The smile disappeared as quickly as it came.

Smoke rubbed a hand across his jaw and looked back toward the front door. The longer Annie stayed inside, the worse the feeling became. Something closer to dread. Annie had spent eight years running from difficult conversations. He knew because he’d spent eight years wishing she’d stayed for one.

Then the front door opened.

Every thought in his head disappeared at once.

Annie stepped onto the porch with a suitcase in one hand and a plastic case tucked beneath her arm.

Before he realized what he was doing, Smoke crushed the cigarette beneath his sneaker, set the cup on the nearest table, and started walking.

“Annie.”

Smoke was calling her name halfway across the yard before he realized people were starting to watch. At first it was only a few people. Aunt Cheryl paused beside the grill with the tongs still in her hand. Geneva lowered her cup. Maxine turned away from whatever story she had been telling. Then more heads began to turn because Annie was not exactly subtle carrying a suitcase through the middle of a family cookout, and neither was the look on her face. Even from thirty feet away he could see she had been crying, and the sight settled heavy in his chest before he could prepare himself for it. Pearline had barely made it back onto the porch behind her, wiping at her own face, and Stack was already moving toward her with concern written plainly across his. Whatever had happened upstairs had gone bad enough to leave both women in tears.

Smoke was not surprised. The moment Annie had looked at Jada, then at him, then at Pearline, he had known something was coming. What surprised him was how quickly everything had unraveled. Less than an hour ago she had been laughing beside him beneath the shade tree. Less than thirty minutes ago he had been standing there holding her hand without thinking about it. Now she was heading toward the driveway with a suitcase like she planned on disappearing before sunset, and the familiarity of that made something old and bitter twist inside him. Annie leaving before a conversation could catch her was not new. He knew that move. He had lived with the damage of it for eight years.

“Annie.”

She didn’t stop. The suitcase rolled awkwardly through the grass as she continued toward the driveway, and whether she genuinely hadn’t heard him or was pretending not to hear him didn’t matter. Smoke knew her too well to believe either would be enough to stop him.

“Anissa!”

That stopped her.

When she finally turned around, the look on her face hit him hard. The tears were obvious. The anger was not. That lived deeper, somewhere behind the red eyes and tight jaw, tangled up with something older and far more familiar. It was the same hurt he had caught a glimpse of before she disappeared into the house, only now it wasn’t masked anymore. The music still played behind them. Somebody laughed near the dominoes table before realizing nobody else was laughing. Children ran through the yard with a water guns bigger than them. Life kept trying to continue around them, but Smoke could feel the whole cookout slowly holding its breath.

“Can we talk?”

The laugh that left Annie wasn’t loud, which made it worse. Loud would have been easier. Loud would have given him something obvious to answer. Instead, she sounded tired, like someone who had finally run out of ways to be disappointed.

“Oh, now you wanna talk?”

The words landed uncomfortably because he knew exactly what she meant. Not the sentence itself. The accusation underneath it. When she finally called him after eight years. Eight years of missed conversations and assumptions. Eight years of silence neither one of them had been able to outrun. 

Smoke opened his mouth, but Annie was already shaking her head.

“No. Don’t do that.”

His brow furrowed. “Do what?”

“Act like this ain’t exactly what you wanted.”

Confusion flashed across his face before frustration followed close behind it. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

Annie stared at him as though she couldn’t decide whether he was lying or genuinely that oblivious. Then she laughed again, wiped angrily at her face, and pulled something from beneath her arm and threw it at him. The plastic case struck his chest hard enough that instinct took over before thought could. Smoke caught it automatically and looked down. For a moment, he didn’t understand what he was holding. Then his eyes moved over the case, the handwriting, the familiar shape of something he had once given her in another lifetime, and it dawned on him slowly.

Annie pointed toward it before he could speak.

“I made that for you.”

Smoke looked down at the plastic case.

The words came out sharper than she probably intended, not because she was trying to hurt him, but because she was already hurting and had nowhere else to put it.

“I spent two damn weeks makin’ that.” Annie laughed. The sound was ugly. “Ain’t that some shit?”

She wiped angrily at her face. “I’m twenty-five years old makin’ a mixtape.” Annie shook her head. “I brought it all the way from North Carolina.”

Her voice dropped. “I brought it because some stupid part of me thought…” The sentence died there.

Annie laughed again. “Never mind.”

Around them the cookout had grown noticeably quieter. Smoke was aware enough that Aunt Cheryl was no longer pretending to focus on the grill. Geneva had stopped mid-conversation and Maxine stood beside her with her mouth pressed into a tight line. He was aware enough that Mary suddenly looked like she regretted every decision she had made that afternoon, and Jada had gone completely still in her chair. Annie didn’t seem to notice any of them, or maybe she did and simply couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Go ’head,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the backyard. “Maybe you and your girlfriend can listen to it together.”

Smoke’s jaw tightened immediately. “Jada ain’t my girlfriend.”

The look Annie gave him was so full of disbelief it almost would’ve been funny under different circumstances. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Don’t.”

He took a step closer. “Don’t do that.”

The hurt in her face deepened, and Smoke knew before she even spoke that whatever came next had been sitting inside her for years.

“Oh, now we don’t wanna do that?”

The memory hit him before he could stop it. The conversation. The frustration. The moment he had shut something down instead of opening it, thinking silence would keep them from making things worse. Annie saw the recognition cross his face and nodded once, her eyes shining with a kind of hurt that made his stomach tighten.

“What happened to ‘we ain’t doin’ that, huh?’”

This time there was no laughter in her voice. No sarcasm either. Just eight years of hurt finally finding somewhere to go. Around them, the cookout kept trying and failing to pretend nothing was happening. Aunt Cheryl had completely abandoned the grill now. Geneva stood beside her with one hand pressed against her chest. Across the yard, Stack had reached Pearline and was asking questions she clearly was not answering. Even the dominoes game had stopped, the players still seated around the table with untouched tiles between them.

Annie wiped angrily at her face again and shook her head. The tequila had blurred the edges of her embarrassment enough to make honesty feel easier than silence, but Smoke could see the cost of it. She looked exposed. Furious about it. Hurt because of it. Still, she stood there with the suitcase in one hand and the rest of the cookout watching while years of silence crowded up behind her.

“You know what pisses me off the most?”

Smoke didn’t answer. The question felt rhetorical.

“Everybody knew but me.”

The words hung there longer than Annie intended. Once they left her mouth she couldn’t take them back. It felt like saying them out loud made the humiliation feel real in a way it hadn’t five minutes ago. She looked past Smoke toward the crowd gathered behind him. Pearline stood beside Stack with red eyes and a guilty expression. Aunt Cheryl had completely abandoned the grill. Geneva looked like she was debating whether to intervene or pray. 

Everybody.

Everybody had apparently known except the one person standing in the middle of it.

“Pearline knew. Stack knew. Mary’s ass obviously knew.”

“Why I gotta be in this?” Mary called from somewhere behind Smoke.

“Cause yo’ ass always in everythin’.”

The response came from so many directions at once that a brief burst of laughter rippled through the yard before disappearing just as quickly. Annie wasn’t laughing. The knot in her chest had only grown tighter. Every time she replayed the afternoon in her head she found something new to be embarrassed about. Every conversation. Every look. Every moment she’d spent thinking she was simply reconnecting with old friends while apparently everybody else was aware of something she wasn’t.

“I spent all day lookin’ stupid.”

“You wasn’t lookin’ stupid.”

The answer came immediate. Too immediate. Annie laughed and pointed at him. “There you go.”

Smoke frowned. “There I go what?”

“That thing you do.”

“What thing?”

“When I tell you somethin’ and you decide it ain’t true just ‘cause you don’t like hearin’ it.”

His jaw tightened. “Annie—”

“No.” Her voice cracked hard enough that she hated it. “You asked to talk. So let’s talk.”

The yard went quiet again. Annie looked at him for a long moment before shaking her head. “You know what makes this shit worse?”

Smoke waited.

Annie laughed without humor and glanced toward Jada. “Her.”

Jada visibly stiffened.

“Annie—”

“No. Cause ain’t nobody finna sit here and act confused.”

The alcohol had long since stopped making her feel better. Now it was just making honesty easier.

“Outta everybody, Elijah?” Her eyes landed on Jada again. “Her?”

Smoke frowned. “What that supposed to mean?”

Annie laughed. “See? That’s exactly what I mean.” She wiped at her face. “You ain’t even know.”

The words weren’t really directed at him anymore. “You never paid attention to none of that.”

Smoke’s brow furrowed deeper.

Annie shook her head. Her laugh sounded tired. “Why would you?”

The alcohol was doing most of the talking now. Not enough to make her incoherent. Just enough to lower every wall she’d spent years building.

“You don’t know what it felt like bein’ around her.”

Jada stiffened slightly.

Annie noticed. But kept going anyway. “Maybe she didn’t do nothin’. Maybe it was all in my head.” The words sounded doubtful even to her. “But every time she walked into a room, I felt it.”

She looked back at Smoke. “And now I come back home and find out you’re with her?”

The question hung between them.

For a while Annie wanted it to be about Jada. Wanted to be able to point at one woman and blame her for the way her chest hurt. But the longer she stood there, the harder it became to pretend Jada was the real problem.

Jada had simply been the thing that cracked everything open.

The hurt and the truth sat somewhere deeper than that.

The real truth was that seeing Elijah with anybody would’ve hurt. Him being happy and moving on with anybody else would’ve hurt. Seeing him living a life that no longer had room for her would’ve hurt.

Nobody spoke or moved. Everyone seemed to understand at the same time that Annie and Smoke were no longer talking about Jada, or the cookout, or the mixtape in his hand. They had moved backward without warning. Back into the years nobody in that yard had been able to touch for them.

Annie laughed again and shook her head. “You know what North Carolina was like?”

The question caught him off guard. For the first time since she had walked out of the house, uncertainty crossed his face because the answer was no. He didn’t know. Not really. He knew where she had lived. He knew the city she moved to. He knew she had graduated. He knew random pieces gathered over the years through social media, mutual friends, and accidental conversations he pretended not to care about. But he didn’t know what it had been like. Not the real version.

Annie looked away briefly before looking back at him. “I hated it.”

Smoke felt something in his chest twist because that was not what he had expected her to say.

“I hated every fuckin’ minute of it.” Her voice shook now, but she did not look away again. “I didn’t know nobody. I didn’t have Pearline, Aunt Cheryl, Stack. I didn’t have…”

She stopped long enough to swallow, and when she looked directly at him, the rest of the yard seemed to fade around them.

“I didn’t have you.”

Smoke wasn’t prepared for that. He had spent eight years telling himself she had moved forward because that was the only way to make sense of the silence. Annie in North Carolina had become a version of her he could survive imagining. Busy. Happy. Adjusting. Growing into a life that no longer had space for him. But standing in front of him now with tears on her face and a suitcase in her hand, she was telling him something completely different, and the new version did not fit into any of the places he had built for the old one.

For a moment Annie saw it.

Really saw it.

The years she had spent imagining Elijah untouched by her absence suddenly felt less certain. She could see the hurt sitting on him now. Not fresh hurt. Old hurt. The kind people carried so long they stopped noticing the weight of it.

And yet none of it changed what came next. Because understanding that he suffered wasn’t the same thing as knowing he had.

Annie laughed and immediately seemed to hate the sound of it.

Smoke blinked.

“So what, Elijah?”

The use of his name landed exactly the way she intended it to. A warning.

“You think I was supposed to know that?” she asked, pointing at him. “You think I knew what the hell you was feelin’?”

His jaw tightened. “You ain’t ask.”

“Neither did you.”

Stack looked away. Pearline closed her eyes. Smoke felt the hit land exactly where she meant for it to, and the worst part was that she wasn’t wrong. 

Annie wiped at her face again and shook her head, her voice breaking around the edges as the anger started turning into something less controlled.

“You keep standin’ here talkin’ like I wasn’t alone. You think I wasn’t drivin’ around a city I ain’t know? You think I wasn’t callin’ Pearline cryin’? You think I wasn’t sittin’ in my mama’s house every holiday wishin’ I was home?”

Smoke’s expression switched before he could stop it, and Annie saw it. Good, her face seemed to say. Let him hear it.

“You keep talkin’ like I chose all this.” The tears were coming faster now, and she stopped trying to hide them. “I was seventeen. I was seventeen, Elijah. I was a kid. I was scared!”

Smoke closed his eyes briefly, and Annie saw that too. Saw the way his face tightened. Saw something flicker across it before disappearing again. For the first time since this started, she understood that he was not angry because he did not care. He was angry because he did. Maybe because he always had. The answer should have made her feel better. Instead, it seemed to make her furious because if that was true, then eight years suddenly felt even more unnecessary.

“You know what I kept waitin’ on?” she asked.

Smoke didn’t answer.

“I kept waitin’ on you.”

Even Mary looked stunned by that. Annie looked away as soon as the words came out, embarrassment crawling up her throat too late to stop anything now. “I kept thinkin’ maybe one day you’d show up. Maybe one day you’d come get me.”

Smoke stared at her, and the disbelief moved across his face before he could hide it. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe she had waited. He couldn’t believe what she had been waiting for. Annie saw it. Saw exactly what he was thinking. Something passed between them then, heavy and terrible, and for the first time since she got off the plane, Annie looked like she was realizing neither of them had been waiting for the same thing. Neither of them had been telling themselves the same story.

Smoke stood there for several seconds without speaking. He could still hear the cookout somewhere around them. A baby started crying near the patio before someone scooped them up and carried them away. Music drifted from the speakers like it belonged to another yard entirely. Aunt Cheryl probably still standing beside that grill, food getting colder by the minute, but none of it felt real anymore. The only thing that felt real was Annie standing in front of him talking about waiting as though he had simply let her go without trying.

“You waited on me?”

The question came out quieter than he intended.

Annie laughed bitterly. “Yeah.”

Smoke looked away, dragging a hand across his jaw while the hurt he had been holding onto all afternoon changed into something sharper and older. Nothing about this conversation was unfolding the way he had imagined. Not once. Not in eight years. Not today. Not now.

“Annie…” His voice cracked slightly, not enough for most people to notice, but enough for Stack to notice. Enough for Pearline. Enough for Smoke himself. “You think I wasn’t tryin’?”

The confusion on Annie’s face stopped him cold. For a second neither of them moved, and then Smoke realized she genuinely didn’t know. She had never looked more honest or more confused, and the sight twisted painfully in his chest.

“You think I just let you go?”

Annie opened her mouth, then closed it.

“I called you every fuckin’ day.”

The words left him before he could stop them. Annie blinked once, then again, and the color seemed to drain from her face in real time.

“What?”

Smoke laughed, but the sound came out broken. “I called you every day.”

The memory came back all at once. His room. The phone. The ringing. The waiting. The voicemail. Again and again and again until the sound became part of the shape of those months. “I called so much my mama started askin’ if I was goin’ to pay the phone bill.”

The crowd around them seemed to understand at the same time that they were no longer listening to an argument. They were watching two people discover that they had lived through entirely different versions of the same heartbreak.

Smoke couldn’t stop now. Not after eight years. Not after hearing Annie say she had waited. “I wrote you.”

Annie stared at him. “What?”

“I wrote you.” His jaw tightened because the word sounded ridiculous now. Ancient and pathetic and still true. “Letters. Birthday cards. Christmas cards. I sent every fuckin’ thing I could think of.”

Annie looked like she had forgotten how to breathe. Smoke noticed. He simply could not stop anyway.

“You think I was sittin’ around muthafuckin Mississippi havin’ the time of my fuckin’ life?” His voice rose for the first time, not much, but enough. “You think I wasn’t lookin’ and waitin’ for you?”

Fresh tears started slipping down Annie’s face, confused now more than angry. Smoke saw them and kept going because the truth had finally cracked open, and if he stopped now, he was not sure he would ever say it again.

“Then one day you stopped answerin’.” His voice dropped again, the sentence wounded in a way anger could not cover. “You stopped callin’ back.”

Annie shook her head slowly like she could not understand what he was saying. “I never—”

“Yeah.” Smoke laughed again, rougher this time. “That’s what I thought too.”

For the first time all afternoon, fear appeared in Annie’s eyes. Not fear of him, but fear of the possibility that something had happened neither of them knew about, because suddenly neither version of the story made sense. Smoke could see her realizing it at the same time he was.

“I never got them.” Her voice was so quiet he almost missed it. “I never got those letters.”

Smoke stared at her, then slowly shook his head. “Yeah, you did.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You had to.”

“Elijah, I didn’t.”

The certainty in her voice chipped away at some of his anger. Not enough to erase it, but enough to confuse it. Annie wiped at her face, looking younger somehow. “My mama would’ve gave ’em to me.”

Smoke looked away because maybe she was right. Maybe she wasn’t. But the problem was that the possibility didn’t change what those years had felt like from his side.

“I called,” he said, quieter now.

“I know.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You don’t.”

At first she answered. He remembered that part too clearly. The strange phone calls where neither one of them knew how to speak naturally anymore but tried anyway. The pauses. The awkward laughs. The ache that settled in his chest every time they hung up. Annie remembered too; he saw it in the way her eyes closed briefly, the way guilt moved across her face before she could hide it.

“You answered,” he said. “Then you got busy. Then you started callin’ back less.”

The silence that followed was answer enough.

“One day I realized I was the only one still callin’.”

Annie flinched. The movement was small, but Smoke saw it, and some wounded part of him was glad she did. He still remembered exactly what that had felt like.

“I wasn’t doin’ it on purpose,” she said.

The defense sounded weak the second it left her mouth. Not because it was not true, but because the truth of it did not undo the damage. Smoke nodded slowly.

“I know.”

Annie frowned. “You know?”

“Yeah.” He looked at her for a long moment, and the anger she seemed to expect was not there anymore. “I know. You was seventeen. You was scared. You was in a new place. You was tryin’ to figure shit out.”

For a second she could not breathe because he was not describing her now. He was describing the girl she had been. The girl he had somehow understood all along. Then his eyes met hers again, and the hurt surfaced in him fully.

“And I knew every one of them reasons,” he said. “But they ain’t stop the shit from hurtin’.”

Everyone remained where they were. The whole yard seemed to understand that this was no longer an argument. This was grief. Eight years of it standing in the middle of Aunt Cheryl’s backyard.

“I kept makin’ excuses for you,” Smoke said, and the confession seemed to surprise even him. Annie’s face crumpled immediately, but he kept going. “I told myself you was busy. I told myself school was hard. I told myself you’d call tomorrow. And then eventually I had to stop tellin’ myself that shit.”

Annie had no answer for that. For the first time since she walked out of the house, she seemed unable to find one. The tequila was not helping her anymore. Whatever warm numbness she had been chasing upstairs had disappeared completely, leaving every emotion exposed and every memory sharper than before. She hated that everyone was watching and seeing her crying. Hated that Elijah was standing in front of her looking just as miserable as she felt. Most of all, she hated that some part of her believed him, because believing him changed things. Not everything, but enough.

“You could’ve came.”

The words left her before she could stop them. Smoke blinked, and Annie immediately looked away because the sentence sounded childish now. Stupid. Still, it was true. It had always been true.

“You could’ve came and got me,” she said, the hurt returning instantly, seventeen-year-old hurt and twenty-five-year-old hurt all tangled together. “You knew where I was.”

Smoke stared at her until the confusion on his face slowly gave way to recognition. Now he understood what she had been waiting for, and somehow that broke his heart worse than anything else she had said.

“You wanted me to come get you?”

Annie laughed through her tears, the sound cracking halfway out. “I don’t know. I just…” She shook her head, struggling to organize a truth that had probably never made sense outside her own chest. “I thought if you loved me bad enough, you’d come.”

The confession settled over them with the weight of something painfully young. Childish. Seventeen. The impossible expectation people place on love when they are too young to understand that love still requires words. The belief that if something is real enough, the other person will somehow know exactly what to do.

Smoke dragged a hand across his face, looking exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with the hour or the heat. “Annie,” he said, barely above a murmur. “I was seventeen too.”

The words hit her harder than anything else he had said. In every version of the story she had told herself, Elijah had always seemed older somehow. Stronger. More certain. More capable of handling things. But he was right—he had been seventeen too. Just as lost. Just as scared. Just as heartbroken.

“You keep talkin’ like I knew what to do.” Smoke laughed once, no humor in it, and a few people actually smiled despite themselves because it sounded like him. Real. Unfiltered. “I didn’t know shit. I didn’t know how to fix shit.” His eyes found hers again. 

“I didn’t know how to make you stay.”

The tears Annie had finally gotten under control started again because none of this was supposed to happen. She was supposed to come home, see old friends, survive one awkward conversation with Elijah, and go back to North Carolina pretending she had finally moved on. Instead she was standing in the middle of a backyard realizing neither one of them ever really had.

For one impossible moment, it felt like they were seventeen again. Not because anything had been repaired, but because they were staring at each other with the same unfinished ache they had carried out of high school and into adulthood, and neither one of them seemed to know what to do with it now that it had finally been named. 

Then Smoke broke eye contact, and Annie watched something change in his face. The softness that had been there moments earlier slowly disappeared beneath something older and far more dangerous. The understanding faded next, followed by the grief that had kept his anger tempered throughout most of the conversation. What remained was not rage. It was exhaustion. The kind that settled deep inside a person after carrying the same hurt for so long it stopped feeling separate from them.

Smoke looked at her for a long moment before finally shaking his head.

“You keep talkin’ like I left you.”

The words were not loud, and that made them worse. Annie froze because for the first time all afternoon, she was not sure what her response was supposed to be. Smoke laughed once under his breath and looked away, but nothing was funny. After everything they had just said, he still couldn’t believe they were standing here having this conversation.

“You keep tellin’ this story like I walked away.”

Annie opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Smoke looked back at her. His eyes were red now too, though she was not sure when that had happened. “You talk about North Carolina. You talk about missin’ me. You talk about waitin’.” He shook his head, his voice steady in a way that made every word harder to hear. “But every version of this story end the same.”

Annie tightened her grip around the suitcase handle.

“You leave.”

Smoke didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even sound angry. If anything, the absence of anger made the words harder to hear. They landed between them with the weight of something he had repeated to himself so many times it no longer felt like an opinion. To him it was simply fact. Annie left. Everything else had happened afterward.

“You leave,” he said again. “You stop answerin’. You stop callin’.”

Annie shook her head immediately. “It wasn’t like that.”

Smoke laughed, and the sound broke halfway through. “See?” His eyes closed briefly. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

Tears gathered again, blurring Annie’s vision. “I was seventeen.”

“SO WAS I!!!!!”

The response came so quickly it startled both of them. Years of hurt sat between them, heavier than anything either one had said before. Smoke dragged a hand across his face and looked away toward the house, toward the trees, toward anywhere but her. When he spoke again, his voice sounded rougher.

“Do you know what the fucked up part is?”

Nobody moved. Nobody interrupted. Stack stood beside Pearline with one hand hovering near her back. Aunt Cheryl had lowered her eyes. Mary had finally stopped fidgeting. Jada sat very still, watching a man she knew in one way grieve a girl he had clearly known in another.

Smoke looked back at Annie, and whatever she saw in his face made her stomach drop.

“All these years…” His voice cracked once before he caught it. “…I thought you knew.”

Annie stared at him.

Smoke laughed again, but this time there was nothing left in it to protect him. “I thought you knew how much I fuckin’ love you.”

The tears hit Annie instantly. Hot. Merciless. Impossible to stop. Smoke nodded slowly, like he had known this was going to hurt them both before he ever said it.

“And somehow…” He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving hers. “…you still look at me like I’m the one who left.”

The silence that followed didn’t t feel empty. It felt full of every year they had spent telling themselves stories that only held up because the other person had not been there to challenge them. Nobody spoke. 

Annie stared at Smoke, and Smoke stared back, and for the first time since she came home, she realized she had absolutely no idea what happens next.

End Note: I promise we are almost done....cause I can't take it. But let me know what you think in the comments, please! I love every one of your thoughts. 💜

Tag List:      

“I’m sorry, Mama,” the man shivered above her, body trembling with each roll of his hips. He was still apologizing, still seeking forgiveness for his shortcomings. Even though you’d allowed him to cum, Annie was good at holding a grudge. She was still angry and beyond disappointed, so his pleas were warranted; And the least you could do was help him out along the way. Your lips moved along her upper body, nipping at her jaw and neck and collarbones and nipples with ease. Your fingers explored the rest of her, taking hefty handfuls of the woman before settling between her body and Smoke’s.

Rubbing her clit in quick circles while the man fought to maintain a similar pace, you reveled in the faces Annie made.

Her eyebrows grew taunt, betraying the pleasure rippling through her system. Her jaw dropped opened, quivering a little when your fingers skated down further to graze Smoke’s length—setting off a domino effect of trembles through both of them. Annie was trying her best to hold it together, but with you whispering praise in one ear and Smoke apologizing brutally in the other, it was becoming harder to resist what her body truly wanted.

“Y’all are doin’ so good for me,” she breathed huskily, returning the favor of having your words spur her on. The two of you—forever devoted to the woman’s pleasure—responded with a heap of moans right back. You ravaged her body, sucking, biting, marking her skin like your life depended on it. Smoke fucked her with increased focus. His eyes narrowed, completely tuning out the tremble in his system in order to bring her to the edge of her need. Then he looked to you—just briefly to ensure you were still enjoying yourself.

It was the look he gave across a crowded room, the look he sent when he stepped inside Maybelle’s to find you too busy to talk. You smiled over at him. Your heart beat twice as fast as it had been, and when Annie whimpered your name, heat enveloped you.

Her moans had turned wild, and her hands flailed to grip at something, anything to hold her together.

When she came, her mind flashed with images: you and Smoke tucked into each other in the middle of town; you leaning over the counter at Maybelle’s with a sweet smile and slick tongue; Smoke with his soft, wet eyes willing to give his all for both of you; the three of you dancing together like y’all had been doing it for decades.

When she witnessed you and Smoke’s closeness for the first time, she never would have imagined that it would lead to something like this. For Annie, a world had been cracked open and delivered unto to her—an opportunity for pleasure and joy beyond prior belief. Her body sang with the effects of all you and the man had done to her, and exhaustion soon found its way inside her bones.

But when you and Smoke moved to clean her damp skin and settled her under the blankets before laying down beside her, a smile took over her face. And when Smoke rested his head on her chest and you pulled her face into your neck, she sighed sweetly as sleep gave her body rest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

word count: ~600

a/n: i hope yall enjoyed thisss

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

Only three days. Three more days until they’d be out for Spring Break and she’d be back to lounging around her home in a moomoo with no panties. She was looking forward-

His scent. Mahogany and amber.

It invaded her space, her home unapologetically. But still… she leaned into it as if it were second nature. Her thighs clenching together under the flowy maxi dress. The woman stood frozen in her own doorway, her mind refusing to believe what her body already confirmed.

“Smoke?” It was said in an almost whisper. Deep down the woman had hoped that she was simply tired from the day and overthinking.

There was no way possible Elijah Moore was in her home. But…she was wrong.

Elijah pushed the chair back into it’s place and responded from the kitchen. “Yeah?”

He materialized in front of her and Annie just about threw everything to the floor.

The man grabbed all of her things and walked over to the couch to sit the items down. Annie remained in place as if she was imagining all of this but deep down? She wasn’t that shocked and after today? She didn’t have any more fight left in her.

But she still couldn’t give up that easy.

“What you doin’ here at my house, Smoke?” she hissed, trying to retain some level of control.

“You here, thats’s why I’m here.”

🇧🇷

Well….. 👀😭 Elijah is not a serious man. Skksskks. Or maybe he is.

He was in that lady house like:

A/N: I was threatened in my dm to post this, plz. 😭 I’m almost done. Just a few kinks to clean up.

And also, some real life shit been happening lately.

Anywayssss….let’s chat later. 💛💛

Mood: 😭

The hands of the grandfather clock ticked quietly in the front room of the boarding house, but to Annie it sounded like gunshots. 

It was late. 

The house had fallen into its nighttime rhythm— mostly quiet except for the random sounds of boarders stirring in their rooms. A cough from behind a closed door. The creak of a bed frame. The slow pouring of water into a basin. The smells of supper still lingered like they always did this time of night, settling into the walls like a layer of time. The fragrant aroma of clove hung over top of everything, bursting through the air every time Aunt Della parted her lips. She chewed on it slowly. Methodically. Watching Annie as her fingertips smoothed gently over the leather of the sketchbook cover. 

Annie sat on the couch across from her. Her eyes looked full of possibility as she flipped through the paper, the corners of the pages sitting crisp beneath her thumb.

Something was on Aunt Della’s mind. 

Annie could feel the warm flush of her skin cooling under the quiet intensity of her gaze.

Her voice broke through the silence. “He been comin’ ‘round a lot lately.” 

There it was. 

Annie looked up.

Aunt Della stirred her drink in her hand, ice cubes clinking against the sides of the mug. “How you feel ‘bout that?” she asked. Then she took a sip.

Annie’s head lowered. Her first instinct was to not respond. Her second was to deflect. Her third was to ask why. 

“Baby,” Aunt Della probed. “I been alive too long. I know what it means for a man to stand around tryin’ to make himself useful.” She crossed one leg over the other, her ankle bouncing with anticipation like she knew this was going to take a while.

Annie’s mouth curved despite herself. She turned a page in her sketchbook, smoothing the spine down harder than necessary with her palm. 

“You like him?” 

Annie still couldn’t look up. It was like her words got stuck in her throat. The more Aunt Della talked, the more Annie felt caught off guard.

“Annie Royal, I ain’t talkin’ to myself,” she said sternly.

Annie’s head snapped up. She opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again. “I don’t know,” she said finally, in a hushed tone.

Aunt Della rolled her eyes. She let the words sit between them long enough for Annie to hear how untrue they sounded. 

“Yes you do,” she answered back. 

Annie looked down again, her throat tightening with something she didn’t have the name for. Aunt Della watched her for a moment, admiring how softly the lamp light curved around the edge of her face. It was smooth. Innocent. There was a vulnerability in her that she wanted to protect. But as much as she wanted to shield her, she knew she needed to be ready for the day the world came knocking. 

But she was so young. Barely 18. 

She remembered herself at that age. She remembered how quickly she got swept up in her husband’s kind words and gentle eyes like it was yesterday.

It happened so quickly. Marriage. Mississippi. A son. 

She thought about the day her husband came back from town hall with the deed to their house. He painted the outside a rich buttery yellow and whitewashed the shutters with a puffed up chest. Dug out the underground storage with his bare hands, a shovel, and a strength that could only be explained by a feeling he’d never experienced before in his lifetime. Pride. Ownership.

The boarding house became a sanctuary without a steeple. They took in anybody who needed a hot meal and a place to lay their heads. Musicians, preachers, teachers, people trying to get up North. And two little boys trying to escape their father’s fists.

Elijah and Elias.

She met them young. Back when their father, Adam Moore, went door-to-door in town, strumming his guitar and sipping hooch straight from the bottle while his young sons walked around hungry. 

She knew them before they went by Smoke and Stack. Then she watched them earn those nicknames in blood, gunpowder, and grit. And now Smoke was coming around her sister’s granddaughter. Her only great-niece. 

She watched Annie nervously brush her thumb against the edge of the sketchbook and sighed. “I ain’t tryna fuss at you,” she clarified. “I just wanna know where your head’s at, and how you feel when he’s around.” 

A moment passed. Then two. 

Aware. 

That’s how Annie felt when he was around.

Aware of herself. Aware of him. Aware of the space between one breath and the next. Like something inside her had started listening before she knew that there was sound. 

Loose.

Not in the way men and women meant when they whispered about such things. 

But in a way that words just came out of her mouth before she could stop them. She couldn’t carry on with him like she could with Aunt Della right now—taking the hard parts and making them sound just right so she didn’t reveal too much too soon. He got the truth before she could dress it up. And she hadn’t taken the time to figure out why quite yet. And that scared her. But it made her feel something else, too.

Seen.

She was holding back. Aunt Della could see that with her eyes closed. She could see the wheels turning in Annie’s head like she never got a chance to sit with her feelings long enough to name them. But she already had her answer. It was in the way she held the sketchbook to her chest before remembering she wasn’t alone.

She tried a different angle.  “He good to you?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Annie could reply quickly when she could answer without thinking too hard. 

“Respectful?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“He pressure you?”

“No, ma’am.”

“I feel like—” Annie paused, embarrassed by the honesty that sat right on the tip of her tongue. She was fighting to keep it to herself. Not because she didn’t want to be honest, but she felt like words couldn’t do her thoughts justice. And she felt foolish that she felt any kind of way to begin with. “He makes me feel….”

Aunt Della let out a sigh. “You ain’t gotta explain it yet. Sometimes when the feeling’s good, you can’t explain it right away. You gon’ find the right words when you ready.”

Annie nodded once. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“You intact?” 

“Yes ma’am.” Heat climbed up her neck as she held the sketchbook to her chest.

“Don’t let him take it, if that’s not what you want.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

A quiet beat passed. “If it is—” Her breath hitched when she cut herself off. 

It felt like the room held its breath. Annie, too. 

“Nevermind.” Aunt Della shook her head like she regretted saying anything.

Annie frowned, her lips poking out. “What is it?” She asked. Her voice was cautious, but not in the way it had been earlier. It was more braced than anxious. 

Aunt Della looked at Annie with a fierce protectiveness. “What you think about him?” she asked quietly.

Annie twisted her lips, searching for something that wouldn’t feel foolish the second it came out of her mouth. “At first I just thought he was quiet,” she said finally. “Not empty quiet, but the type of quiet that’s always holdin’ somethin’ back.”

Aunt Della’s eyes stayed on her.

“But when he’s with me, when he look at me…” Annie’s voice softened despite herself. “It feels like…the rest of the world disappears. And it’s just us. Just me and him. And he can let go.”

Aunt Della didn’t answer immediately, and her face didn’t change. The silence felt worse than being questioned. “And how you think he feels about you?” 

“Ummm….” Her eyes flitted around the room nervously.

“The truth do just fine.”

Aunt Della set her mug down on the coffee table with a soft thump. Then she sat back and crossed her legs again, twirling that ankle in the air in slow, deliberate circles. 

“Truth is…” Annie started. “I think he’s taken a shine to me. He got me this.” She rubbed the cover of the sketchbook, her cheeks warm flushed with warmth and a hint of embarrassment trying to explain herself. “He comes around, he sits with me, he listens–really listens–to what I say. And he don’t forget,” she said, remembering the note he left her, and the conversation that sparked the words he left.

“What’s all this?” Smoke asked, gesturing to the drawings sprawled across her quilt under the magnolia tree.

“Drawings,” she replied sarcastically.

Smoke sucked his teeth. “I know that,” he tutted. “What they for?” 

“Helps my memory. Drawin’ things. Writin’ them down.”

“So you remember what they look like?”

“Kinda. So I remember what they for.”

Annie glanced over, bracing for laughter, amusement, or even teasing. She got none of it. When she found Aunt Della’s eyes she wasn’t smiling. She didn’t laugh. She almost looked sad, but not in a way Annie fully understood. 

She simply crossed her arms across her chest and arched a brow in challenge. “So you think that means…what?” 

The bluntness felt like a physical thing. It cut sharply through the room like a knife slicing through a thick fog.

Annie blinked. “Ma’am?” 

“You think every man who buys you a little somethin’ or listens to you talk, means to do right by you?” 

Annie blinked twice this time.

All of a sudden, she felt every bit of eighteen. 

Not a child anymore, but not grown in the ways the world seemed to demand all at once. 

Smoke wasn’t the first to come around. She had a few who called on her back in New Orleans. Always respectfully, always in the proper way. 

She had a freedom up here that she didn’t have living under the roof of her very protective family, and that freedom allowed her to get to know Smoke in a way that would have been damn near impossible back home. 

But he was always respectful. Never pushed. Always made sure she felt comfortable. That meant something to her. Time. Energy. Intention.

She kept getting four when she added two and two together.

But maybe Aunt Della was trying to tell her she wasn’t too good at math.

“I’ve known the twins since they were real young. Seen ‘em grow into bright young men. Good-lookin’ young men that every woman in this town want a piece of.” She paused. “And men like Smoke…they can make a girl feel like the whole world done gone quiet around her. But that don’t mean the world ain’t there no more.” 

Annie’s ears had already perked up at the mention of his name. But now she listened even more intently. 

Aunt Della’s gaze sharpened. “Don’t assume nothin’ based on a man’s silence. You’ll get yourself in trouble fillin’ in blanks that ain’t yours.”

The flame of the oil lamp shifted behind its glass, throwing a soft tremble across the wall. “You got dreams. Hopes. You want your own shop right?”

Annie’s chin lifted with a defiant certainty. “Yes ma’am.”

“Good. Don’t you put that on hold for him, or any man. If he really likes you, he won’t keep you from it.” Her voice got lower, like she wanted to say something hard but make it sound sweet. “Smoke ain’t a man who say much unless he mean it. But if a man really wants you, he’s gonna spell it out plainly.”

The words moved through Annie slowly, crawling up her spine and down her chest where her heart thumped a little faster. She traced her thumb along the back cover, feeling the grain of the leather beneath her fingertip. 

The ceiling creaked softly above them. Another lodger, maybe. Or just the house settling into itself. Crickets chirped low in the grass while the night wrapped around them, fully aware of what truth hid behind her silence. It chose not to soften it. 

“I understand,” she finally said, quietly.

“Now gone’ to bed. I know you tired.” 

Aunt Della stood. Annie did, too. Aunt Della turned towards the kitchen, then thought better of it and turned to grab Annie’s forearm before she got too far. She grabbed her face gently, staring at Annie with warm brown eyes. “I ain’t sayin’ all this to scare you. I’m sayin’ it ‘cause I love you.” 

The tightness in her chest eased a bit. “What were you gonna say, when you stopped yourself?”

Aunt Della’s eyes softened. “It’s not for me to say,” she said softly. “But you’ll find out soon enough.”

She pulled her into a hug then released her. Annie moved slowly towards the staircase, purse slung tightly over her shoulder, sketchbook secured underneath the crook of her arm. 

“Goodnight Aunt Della,” she called out.

“Goodnight, Annie.” 

Annie started up the stairs. Halfway up she paused, her fingers tightening their grip on the banister. She looked back toward Aunt Della who was halfway to the kitchen. 

“Thank you,” she said, just loud enough so she could hear it.

The night was dark and tonight that darkness felt loaded. The sky was bare. No stars, just an endless stretch of shadow that pressed against the windows, barely softened by the faint glow of the waning moon. 

Annie laid in her bed just staring. First she counted the cracks in the ceiling. Then she traced the lines on the walls with her eyes.

The words of Aunt Della replayed in her head. That and the feeling that something laid quietly underneath their conversation. Something Aunt Della knew and refused to say. 

Two questions came to mind. 

What was Aunt Della holding back from telling her? 

What made her change her mind?

It took a while for Annie’s eyes to get heavy while her thoughts refused to shut off. Something settled in her bones at that moment. 

Somewhere beyond the boarding house, Smoke—Elijah—had come and gone and left something behind. Something more than just a pretty sketchbook and a thoughtful note. 

Morning light came soft through the windows, a pale gold that stretched across the floorboards, taking on the pattern of the lace curtains. Annie stood at her dresser with her nightgown hanging off one shoulder, a satin scarf sliding slowly down her braids. 

She counted under her breath, the silver coins plunking against the thin metal of the container where she kept her money. It was a tea tin, a small one that smelled like mint no matter how many times she tried to air it out. The last coin clinked against the others in the tin. She closed the top of it, taking a moment to write the total on the back cover of her sketchbook. She kept a running tally there, one that she copied over from a piece of scrap paper she used to keep track of her earnings before last night. 

Annie set Smoke’s note on her dresser. She traced her fingers over the words, brushing her hand over his name on the paper. The ink pooled thickest where he dotted his “i,” and when she touched it, it stained the part where flesh met fingernail. Aunt Della’s words from last night crossed her mind as she watched the ink bloom and spread across her fingertip before slowly sinking into the skin. 

Crossing the room, she knelt near the loose floorboard in the corner that lifted without a creak. She tucked the tin into the hollow space and started to fit the wood back into place. Then she hesitated. Not because she doubted herself, but because she wanted to imagine what it would be like for a spell. Her own shop. A modest house with blue paint. She’d sell and barter healing herbs and medicines that ward off sickness and bad spirits, the shelves lined top to bottom with jars, vials and bottles of them. A long table, polished smooth by her own hands, would stretch proudly across the front room where she’d serve meals to sharecroppers and passing workers. Dried roots tied in bundles would hang from the rafters in a shed off to the side. People would come to fill their bellies and stay for something more.

That was hers. 

Annie left New Orleans before dawn, dust kicking up from the soles of her shoes and darkening the hem of her dress. She kept her money folded small, eyes cast down the way she was told to when she was traveling alone. A few things she held close to her chest— her great-grandmother’s bible, some knick-knacks, and a few letters. A burlap sack hung from her shoulder, holding some other possessions she held dear. An old trunk held the rest.

The Mississippi River laid before her, wide and brown. She boarded a boat with other people heading upriver, women with their satchels, men with their hats pulled low to keep the mosquitos away. Annie hung onto the railings, watching the trees dip their roots in the water, their branches swinging heavily in the wind like they’d seen too much. The depot was next. When she boarded the train, she closed her eyes and said a prayer underneath her breath— one for the journey, one for the destination. 

She spent the night in a Colored waiting room with families piled on top of each other and solo travelers with tired eyes wearing all their possessions.

The next day was another train. Cotton fields stretched wide beyond the thick glass of the windows, the grim landscape broken only by oak trees and tiny shacks lined up in a row. They passed by another stretch of land mostly hidden behind the treeline, but she could feel it— water, soil, roots, foundation. 

An elderly man, skin the color of pralines, sat on his porch watching the train go by. Striped overalls with the clasps unbuckled, white shirt with the sleeves rolled, straw hat, heavy work boots— but what caught her attention was his eyes. One was completely covered in cataracts. The other one looked sharp enough to hold the sight of four people. The man sucked on a stick of sugarcane while a hound dog sat by his side, tongue out, panting hard under the burn of the Mississippi sun.

Then he was gone. 

All that remained were the muted shades of nature as the train trekked through the countryside.  No house. No dog. No sugarcane. But Annie could remember every detail, even the dusty blue denim of the man’s overalls. And the expectant look in his eye.

She woke up with a jolt, spine snapping straight where she was slumped over in her seat.

The train cabin was quiet. Most people were asleep, some lingering in the corners, some just starting to wake up. Nighttime was on the horizon. Shades of orange and pink swallowing what was leftover from the day. 

“How long I been out?” she asked the woman next to her.

The woman thought for a moment. “Since we got on, I reckon.” 

“I been sleep this whole time?”

“Mhmm,” she confirmed. “Must’ve had you a long day…” 

“Must’ve…” Annie frowned, rubbing the sleep from her drowsy eyes. She looked out at the land through the thick, cloudy windows of the train cabin, and the land looked back. 

Time passed and she still remembered it all. The land. The house. The way the sun slanted just right through the trees. The man. How he looked like he was waiting for something. How real he felt, even after she realized she was dreaming. When she finally pressed the floorboard back into place the room became itself again. A bed. A dresser. An altar. And a young woman kneeling on the floor daydreaming about possibilities.

One state over, the road began to flatten towards Memphis. It was bad in places, rutted deep from wagons, farming equipment, and animal hooves. Dust rose up behind the truck in low brown puffs, sparkling in the light before disappearing up into the trees.

Smoke drove with both hands steady on the wheel. Stack rode beside him, one arm hanging lazily out the window, hat tipped low against the glare.

“So you gon’ tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

Stack sucked his teeth. “Don’t do that.”

Smoke kept driving. Stack waited him out. That was the thing with twins, when one soul splits into two. Silence didn’t work on somebody who already felt it on the inside.

“Annie,” Stack blurted after a while.

Her name shifted something in the cab. Stack could tell by the way Smoke’s eyes narrowed slightly, his hands tightening around the wheel all of a sudden, the leather groaning under the force of his grip. 

“What about her?”

Stack barked out a laugh. “So, it’s like that?”

The road curved just ahead of them, pecan trees crowding close to the edge on either side of the road like they were trying to listen in on their conversation. 

“I talked to Della,” Smoke admitted. He looked over to Stack, whose smile eased a bit where he sat.

“About?”

Smoke didn’t reply.

Stack sat up fully. Back straight, slouch gone. “For real?”

Smoke shot him a look. 

Stack leaned back slightly, studying the side of Smoke’s face. “Damn,” he trailed off. “What she say?” 

It was the day before they were set to head to Memphis, and the early evening sun poured molten gold through the back windows, warming the floorboards of Della’s kitchen. Smoke stood in front of the counter watching her slice a batch of onions. Della stood on the other side, her arm moving like the wheels of a locomotive, the movement slow, methodical, and sharp because she’d done this a thousand times. 

“I been meanin’ to ask you somethin’,” he said, voice steady. 

Della kept her pace, she didn’t slow or stop. “That right?”

“That’s right.” 

“This ‘bout my girl?”

“It is.”

Della stopped what she was doing. She wiped the knife off on a kitchen towel, then set it down on the counter.

“I was hopin’ I could court Annie,” Smoke said firmly. “Proper like.” 

“What you know about courtin’ a woman proper?” Della asked. She crossed her arms. 

Smoke took his lick. He didn’t flinch.

“She ain’t just anybody,” Della said before he could respond.

“I know,” Smoke replied. Something in him leaned forward before his body did. “I wanna do it right. If she’ll have me.”

Della looked over Smoke carefully. For the lie in his eyes. For the joke tugging at the corner of his mouth. For the doubt in his posture. “You talk to her ‘bout this already?”

“Not yet.”

“You need to.”

“I will. Wanted to ask you first.” 

She eased her weight off one hip, and put it on the other. “She ain't built for no half steppin’.”

“I don’t do half.”

Della’s eyes narrowed for a second, then relaxed. “That girl want somethin’ of her own,” she said. “Don’t know if she told you that yet.”

“She did.”

“Well.” Her voice came out soft but sharp. “She got powerful hands. Hands that ain’t meant to be locked up under some man’s roof waitin’ for permission. If you wanna court her, you better not try to shrink her.”

“I won’t,” Smoke replied. 

Della picked up her knife again. She sliced into an onion slowly, the thin, methodical rhythm of metal hitting wood echoed in the otherwise quiet room. 

Lodgers started to walk in from their work shifts, heading to their rooms or back out to the porch where a few of them were squatting over a dice game. A few of them poked their heads into the kitchen to ask about supper. 

Smoke hadn’t moved an inch. He waited quietly, letting the silence sit between them, more for him than her.

“You like her,” she said. It wasn’t a question. She didn’t even need to ask. She could see it. Feel it, even. 

“Yes ma’am.”

“How much?” 

“I care about her. Wanna see her more. Respectfully.” 

Della’s nose wrinkled. “You serious?”

“I am,” he said with finality. 

Something passed through Della’s eyes as she looked him over carefully, from head to toe. It didn’t feel like judgment. It was something Smoke didn’t have a name for. He raised a brow, a silent question.

“Still seein’ other women?”

“No, ma’am.” 

“Ain’t what I heard.”

Confusion. It spread slowly across his face like the petals of a night-blooming flower before turning into something darker. Smoke flexed his hands at his sides before clasping them firmly in front of himself. “What you heard?” he asked, inclining his head.

“Little here, little there,” she admitted. She tilted her head. “May not be loud, but I can hear whispers just fine.” 

Smoke’s jaw worked. He shook his head once, firmly. “It ain’t true.”

“It ain’t?”

“I ain’t lyin’,” he stated simply. “Since I started spendin’ more time with Annie, I’ve only been seein’ her.” 

“Then why they still talkin’?”

Smoke sighed, running a hand down his face. “I don’t know,” he shrugged.

Della sucked her teeth. She looked away, then looked back. “That don’t answer my question.” 

Her eyes got a little sharper, then. Defensive. She folded her arms across her chest, pushing back.

Smoke looked like he was racking his brain for the answer. When it clicked, let out a ragged, frustrated breath through his nose. “I guess, I ain’t really end it the way I should,” he confessed.

Della’s voice went up a whole octave. “You guess?” she asked incredulously. 

“That’s on me,” Smoke said, jaw tight. “But I’ma handle it.” 

“How you tryna court Annie, when you can’t even end somethin’ proper? What happened?” 

“I stopped reachin’ out,” he explained. “Ain’t seen ‘em, none of that.” He sighed into his words. His voice tight, but firm. “Thought that was it. I moved on, figured they did, too.” 

“You figured wrong,” she corrected. “You leave one woman guessin’, don’t come over here askin’ me for permission to leave another one guessin’.” 

Smoke nodded, the muscle in his jaw fluttering. “I won't. I’ma clear it up. Before I bring anything to Annie.” 

“Don’t lie to me,” Della started. 

“Miss Della—” he started. 

She searched his eyes. “Elijah,” she said, in a tone that sounded like a warning.

Smoke’s gaze didn’t waver. He looked at her firm, steady, unblinking. “I mean to do right by her. I wouldn’t be askin’ you if I didn’t.” 

Della sighed. “Alright.” 

Smoke’s face relaxed. 

“There’s rules.”

“Okay.” 

“Handle that business, first.” 

“Trust me, I will,” Smoke said, nodding once.

Della picked her knife back up, turning it sideways so she could start dicing the onions. “Y’all been kissin’?” 

He wasn’t about to lie. He didn’t lie anyways, not when it mattered, but especially not to a woman who could put a root on him with one hand, and chop an onion clean down the middle with the other—at the same time. “Yes ma’am,” he admitted. 

She didn’t flinch. “That it?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Mhmm,” she muttered. “No funny business in my house,” she warned, pointing the tip of the knife towards him. 

“You ain’t gotta worry about that.” 

“I know,” she said warmly. “Not with you.”

“Can I leave this for her?”

Smoke held up a thin, black leather covered book.

“What is it?”

His jaw worked. “It's for her drawings,” he said simply. “So she can keep 'em all in one place.”

“I will,” she said. She could feel the tenderness in his words, even though he tried to hide it.

Smoke let out the breath he’d been holding since he walked up the steps of her porch with a gift and a question. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, sweeping the diced onions into a bowl with the edge of her blade. “That girl’s heart is her own. She gotta say yes, first.”

“Smoke.” Stack’s voice came out quiet. 

Smoke slowed without thinking. He cursed under his breath, sitting fully forward in his seat. 

Up ahead, the road dipped towards a narrow wooden bridge that laid over a stretch of shallow, muddy water. Off to the side, something rose from behind the cotton fields. 

Dust. It came from the far side of the bridge, lifting faintly through the trees along with the sound of a mule dragging something through dirt. 

Smoke eased the car to a stop beneath the shade just before the bridge. Stack moved from the passenger seat and stalked towards the edge of the field, his body loose in the way men looked when they were prepared not to be. He looked for what didn’t belong while Smoke stayed behind the wheel listening for it.

Wind rustled through the leaves, a dry, papery sound that blew through the acres of cotton plants. Sharecroppers that sang hymns and blues songs as they moved down the line. They picked cotton with tired, calloused hands, the cost of their labor paid in bright red splotches of blood that dripped from their fingers, staining the stark whiteness of the cotton bolls. A vulture circled overhead, then found its prey. It swooped down, its wings spreading menacingly slow as its talons gripped the rung of abandoned machinery.

Stack walked back to the truck with the cautious confidence he carried no matter how many times they’d taken this route. His face didn’t show it, but his eyes stayed sharp. “Just some nigga on a wagon,” he said, waving it off.

Smoke looked back, looked towards his brother, looked towards the bridge, flexed his hands on the wheel, then steadied. 

Memphis appeared thirty minutes later. 

The city smelled like hot grease and opportunity. The sound of brass instruments hung heavy in the air, cutting through all the cigar smoke and pipe exhaust. A band played on the street once they turned the corner, a crowd of people gathered around them tossing money, dancing, and singing. Vendors lined the streets selling all kinds of treats, both savory and sweet, shouting their prices above all the noise. 

There was a lightness here. 

But Stack hadn’t spoken since they crossed that bridge.

“Just say it,” Smoke muttered.

“Say what?” He spoke with his usual slick tone, toothpick hanging out the corner of his mouth like he knew something you didn’t. 

“Whatever it is.” 

Stack grinned. He rolled the toothpick around his mouth. Cleared his throat. “I’m just thinkin’.”

Smoke waited.

He rubbed a hand over his freshly lined up goatee. Smiled again, wider this time, his gold fronts shining in the late afternoon. “You ain’t seen…you know?”

Smoke didn’t even let the question linger in the air. “No.”

Stack didn’t back down. “Last I heard…”

Smoke’s brows pulled together. “It ain’t true,” he said flatly. 

“I knew she was full of shit.” He shook his head in disgust. “She gon’ be pissed, though.” 

“Who, Annie?”

Stack looked over. “Nah.” He shrugged. “I mean, maybe…” He shook his head again. “I mean...”  

“Nigga.”

Beale Street pulsed around them. A saxophone blared loudly on the sidewalk. The sultry voice of a woman floated out from the open door of a juke they passed by. 

“Look at my nigga tryna be serious,” Stack teased, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “I mean you was born serious but…” 

“Aight….” Smoke mumbled. 

“For real," he continued. Voice lighter now, but not unserious. “I’m happy for you brotha.”

Smoke didn’t answer.

Stack leaned back in his seat, arms folded behind his head as the truck slowed in front of The Monarch. The juke joint was already breathing through the walls. Music, laughter, and the smell of fried food spilled out into the street. 

“You know she good for you, right?” 

Smoke’s eyes cut over. 

Stack lifted a hand. “I’m bein’ serious,” he said with a grin.

“I ain’t ask you for all that,” Smoke grumbled. He pulled the brake and cut the engine. “I just need you to be serious ‘bout this business we ‘bout to handle.” 

Stack smoothed out his suit jacket before climbing out first. “Nigga, I’m always serious ‘bout—” He cut himself off. His grin widened. “Oh, you really like her huh.” 

Smoke stepped out after him, shutting the truck door harder than necessary. “Shut up, Stack.”

Stack only laughed as he headed towards the door of the joint. Smoke followed behind him, both brothers disappearing into the smoky mouth of the juke.

They waited until the boarding house was empty. Breakfast was long over, the kitchen back to the way it looked before the lodgers ran through it in the morning. The floors were swept, shelves dusted, dishes washed, dried, and stacked neatly in the cupboard. Flour dust hid between the cracks of the table no matter how many times it was wiped down, a chipped blue bowl full of onions and garlic hiding most of that. A heavy cast iron pan hung over the stove with something in it that would cook low and slow until supper. 

Annie stood in the kitchen with her sleeves rolled past her elbows, wiping down the edge of the table. Aunt Della watched her from across the kitchen, tending an arrangement of calla lilies in a slender glass jar. “Ready?”

Annie looked up from wiping a stubborn corner of the table. “Yes.”

“Nervous?”

Annie rung the rag out, twisting it once and dropping it in the wash basin. “A little.”

The kettle hissed softly behind them, steam reaching up towards the ceiling in white, pillowy puffs. A burst of bright, mid-morning light flooded the room through the curtains, catching the edge of a jar of dried bay leaves that sat near the windowsill and the fur of Felix who was curled up with his paws tucked under him like he was waiting on this exact moment. He purred gently, the sound a sharp contrast to the kettle whose whistle was now piercing the air.

“Come on,” Aunt Della said, leading her towards the lean-to in the backyard.

The space was narrow and dark even though the sun was high, only slivers of light peeking through the cracks in the siding. The shelves held various grooming items needed for a house full of men. Lye soap, oils and tonics, shampoos and aftershave. A galvanized tub sat in the middle of it all. Aunt Della moved two small crates aside in the corner of the room. Annie looked down, her mouth dropping open when she caught the glint of the iron ring hidden between the floorboards.

“Don’t just stand around catching flies,” Aunt Della threw over her shoulder. She was already bending over as quickly as she could for her age, hooking two fingers into the ring and pulling up. 

“What’s down there?” She bent down to help her. 

“You ‘bout to find out.”

The wood lifted from the floor with a low groan and a whistle of trapped air that escaped like the room was letting out a breath. The smell of something earthy and dark—roots, clay, old wood, and something more sharp—hit them with the first whiff that rose from beneath the ground. Aunt Della lowered herself carefully onto the first step then looked back, a lit oil lamp secure in her hands. “Mind your skirt,” she told Annie. “And close the door behind you.”

Annie gathered the length of her skirt, wrapping it twice around her hand. The stairs creaked beneath her feet, each one more narrow and steep the deeper she moved below the boarding house. The hum of the street disappeared first. Then the sounds of the backyard—chickens, birds, bees and the breeze. 

Then the daylight. 

Annie paused at the bottom to take in all that she could see from the stretch of Aunt Della’s oil lamp. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, crowded with everything from bottles to tins to roots dark and twisted that reached into the soil like fingers. 

Aunt Della led her to a door. They had to be underneath the front porch of the house, Annie thought to herself. She unlocked the room, a heavy oak door fitted with two heavy padlocks, and guided them inside.

More shelves.

Glass jars caught the flickering flame of the lamp in dull flashes. They were lined up along the walls, filled with graveyard dust, mandrake, cinquefoil, High John, and camphor. A stack of bones too small for Annie to name. A brown bag of black mustard seeds, blue glass beads, river stones smooth as polished teeth, and an assortment of other things. 

Aunt Della set the lamp on a low table in the middle marked with knife nicks and stains like old wounds. On it sat a mortar and pestle, a ledger book with a cracked spine, a fountain pen, three small bowls, and a white candle burned low in its dish. 

“This where we gon’ start.”

Annie looked around, wrapping her arms around herself. “This all yours?”

“It’s all mine,” Aunt Della confirmed. “Take a seat.” She gestured for Annie to sit on one of two cushions around the table and moved to one of the shelves. She glanced at a bundle of dried leaves, touching them lightly with two fingers before bringing it back to the table. “Some of this belonged to my mama. Some of it from women I met along the way. Women whose names don’t get spoken much anymore.” 

She opened the ledger to a blank page, then pushed it to the corner of the table. “First thing you learn ain’t gon’ be what does what, it’s gon’ be what not to touch.” 

Annie’s eyes narrowed.

“There’s stuff that heals and stuff that calls. Calling is where it gets tricky. You can call luck, love, happiness. You can call something darker. Something that settles. Something that unsettles. The thing that gives you mercy can be the same one you beg for mercy. It all depends on which hand holds it.” 

Annie absorbed as much as she could while her gaze drifted around the room. This room felt smaller, not because of its size, but because of what it held. Most things felt familiar, a few things did not. It was the few things that didn’t, that unsettled her. 

She thought of her grandmother. Of the stool in her apothecary. Sometimes she’d sit there all day, just watching. Reaching for things out of curiosity and being told ‘not yet’ so often that it became part of her rearing. 

Aunt Della must have seen something cross her face, because her voice softened. “You know more than you think,” she said. 

“Then why do I feel like I don’t know anything…all of a sudden?”

She paused. And then— “Lemme show you.” Aunt Della reached for a jar of something dried and fragrant hidden under a strip of blue fabric. She set it on the table. “Name it.”

Annie tried to peer through the glass. The leaves were green, obviously. Smooth, and curled at the edges, from what she could see. She opened the jar carefully and sniffed the fragrance that wafted through her nose. The smell was earthy. Sharp. “Sage?” she asked.

Aunt Della gave her a look.

“Not sage,” Annie winced.

Aunt Della paused a moment. “You know that ain’t no damn sage.”

Annie brought the jar to her nose again. She took a deeper whiff. It smelled different this time, something warmer and sweeter. Familiar, but not from the kitchen. “Boneset?” she guessed.

“You askin’ or tellin’?” 

“Tellin’,” she said, twisting the lid closed and setting the jar down.

Aunt Della waited a moment for Annie to second guess herself. She didn’t. “There she is.”

Annie smiled despite herself. 

“What’s it for?”

“Fevers and aches,” Annie began. “Unless you take too much.” 

Aunt Della hummed as she shuffled through the  jars, vials, and pouches littered on the shelves. “Every living thing got a spirit,” she started. “It had a spirit ‘fore it had a name.”  She continued on. “Its smell will tell you its name. But its spirit, that’ll tell you what it wants.” She looked at Annie closely, eyes narrowing. “This,” she tapped her temple, “is how you learn the spirit of a thing.” 

She reached behind her without looking, pulled another jar down, and set it on the table in front of Annie. “Name it.”

They went on like that for a while, one jar after another. Some Annie knew right away, some she hesitated on, and some that made her feel straight foolish when Aunt Della corrected her.

“Don’t just guess ‘cause you wanna be right.”

“I wasn’t!”

“You was.” 

Annie huffed softly, frustrated. 

“You gotta learn how to trust yourself, baby. Like when you close your eyes to draw.”

Aunt Della turned her back to the shelf, her eyes sweeping over her collection until she landed on a small bundle wrapped in red thread. She placed it on the table without a word.

“Gon’ head. Pick it up,” she insisted. 

Annie hesitated at first. Her fingers wrapped around it gently, something tightening low in her belly once it touched her palm. Whatever was inside the cloth was hidden, but she could feel the weight of what she held in her hands. 

“What?” Aunt Della challenged her. “Tell me how it feels.” 

Annie rubbed her thumb along the fabric. “This one feels…like it wanna be left alone,” she said breathily.

The flame of the oil lamp that sat on the low table shifted, flickering once then standing still—but it wasn’t from any wind. 

There was no wind down here.

Just darkness, soil, and walls that held their breath like lungs. 

Aunt Della watched her for a moment, then reached out and took it from her. Annie’s hands felt lighter instantly. 

“What was that?” Annie’s eyes lifted, following the bundle.

“Not today.”

“Really?”

“I said,” Della repeated. “Not today.” She sat back down. “Lesson number two. Curiosity don’t mean permission.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Power ain’t always in what you can hold. Sometimes it lies in what you know to leave alone when you ain’t ready. When it ain’t ready.” 

She looked up to the ceiling. “They know?” 

Aunt Della snorted. “Men don’t notice half of what’s goin’ on.”

Annie laughed and Aunt Della smiled back, pulling the ledger towards the edge of the table. The pages were filled with names, dates, ingredients, measurements, and notes. Some in Aunt Della’s hand, others in foreign script. Most of the entries were normal: fever, toothache, bad blood, sleeplessness. Others were less common: keep someone away, restore peace to a home, stop a tongue from speaking ill, return what was sent. Annie traced a line without touching it. Her pulse felt different as her finger hovered over the script. Slower, heavier, like something had reached up and guided her hand. 

Aunt Della flipped to the next page of the ledger, tapping a blank line on the page once with her finger. “When you open a door with your name on it, you better know what you sellin’. You ain’t just sellin’ an herb. Ain’t just sellin’ a bottle. You sellin’ a promise.”

“A promise?”

“When a woman’s hurt and she comes to you for help…she ain’t just lookin’ to buy a root. She’s lookin’ to buy trust. Silence. The hope that somebody knows what to do with what she can’t carry alone anymore.”

Annie thought about the women slipping through her grandmother’s door. Their faces covered with veils, hands holding tight onto coins, voices just above a whisper. She drew them sometimes while she sat in the corner on that stool—not just their faces, but the changes. How they came and how they left. 

Aunt Della pushed the pen, ink, and the ledger on the table right in front of Annie. “Write today’s date.”

le 31 octobre 1919

Annie wrote it in her best script. When she put the pen down she felt different somehow, like she had crossed a threshold she didn’t even know was there. 

Aunt Della moved the ledger away to let the ink dry and the moment settle. Then she stood, took down another jar from the shelves, popped off the lid, and set it in front of her. 

“Name it.”

Annie lifted the jar to her nose, but this time she didn’t rush.

She smelled first. 

Looked second. 

And listened to whatever quiet thing inside her answered third.

It took Smoke three attempts to light his cigarette.

It was later that same evening. He stood on the second-floor balcony of the Greenwood House. It sat on the corner of Hernando and Beale; the place he and Stack stayed every time they came down to Memphis. The clink of utensils and the hearty smell of andouille sausage and gumbo drifted out the open windows of the porch and floated upward to where he stood outside, making his stomach twist with hunger. 

An older woman named Mrs. Johnson owned the place and knew them well, often turning a blind eye to whatever they (Stack) got up to when they came down for business. 

“This ain’t no whorehouse! You want a whorehouse, there's plenty of them down the street! Tryna soil my good furniture. The sheets is one thing, but I catch one of them hussies on one of my couches, I’ll put you out on ya ass in the middle of the night with just ya draws on!”

Smoke held a lighter in one hand, an unlit cigarette in the other, rolled up tight with the special New Orleans blend of tobacco laced with a little grass that he got from Bo every other week.

His thumb slipped on the spark wheel on his first try.

His hand shook suddenly on the second. 

He gripped the base harder, clenching his teeth on the third try. An eruption of flint and fuel sparked a flame that burned bright and angry against the setting Memphis sun and the backdrop of Beale Street.

Smoke brought the cigarette to his mouth, its red ember heating the inside of the palm. 

He exhaled with relief. 

It felt like a betrayal. That a white man’s war was the reason his hands had a mind of their own sometimes. The lack of control that had him shook. Angry.

He took another drag to calm his nerves, his thoughts searching for somewhere soft to land.

Annie.

He’d seen her walk into some shop on Issaquena a few weeks back. Long blue dress with buttons down the middle. Curved just right over her hips and thighs. Like it was painted on. 

Smoke took another hit, blood sparking heavy with desire. He let the smoke filter through his nostrils when he exhaled. He inhaled it back through his nose, letting the fumes settle deep and spicy in his chest.

He had to think about something safer.

Like lips or eyes.

But Annie’s lips? And Annie’s eyes?

Her lips were dangerous. Soft, fluffy, inviting. Sweet.

He thought about how his name slipped out of them like it was the best thing she ever tasted.

“Smoke,” she’d drawl. It melted on the tip of her tongue like a scoop of her favorite ice cream from downtown, her Louisiana lilt drawing out the o, making her lips form a perfect circle like she was—

“You good?” 

The sound of familiar steps made him turn his head to the side. 

It was Stack. 

“Yeah,” Smoke said, flexing his hands at his sides. “Food ready yet?”

”Just about. She puttin’ dishes out and shit.” Stack turned to walk away. Then he paused. Turned back. “She made sweet potato pie, too.” 

Smoke snuffed out his cigarette and hurried his ass downstairs. 

One Week Later…

It was lunch hour. The dining area at Blackbird was packed full of hungry customers, unbridled laughter, and the smell of frying oil. Annie weaved expertly through the tables and around the booths like she belonged there. Since she started working there, she’d already found her own rhythm even though she only worked a few times a week. She was keeping up with the seasoned waitresses, the ones who didn’t write orders down and could balance two serving trays and a pot of coffee with one hand. She was doing so well that even Mr. Hightower was impressed with how she held her own, even with the sudden increase of diners from out of town.

Especially people’s relatives from up north.

There wasn’t a family in Clarksdale who didn’t have somebody who went north for better opportunities, higher wages, and more or less, more freedom. Annie heard the stories. Walk off a train, walk into a stockroom or a shipyard and find work that pays four times what you’d earn in the fields or as a domestic down south. 

And now she was looking at them sitting in the booths, laughing with their friends and family while showing off their fancy cars, shiny shoes, and new clothing. 

That ‘Northern’ polish. 

Stack had that type of polish. Always kept a waistcoat. Always wore real gold—chains, pocket watch, gold fronts. Shoes always shined like they were polished by the sun. 

Smoke didn’t dress like his brother, but he had a way about him too. His clothes weren’t flashy, but they were clean. Neat. He kept a wristwatch instead of a pocket one. One with a black leather strap, smooth bezel, and a nice engraving carved on the back. But he still had a ruggedness about him that she liked...a lot.

She wondered if their “travels” ever took them up north. Pittsburgh, Detroit, Chicago. She knew they’d been to New York. Smoke told her that. Spent some time in Harlem staying with Aunt Della’s son before they shipped off to war.

Annie didn’t know exactly what they got up to when they went out of town, but she wasn’t wet behind the ears. She didn’t need all the details to know the shape of danger. The town knew what the SmokeStack twins were; they earned those names here. Even if the town knew to not go into detail about what they did to earn them. But there were rumors.

Especially about the women they dealt with.

Stack was the womanizer. Annie knew that the minute she first met him at the train station. He had a mouth so slick, he could make a woman apologize to him for breaking her own heart. Smoke was a little different. Quieter about his, at least. But quieter didn't mean it ain’t exist. Where Stack left noise, Smoke left silence. The type of silence that was hard to measure sometimes. And with silence came people trying to fill that empty space with their own version of the truth. So they whispered. 

“So-and-so said…but you ain’t heard it from me.”

“He don’t talk as much as Stack, but he ain’t no saint.”

Aunt Della’s words came to mind. About things being spelled out plain and not assuming attention meant intention. But Annie wasn’t so sure if it was a warning, or just plain words of wisdom.

Was she just another woman in a line of quiet whispers?

“Annie!” It was Mr. Hightower.

She looked up. 

“You been wipin’ the same spot for a minute, now.”

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head a little, plopping the rag in the bucket. 

“I need you to dump the coffee in the back please,” he requested, walking off.  

Annie sighed. “Yes, sir.”

She made her way to the back, coffee pots in one hand and a bucket of hot, soapy water in the other. She set the bucket by the back door and walked outside. 

The back alley smelled like cigarettes and old food. 

Annie’s nose wrinkled as she walked over to the trash receptacles before getting startled by a raccoon that darted out from under one of the trash bags. She managed to dump the coffee out without splashing it all over her shoes. The cool, brown liquid pooled on the ground for a minute before seeping into the dirt, the coffee grounds scattering across the wet surface like ash.

Fourth Street was alive. Wagons, voices, music, smoke drifting up from cigarettes and woodstoves. Smoke had finished one last piece of business near Fourth Street. He stepped out of the back room of a building and onto the street, money folded tight in his pocket, hat sitting low on his head. He stepped off the curb and crossed the street, slowing right in front of Blackbird Cafe. He stopped. Looked through the windows casually, trying to be subtle. He wasn’t. The writing and the glare from the sun made it hard to see, but he found her instantly.

Annie was behind the counter, but her head turned towards the kitchen. Probably listening to one of the cooks talking shit from the back like they always did. He saw her shoulders shake and her head dip forward like she was laughing at something one of them said. But when she turned back around, the smile on her face broke the room open. 

Something struck him low in the chest. A possessive tightening pull on his ribs. Annie’s eyes shifted. She looked around the restaurant. Through the other waitresses that darted around her, through the people in the dining area. They kept on moving until they finally found him. 

Her face went blank for a second and he thought his chest would cave in. Then it softened, then the corner of her mouth lifted slowly. Just for him. That was enough for him to walk inside before he even realized what he was doing.

The cafe got quieter when he walked in. Conversations lulled, laughter turned into low chuckles that turned into throats clearing. Men nodded to him. Either out of respect, fear, or something else. Smoke took a seat at the counter and watched as Annie made her way over with a coffee pot in her hand.

“Afternoon,” she said softly.

“Afternoon.”

“You hungry?”

“Coffee’s fine.”

She took a mug from the shelf behind the counter, placed it in front of him, and started pouring. The coffee spilled into the cup dark and hot, steam rising off the top before dissolving into the air like the things left unspoken between them. 

Smoke wrapped his hands around the mug and took a sip. Warmth settled into his palms and spread throughout his chest. And it wasn’t from the coffee. “Thank you,” he said, voice low.

“My pleasure,” Annie giggled. “How was your trip?”

“Long.”

“That it?”

“Mostly.”

Annie didn’t push. She studied him for a second, topping off his coffee and wiping down the countertop while the diners went back to their own conversations and meals. She thought about saying more. She decided not to. It was too quiet now. Too many ears perked up. She reached behind the counter again, this time to pull out a clean napkin.

“Thank you,” she said as she set the napkin down next to his mug.

“For what?” His eyebrows pulled together.

“The sketchbook,” Annie said incredulously, head cocked to the side.

Smoke’s mouth twitched. “You welcome.” 

“Mhmm.” She rolled her eyes playfully.

“You been good?” His voice was rough when he asked that question. 

She tapped her fingers slowly on the counter as he set his mug down. Annie leaned forward on her hands. Smoke leaned forward on his arms. Annie looked at Smoke. Smoke looked at Annie. 

“Been great,” she said finally. Her lips were pursed in that playful way he liked. “You?”

Smoke’s eyes moved over what he could see of her from his seat at the counter. Slowly. 

“Better now.” 

She raised a brow. “Oh yeah?”

“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” he said casually. He kept his eyes on hers. 

Her mouth dropped open, whatever she was fixing to say right on the tip of her tongue when Sheila’s voice from the kitchen made it snap shut. 

“Table six, order up!” Followed by two dings.

Annie turned around, quickly sliding the plates of hot food from the pass-through window onto her serving tray. She moved from behind the counter to a table with hot food and a smile brighter than the sun reflecting off the windows. Smoke watched her working, stealing glances over the rim of his mug. Every so often while she was taking an order, or refilling a coffee, she’d look over at him like she could feel his eyes on her, then quickly look away. When it started to get busier and she couldn’t steal a look at him, he felt something. Like a dull ache. 

He stood as Annie finally circled back to where he was sitting, stretching his arms above his head. 

“You leavin’?”

Smoke nodded. “Got some business to handle.” 

He put his money on the counter, their hands meeting when she reached for it before he had pulled his hand back. The contact made them both still. Their index fingers brushed against each other where they touched for a second before pulling away completely. Their eyes met again.

“I’ll see you,” Smoke said.

“Okay,” she replied. It was just above a whisper.

He wasn’t finished. “Soon.”

Their eyes held, the contact lingering for a moment like they both had something they wanted to say but knew it wasn’t the moment. 

Smoke slipped away, steps light even though he carried weight. Annie watched the door swing shut behind him, letting in a flash of air and street noise before locking it out again. She stood behind the counter still, fingers resting on the money he’d left on the table, feeling the ghost of where his finger rubbed the side of hers. She stood there for a second, letting it sink in. Two seconds went by, then three. Then she snapped out of it, pulling herself back into what she was there for— the money. 

“Felicia!” Annie called for her as she carried a tray over her shoulder. “Table four said they want two more sodas!” 

“Got it,” Felicia huffed. 

The bell above the door rang again. Annie moved quickly, sat the diners at a table, pulled out her pen and pad. She gave recommendations, talked up the specials. She even took on an extra table—a party of six that started off with a round of drinks. 

She kept herself busy. There was no such thing as a quiet moment during a lunch rush. But every time she looked out into the street, she thought of him. Coming through like he owned the place. Leaving something behind every time he walked out. 

—

Smoke was far enough away that he couldn’t see her clearly through the window anymore. Just movement and light and the shape of her passing between the tables. Blackbird stayed loud and alive behind him. Annie’s world now. Part of it, anyway. The more Smoke saw her, the more he wanted to be that other part. Not keep her waiting. Not tuck her away. 

Della was right. Just wanting her wasn’t enough. Other men wanted her, too. He saw the way their gaze would follow her around as she moved around the cafe…until they saw him. He heard about the one at the theater. And the preacher. But he knew she needed to hear it from him soon.

When they stared at each other before he left Blackbird, the look in her eyes held a question. One he didn’t have to ask to know. He knew one thing, he was gonna set shit straight before she was left guessing what kind of man had walked into her life.

The summer before junior year felt endless. It was hot enough for the air to still stick to your skin long after the sun went down. Everybody knew who was having people over. Sometimes it was a cousin home from college. Sometimes a classmate whose mama was working the night shift. Music played way too loud in somebody's backyard while the neighborhood kids wandered in and out the gate like they lived there.

This one sat behind a small brick house a few streets over from the Moores’. Cars lined both sides of the curb. Music rattled the chain-link fence while people crowded around folding tables covered in chips, soda, beer bottles, and half-melted ice. Smoke from the little charcoal grill drifted thick through the yard along with the smell of lighter fluid and somebody’s cheap cologne.

Stack stood near the speakers arguing with two boys over what song to play next.

“Nah, y’all killin’ the vibe.”

“You always say that, bruh.”

“Cause y’all music trash.”

An older boy near the grill yelled for Stack to bring more charcoal and he finally wandered off still talking shit the entire way.

Pearline rolled her eyes from her lawn chair nearby. “Stack, shut up.”

He grinned immediately. “You so fine.”

“Boy.”

Annie laughed softly beside her, knees tucked up against the chair while she sipped from a warm Sprite Smoke handed her twenty minutes earlier. Her curls were pulled back loosely, thick around the edges from the heat and humidity. The silver hoops in her ears glinted in the afternoon sun.

Across the yard, Smoke leaned against the fence talking to one of the older boys from the neighborhood. Black tee. Long shorts. White Air Forces already dirty around the edges from summer. One hand hooked inside his pocket while the other held a sweating cup low near his thigh.

Jada watched him from across the yard.

Annie noticed first. “Mhm,” she muttered, nudging Pearline.

Pearline glanced over. “What?”

Annie tilted her head slightly toward the drinks table.

Pearline’s eyes moved automatically.

Jada stood near the coolers laughing loudly at something another girl said, honey-brown curls bouncing around her shoulders while her attention kept drifting back toward Smoke every few seconds. She was pretty. Everyone thought so. Curvy already, tube top, and tiny shorts showing off thick thighs every boy talked about when she walked passed. 

Except Smoke—he barely looked over there at all. Jada was pretty. He mostly remembered she laughed loud.

That should’ve made Annie feel better. Instead something still irritated her.

Pearline caught the look on her face instantly. “Girl…”

“I ain’t sayin’ shit.”

“You don’t gotta.”

Annie rolled her eyes hard and looked away first.

Across the yard Stack suddenly yelled—“ANNIE.”

He pointed dramatically toward the folding table. “Bring me a bag of chips.”

“You got two hands.”

“Please! You love me.”

“I actually don’t.”

Stack clutched his chest while everybody around him laughed.

Smoke looked over then and immediately found Annie. Every time. Didn’t matter how many people stood around her either. His eyes always landed there first. The look on his face changed too. Softer. Like seeing her settled something in him automatically.

Pearline saw that part and snorted quietly beside her. “Girl that boy obsessed with you.”

Annie tried not to smile. Failed a little anyway. She stood and headed toward the chips table near the drinks before Stack could start yelling again.

Pearline grabbed her cup and followed behind slower, already watching Jada out the corner of her eye.

Halfway there, Smoke peeled away from the fence and met Annie without saying much.

“You ate?”

Annie blinked at him. “Yes, Elijah.”

“You lyin’.”

She laughed immediately. “I had chips.”

“That ain’t food.”

He grabbed a paper plate off the table and started piling food onto it before she could argue again.

Annie leaned lightly against the table watching him move around the grill. “Why you keep makin’ me plates?”

Smoke shrugged once without looking up. “Cause you need to eat.”

“I eat.”

“Not enough.”

Annie rolled her eyes softly. “Smoke, I promise the world not gon’ end if I miss one plate.”

That finally made him look at her. His eyes moved over her once before settling back on her face again.

“Nah,” he said quietly. “But I might.”

Annie’s breath caught before she could stop it.

And right on cue—Stack gagged loud as hell behind them. “Mane, if y’all don’t leave each other alone for five minutes—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Smoke muttered.

Everybody near them laughed.

Smoke ignored all of it. That was the thing. He ignored everything when Annie stood close enough.

Jada came over to where they were a minute later with Mary and two other girls trailing behind her, all loud laughs and glossy lips beneath the fading summer light.

Pearline stood up straighter immediately. “This bitch…,” she muttered under her breath.

Mary waved dramatically the second she spotted Stack. “There go my man.”

Pearline rolled her eyes so hard Annie almost laughed. “Your man?” Pearline muttered. “Girl please. Stack flirt wit’ everybody.”

“Jealousy ugly on you, Pearl,” Mary called back instantly.

Pearline looked up slow and smiled. “Bitch, I can’t be jealous of community dick.”

Stack barked out laughing.

Mary’s mouth dropped open. “Community dick?!”

Pearline shrugged. “You ain’t special, ho.”

Stack barked out laughing before Mary walked over smacking his arm. Jada drifted easily toward the grill instead.

“Damn,” she said, looking down at the plate in Smoke’s hand before glancing toward her friends. “Smoke don’t do nothin’ but feed Annie.”

Stack barked out laughing instantly. “Cause that’s his girl.”

Smoke frowned slightly. “What?”

Jada smiled. “Nothin’.” But her eyes slid briefly toward Annie before looking back at Stack.

“I’m serious,” She continued. “He act like she the only girl out here.”

Stack opened his mouth immediately. “Cause to him she is.”

Smoke finally handed Annie her plate. “Move before Stack fat ass steal yo’ food.”

“Wow nigga,” Stack said. “You rude.”

Annie was focused very hard on balancing the paper plate in her hands even while warmth kept crawling up the back of her neck. Beside her, Pearline sucked her teeth quietly into her cup.

Jada laughed softly and reached for Smoke’s cup sitting on the table, taking a sip without asking.

Annie noticed immediately. So did Pearline.

Annie’s fingers tightened slightly beneath the paper plate, before she could stop herself, her body was leaning forward a fraction towards Jada. Pearline caught the reaction instantly, one hand touching Annie’s wrist beneath the excuse of reaching for a chip. Subtle. Quick enough nobody else seemed to notice.

Except Jada.

Smoke barely reacted—mostly because he was already looking at Annie again. “You want somethin’ else to drink?”

Jada lowered the cup slowly.

Annie saw that too, and suddenly the heat outside felt heavier than before. “I’m good,” she answered quietly.

“I been tellin’ y’all Smoke don’t talk to nobody but Annie,” Jada said, laughing lightly as she nudged Stack with her shoulder. “It’s weird.”

Mary snorted softly beside Stack, already watching the whole interaction unfold. “One hundred percent true,” Mary jumped in immediately.

Smoke looked genuinely confused. “I talk to y’all.”

Stack barked out laughing instantly. “Nigga no you don’t.”

Mary laughed harder. “You barely even looked over here.”

Annie looked away immediately before Smoke could catch her laughing.

Pearline covered her mouth instantly trying not to laugh because there it was. Exactly what she’d been saying. Smoke really did miss half the shit girls tried to do around him.

Jada looked thrown off for maybe half a second before recovering smoothly. “I’m sayin’ you act different with Annie.”

Smoke frowned like he genuinely didn’t understand the point. “That’s my girl.”

Simple. Certain.

Mary made a loud fake throwing-up noise while Stack nearly folded over laughing beside her.

Annie felt warmth crawl straight up her neck.

Jada laughed too, but this time it sounded tighter. Her eyes met Annie’s.

A small smile pulled at Annie’s mouth before she could stop it. Bitch.

Jada’s smile stayed in place.

But barely.

Present Day

The memory faded slowly beneath the low hum of Smoke’s truck engine.

Sunlight flashed through the windshield in uneven patterns as he drove, one hand loose against the steering wheel while warm air moved steadily through the cracked window beside him. His other hand tapped once against his thigh before going still again.

Then the truck speakers crackled softly.

Incoming call. Jada.

Her name spread bright across the dashboard. Smoke stared at it for a long second. Long enough for the phone to ring twice.

Three times. Then he hit ignore. Silence settled back inside the truck immediately afterward. Ever since Annie walked back into town, his thoughts hadn’t stayed where he put them. Eight years gone—and somehow seeing her again still felt too close to touching a live wire.

Aunt Cheryl’s house already smelled like seasoning and heat by the time Annie and Pearline finished getting dressed.

Music drifted through nearly every room. Beyoncé’s II Hands II Heaven played low from the Bluetooth speaker sitting on the guest bathroom counter. Outside, somewhere deep in the backyard, a blues guitar rolled through the open windows mixed with the sound of laughter, dominoes slamming against folding tables, and Aunt Cheryl’s husband Lewis loudly arguing with somebody over whether Bobby Womack was better than Marvin Gaye.

Pearline’s aunt—her mama Maxine’s younger sister, had always been the kind of woman whose house never really belonged to just her. Doors stayed unlocked more than they should. People were always sleeping over. Some needed a hot meal. Someone always got fussed at and fed in the same breath. Growing up, Annie had spent enough weekends there that people stopped asking whose child she was and started assuming she belonged to Cheryl.

Which, in a lot of ways, she had. 

Annie loved her mother. She did, but Aunt Cheryl had become the adult she ran to for things she didn’t know how to explain at home. The conversations that felt too embarrassing, too confusing, too complicated to say out loud to her own mama somehow came out easier sitting at Cheryl’s kitchen counter while she cut onions, folded laundry or fried fish. Crushes. Friend drama. College fears. Questions she couldn’t even ask properly yet.

Aunt Cheryl never pushed. She just listened. Then eventually she’d say something annoyingly simple that made Annie realize she already knew the answer.

Pearline’s family became Annie’s family so gradually she never noticed it happening. Holidays. Sleepovers. Last-minute rides. Summer afternoons. Somewhere along the way Aunt Cheryl stopped introducing her as Pearline’s friend and started introducing her as one of hers.

Right on cue her voice cut through the house. “AND WHO ATE MY DAMN DEVILED EGGS?”

“There go Cheryl,” Pearline muttered calmly.

“And turn that sad shit down!” another older voice yelled from somewhere outside.

Pearline rolled her eyes immediately. “…and there go mama.”

Annie laughed despite herself.

The whole house felt alive. They ended up staying the night at Cheryl’s after grocery shopping the evening before. Pearline originally planned to drop the food off and leave, but Cheryl took one look at the amount of prep still sitting untouched across the kitchen counters and shut that shit down immediately.

“Leave if you want to,” she’d said, snapping green beans into a bowl without looking up. “But yo’ mama gon’ talk so much shit about you tomorrow I might join in.”

Pearline groaned while Annie laughed.

So they stayed. Annie even ended up helping too despite Pearline repeatedly telling her to sit down because the cookout was technically for her. Cheryl ignored all of that. “Girl please,” she said, sliding a cutting board toward Annie. “You back home now. Slice them onions.”

And she did. Standing barefoot in Cheryl’s kitchen at nearly midnight while old school R&B drifted low through the house and women arguing lovingly over recipes felt strangely familiar. Like being dropped back into another version of herself she hadn’t touched in years.

By one in the morning, half the food was prepped. Uncle Lewis was asleep in the recliner in the family room with the TV still blasting low. Annie and Pearline ended up stretched across a queen size bed in the guest bedroom laughing quietly in the dark like they were teenagers again. For a few hours, it almost felt like no time had passed at all.

Currently, coolers crowded the hallway near the front door packed with beer, juice, bottled water, soda, and foil pans waiting to be carried outside. Younger cousins ran through the living room screaming before another auntie immediately yelled at them to stop running in the damn house. The kitchen smelled like barbecue sauce, fried fish, onions, and sweet baked beans while women moved around each other shoulder to shoulder arguing over seasoning.

Upstairs inside the guest bedroom, Annie had changed clothes four times.

Pearline sat stretched across the bed eating hot chips while watching the latest outfit reveal with growing amusement.

First it had been denim shorts and a tank top. Too casual. Then a black sundress. Too obvious. Then jeans. Absolutely not. Now half the room looked like a tornado touched down inside it while Annie stood in front of the mirror quietly questioning every decision she’d made since coming back home.

Pearline watched her for a little while before reaching toward the tequila bottle sitting beside Annie’s makeup bag.

“Aight,” she muttered. “Come here.”

Annie looked over immediately. “What?”

“You nervous as hell.”

“Not.”

Pearline snorted, already pouring two shots into plastic cups. “Sure.”

Annie laughed softly despite herself before walking over. The cups clinked together lightly.

“To Annie finally outside again,” Pearline said.

“That’s…dramatic.”

“And is.”

Annie laughed again before both of them tipped the shots back. The tequila burned all the way down, warm and sharp enough to make Annie squeeze her eyes shut briefly afterward.

“Shiiit.”

Pearline coughed once immediately after. “See? That’s why I don’t do dark liquor.”

“You literally bought it.”

“And?”

Annie shook her head laughing while Pearline shoved the open chip bag toward her.

“Eat somethin’.”

“I’m fine.”

“Aight. You gon’ be sweatin’ tequila and fucked up in Cheryl backyard if you don’t eat somethin’.”

“I won't.”

Pearline pointed at her immediately. “That’s exactly what drunk people say.”

Annie rolled her eyes smiling despite herself before turning back toward the mirror again.

After another ten minutes of changing her mind twice more, Annie finally settled on the striped halter dress mostly because Pearline threatened to physically pick something for her if she kept standing in front of the mirror sighing.

The dress was a soft knit material striped in deep blue, green, white, and pale lavender, the colors bright enough to feel summery without trying too hard. The halter neckline dipped low across her chest while the open back left most of her skin bare except for the tie sitting neatly behind her neck. Unfortunately or fortunately, the dress hugged her body tighter than she remembered when she bought it. The material curved around her hips, her thighs, the softness of her stomach. Her breasts sat high beneath the neckline, enough cleavage showing to make her immediately fold her arms the second she caught herself staring too long in the mirror.

Pearline crunched another chip slowly. “Girl.”

Annie didn’t look away from the mirror.  “What?”

“You know what.”

“It’s hot outside.”

“Mhm.”

“It is.”

Pearline’s mouth twitched.  “And apparently you tryna make Elijah Moore lose consciousness beside Cheryl’s potato salad.”

Annie groaned instantly. “Please shut up.”

“I’m serious.” Pearline pointed dramatically with another chip. “That man already looked halfway dead in Stack apartment yesterday.”

Annie narrowed her eyes finally turning away from the mirror. “Oh, so we not gon’ talk about YOU?”

Pearline blinked innocently. “What about me?”

Annie looked her up and down slowly.

Pearline’s red-and-white striped maxi dress clung to every curve she had, the soft material hugging her hips and thighs while the slit climbed just high enough along one leg to show smooth brown skin every time she moved. The open back exposed nearly her entire spine beneath her sleek ponytail, and somehow the dress still looked casual enough for a cookout despite the fact it was absolutely ruining the peace.

Annie folded her arms. “You look like summertime temptation.”

Pearline barked out laughing instantly. “But you got the nerve to talk about me?”

“This?” Pearline looked down at herself pretending to be confused. “Girl this comfortable.”

“Comfortable where?” Annie stared. “At a cookout or on somebody's son's prayer list?”

Pearline nearly choked on her chips laughing.

Annie shook her head. “You absolutely tryna make Elias act stupid outside.”

“Chile…,” Pearline continued, waving another chip dramatically, “Elias been stupid since tenth grade. That ain’t got nothin’ to do wit’ me.”

Annie laughed softly despite herself.

Pearline pointed immediately. “There it is again.”

“What?”

“That little happy-ass laugh.”

Annie’s face fell instantly. “Line…”

“I’m just sayin’.” Pearline’s expression softened slightly afterward. “I ain’t seen you like this in a long time.”

Annie’s face dropped instantly. Somehow that felt worse. She turned back toward the mirror too quickly afterward pretending to adjust the side of the dress while heat crawled slowly up her neck.

Pearline watched her quietly. That tiny hopeful look on Annie’s face hit harder than expected, because yesterday had been the first time Pearline saw her genuinely excited about something in a very long time. Hopeful. Pearline hated what she knew might ruin it. Her eyes flicked briefly toward her phone laying beside her on the comforter. Towards the memory of Smoke sitting beside Jada inside that restaurant booth. Towards Stack saying—He not bringin’ her. Pearline wanted to believe that.

Still…

Annie sighed. “I don’t even know why I care this much.”

Pearline knew why. Both of them did. But she let Annie keep pretending.

Annie sat near the foot of the bed smoothing nervous hands over the dress before glancing casually toward the open bedroom door. “You said Elijah came by already this mornin’?”

Pearline looked up. “Uh huh. Him and Uncle Lewis set the speakers up outside.”

Annie nodded slowly like that information didn’t matter nearly as much as it actually did. 

“Oh.”

Pearline watched her for a little too long.

Annie reached over stealing one of her chips casually. “He stay long?”

There it was.

Pearline smiled immediately. “You fishin’.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Annie rolled her eyes. “I’m askin’ a question.”

“Yeah, okay,” Pearline’s grin widened.

Annie threw the chip at her. Pearline laughed harder dodging it while Annie shook her head trying unsuccessfully not to smile too.

“So…is he?” Annie asked a second later, quieter this time.

Pearline’s laughter softened slightly. “He said he was comin’ back.”

Annie looked down too fast afterward, like she didn’t want her face caught reacting. 

Pearline watched the small smile trying to pull at Annie’s mouth before it disappeared again.

There it was again. Soft. Careful. Still alive somehow after all these years, and suddenly Pearline’s chest tightened, because now Jada pushed back into the front of her mind immediately afterward. Laughing. Too comfortable. Too familiar.

Pearline swallowed slowly. “Annie…”

Annie looked up immediately. “Hm?”

Pearline hesitated. She almost said it. Almost told her everything. That she saw Smoke with Jada. That nobody really knew what was going on between them. She didn’t want Annie walking outside blind, but then she smiled again. Tiny…nervous.

Suddenly Pearline couldn’t say it. Couldn’t bring herself to throw Jada between this fragile little piece of happiness Annie somehow found again. So instead she stood tossing the chip bag aside.

“Nothin’,” she muttered instead, standing too fast afterward. “Come on before Aunt Cheryl start cussin’ everybody out for standin’ around useless.”

Annie looked at her strangely for a second but stood anyway, smoothing her hands down the front of the dress one last time before glancing toward the mirror again.

The smile appeared again. Quick. Almost shy.

Hope looked strange on her now. Older. More careful. But still there. The realization unsettled her immediately. She had not come back to Mississippi expecting this. Didn’t come back expecting her stomach to flip every time Elijah looked at her. Or expect one awkward afternoon inside Stack’s apartment to crack open something she spent years forcing shut.

Outside, a car horn blared. Then another. Music swelled louder beneath a burst of laughter somewhere near the backyard.

Pearline groaned instantly. “That better not be Stack blowin’ that fuckin’ horn.”

As if summoned, her phone rang immediately afterward.

STACK.

Pearline answered, already irritated. “What?”

“Bring y’all asses outside,” Stack shouted loudly over music and voices in the background. “Everybody arrivin’.”

Annie’s stomach flipped hard enough to make her regret every sip of tequila she’d had while getting dressed.

Now it was real.

The second Annie stepped outside, the sound hit her first.

Music layered over more music. A blues record played somewhere deeper in the backyard while Frankie Beverly and Maze floated from another speaker closer to the patio. Laughter cracked through the humid air in bursts. Dominoes slammed hard enough against tables to sound competitive. People yelled for more ice. Kids tore across the grass shrieking while an older cousin threatened to spray them with the water hose if they knocked over another chair.

Aunt Cheryl’s property stretched wide behind the house, big enough for generations to spread out across it comfortably. Cars lined both sides of the road outside the gate already, more pulling up every few minutes. Folding tables covered in aluminum trays sat beneath two huge pecan trees while smoke rolled thick from the grill pits farther back near the fence line.

The smell nearly overwhelmed her immediately—charcoal, barbecue sauce, hot grease, sweet liquor, and fresh-cut grass baking beneath the Mississippi heat. Underneath all of it was that familiar Delta smell she never figured out how to describe properly after moving away. Warm earth. Humidity. River air somewhere nearby.

Home.

Her chest tightened unexpectedly.

“ANNIE BABY!”

Before she could process anything else, one of Pearline’s older cousins, Geneva, was already crossing the yard toward her.

Geneva had always occupied that strange space growing up where she never quite felt like a cousin. Five years older than Annie and Pearline, she’d been old enough to seem impossibly cool but young enough to still let them into her world. She was the cousin whose room they wanted to sit in when they were kids, whose clothes they wanted to borrow before they were old enough, who knew everybody and always had the gossip before anybody else. She gave them the best advice, defended them when adults got too loud, and slipped easily between big sister, best friend, and professional instigator depending on the day. If Geneva was going somewhere, they wanted to go too.

She looked exactly the same now—just grown into herself.

A striped maxi dress moved around her legs as she crossed the yard, the fabric light enough to catch every bit of warm Mississippi air. The colors softened against her caramel skin—cream with narrow lines of rust, black, and muted gold running vertically from neckline to hem. Thin straps framed her shoulders while the neckline dipped low. Big tassel earrings brushed her neck every time she moved, and a woven straw bag hung from one arm despite the fact she absolutely did not need a purse for a backyard cookout. Long straight hair fell over one shoulder and sunglasses rested on top of her head like she had somewhere more important to be later.

She reached Annie and immediately grabbed her face with both hands. “Lawd, look at my Annie.”

Before Annie could answer Geneva pulled her into a tight hug that smelled faintly of perfume, body oil, and summer heat before leaning back again to inspect her dramatically. “Bitchhh…you done got finer sittin’ up there in North Carolina.”

Pearline barked out laughing immediately. “‘Neva.”

Geneva ignored her completely, looking Annie up and down. “Nah, for real—look at all this ass.”

“GENEVA.”

“What?” She shrugged. “I got eyes.”

Annie laughed so hard she almost snorted, and just like that, some of the tightness in her chest loosened. For a second. Then others started calling her name. Then another.

“Oh shit—Annie?!” 

“When you get back?”

“Girl, look at you!”

Suddenly she was being pulled into hugs from every direction. More relatives. Old classmates. Women she hadn’t seen since before high school kissing her cheek and telling her she looked beautiful.  Questions came rapid-fire before she could even answer the last one.

How long you staying?You still in Charlotte?Yo’ mama good?You remember so-and-so?You workin’?

Annie smiled through all of it. Laughed through all of it. Answered each question. But underneath every conversation, every hug, every joke—she was looking for him. It happened automatically. Every car or truck door slamming outside the gate made her glance up. Every deep laugh somewhere across the yard tightened something low in her stomach before she realized it belonged to somebody else. Every time people moved around near the grills, her eyes moved there instinctively.

Pearline noticed every single time. “You look so nervous, friend,” Pearline muttered low beside her while accepting a beer her cousin handed her.

“I’m not nervous.”

“Right.”

Annie ignored her. Or tried to.

Outside, the heat wrapped around her immediately, making the halter dress cling softer against her skin the longer she stood there. Her long braids brushed warm against the open skin of her back every time she moved, humidity already settling along the base of her neck while sweat gathered slowly between her breasts beneath the neckline. Still somehow she became even more aware of her body because of him. Even without seeing him yet.

The music changed suddenly. Blues faded lower beneath newer bass while voices rose louder near the grill pits. Then a familiar voice carried across the yard.

“Move, nigga. Damn.”

Laughter erupted near the driveway immediately afterward. Annie froze. Her stomach dropped so fast it almost hurt because she knew that voice. Knew it down to muscle memory.

Annie turned before she could stop herself. Dark oversized shirt hanging loose over his frame, the deep brown fabric softening against the width of his shoulders and chest. Tattoos disappeared beneath the loose sleeves. Black shorts hung low against narrow hips, white and black Nike Dunks scuffing lightly against the pavement. A black cap sat low over his eyes, single gold chain glinting faintly against his throat.

“Smoke!” Stack exclaimed as he turned around from where he stood near the grill pit. “Bout time yo’ muthafuckin ass got here!”

“There he go,” a classmate named Mike laughed, already moving toward him.

Smoke lifted one hand in acknowledgment before pulling Stack into a quick dap and shoulder bump that looked practiced from years of repetition. Mike stepped in after that. Then another. Hands grabbing at him. Voices overlapping. Smoke laughed at something another said, head dipping slightly while one of his homeboys slapped his shoulder.

Laughter carried through the music.

Yesterday, inside Stack’s apartment, he felt almost unreal. Too close. Too quiet. Too heavy with history. But standing outside now beneath fading sunlight and backyard music with everybody surrounding him—Elijah looked dangerous again. Familiar. Beautiful. Like every version of the boy she used to love had grown all the way into a man.

Maybe it was the tequila talking, the heat, or eight years refusing to stay buried. But for one terrifying moment, Annie forgot how to breathe because Elijah Moore looked up and found her immediately. Like some part of him had already known exactly where she was.

Smoke forgot what Mike was saying halfway through the sentence. Something about a fight that happened outside Club Fusion last month. Cornbread laughed loud as hell beside him, while Isoo kept interrupting every five seconds adding details nobody asked for. Stack stood near the grill pit drinking beer and talking shit like always while Bo argued with Uncle Lewis over whether the ribs needed more sauce. The kind of evening Smoke usually moved through without thinking too hard. Then something shifted. Like pressure changing in the air. His eyes lifted automatically and found Annie. And everything in him suddenly went very still.

She stood near the patio beside Pearline surrounded by women talking over each other while music rolled through the yard behind them. The dress she had on wrapped around her body soft and close, pulling against curves he absolutely did not remember being that dangerous.

Jesus Christ.

Smoke’s jaw flexed once. Because yesterday inside Stack’s apartment had been too sudden. Too crowded with history and shock and confusion for him to really look at her the way he wanted to. But now? He could see everything.

The long braids falling down her back. The neckline dipping low enough to show the soft swell of her breasts beneath the summer light. Hips fuller than they used to be. Thicker through the thighs too. Ass sitting heavy beneath that dress in a way that made something low in his stomach pull tight immediately. 

Grown.

Annie had always been beautiful. But this? This felt unfair.

“And then this nigga gon’ say—” Cornbread stopped mid-sentence laughing at his own story while everybody around Smoke reacted.

Smoke barely heard any of it, but Annie looked up and there it was again. That feeling. Like the rest of the yard dimmed slightly every time their eyes locked. Want. Yearning. Recognition. All tangled together so tight it almost made his chest ache.

She looked away first. Not by much. Just enough to smile at Grace and Therise as they walked over toward her carrying babies, diaper bags and chaos with them. Smoke’s attention followed automatically. 

Grace balanced little Lisa against her hip while Therise waddled carefully beside her, one hand rubbing absentmindedly across her stomach while her boys ran circles around her legs screaming at each other. Annie’s entire face changed when she saw them, brightening instantly. Grace pulled her into a one-armed hug while Lisa immediately started reaching for Annie with grabby little hands.

“Look at her!” Grace laughed. “This girl doesn’t go to just anybody.”

Annie laughed softly, taking Lisa against her hip without hesitation. Natural. Easy. Like she’d done it a hundred times before.

Something inside Smoke twisted painfully, because for one stupid dangerous second—he saw it. Saw Annie standing in a kitchen holding his baby while music played low in another room. Saw little brown babies with her eyes and his attitude running through a backyard somewhere. Saw years he never let himself think too hard about. The image hit hard enough to steal the air from his lungs.

Stack noticed immediately. His eyes slid toward Smoke before following his line of sight across the yard. Then back again. Stack cleared his throat loudly. Sharp enough to snap Smoke partly out of his head.

“You hear this nigga, bruh?” Stack asked suddenly, shoving a beer into Bo’s chest hard enough to spill some. “Talkin’ bout he could beat me one-on-one right now.”

Bo frowned immediately. “Man, when I say that?”

But before Stack could keep the distraction going—Isoo looked up.

“Hold up.”

Everybody went still automatically because Isoo always talked the loudest right before saying something stupid.

“Where Jada at?”

Stack’s entire body stiffened instantly. “Shut the fuck up,” he muttered fast.

Too late.

Isoo blinked. “What?”

Stack cut his eyes sharply toward Annie across the yard before lowering his voice. “Nigga damn.”

Smoke didn’t say anything immediately. Instead he reached into his pocket. Pulled out his cigarettes. Tapped one loose. Stuck it between his lips. The lighter clicked once. Twice. Then caught. Smoke took a slow drag while the group went quiet around him. His jaw ticked once as smoke rolled out low through his nose.

Jada heard him talking to Uncle Lewis a few days earlier about borrowing speakers. She started asking questions—

“Y’all havin’ somethin’?”

“Who all gonna be there?”

Small smile.

“Sounds fun.”

Smoke didn’t think much of it. At the time, it was just a cookout. People came. People brought people. That was normal. So when she casually mentioned coming too…he never corrected the assumption.

Then yesterday happened.

He opened Stack’s apartment door and Annie was standing there.

By the time Smoke realized she was staying—realized she’d be at the cookout, something selfish inside him tilted immediately. Not because he was doing anything wrong or he owed Annie anything. But suddenly the idea of Jada coming with him to the cookout and standing beside him all day felt wrong in a way he didn’t wanna examine too hard.

He hated himself a little for how quick that feeling came.

Then this morning Jada left a voicemail.  Soft. Apologetic. 

“Hey…I won’t be able to come to the cookout. Danielle called out sick and I gotta cover a showing.” She laughed. “Bad timing.”

Smoke remembered listening. Waiting to feel disappointed. Instead his chest loosened. That bothered him more than anything. 

Another drag. Then finally—“She had to work.” His voice came out flat. Smoke flicked ash into the grass. “She ain’t comin’.”

Bo looked at Cornbread. Cornbread looked at Stack. Stack looked at Smoke.

Everybody knew.

Only Isoo stayed oblivious. His eyes drifted toward the patio. His eyes widened dramatically. “Aw hell nah.”

Smoke already felt irritation crawling up his spine.

“Bruh, I know that ain’t fine ass Annie over there.”

Stack closed his eyes briefly like he already knew where this was going.

“She back back?” Isoo asked. “Like for real?”

Nobody answered fast enough. Which was apparently answer enough for him. Isoo straightened immediately, adjusting his shirt. “Shiiit then. Lemme go say what’s up.”

Cornbread muttered, “Here this nigga go.”

Isoo started moving.  Actually moving. Straight towards Annie and suddenly Smoke understood very clearly how easy it would be to hit somebody with a folding chair.

The thought arrived calm. Instant. Violent enough to make his jaw tighten hard. Annie wasn’t his anymore. He knew that. Understood it. But watching another man walk toward her still felt wrong enough to make something ugly rise low in his chest anyway.

Stack saw it happen in real time. Saw Smoke’s posture change. Saw his grip tighten slightly around the cigarette. 

“Aye,” Stack said, quickly stepping sideways into Smoke’s path just enough to interrupt whatever terrible decision was forming. “Relax.”

Smoke’s eyes stayed fixed on the back of Isoo’s head.

“He grown,” Stack continued lower. “Don’t start actin’ crazy in Cheryl yard.”

Mike snorted immediately beside them. “Too late. That nigga already look homicidal.”

Cornbread started laughing into his cup.

But Smoke didn’t laugh. Didn’t move either, because across the yard Annie looked up just as Isoo reached her. Isoo hugged Annie. Too long. Then said something and Annie laughed. Easy. Warm. The way she laughed with everybody. Smoke felt something pull low in his chest anyway. He watched another a little longer. Took one last drag. Then held the cigarette away from himself and exhaled.

“Somebody pour me somethin’.”

Stack looked over immediately.

Bo’s mouth started twitching.

Cornbread snorted into his cup.

Smoke kept watching Annie. “Strong.”

Stack blinked once. Looked toward Isoo. Then back at Smoke. His eyebrows lifted slowly. 

“…Oh niggaaaa.”

“ANNIE?”

The voice pulled her attention away from Lisa tugging at one of her braids. She turned and immediately laughed. She recognized him instantly.

Isaac Carter aka Isoo.

Older now, broader. Still handsome in that easy unfair way he’d always been. Dark skin glowing beneath the late afternoon sun, close-cut beard filling in where a baby face used to be, smile still stupidly nice. Tall too. Taller than she remembered. Athletic without trying too hard. He was always laughing, always flirting, and somehow there was always at least one girl claiming she was done with him before ending up right back beside him the next weekend.

But somehow—never hers. 

He’d always been sweet to Annie. Never flirty…just easy to be around. Annie remembered he carried her backpack once in sixth grade because she had too many books. By freshman year he’d gotten taller and louder and started football with Smoke and Stack. She remembered him telling some boy to leave her alone at a game once before wandering off like it wasn’t a big deal.

Pretty. Friendly. Community-approved. Terrible for relationships. Her mama loved him. Smoke tolerated him. Which honestly should’ve been her first clue. Isoo reached her and immediately pulled her into a hug. Long enough to feel familiar. Not long enough to feel weird.

She laughed against his shoulder. “Well damn.”

He pulled back looking at her fully. “Look at you.”

Annie rolled her eyes immediately. “Boy bye.”

“No seriously.” He looked offended. “You been in North Carolina eatin’ money?”

She laughed. “Hi to you too.”

Isoo smiled bigger. “Nah for real though.” His eyes moved over her once. Respectful. Surprised. Then landed back on her face. “You good?”

Something softened in her chest. She nodded. “Yeah.”

He smiled, then immediately started talking asking questions, and catching her up on old classmates who moved where, who got married and even who got arrested. Stories. People. Names.

Annie laughed, answered and nodded, but she wasn’t really listening. Her eyes kept drifting back towards Smoke.

Smoke leaned near Stack now. Cup in one hand, cigarette in the other. He talked less than everybody else. Watching more, then he tipped the cup back. One swallow.

Finished.

Her stomach tightened immediately and her eyes narrowed.That seemed…intentional.

He lowered the cup and looked directly at her.

Annie blinked and looked away back to Isoo. “…and remember Mary used to swear Stack wanted her?”

Annie nodded automatically. “Yes, yes I do.”

Isoo kept talking.  “…and Sarita got four kids now.”

“Uh huh.”

“…and you still owe me for them chips.”

She blinked. “Wait, what?”

Isoo laughed immediately. “See. You not listenin’.”

Her eyes widened. “No I am!”

His smile softened. His eyes drifted past her. He smirked slightly.  “Oh.”

Annie frowned. “What?”

Isoo laughed under his breath. “Nothin’.”

She turned automatically and saw movement, Pearline, Grace, Therise, little Lisa, and the boys, all slowly migrating toward the grill pits where Stack, Smoke, and the other men were.

Annie immediately straightened. There it was—her out. She looked back at Isoo, smiled and pointed. “Oh they movin’.”

Isoo looked over then back at her. His smile widened immediately. “Aw damn.”

Annie laughed. “What?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Nothin’.” But his eyes flicked once—past her. Towards Smoke, then back again.

Suddenly Annie had the strange feeling she wasn’t the only person pretending not to notice things today.

Stack noticed Pearline before she noticed him, though he told himself he was only looking because Grace and Therise had started making their way toward the grill pit with the kids. That was almost believable for a minute. Grace had Lisa balanced on one hip, the baby’s fat hand reaching for every dangling necklace and plastic cup she passed, while Therise moved slower beside her, heavily pregnant and already threatening her boys through clenched teeth whenever they got too close to the food tables. But then Pearline stepped around a folding chair and Stack’s attention went straight to her. 

The red-and-white striped dress hugged her body in a way that made him forget whatever Cornbread had been saying about ribs, the slit opening with every other step to show the smooth brown line of her leg. Her ponytail brushed the open skin of her back, and the sunlight caught her hoops each time she laughed at something Grace said. 

Stack stared too long. He knew he had because Pearline caught him before she even reached the group, her eyes narrowing with that familiar warning that usually meant he was already in trouble.

“What?” she asked once she got close enough to be heard over the music. 

Stack took a sip from his beer and tried to look innocent. “Nothin’.” 

Pearline folded her arms, which only made the dress worse on him. “That was a look.” 

Grace immediately made a noise under her breath, delighted to have caught something. Stack ignored her and let his eyes move over Pearline one more time, slower than he meant to, before he shrugged. 

“You look good. That’s all.” 

Pearline’s face changed for barely a second, the smallest softening around her mouth before she rolled her eyes to cover it. 

“You drunk?” 

“Not yet,” he said, and that pulled a laugh out of her despite herself.

The laugh didn’t last long. Pearline’s gaze drifted past his shoulder towards Annie and Isoo, then towards Smoke, and the lightness left her face almost immediately. 

Stack saw it happen and sighed through his nose, already knowing where her mind had gone. She stepped closer so the music and voices around them swallowed the conversation. 

“She really ain’t comin’?” 

Stack didn’t ask who. He glanced at Smoke, who had been pretending to listen to the men for the last several minutes while watching Annie every chance he got, then looked back at Pearline. 

“She ain’t comin’.” 

Pearline looked away, but her exhale didn’t sound relieved enough. “I should tell Annie.” 

Stack frowned. “Tell her what?” 

The look she gave him answered before she did. 

Stack followed Pearline’s gaze toward Annie, who was still smiling at Isoo and pretending she wasn’t checking Smoke’s location every few breaths. 

“You worried for no reason,” Stack said quietly.

Pearline folded her arms tighter. “She deserves to know.” 

Stack studied her face, then shook his head. “If them two stop bein’ scary and actually talk, Jada gon’ become a memory real quick.” 

Pearline looked at him long enough for her expression to soften, but the guilt didn’t leave her face completely.  “…I hope you right.” 

Stack hated how small she sounded when she said it, so he reached out and hooked an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side before she could decide whether she wanted comfort or not. 

Pearline shoved at his chest immediately, but there was no force behind it. “Stack.” 

He only held on tighter, which was exactly when Grace saw them.

“Oooooh,” Grace said, loud enough to drag Bo’s attention from his cup and Cornbread’s from the grill. Therise smiled immediately, one hand on her stomach rubbing it in circles. 

“Look at the lovebirds,” Grace sang, pointing like she had discovered something scandalous instead of two people who had been circling each other since high school. 

Pearline groaned and tried harder to push Stack away while he grinned beside her. 

Bo nodded like he was witnessing history. “You finally wore her down, huh?” 

Pearline gasped. “Excuse me?” 

Stack, because he had no sense of self-preservation, nodded solemnly. “Persistence.” 

She shoved him again, and this time he actually laughed. 

Before Pearline could cuss him out properly, Aunt Cheryl’s voice cut across the backyard loud enough to make several conversations stop at once. 

“AIGHT! FOOD IS READY! OLD FOLKS FIRST, THEN KIDS, THEN EVERYBODY ELSE’S GREEDY ASSES!” 

The yard rearranged itself immediately. Chairs scraped across grass, kids ran toward the tables, aunties started directing traffic, and Cornbread stood up with an enthusiasm that made Therise stare at him in disgust. 

“Boys,” he called, and both of his sons appeared like he had summoned them. 

He pointed at himself proudly. “That’s us.” 

The crowd moved in that strange, ordinary way people always did once food got announced. Conversations broke apart mid-story. Somebody’s aunt called for kids that pretended not to hear. People started drifting toward the tables in loose groups with paper plates already in hand while others migrated toward shade and folding chairs to claim seats before the older folks took the good ones.

Pearline noticed Annie.

She looked up and caught her standing a few yards away with Isoo still beside her. Grace had already moved off toward the food with Bo and Lisa while Therise followed after Cornbread and the boys, one hand rubbing her stomach while fussing at her youngest to stop running. Mike had disappeared toward a group of women near the fence and somebody else called Isoo’s name from across the yard.

Pearline watched the moment happen in real time. Isoo looked toward whoever called him. Annie looked toward the grill. Isoo said something. Annie laughed politely. Then they split. Isoo peeled off into another conversation without much thought and Annie kept walking.

Stack followed Pearline’s line of sight and immediately understood.

Smoke hadn’t moved, but his attention already had.

Stack looked between them once before leaning slightly toward Pearline. “Oh.”

Pearline folded her arms. “…yeah.”

Annie slowed near the grill pit.

Smoke looked up. Nobody had orchestrated it or moved out the way on purpose. But somehow when everything settled—kids, plates, conversations, chairs—there wasn’t anybody left standing between them.

Stack looked over at Pearline. Pearline looked at him. Neither said anything. Stack smiled first. Quiet.

“Told you.”

Smoke looked at her first. Annie looked up a heartbeat later. The backyard stayed loud around them, all music and laughter and children whining for juice, but the space between them seemed to quiet anyway.

Annie smiled first, too quick and nervous, her fingers brushing one of her braids behind her ear. 

Smoke cleared his throat like the simplest word required effort.  “…hey.” 

Her smile softened.  “Hi.” 

The silence after that stretched just long enough for everybody close enough to notice and pretend they weren’t watching. 

Smoke’s eyes moved over her once, brief and controlled, but not brief enough.  “You look nice,” he said, voice lower than it had been with anybody else. 

Annie blinked, surprised by the directness, then looked at him with a warmth that made Stack glance away out of respect for what felt like an intimate moment between them.  “Thank you, so do you.”

For a moment neither of them moved. Then Smoke leaned in for a hug, careful in a way that made the gesture hurt more than it should have. His hand touched the bare skin of her back for less than a second before he seemed to remember himself and pulled away. Annie stepped back too quickly, smoothing her dress even though nothing had moved out of place. 

Smoke looked toward the grill. Annie looked toward the tables. 

Stack looked at Pearline, and Pearline looked right back at him. Neither of them said it out loud, but they both understood the same thing— 

If Smoke and Annie were going to survive the rest of this cookout, everybody else needed to get out of the way.

As they moved toward the food tables, the crowd gradually absorbed and rearranged around them in the familiar rhythm family gatherings always settled into once food got announced. 

An auntie passed by balancing a stack of paper plates against her stomach while still carrying on a conversation over her shoulder. Children threaded between folding chairs until their mother finally caught one by the arm and redirected him toward the drinks cooler. The buffet stretched beneath two long folding tables pushed end to end and covered in white plastic tablecloths already wrinkled from heat and elbows. 

Aluminum pans ran nearly the entire length of it, some covered in foil folded back halfway, others already opened and steaming into the humid air. Ribs sat dark and glossy beneath sauce collecting in the corners of the tray. Fried catfish rested in paper towel-lined pans beside golden chicken wings dusted with seasoning. Hot dogs rolled against each other near hamburgers wrapped loosely in foil to keep warm. Baked beans glistened thick with brown sugar and pieces of smoked meat, while macaroni and cheese sat heavy and golden around the edges where it had baked too long in the best way. Someone brought green beans cooked down soft with onions and turkey necks. And corn that sat shining looking like sunlight slathered in butter. 

The potato salad disappeared the fastest.

A pan of deviled eggs already looked picked over. Coolers lined the ground underneath, packed with bottled water, canned soda, wine coolers, beer, Capri Suns, and ice melting faster than people could replace it.

Annie found herself walking beside Smoke simply because everybody else had drifted off somewhere and neither of them seemed interested in making a thing out of separating.

The heat had settled differently now that the sun was lowering. It still sat heavy against her skin, but the sharpness had worn off and left everything softer around the edges. Her braids brushed against her back every time she moved, and she became hyper aware of things she hadn’t meant to notice.

Smoke still shortened his pace slightly whenever people crowded too close. He still moved to the outside of pathways without thinking. When one of Cornbread’s boys nearly collided with her carrying a dripping popsicle, Smoke placed a light hand at the center of her back and guided her around him before continuing forward. He didn’t seem aware he’d done it.

Uncle Lewis passed carrying another folding table under one arm and slowed long enough to nod toward Smoke.

“Smoke, appreciate you bringin’ them speakers and tables over.”

Smoke shrugged without looking up. “Ain’t nothin’.”

Lewis laughed and kept moving. “Easy for you to say. You got more room out there than all of us.”

Smoke shook his head once but didn’t answer and Lewis kept walking.

Annie watched him go before looking over.

“…more room?”

Smoke glanced at her. “At my house.”

She looked at him and waited for the rest of the sentence. When none came, she frowned slightly. “Your house?”

His expression switched immediately into confusion.

“…yeah.”

She stared at him long enough that he finally looked over fully. “What?”

Her eyebrows lifted, “you got a house?”

Now he looked confused that she was confused. Assuming she knew already. “Yeah.”

She looked at him harder. “What you mean ‘yeah’?”

His shoulders moved lightly. “I been there a few years.” Then after a second— “Built it.”

Her steps slowed enough for him to notice, just enough for something in his expression to soften as he looked over at her again.

She stared for another second. “You built it?”

He nodded once.

Her mouth opened slightly.“Oh my God.”

Smoke frowned. “What?”

She looked at him again, then laughed quietly. “You said that.”

His eyebrows pulled together. “Said what?”

She smiled and looked toward the food line ahead of them, but she wasn’t really seeing it anymore. The memory came back whole in the strange way old things sometimes did when one detail unlocked another. It had been junior year. Football season. Everybody sitting outside Mike’s house after practice because nobody wanted to go home yet. Stack had been arguing loudly about something nobody cared about and Smoke had been sitting back quieter than everybody else. Mike asked what they wanted to do when they got older and everybody gave normal answers first. But not Smoke.

She looked back at him. “You said if you ever had enough money you wanted your own place.”

His face stayed still.

She kept walking. “You said you wanted a house nobody could tell you to leave.”

His eyes stayed on her now.

She smiled. “You wanted land too.” Her smile widened slightly. “You said enough land that if you wanted to walk outside in your drawers and yell at people, nobody could stop you.”

That got an actual laugh out of him.

She noticed immediately. Then she continued. “You said you wanted a porch.”

Her voice softened naturally as more of it came back. “You said you wanted somewhere that felt yours.”

Smoke looked at her for a long moment before speaking. 

“…you remember that?”

The question surprised her enough that she looked at him fully.

She smiled. “Yeah.” Then she shrugged lightly. “I remember stuff people tell me.” Her eyes moved away briefly before returning. “Especially people I care about.”

She heard herself as soon as she said it. Her expression changed before she could stop it. Not because she regretted saying it. More because she realized she hadn’t filtered herself before speaking.

Smoke looked at her. It wasn’t the polite kind of looking people do while waiting for their turn to talk. He looked at her in a way that made her suddenly aware of how many things she still remembered that she had never meant to keep. Not birthdays or milestones or dramatic moments. She remembered conversations. Things said in passing. Dreams he admitted before they became real. The version of him that still existed before life hardened around them.

The feeling settled strangely in her chest.

Before either of them could sit inside it too long, a cousin farther back the buffet line shouted asking whether they planned on eating or standing there flirting all damn day while everybody else starved.

Everyone in the vicinity laughed immediately.

Annie smiled and looked away.

Smoke shook his head and stepped forward reaching for the plates and silverware, handing Annie hers first.

Annie grabbed rice first, then baked beans, one rib, and macaroni before lowering the spoon.

Smoke looked down at her plate. “That’s all?”

She looked over. “What?”

His eyes stayed on the food. “That ain’t enough..”

Before she could answer, he reached over and took the plate from her hands with a familiarity that surprised both of them. He added another rib, another spoonful of macaroni and baked beans, then a piece of chicken before handing it back.

Annie laughed. “Elijah.”

His hand paused for a second after she said his name. Then he nodded once. “Aight, aight.”

He didn’t remove anything.

She looked down at the plate, then back at him. Her smile stayed.

Together they moved down the line while someone behind them accused Cornbread of taking too many deviled eggs while Aunt Cheryl threatened to start assigning portions if people didn’t stop acting greedy.

The line moved slower than it looked from far away. Every plate became a conversation. A family friend wanted to know who made the potato salad. Another was trying to negotiate for corner pieces of macaroni before Aunt Cheryl caught them digging. An uncle argued loudly that people always forget the hot sauce until another aunt pointed at the bottle directly in front of him and called him an “old senile ass.”

By the time Annie and Smoke reached the end of the buffet, the noise had settled into that familiar cookout rhythm where nobody stayed in one place long but somehow everybody still knew where everybody else was.

Smoke took a step aside to let a man squeeze past carrying three overloaded plates and looked around while Annie adjusted her grip on hers. Every table seemed occupied. Not full exactly—there were open seats scattered around, but occupied in the way family gatherings always worked where every chair belonged to someone else whether they were sitting in it or not. Kids had abandoned half-eaten plates to run through the yard. Older people spread purses and keys across tables like territory markers. A guest had even turned a cooler into a seat. Another was eating standing up beside the fence.

Without saying anything, Smoke angled toward one of the folding tables beneath the pecan trees.

Annie followed automatically.

The table sat just far enough from the speakers that conversation didn’t require yelling but close enough that the music still carried. Empty paper plates and sweating drink cans crowded one end where people had clearly already eaten and moved on. Two chairs sat open.

Smoke reached the table first and pulled one out with his foot before sitting in the other.

The movement was small. Easy. So easy she almost missed it, but she didn’t. Her chest tightened unexpectedly. Not because he pulled out her chair. He didn’t. It was the assumption of it. The same quiet way he used to make room for her without asking.

She adjusted her dress beneath her legs before settling into the folding chair. Annie picked up her fork.

Smoke looked at her, looked at the plate, and then back up. His eyebrows lifted slightly.

She blinked. “What?”

Something flickered across his face—just enough.

She stared at him for another second. Then immediately laughed. “Oh my Go—I mean, forgive me Jesus.” She shook her head smiling. “Sorry.” She put her fork back down.

He watched her for a second before reaching across the table and taking one of her hands. Natural, like he’d done it yesterday instead of years ago.

His hand was warm. Calloused. Her breath caught for reasons she chose not to examine.

Smoke lowered his head slightly.

“Lord, thank You for this food. Thank You for bringin’ everybody together and lettin’ us see another day. Bless the hands that prepared it. Watch over everybody here and everybody we still waitin’ on. Keep us grateful for what You give and open to receive what You send.”

His thumb brushed once lightly against the side of her hand. Then— “And let Aunt Cheryl stop threatenin’ people over them damn deviled eggs.”

Annie laughed instantly.

Around them Aunt Cheryl yelled—“I HEARD THAT.”

Smoke smiled faintly, then finished quietly. “Amen.”

“Amen.”

He let go of her hand. Too fast. Annie looked at her hand before looking back at him. Her smile softened. “You still do that.”

Smoke frowned. “Do what?”

She looked down at her plate. “Pray before you eat.”

He shrugged. “You know who raised me.”

Annie smiled. No. That wasn’t it. His mama did raise him, but Smoke had always prayed. Quietly. Consistently. Even back then. She realized she remembered that too.

Smoke unfolded his napkin and laid it across his lap before immediately reaching for the hot sauce.

Annie watched.

He caught her looking. “What?”

She smiled. “Nothin’.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

She looked down at her plate. Then up at him again. “You still put hot sauce on everything.”

Smoke looked at the bottle in his hand, then shrugged. “Food be needin’ help.”

She laughed. His mouth twitched. That surprised her more than it should have.

For a while they ate in silence. The kind of silence that would’ve felt uncomfortable with anybody else, somehow didn’t here. Around them people moved in waves—some yelling for more napkins. Children screamed somewhere near the water hose. Latimore had turned into GloRilla and half the older crowd immediately started complaining. Smoke ate slowly. Methodically. Annie realized she remembered that too.

She looked down at her own plate, and then reached for her fork.

Smoke looked over. “That all you eatin’?”

She looked up. His eyes were already on her plate again. She laughed. “You already fixed my plate, Elijah.”

His eyebrows lifted. “You eat around stuff.”

Her hand paused. “What?”

He nodded toward the plate. “You ain’t touch the beans.”

She blinked. Then looked down. He was right.Her fork had worked around the baked beans completely.

She stared. Then looked back at him.  “…how you know that?”

Smoke looked confused. “You always did that.”

She laughed softly and shook her head.

That one got her. The fact he said it like it was obvious. Like eight years wasn’t enough time to forget she hated baked beans touching other food.

She picked up her fork again. “You remember weird stuff.”

He shrugged. “I remember regular stuff.”

Something about that landed heavier than she expected. She took another bite before smiling. 

“You still do that.”

His eyes lifted. “Do what?”

She nodded toward his plate. “Eat like somebody gon’ grade you on it.”

One side of his mouth moved. “What that mean?”

She laughed softly. “You eat real careful.”

His eyes dropped briefly to his plate. “That’s normal.”

She smiled. “No. Stack eat normal.”

Smoke glanced over automatically.

Stack stood near the grill eating the way he did everything else—too fast, talking too much, and one distracted moment away from ruining his shirt.

Smoke looked back. “…aight.”

That made her laugh harder. His mouth moved again into an almost smile. She leaned back in her chair and looked around.

The yard felt different sitting down. Slower. The sunlight filtering through the pecan trees had softened now, turning everything warmer. Smoke from the grill drifted lazily overhead. Lisa ran by holding a juice pouch bigger than her arm while Grace chased behind her. Therise sat nearby rubbing her stomach while Cornbread argued with one of his boys about eating vegetables.

Annie looked back at Smoke. “You really built it?” 

He looked up.

“The house.”

His expression softened slightly. “Oh.” He nodded. “Yeah.”

She rested her elbow lightly against the table. “How?”

He looked at her. Then looked out across the yard, like he had to decide where to start.

She realized she wanted to hear all of it. Not the short version people gave at reunions or the highlights. She wanted the real version. 

The one she would’ve gotten if she never left.

Smoke realized halfway through explaining it that he was talking more than he usually did.

At first he answered the way he answered everybody else when they asked about work. Short version. Practical version. He stabbed at his red velvet cake while he talked and kept his eyes mostly on his plate.

“Started doin’ framing after high school.”

Annie looked up.

He kept going. “One of Uncle Lewis’ friends needed people. Started residential first. Learned enough to move around.”

She nodded once, listening.

Smoke kept eating. “Then commercial work. Then started doin’ jobs myself.”

She tilted her head slightly. “How old were you?”

He thought about it. “Twenty-two? Twenty-three.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “That young?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t feel young.”

She smiled a little at that.

He noticed. Then kept going.

Somewhere between another bite of food and folks across the yard yelling about cheating at dominoes, he realized he stopped giving the short version.

He told her about working in summer heat until his clothes stuck to him by noon. About learning measurements by messing things up first. About figuring out pretty quickly he liked being outside more than behind a desk. He told her how one house became two and then somehow there were people working under him before he ever felt ready for that part.

He expected her to eventually stop listening. People usually did. They asked questions because they thought houses sounded impressive, then lost interest halfway through answers.

Annie didn’t. She kept asking strange questions. Questions nobody asked. “What’s your favorite part?”

Smoke looked up. “What?”

She shrugged and took a bite of her peach cobbler. “When you build.”

He stared at her, nobody ever asked that. He thought about it. Then answered honestly. “When it stop lookin’ like work.”

She smiled. “What that mean?”

He looked out toward the yard automatically. Trying to explain. “When you first start, it's just dirt.”

She watched him.

Then he continued. “Then wood and walls. Then eventually you standin’ in somethin’ that ain’t exist six months ago.”

She nodded immediately, like she understood.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

She smiled. “You always liked that part.”

Smoke looked at her.

Her fork paused halfway to her mouth. She blinked. “What?”

He stared.

“What?”

His voice came quieter. “How you know that?”

She looked confused, then looked down and laughed. Her shoulders lifted. “You used to draw houses.”

His eyebrows pulled together.

She kept talking. “Back of notebooks.”

His chest started tightening just enough to make breathing feel different.

She looked embarrassed suddenly. “I remember weird stuff.”

Smoke looked at her. Then shook his head. “Nah.”

She looked up.

His mouth moved slightly. “You remember regular stuff.”

Something changed in her face after that, something smaller than sadness. More careful. She looked down at her plate for a second before taking another bite.

He looked away first.

The yard kept moving around them.

Cornbread was chasing one of his boys holding a rib in each hand. The music somehow got louder. Aunt Cheryl yelled at people to throw their plates away. Little Lisa was crying somewhere and Grace sounded one second from laughing and losing patience at the same time.

Smoke looked back at Annie. She was eating slower now. She always did. Then he realized something. He’d been talking almost the entire time.

He frowned slightly. “What about you?”

She looked up.

He nodded once. “What you been doin’?”

Her expression changed immediately. He recognized that too. The small pause before she answered, like she was deciding what version to give.

She looked out at the yard, then back at him and started talking. Work first. Easy things. North Carolina. Her apartment. Her routine. People she’d met.

Stories.

While she talked, Smoke realized something he wasn’t prepared for. She still told stories the same way. Started in the middle. Circled back later. Used her hands when she got excited. Apologized when she thought she was talking too much.

He listened and somewhere between hearing about grocery stores, coworkers, apartment maintenance requests and how she still hated driving in Charlotte traffic—he realized something that settled low in his chest and stayed there.

He didn’t know this version of her. Not like before, but every few minutes she’d laugh a certain way, tilt her head, or remember something small and he’d recognize her again.

By the time people started slowing down on third plates and settling into the familiar rhythm of a Southern cookout—eating, arguing, walking, sitting back down just to stand up again five minutes later—the energy in the yard softened into something looser. The loud excitement of arrivals had worn off and settled into clusters. Older folks migrated toward shade and folding chairs, paper plates balanced on laps while conversations stretched across years and family trees. Kids had already abandoned actual meals in favor of popsicles, chips, and running themselves sick. The music changed again. Luther faded into Dru Hill for a minute before somebody protested and switched it back.

Geneva appeared carrying a clear plastic storage tub against her hip with the same expression she always wore before causing problems.

Nobody noticed at first, except Aunt Cheryl. She pointed immediately . “Ah hell nah.”

Geneva ignored her and kept walking.

Stack spotted the tub next and groaned. “Put them fuckin’ pictures back, mane.”

That got everybody’s attention. People started reacting before she even reached the tables.

“Not today.”

“Who got old pictures?”

“Geneva don’t start.”

Geneva dropped the tub onto an empty section of the buffet table between the leftover buns and a sweating pitcher of sweet tea. “I was cleanin’ closets.”

Nobody believed that.

The pictures came out anyway. 

It happened naturally after that. People stopped eating long enough to drift over and look. Hands started reaching. Some found an elementary school picture and immediately started roasting hairstyles. Someone else found old prom photos. A cousin started lying about ages and got corrected instantly. Kids kept trying to grab pictures and getting their hands smacked away before somebody else handed them disposable cameras from another pile to distract them.

Annie ended up near the table without meaning to. Smoke ended up there too beside her. Close enough, but nobody commented.

Geneva stood flipping through a stack while narrating to nobody in particular.“Lord look at this.”

“Oh this was ugly.”

“Who dressed us, the fuck?”

People leaned in and out around her shoulder. Grace had Lisa balanced against one hip while trying to steal bites off Bo’s plate at the same time. Therise sat lower in her chair rubbing absent circles over her stomach while one of her boys climbed halfway into her lap. Pearline had somehow inserted herself directly into the center of everything and Stack kept appearing over her shoulder anytime she laughed.

Geneva flipped one more. Stopped. Looked again and her face changed. Her eyebrows climbed and her mouth opened slightly before she made a low noise in her throat.

“Aww shit.”

That caught more attention than yelling would have. People turned.

“What?”

Geneva stared another second, and looked up. Her eyes moved once to Annie and Smoke, then back down. A sneaky ass smile started pulling at her mouth. She held the picture against her chest.

“Oh y’all thought y’all was slick.”

Immediately everybody wanted to see. Pearline reached for the picture, but Geneva pulled away. 

Stack tried to reach for it and again, Geneva pulled away.

Grace leaned forward laughing. “Move!”

Geneva laughed and finally handed the picture over.

Pearline took the photograph and immediately stopped smiling.

At first Annie thought she was joking, waiting for some exaggerated reaction or teasing comment, but Pearline just looked down at the picture for a long time. Her eyes moved once across the image, then lifted slowly toward Annie before drifting across the table toward Smoke and back down again. Something changed in her face—it wasn't a shock exactly, more recognition mixed with the satisfaction of finally having evidence for something she already suspected.

Her mouth stretched into a grin. “Oh y’all was bad.”

That was enough.

People started reaching automatically. Stack tried to take it and got smacked away. Bo leaned halfway across Grace to see. A cousin behind them started asking questions before they’d even seen it. The picture moved from hand to hand through overlapping reactions and commentary until eventually it ended up in Annie’s hands.

The photograph looked older than it actually was. Printed on glossy paper that had picked up faint bends and fingerprints over the years, the colors had softened just enough to make the whole thing feel warmer than real life. Like memory had edited it. 

Summer sunlight flattened everything into soft gold. Somebody’s backyard stretched behind them in a blur of folding chairs, coolers, and people half-cut out of frame. Stack stood in the background throwing up signs with his hands. Smoke sat in one of those cheap ass woven lawn chairs that somehow survived every cookout, stretched out in a white t-shirt and basketball shorts, looking mildly irritated that a camera was pointed in his direction.

And Annie—She stared. 

She was asleep, actually asleep.Her head rested against Smoke’s shoulder and her body had turned naturally toward him in the way people did when they trusted something enough to stop paying attention to it. One hand sat folded beneath her cheek. Her legs had curled in his direction.

But her attention kept returning to something she hadn’t noticed immediately. Smoke’s arm.

It rested around her side.

Not wrapped tightly, but it looked absentminded almost—his forearm curved behind her, hand resting lightly against her body as if steadying her had become automatic somewhere along the day and nobody thought enough of it to move. The thing that unsettled her most was that he wasn’t even looking at her. He’d been talking to somebody outside the frame. His expression looked normal. Like there was nothing unusual about any of it.

Annie stared harder. She remembered that cookout. She was fourteen at the time. She remembered being tired as hell. She remembered being hot and eating too much and probably complaining about something.

She did not remember this though.

Around her the conversation started unfolding the way family memories always did—not one person telling a story while everybody listened, but people remembering sideways together.

“Oh I remember that.”

“That was Barbara backyard. She done gone to Glory now.”

“She had worked that morning.”

“She fell asleep outside?”

Grace leaned farther in and laughed before pointing directly at Smoke.

“Wait. Why she sleep on you?”

Smoke looked once at the picture. His shoulders moved. “She was tired.”

That answer got a louder reaction than the picture itself.

Stack stared at him in disbelief. “That’s your defense?”

Smoke looked confused. “What else was she supposed to do?”

People started laughing harder.

Aunt Cheryl wandered over carrying sweet tea and looked down at the picture. Her face changed immediately. 

“Oh yeah.”

Everybody turned.

She pointed with her cup. “She passed out after she ate.”

Another cousin snapped her fingers. “Yes.”

Aunt Cheryl nodded once. “And Smoke wouldn’t let nobody move her.”

Annie looked up. Smoke looked away.

Another auntie laughed. “He carried her inside later.”

Smoke frowned. “No I didn’t.”

That got corrected immediately from three different directions. “Yes you did.”

Geneva pointed at the picture. “You carried her upstairs and put her in Barbara room.”

Another cousin jumped in. “You wouldn’t let nobody wake her.”

Smoke looked offended now. “That is not what happened.”

Uncle Lewis finally looked over from where he’d been eating and didn’t even pause before answering. “You said she wake up irritated and you ain’t want folks botherin’ her.”

The yard lost it.

Smoke looked personally betrayed. Geneva kept flipping. Another picture surfaced. Football game. Annie wearing a hoodie too big.  Smoke’s. Smoke beside her. Another cookout. Smoke fixing her plate. Another. School event. A group photo. People spread out across the frame. Except somehow Annie and Smoke were always touching. Shoulders brushing, knees angled together. Standing too close. Leaning or looking enough that once people started noticing it became impossible to stop.

Grace took one and looked down for a long second before slowly lifting her eyes. Her smile faded slightly. 

“Oh.”

Nobody answered.

She looked again. Then back up. “Oh y’all was together together.”

That quieted things more than the teasing had.

Aunt Cheryl looked over casually. “I always knew.”

People looked at her.

She shrugged. “What?”

Her eyes moved toward Smoke. “That boy looked for her before he did anything.”

Another auntie nodded immediately. “If Annie wasn’t outside he wasn’t stayin’ outside long.”

Someone laughed. Another added—“She sat beside him everywhere.”

Lewis pointed with his fork. “That boy built his whole schedule around her.”

Smoke immediately objected. “Mane, Unc—”

Stack started laughing immediately and pointed toward Uncle Lewis. “Nah, Unc—you right. You right.”

Smoke turned instantly. “Shut the fuck up, mane.”

Stack ignored him completely. “Practice over?” He nodded dramatically. “Where Annie.”

People started laughing harder.

Stack kept going. “Weekend?” Another nod. “Where Annie.”

He pointed toward Smoke with his cup. “Lunch?” Shrug. “Did Annie eat?”

Cornbread barked out laughing.

Stack looked around the group like he’d just solved a mystery. “Damn. This nigga ain’t have no hobbies.”

Annie looked over at Smoke. Smoke refused eye contact.

Aunt Cheryl took another sip and looked down at more photographs in front of her and began shaking her head. Her voice softened. 

“I really thought y’all was gon’ get married.”

Nobody laughed, because it didn’t shock them, she sounded sincere.

Her eyes moved between Annie and Smoke before settling back onto the pictures.

“Y’all was serious.” She smiled faintly. “Then Annie moved.”

The conversation didn’t stop after that. Somewhere behind them kids screamed over a water hose, others argued about ribs. Foil crinkled. But Annie looked back down at her fourteen-year-old self sleeping against Smoke and realized something she had never considered before.

They thought they had been private while everybody else had been watching them fall in love.

Aunt Cheryl took another sip of her sweet tea and continued casually—“I told yo’ mama to let you stay with me.”

The noise around the table kept moving for another second before it stalled.

Annie looked up. “Ma’am?”

Aunt Cheryl looked at her like she’d forgotten Annie didn’t know. “When y’all moved,” she shrugged lightly. “I told her leave you here with us so you could finish school.”

Smoke looked over, actually looked.

Pearline frowned. “You did?”

Before Cheryl could answer another voice floated over.

“She did.”

Everybody turned. Pearline’s mother Maxine stepped out from the house carrying a wine glass and one of those paper plates bending under too much food.

She looked between them. “We both did.” She sat down carefully. “We told your mama movin’ you your senior year wasn’t right if she didn’t have to.”

Annie stared.

Maxine shrugged. “Especially when you already basically lived over here.” She gave a small laugh. “You and…” she pointed toward Pearline.  “…Pea.”

Pearline groaned immediately. “Mamaaa, please stop callin’ me that.”

Maxine ignored her. “…came home cryin’.”

Annie blinked. “What?”

Aunt Cheryl nodded once. “You don’t remember?”

And suddenly she remembered. The memory came back the way it always did—through feeling first and details second. Cardboard boxes stacked against her bedroom wall. Her mother kneeling beside an open suitcase folding shirts with the kind of quiet focus that usually meant her mind was already somewhere else. Annie standing in the doorway pretending she wasn’t crying yet.

She remembered asking casually the first time. What if I stay with Pearline for the year?

Her mother hadn’t even looked up. No.

Annie remembered trying again later. Different day. Different approach. What if I stay with Aunt Cheryl?

That time her mother paused long enough for hope to show up where it shouldn’t have. Then— Baby, we already talked about this.

Annie remembered stepping farther into the room. I’ll come to North Carolina after graduation.

Her mother finally looked at her then. You comin’ with me.

Final.

Back then Annie thought that had been the whole conversation. She thought she asked, her mother said no, and life kept moving.

Sitting here now with a faded photograph in her hands and Aunt Cheryl looking at her over sweet tea, she realized there had been other conversations after she left the room. Adult conversations. Aunt Cheryl and Aunt Max offering. Them trying. People who saw her life here and tried to protect it in ways she never knew. And suddenly the ache sitting in her chest wasn’t about moving anymore. It was realizing she hadn’t imagined wanting to stay. 

She looked back at Aunt Cheryl. “…you asked?” 

Aunt Cheryl nodded.

Maxine took a sip. “She wasn’t hearin’ it.”

Nobody said anything more after that.

Annie looked down at the photograph again. Fourteen. Asleep on Smoke. Everybody thinking they had time. Her chest tightened worse. Not at her mother. Her mother had done what she thought was right, but suddenly—for the first time—she saw another version.

Senior year. One more year. Graduation. Prom. Football games. One more summer. One more year with him.

Her eyes lifted before she meant them to. Smoke was already looking at her. For the first time all afternoon—he looked surprised as well, like this changed something for him too.

Annie swallowed and set the picture down carefully.

Pearline looked up immediately. “Annie?”

Annie forced a small smile. “…I need a drink.”

She started walking away before she started mourning something she never realized she almost had.

Annie started moving before she fully decided to.

Her hand left the photograph and settled automatically against the edge of the table while her mind tried to reorganize itself around information she hadn’t known existed five minutes earlier. 

Around them the cookout continued uninterrupted. Mike asked where the hamburger buns went. Children ran past with wet shirts and popsicles staining their mouths. One of the older men near the domino table laughed so loudly the sound carried over the music. 

Normal.

The whole yard stayed normal. Which somehow made the ache sitting low in Annie’s chest feel sharper.

She smiled automatically and leaned her weight backward.

“I’m finna go get—”

Her voice stopped from surprise. Smoke’s hand had closed loosely around hers. For a second she looked at their hands before she looked at him.

He hadn’t moved otherwise. He was still standing near the table. Same expression mostly. But something had changed. The usual restraint she remembered in him had slipped somewhere while everybody talked. His face looked quieter now. Less guarded. Like he’d stopped paying attention to the people around them without realizing it.

When he finally spoke, his voice stayed low enough that she almost missed it beneath the noise.

“You asked to stay?”

She looked at him and suddenly she understood that he wasn’t asking for clarification. He was asking if what they said was true.

Her chest tightened.

She looked away first trying to find the right version of the answer. She gave a small laugh that disappeared almost immediately.

“Yeah.”

Her thumb stirred once beneath his hand.

“I asked.” She swallowed. “Then I asked again.” A small smile pulled briefly at her mouth. “And again.” 

Her shoulders lifted slightly. “Till she finally had to tell me stop askin’.”

Annie said it so lightly, like something she’d made peace with a long time ago.

But Smoke’s face changed. His eyes stayed on her longer than before and she felt his thumb move once against the side of her hand before he seemed to realize what he was doing and went still again.

When he spoke again his voice sounded different—honest in a way she wasn’t prepared for. 

“I thought you wanted to leave.”

Her head turned immediately in confusion. “What?”

His eyes dropped briefly before coming back to her. His jaw flexed once, then his shoulders moved in the smallest shrug. 

“I thought you was ready.”

Annie stared at him—something uncomfortable and sad opened inside her. Not because of what he said, but because she understood. She thought he knew. Thought he understood she didn’t want to go. Thought he knew she cried every night. All this time he thought she left and learned how to live without him.

Her eyebrows pulled together. Her answer came before she could edit it. 

“I never wanted to leave.”

Smoke looked at her the way people look when they realize they’ve been carrying the wrong version of a story for years and suddenly don’t know where to put it.

Neither of them moved or acknowledged they were still holding hands.

The yard kept moving around them anyway. Music changed. Coolers opening. Aunt Cheryl started yelling about sweet tea.

But something had changed. Not outside.

Between them.

Annie looked at him and realized she had been carrying guilt she never examined. Smoke looked at her and realized he’d been carrying rejection that wasn’t real. For one impossible second she wondered how many years they had both spent grieving two completely different versions of the same goodbye.

Then a voice came from in front of them.

Familiar.

Close enough that it belonged there.

“Hey...”

The moment broke. Smoke turned. Annie turned too.

Jada stood a few feet away with an expensive handbag in her hand and sunglasses pushed up into her curls. She looked like somebody who had arrived late to something ordinary.

Her eyes landed on Smoke first. Then lowered… stopped.

Annie followed her gaze.

Their hands.

Jada looked up again. This time at Annie.

Annie turned back toward Smoke automatically and for the first time all day she couldn’t read his face. He didn’t pull away and he didn’t tighten his grip either. If anything, he seemed to become aware of the moment at the exact same time she did. 

His eyes moved to Jada and stayed there for a second before coming back to Annie. She watched something pass across his face—surprise first, then something she couldn’t organize quickly enough to understand. His hand remained around hers for another second before his fingers eased away gradually, not dropping her hand, but releasing it carefully, almost reluctantly, like he had become aware of the touch at the same moment she had.

Annie looked down briefly before lifting her eyes again. The feeling that hit her wasn’t embarrassment or even disappointment. It felt stranger than that. For one impossible second she had forgotten there was a world outside of this conversation, and now it had returned all at once with names, history and context attached to it.

But underneath all of that sat another realization arriving slower than the others.

Jada didn’t look confused. She looked surprised to see Annie. Not surprised to see Smoke.

And suddenly Annie became aware of something. The ease in the way Jada approached them. The familiarity in her voice when she said his name. The way she stepped into his space without hesitation, like she already knew she had the right to be there.

Like she belonged there.

Nobody spoke. Then somewhere behind them at exactly the same time—

Stack said quietly—

“…oh shit.”

Pearline whispered—

“…fuck.”

End Note: Soooo....yeah. This chapter did NOT go as I planned. This was supposed to be the blow out, but I swear these characters have a mind of their own. They take me where THEY want to go. But I hope you liked this chapter and next chapter (I promise) is where it all goes down!

Tag List:

Cloying—the one word he’d use to describe her. 

Rich. Decadent. Too much of a good thing. But there was no way he’d start complaining about it right now. 

Fingers indented the flesh of her ass and thighs while nails pierced his shoulders, tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck. 

They were supposed to hate each other. They were supposed to despise one another. She was his twin’s annoying best friend. He, her best friend’s uptight older brother who couldn’t help but turn his nose up at her short shorts and crop tops. But she wore them for him—just as he wore his low-hanging sweatpants for her. 

When she’d come over to the twin’s shared apartment, they’d parade around for each other: Annie in her booty shorts and tight shirts, Smoke in sweatpants and a tank, a chain if he was feeling particularly interested in her attention. He’d come out of his room “for a bottle of water” or “to ask about plans for later,” but he was really just trying to get a look at Annie’s long legs. And she’d roll her eyes at him and make smart ass comments just to rile him up, but she was always looking at him a little too hard, too. 

They hated each other for no good reason. For simply being around. For taking up space. For speaking and smelling divine and looking good enough to eat even though they knew they couldn’t have each other. 

And now—despite all that—they were tangled up in Smoke’s sheets, and Annie was sitting thick and pretty on his palate like a good meal when you’ve been starved for ages. 

“Smoke,” the young woman whined, clawing at his upper body. He had her thighs pried open and her legs thrown over his shoulders, and every time she attempted to catch her breath, he was halting her action by dousing her in more pleasure. She squirmed in his hold, but her efforts were in vain. The young man held on too tight, but even though Annie was struggling against him, she didn’t want to go too far anyway. He felt too good, fucking her with his tongue, sucking on her clit with those plush lips. When he practically began to swallow her arousal from the source, she shook against the bed aggressively. And just as she felt the wave begin to wash over her exhausted, needy body, the man stopped. 

A huff escaped his lips—gruff, angry, and resentful.

“I can’t fuckin’ stand you,” Smoke growled, mind reeling from the delicious sound of her moaning his name and the too sweet taste of her on his tongue. He sat back on his haunches, but all that did was give him a better view of her bare body. The man rolled his eyes, growled once more from the sweat-slicked sight.

“Well, I can’t stand yo’ ass neither,” Annie shouted, propping herself up to get a better look at him.

They wore matching scowls, eyes full of contempt. Beneath the surface, their bodies were buzzing for a release that seemed too distant now, but Annie’s thighs were wet with her arousal—a puddle in the sheets—and Smoke’s length was throbbing with every glimpse he allowed himself to take of her.

The woman’s scowl turned to a wicked grin. And one glance at the time had her mind made up.

“Come on, Smokey,” Annie teased, crawling toward where Smoke had decided to land—at the edge of the bed with his back toward her. “You obviously need to let some steam off,” she hummed, hooking her arms around his neck from behind, “and Stack won’t be back from that li’l date for a minute. Stop bein’ pussy.”

She started kissing up the back of his neck, heavy, thick kisses that had his eyes fluttering shut. But her words were like ice, chilling his system and bringing that contempt back to the surface. He growled once—just once—then he grabbed her and swung her into position on his lap.

“I ain’t no pussy,” he condemned, smacking her ass and watching the way she tried her best not to flinched. He watched her grind her teeth, her hatred of him being just as strong as his for her. “And I don’ told you about callin’ me that name.”

“What? Smokey,” she threw in question, already knowing the answer. He’d said it time and time again, but that was what she used to successfully piss him off every time—she wasn’t about to stop now. Watching the man closely, she couldn’t help but notice the way his jaw tightened at the sound of the nickname again, and at that, she set her hips in motion.

Her wet arousal rocked against his—slow, teasing, angry. She did nothing to remove the sly grin on her lips. She let it melt into her skin and stay planted there as she indulged in the way the man’s eyes were rolling back from the feel of her.

Smoke gritted his teeth at the feeling of Annie’s clit sliding along his dick, and he did his best not to let the pleasure show, but she had moans escaping his lips and tears pricking in his eyes before he could stop it. His hands held her in place atop him, attempting to command the situation. But annoyingly enough, Annie was too good at maintaining control—over him and the task at hand.

“I hate seein’ yo’ stupid fuckin’ face when I come over here,” the woman huffed, rising up on her feet. She sank down onto his length, shuddering at the stretch, chuckling when he groaned. “You must don’t ever go out ‘cause you always here,” she added, breath quickening as her body began to move at a steady pace. Her words were laced with hatred, but beneath the anger, resided that small part of her that anticipated seeing him every time she came over, the part that chose her outfits according to what would turn his head the most, the part that was ecstatic to finally have him buried inside her and at her mercy.

Smoke shifted their position. He moved back up the bed, rested his body, planted his feet, lifted her slightly. He laughed at the surprised look that took over her face, but he immediately turned cold once more.

“You the one that’s always over here in my face,” he argued, pulling her in close. His nails pierced the flesh of her ass punishingly, and with his regaining of control, he forced her to meet his thrusts as he pounded into her from below. “You stay up in my house, bothering me. But I’m the problem?” Each word bit. Each statement true. But Annie wasn’t ready to back down.

“Yeah,” she choked, fuming in a unique mix of hate and lust. “Yeah, you the fuckin’ problem.”

Her hips snapped harsh. Her hands pressed into his shoulders as she rode him silly, refusing to let him win. And he wasn’t letting up either.

The air of the room turned dark and dense as the two fought to make the other crumble. They wouldn’t allow themselves to be the first to break—the first to cum, to show how much they desired the other—but someone had to be the one.

Meeting each other thrust for thrust, their breaths mingled, their tongues fought, their bodies began to shudder viciously. Annie’s teeth bit into the meat of Smoke’s bottom lip, and his palms claimed her ass with an ease neither of them would talk about outside of this room.

“You finna cum,” the man barked, waiting for an answer in the form of moans and trembling. He smacked her ass, fucked her with aggression.

“Hell naw,” Annie hurled back, queuing up her insults. “Nigga, this shit weak. But I know this pussy ‘bout to have you ruined.”

And ruined he was—right alongside Annie, too.

For the next few weeks, they poked at each other, prodded, towed that line between disgust and desire. When they saw each other, their eyes flashed with hatred, and when Stack turned his back, drifted too far away, they were on each other hot. They couldn’t deny the need. They couldn’t stuff down the craving.

That’s why they were back at it again.

Smoke’s bed.

Stack long gone.

Annie with her face down—ass up.

“You need this shit like a greedy li’l slut,” the man taunted, stroking her deep. Her arch became more pronounced as her arms slid forward and her mouth fell open. She couldn’t protest because when he texted her and said Stack ‘went out,’ she immediately jumped from her comfortable position in bed, slid her shoes on, and drove her ass over to that apartment. She was greedy—yes. A slut—absolutely.

Her hips worked to bring them both closer to the edge, falling back into his strokes because she was a pro at this shit now. They’d done it plenty of times: always here in his bed where they could be caught at any moment. She knew how he liked it, knew that when his mouth got slick he was close to burying himself deep in her.

“Smoke,” Annie slurred, words weak from all the wails he’d pulled from her tonight. Her hand wrapped around his wrist in an effort to seek out connection, and as much as he despised her, he let her have it. Their fingers intertwined, bodies creating a delicious rhythm. And they let go—together.

As they winded down from the effects of their orgasms, their hands remained connected. Annie’s thumb stroked the side of Smoke’s hand, working diligently to pull sharp breaths from him. He couldn’t push away that feeling she gave him: like he was going to eventually lose his life in her but that it would be worth it in the end. He shifted his position, turned on his side to watch her, but Annie was already looking at him.

“I gotta go,” the young woman spoke matter-of-factly. She dragged her body away from his, and as she sat of the edge of his bed, he watched her stretch. Her arms rose above her head, pulling her worn out muscles gently. She shifted to the side and he could make out the curve of her breast—delicate and hefty at the same time. It made his mouth fall open, but he soon gained the woman’s attention. “The fuck you lookin’ at,” Annie hurled in his direction. She began to pull her clothes back on, starting with her undergarments, but she couldn’t find her shirt anywhere.

“What we doin’ for real, Anne,” Smoke leveled, standing up on wobbling feet.

“We fuckin’,” she answered with a roll of her neck. “Duh.”

“This ain’t just fuckin’, and you know that,” he continued. He stepped in her direction, beginning to help in the pursuit of her long lost shirt. “If this is just fuckin’ then why you don’t wanna tell my brother?”

“‘Cause I don’t want Stack in all my damn business,” Annie turned quick. She shot through him with her eyes, but he couldn’t hardly take anything serious as she stood before him with her upper half nearly bare: her bright pink bra was the only thing covering her chest.

“But you tell Stack everything,” Smoke threw out—completely confused. She and his twin had been close for a long while now, and there was nothing the other didn’t know—except for this. He had also never been much of a liar, but since Annie insisted this remain a secret, he listened.

But now, the man was conflicted by his feelings.

He couldn’t fucking stand Annie, but looking at her big, brown eyes and having held her hand so dearly earlier, he was experiencing a new, rawer emotion.

He watched her continue to scrounge for her shirt as a way to not look him in the eye, but that didn’t mean he was done with his line of questioning.

“What you want from this? From me and you,” Smoke whispered. His voice was low, tone dripping in a seriousness that seemed to be plaguing him right now. Annie turned completely in his direction, her search for the shirt fully thwarted now. She crossed her arms under her chest and leaned against the dresser on the opposite side of the room, sighing with a strangled breath that seemed to not want to come out.

When she looked at him, her eyes were big and round, wet with emotion.

“It started as me wantin’ to prove something,” she shrugged, eyes stuck on his. “I wanted to prove that I was more than just a nuisance, that I could make you feel something other than your hate for me, that I could dive headfirst into this and walk away unscathed.” She shook her head, diverted her gaze. “And now,” she continued, words catching on the way out, “now I feel silly for lettin’ this continue for so long, knowin’ what you do to me.”

“Anne—” the man tried, but she kept speaking, kept spiraling.

“I’m just so stupid! Of course this was just sex for you,” Annie pointed in his direction before smoothing her hair down away from her face. Her body seemed to be vibrating, and Smoke’s fingers trembled with a need to reach out for her, but he knew that would only worsen the situation. “And now I’ve just made it weird because I couldn’t keep my feelings in check. And I can’t find my damn shirt no where!”

She searched frantically—high and low—but she came up empty every time. And as he watched her, Smoke stood there stunned. He didn’t have a clue what to say. Partially because he was still using that excuse of hating her. Partially because he was still oscillating between his difficult emotions. All he thought about now seemed to be Annie. Annie’s annoying voice. Annie’s annoying laugh. Annie’s annoyingly pretty smile. He continued to find himself trapped in their moments together, how easily they came together in his bed, how they could communicate with such ease at times before getting caught up in what they thought they were supposed to want.

He hated her. But her adored her. And he definitely understood what she meant about feeling silly.

When he noticed the tears falling from her eyes, Smoke finally let himself step forward. He reached for her in an attempt to calm her down, but the sound of keys in the front door halted that effort.

“Oh my God,” Annie breathed heavily, moving to cower in a corner. She had no shirt on, was crying like a fool, and was in her best friend’s brother’s room after fucking him behind the other man’s back. She didn’t know what to do, and one look at Smoke showed that he didn’t have a clue either. They remained quiet—didn’t dare make a sound first—but Stack’s words rang out loud.

“Aye yo’,” he laughed into the near quiet apartment. “Annie, where you at, girl?! I saw yo’ car in the lot!”

Their hearts sank to their feet, the inevitable finally coming face to face with them. Annie shook in her spot, terrified of the consequences of lying to the person closest to her, and as frightened as Smoke was as well, he forced himself to put on a brave face for her.

As Stack kept shouting her name, mumbling how she must be in the bathroom or something, the older twin tossed her one of his shirts.

In the living room, however, Stack was leaning back against the couch as a flash of color gained his attention. A bright baby blue crop top sat on the other side of the room, and without picking it up, he already knew who it belonged to.

He stopped speaking all together—because there had to be an explanation, because he was just not understanding what the situation was. His brother was here too; He had to be. Stack had seen his car parked in its usual spot, but maybe that hadn’t been his best friend’s vehicle at all. She had parked too far away, on the opposite end of the lot tucked into a corner. But he’d worked on her car enough times to recognize the unique dents and scratches.

And now, he was in his home, calling her name to no answer—from either of them. But there had to be an explanation, right?

Down the hall, a bedroom door, croaked open.

Two sets of feet set in motion. Slow. Trembling. Guilty.

Tears flooded one person’s eyes. Fear flooded another’s.

But there was no going back now.

Stack’s eyes bounced between the pair. From Smoke to Annie. From the shirt the woman wore to the one she’d obviously forgotten was in the living room all along. Confusion etched into his features. It was a strange type of understanding because of course he knew what this meant—Annie was wearing his brother’s shirt and they were both looking guilty as fuck—but how had this all happened? They hated each other. They had hated each other from the moment they first met.

The younger twin shook his head, a smile pulling at his lips. Then he laughed—disbelief shining through.

“Man y’all fucked up,” he cackled, tossing his head back. Standing to his feet, the young man continued to laugh and joke and admonish, and the embarrassed pair watched with wide eyes. He wouldn’t stop or let up, and they just had to stand there and take it. “This is what happens when you pretend like you hate somebody,” he continued, hands rising in the air. “You end up fuckin’ ‘cause ain’t shit else to do wit’ all that pent up energy.”

He turned toward the hallway, still shaking his head in disbelief, laughing to keep himself together. When he reached his bedroom door, he took one look at them. How they stood at an awkward distance from each other. How it seemed to be something else going on that he didn’t want to get into right now. Seriousness took control of his features, returning him to the moment he first realized something wasn’t right. With their backs to him, he sighed, and clearing his throat, he turned his doorknob and spoke once more before departing.

“All I got to say is y’all better get y’all shit together and not make me choose between y’all. For real though.”

The room fell quiet. With Stack gone, the pair were left to reckon with what they were doing, with the fact that their dirt had seen the light of day. Smoke, eyes picking up the glare from Annie’s long lost shirt, leaned forward to grab it. And as his fingers connected with the fabric, he reveled in the softness, the roughness, the unmistakable Annie-ness of the feel.

“Here you go,” he extended his hand. His volume was low, afraid to rustle the quiet air, and the woman thanked him in a tone just as soft.

Annie watched his eyes carefully, trying to find his lingering disdain for her, but there was none.

“I appreciate it,” she offered her thanks again, much more confident this time, and as a soft grin filled Smoke’s lips, Annie allowed hers to match.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

word count: ~3,200

a/n: i hope y'all enjoyedddd and thank you for readinggg

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

Smoke was going through a lot. Ever since that night at Messenger’s and ending up on his back in Annie’s bed, the man has been incapable of calming his wired body.

Every single thought was consumed by you and Annie. He’d been so close to having you both—on the verge of having his wildest dreams come to fruition—but when you pulled back, that dream shattered. Since then, Annie has put him on punishment: no sex until she thought he was deserving of it. And with Annie, there was no telling how long that would be. She had him on a tight leash, one that he wanted to tug on and tug on until he was able to free himself. But he so badly wanted to be good for her, though every time he thought about the two of you pressed together, it got harder to behave.

With you working so much, it wasn’t like he could turn to you anyway. Your body was too tired to play with him, but he understood the fatigue you were experiencing, the stress on your system. He tried his best to alleviate it by sliding you money here and there, but you loved your independence and he begrudgingly chose to respect that.

Smoke Moore was never the most sunshiny of man, but now that he was being denied reprieve from Annie and was unable to seek refuge in you, he was insufferable. Every sound that left his mouth was a grunt, and every look he directed toward another was a mix of scowls, lowered eyes, and bulging veins. He was snapping at any person who crossed his midst—most notably Stack who kindly encouraged him to get his shit together before he told you and Annie about his nasty attitude.

And even then, that tactic only worked for smaller instances. Smoke would be yelling down somebody's throat because they bumped into him or talked too loud or plain ole existed, and Stack would bump his shoulder before mumbling, "Don't make me into a snitch, nigga. You know I'm scared of them women, but I'll do it." As a result, Smoke would hush up, grumble under his breath, and move on before the whole event was repeated again and again and again. The cycle was exhausting and annoying, but it continued only because the older twin hadn't done anything too egregious.

But then the inevitable happened, and Stack couldn't bite his tongue any longer.

The stifled man stood near the end of his small cot, bedroom door locked, hand braced on the chest of drawers ahead of him, abs trembling, shirt captured between his teeth, and permanent crease parting his eyebrows. He had held on as long as he could, but everything went out the window when he walked into town yesterday. It had been early morning, and as much as he wanted to welcome the singing of every Clarksdale bird, all he could do was drone his own song of displeasure.

He kicked a rock as he bypassed Ada's salon. Murmured when he reached the tailor's. But when he looked into the window of Maybelle's General Store, his heart and body vibrated tremendously. Annie was leaned over the counter, hand on her chin as she looked at your face with a smug, all-too-knowing expression; and you had your head cocked to the side, eyes skirting down to her chest and undressing her like you'd been given the roadmap to her body.

It had sparked that dream up in his system once more, and all he wanted was to fit himself behind Annie or beside your coy grin. He felt the heat beginning to rise below his belt, his arousal making itself evident, and before he became indecent for a public space, he made his way home.

He'd been locked in his bedroom since, shunning Stack away, telling Cornbread to get his ass out of his house. He'd tried, truly tried to abstain from his need, but once he got started, there was no stopping him.

With the shirt between his teeth, he worked to muffle the sound of his whines. No one was home, but he didn't even want the empty walls around him to hear how desperate he was for the pleasure of those two women. They'd each given him something to crave, and while they were similar, they each allowed him a different aspect of the submission he learned to love.

You were the one that held him close, praise at the tip of your tongue more often than not. Annie was the one that punished him like he knew better—because he did. Her degradation and harshness is what he loved the most—how she could grab his neck, tug on his ear, and call him everything but a Child of God and still get a rise out of him. He could only imagine how your sweetness plus her harshness would work to stir that side out of him even more, and as he worked at his length, he couldn't stop where his mind decided to take him.

"Fu—fuck," he released trembly, muffled by the stretched fabric. His body glistened in sweat from his efforts to get himself off. He'd been at it for what felt like hours, orgasm after sweet orgasm as he treated his body in the way he was being refused. He was angry but too wrecked to complain to the powers that be. It was his own fault for why he was in this situation in the first place. He shivered each time his palm dragged closer to the tip, oversensitive and fucked out. But he persisted.

Each stroke was in perfect timing. Each moan was followed by the names of two women he couldn't seem to forget. The picture of you and Annie leaned toward each other with dark, alluring eyes remained at the front of his mind, and he could feel the next climax on its way.

He chased it feverishly, begged for it, pleaded to whoever could hear his small cries to let his body know some sort of peace.

He was so damn close.

It was right there.

But, of course, the front door had to snap on its hinges and footsteps had to ruined the already troubled air. They were quick, the notable sound of Stack's brand new wingtip oxfords and two other pairs of feet crossing the length of the home.

Smoke let out a groan that was deafening before punching the air with as much energy as he had available. His shirt covered his chest and abs once more. His pants moved back up to his hips. And his back defiantly met the cushion of his padded cot.

Nigga can't have shit 'round here, he thought to himself, arms crossed over his chest. He stared into the ceiling with might that turned to straight violence when his brother knocked on the door.

"Aye, man," Stack shouted through the wood. "You 'posed to be hangin' wit' the fellas tonight. When you gon' leave this room?" As much as the man's tone was full of annoyance, there was concern beneath it, but Smoke was too angry to hear anything other than his heartbeat in his ears.

"I ain't goin' out," he lashed, words hot in their delivery. It made Stack turn toward the two people behind him who shook their heads in disapproval. He huffed, eyes down as he thought of the best way to get his brother out of his funk. With nothing coming to mind, he chose fighting words, resorting to that sibling teasing he knew too well.

"Man, you gotta cut this out for real," the younger twin tried again. "You gon' spend the rest of your life in this room 'cause you mad about some pussy? Stop bein' a li'l bitch and pull yourself together!"

On one side of the bedroom door, three people heard everything go silent in sound and emotion, only the sound of their own breaths moving the air.

But on the other side, Smoke raged.

In a flash of a second, the door went from closed with Stack completely out of harm's way to it nearly flung off of its hinges as Smoke barreled through it to set Stack's ass straight. His body was full on top of his, laying hit after hit that was far too light to do any real harm. It was the older twin's stamina that was doing the younger man in. He couldn't get a smack in to save his life, and as he resolved to covering his face, the other two people in the room were hunched over. They belly-laughed at the scene before them: how Smoke was practically blowing smoke from his ears, how Stack was praying to God for safe-keeping.

"Fuck y'all laughin' at," the younger brother shouted, interrupting the fun. "Save me!" And they did the best they could, pulling Smoke back and propelling his body away long enough for Stack to run out the front door. Smoke was obviously hot on his tail though, leaving the two onlookers to cackle even more.

Cornbread and Bo grabbed at their stomachs in an attempt to suppress the hurt of laughter, but nothing helped. Because as they looked in the distance, Stack was running in the direction of Annie's home, and Smoke was so rage-filled that he was none the wiser.

Stack bounded toward the woman's home, only hoping that she was there and could rid him of whatever evil had obviously been placed on his brother. His legs moved in a long stride, knees high as his arms helped to propel him. He and his brother were damn near the same person physically, so he restrained himself from looking backward. He could feel the man hot on him, getting closer the more his anger soared through his veins, but the younger of the two could see Annie's home in the distance. So close but so damn far.

He kept up his speed, heart ringing in his ears. When he got within shouting distance is when he was tackled to the ground. Dirt was thrown into the air. Rocks pressed into his cheeks as his brother smushed his face into the ground. Stack's head was turned to the side, so he could see the fist raise high, ripping through the air at lightening speed.

But then, Calvary came.

"Elijah Moore!" Two voices sounded at once. Loud. Piercing. Angry with disappointment. And the sound of it is what brought the man's fist back to his side. He scrambled to his feet, embarrassed more than anything at this point. Stack laid there. Blinking dirt from his eyes and heaving more than his brother thought was necessary. He processed the way his life had completely flashed before his eyes.

Smoke—terrified and seeing his own life flash away—met the disgruntled eye of two women. Annie was normally the one who showed no mercy with him for a plethora of reasons, but the look you gave was one he wasn't ready for. You could be rough in bed—intense, cruel, sadistic—but you were sweet in your delivery. You praised him for breaking and made him feel special when he couldn't do anything other than obey. You'd smile up at him: grin, laugh, pull him close. The person before him now was absent of all those things.

It was then that he noticed just how similar you and Annie really were. You could be just as brutish as she could, and he could practically feel the near punishment on his soft skin already.

You and Annie had been spending a lot more time together since she walked you back to her home. That night was full of pleasure and desire being met. While you thought it would satiate you, all you wanted was more of it. She'd visit you at Maybelle's: bring you lunch when she knew you wouldn't get a proper break, help you pass the time in the evenings when it got slow. And you'd almost always end up walking home with her.

You both agreed to be callous with Smoke. He'd been playing games to get you two in one room, and while he had succeeded in making the both of you acqaintances, he didn't need to know it just yet. The two of you wanted to know each other outside of your Elijah—hoping that when you did finally let the man in, you'd be able to ruin him in a way he never expected.

It was your first weekend off in ages when you traveled to the woman's home. You'd knocked on her door politely, waited on her to answer, and when she did, there was a bright smile on her lips.

"You don't work today," she had asked breathily, but she knew the answer. At that time of the day, you'd be knee-deep in tasks at the store, but you were standing right in front of her. Well rested. Stress free. And hungry in a way only she could satiate. You took your time with her, slowly moving your way into her home, laying soft kiss after soft kiss against her neck. She was addicted to your sweetness, how your dominance could land hard and coated in honeyed words. She tipped her head back as you moved toward her chest, lips seeking her out in a way to say you were going to take your time with her.

You hadn't been too deep into her pleasure yet when you heard the commotion. It started out as a distant voice, but the closer it got, it turned into yells for help, grunts of anger, rocks kicking up as two heated bodies advanced down the road.

Your head turned toward the window, heart stirring, and that's when you both saw it: Two identical figures racing the length of the road. Annie was the first one to the door, already knowing from years with the twins that if the older one got his hands on the younger, Stack was a goner.

By the time Smoke had tackled him to the ground, you both had stepped off of the porch, hands on your hips or arms crossed under your chests as you shook your heads. The man's name left your mouths simultaneously, and that brought you to now.

"You just can't act right, can you, 'Lijah," Annie taunted, towering over the man in his bound position. You stood behind her, one eyebrow raised as Smoke looked worriedly between the both of you. His muscles flexed against the ropes, his body trembled as he fought to break loose. But there was no use—y'all had bound him too tight. His eyes were sad and angry and accusatory at the same time, and it made you purse your lips.

"Don't look at me like that, baby," you moved forward, bending down so you were eye level with him as he sat in the chair. "You brought this on yourself."

It hadn't been hard to get him in this position. After his name had been yelled across the yard, he walked into the home like a dog with its tail between its legs. And when you pulled the chair away from the kitchen table, dragged it down the hall, positioned it right in front of Annie's bed, and told him to sit, he questioned nothing—not even how you knew your way around the woman's home and why you'd been there in the first place. As you did this, Annie brought her blade to his neck, threatening him to resist as the two of you worked the rope around his body. His arms and legs were completely bound to the chair, and the rope across his chest restricted his full mobility.

And he looked gorgeous tied up for you.

Eyes on Annie now, you moved in her direction. A hand landed on her hip, and your lips connected with her ear.

"I think we should finish what we started," you hummed suggestively to which the woman responded with a needy moan. You hated having been interrupted with such foolishness before, but now, you had a captive audience. "I say we make him watch," you added. You could feel his attention locked on the way your hand moved up Annie’s body, traveling up her leg, between her thighs, across her hip.

The kisses started softly and teasingly with both of your eyes refusing to give the man any more of your attention. This was about the two of you now, and his cries were just background noise, adding to the tension and heat in the room. You took control first, grabbing Annie’s neck and tipping her head back. Engulfing her, you swallowed every groan she could muster, mouth to hers, chest to hers. You could feel her head swimming with need.

Annie’s hands flailed to meet your body, but once they did, her touch turned to straight greed. Your dress was pulled over your head in record time, body half-bare when she began to guide you to the edge of her bed. Sitting down facing the room’s middle, you kept your eyes on the woman as she planted heavy kisses on your skin. Your jaw. Your neck. Your chest. Your stomach and thighs. She commanded you in a way that didn’t require your submission, in a way that allowed space for your dominance to breathe.

From the chair, Smoke salivated. Experiencing his two lovers in a position like this was a dream come true, but the further Annie went with her kisses, the more frustrated he was becoming. He wanted a taste; He wanted to feel every inch of skin between you, but the ropes held him back. He watched you pant as the woman fully settled onto her knees.

With your legs over her shoulders and a hand in her hair, you released a decadent sound when her tongue explored your folds. It was half moan and half song, but the sound of it warmed everyone’s ears. Annie grabbed your ass for better leverage, stuffing her face in you. Her tongue was confident—because she’d done this before. She knew what you needed and how you needed it, so when your breath caught as she swiped your clit, Annie only went harder.

“Just like that, beautiful,” you nodded, words coming out breathily. Your held her head in place, her eyes locked on you as her full lips trapped your clit in a kiss. Sucking the bundle of nerves into her mouth, you felt your body begin the tremble. It started out small with just your fingertips quivering, but when she began to practically swallow you, you became sensitive all over. “Fuck, yes,” you cried, nodding your head from the pleasure. Your eyes were locked on her, and as good of a job as you’d done blocking the man from your mind, his whining was starting to break your bubble.

Annie’s ears twitched as she felt the shift. Smoke was calling out y’all’s names, expecting you to answer. He was rocking in the chair, trying his best to free himself and over power the hold. The sound was beginning to distract. His desperation and disobedience was beginning to annoy.

But she kept her eyes trained on you as her tongue swirled around your clit. Two fingers traveled up your thigh, landing near your entrance. Annie teased you with them, letting the anticipation boil over. By the time her fingers were coated in your arousal, ready to capture you, Smoke had become incessant.

“Please,” he yelled, teeth gritted, face angry.

But Annie kept going, and you just moaned like his voice was an added sensation.

“I’m fuckin’ serious,” he added darkly, but it only made you laugh and toss your head back. At the same time, Annie fingers were conquering your pussy, and you let it happen, arching into her fingers and mouth.

Chair legs scraped the floor.

Greedy grunts filled the air.

Heavy moans pulled at heartstrings.

Pussy juices added to the cacophony.

Everything would have been fine if he hadn’t uttered his next words—peachy keen in all seriousness—but the man just had to open his mouth and disturb the peace.

“Just wait ‘til I get outta this chair,” Smoke threatened, throbbing length pressing against the fabric of his pants from the display. He bared his teeth, each word punctuated by his anger. “When I get out,” he breathed smoke, “I’m ruinin’ everybody fun.”

You and Annie didn’t stop all at once. It started with her tongue twitching against your folds and your lips opening in a disbelieving gasp. It continued with you releasing the back of the woman’s head and her pulling away to gaze up into your eyes. You shared a look, one that had been cultivated by nights spent together in sweet agony. A command passed over her face, quiet yet serious, and as she fully pulled away, you remained in your spot as she expected you to.

“You gettin’ real bold, Smoke,” she grumbled. Her feet crossed the small space, each one landing like fire against the wood. “This ain’t the streets of Chicago or the back roads of Clarksdale. This is my damn house. Who do you think you are to be makin’ empty threats?” She meant it retorically, but the empty air plus your amused eyes on him made the man stutter out a reply.

“I-I’m your Elijah,” he quipped, reverting into himself already. Her dominant aura was too strong.

“Naw,” Annie raised her chin. She put her hands on her hip, beginning to circle the man in the chair. “My Elijah, knows better,” she began. “My Elijah knows how to act. He knows what I expect from him.”

“I’m so-sorry,” the man choked out, wrists pressing against the binds. The sound of his voice made the woman scoff in disgust, but when she looked over to you, your eyes were bright and full of intrigue. She shook her head, watching as your hands traveled the length of your body. You removed the minimal fabric she’d left behind, and as she leaned down over the man’s shoulder from behind, a smirk pulled at her lips.

“Do something for me, baby,” Annie demanded, mouth to his ear and words coming out soft.

“Anything! I swear I’ll do anything, Mama,” he pleaded hoarsely, muscles straining in need. At the sound of the woman’s title, your expression lifted, and Annie laughed as you straightened your posture on the mattress. You knew a small amount about Annie and Smoke’s relationship, but that was something that had been concealed. Watching his chest heave in anticipation, your fingers couldn’t help but to skirt between your open legs. You toyed with your clit, raised your chin as you watched them, shivered when their eyes locked on you.

When the domineering woman spoke again, she muttered the words too close to the man’s ear for you to hear, but you could tell that that was how she intended it.

His eyes widened. His head moved to nod profusely before his voice rose above the tension in the air.

“Can Annie touch me,” he chirped, the question catching in his throat. “I’ll be good,” he added, pressing against the ropes. “I swear, I will, baby.”

Unable to hold back your laugh that wanted to escape, your fingers sped up their pursuit. Your body was too heated from the weak man’s cries, how he begged with his words and his eyes. His hips thrusted when you opened your legs even wider. There was no way you could deny him, so you allowed him to have it—with stipulations, of course.

“You don’t cum until after I do,” you breathed heatedly. Fingers moving with the pace of his rising chest. You watched him nod profusely once more, your words sinking in. “You don’t cum until Annie tells you yes,” you cemented, attention drifting toward the woman. Her smile was approving and wicked, ready to lay the man’s punishment on thick.

She stuffed her hands in his pants with a quickness. Refusing to remove his clothes right away, she toyed with his length, nimble fingers dancing along his wet skin.

"How that feel, suga'," Annie questioned, thumb skirting across his tip before retreating. His thighs quaked, too bound to provide him the movement he really needed, but he didn't dare complain.

"It feel so good, Mama," he blushed, heat rising to his cheeks. Even with how much of a tease the woman was being, Smoke allowed his head to loll back. It hung loosely, reclined against the back of the chair while Annie played with the idea of giving him more. On the bed, you watched with eyes glowing with desire, the opportunity of finally seeing the two in action adding to every bit of pleasure you felt.

You moaned their names, fingers working through your heat feverishly. You were determined, intensely focused on how Annie had pushed the man's pants down his thighs and was stroking his dick with passion, on how Smoke was still crying out for the both of you. He urged you to cum, urged Annie to let him have it, begged for both of your sympathy and forgiveness.

But you weren't ready for all of that.

Halting your fingers and pulling them away from your cunt soberly, you fixed your eyes on Smoke.

"You want a taste, baby," you cooed, moving in close. Annie leaned over him from behind, stroking his length in quick bursts. She watched with greedy eyes as your fingers glistened in the faint light, mouth watering. She knew you were talking to the man, but God did she want it. She could still taste you on her lips—sweet, tangy, rich—and she needed more.

Smoke whined in response, and when you grabbed him by the neck and stuffed your fingers in his mouth, his cries turned to growls. He sucked your arousal off like his life depended on it. His eyes rolled back just to show you how much he was enjoying himself and he gagged the slightest bit when you went farther down his throat. It was a glorious sight: Elijah with a wet face, taking your fingers down his throat with Annie fucking him into oblivion.

You shifted your attention away and to the woman in enough time to see her eyes shimmer. Then she leaned in and turned Smoke's head with her non-dominant hand and feasted off of his lips just to get a taste of you. She consumed him fully, hand stroking his length at the same time.

She didn't pay attention to how his cries turned raw or how his thighs tensed up or how he strained against the rope holding him in place; and when the man came, he moaned directly into her mouth, body unfurling before the both of you because he had completely forgotten what he'd been told. No cumming before you do. No cumming before Annie allows it.

Thirty minutes into his second round of torture and Smoke was regretting every mistake he'd ever made. He was regretting not telling Annie about you. Not telling you about Annie. Not being honest about wanting the two of you at once. Not being able to calm his anger toward his brother. But even more than that, he was regretting not following your orders, for letting his body succumb to need.

Tears sprang from his eyes as another orgasm was stolen from him. Much to his chagrin, neither of you would let him have it. And even though he was glad to be on his back with both of your lips around his dick instead of in the chair, he couldn't celebrate just yet. You and Annie had been edging him, and he didn't know how much longer he could hold on.

Two pair of lips traveled the length of him. Two tongues caressed his growing need.

“Please,” Smoke choked out, the word strangled as if it didn’t want to be heard at all. But he had to have it, and he needed to make that known. “I’m so sorry,” he shouted, jaw dropped wide open, heart beating fast.

“What are you sorry for, sweetheart,” Annie growled against the meat of his thigh. She moved her fingers toward his shaft to hold it while you continued to swallow him whole. You took him down your throat, eyes trained on the way his were shut tight in ecstasy. Annie's sultry tone was lulling you, encouraging you to bring the man to the edge once more even without intending to.

You cursed around him, sending vibrations through the man's core. Tears sprang from his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mama," he pleaded. "I'm sorry for not listenin'. I'm sorry for cummin'. I'll be better, I swear it!"

With a wicked smile, the woman turned to you, eyes gleaming. She leaned into your side, kissing your neck as your eyes rolled back from the pressure of him at the back of your mouth.

"Do you believe him, baby," she whispered breathily, and all you could do was moan with the man in your mouth. You tried your best to communicate nonverbally because with the pulsing of him in your mouth, you wouldn't dare pull back, you wouldn't dare stop until he was releasing his load down your throat.

Your efforts turned dangerous, a desperate fight for him to give in under you. You worked to suck him dry. You bobbed your head with finality. You swiped your fingers across his wet, needy skin. And Annie joined in, lips meeting yours in a greedy kiss with his dick between you.

When he came this time around, his body felt like it was a wave crashing onto a distant shore. It rocked him, muscles convulsing as the two of you kept going, bringing him to the edge again. You wouldn't stop, not until he fully understood, not until the two of you were fed and satiated.

And with you and Annie, there was no telling how long that would end up taking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

word count: ~5,000

a/n: two uploads in a day??? idk how i let this sit in the drafts for over a month cause this straight fire

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

Shaking her head she turned on some music to distract herself. Overjoyed by Stevie Wonder was the first song. She had to laugh at the irony as she tapped along. It was the song Elijah played outside her window after their first big fight and the first one they danced to at their wedding. It all seemed like a lifetime ago but the feelings were still fresh.

A memory from a few months ago replayed in her head.

[Flashback]

The kids were asleep and Annie was getting herself ready for bed. While applying her overnight moisturizer, her husband came up from behind and wrapped his arms around her.

Kissing behind her ear, he swayed gently. “You wanna dance with me?”

Relaxing into him, she started to sway along. “Ain’t no music playin’.” It didn’t matter, they didn’t need music for this moment. When the moment was slow, just the beating of their hearts was all the rhythm they needed.

“I can sing for you.” His lips traced her neck. “What song you want me to sing?” His hands gripped the soft flesh of her hips. Three children had changed her physique in ways he worshipped any time they had a moment alone. 

Amused by Elijah’s playful mood, Annie giggled at the notion of him singing. “I’ll let you guess.”

What started as a poor rendition of “Overjoyed” turned into soft kissing and quiet moans. Their time in bed spent relearning each other’s desires, remembering why their love guided everything they did, and rejoicing in the pleasure of their mutual adoration for each other.

Elijah was on top of his wife moving in and out of her, telling her things that could never be said in front of polite company when all of a sudden she pulled his head down to hers and kissed him roughly. When she released him a wild look was in her eyes. “You want more, baby?”

Not responding to his question, she pushed him back slightly so she could sit up and flip them both over so that she was on top. Her hips seemed to move on their own accord up and down her husband’s thick shaft. “I want another baby, Elijah. Give me another one.” Bouncing up and down, she willed him to cum inside of her.

The same wild look that took over his wife, overcame Elijah causing him to flip them both over again so that he was on top. He pounded into her like his life depended on it. “I’ll give you another baby, love. Hell, I’ll give you two more.” He felt his impending climax and tensed before releasing all he had into the woman of his dreams triggering her orgasm.

They lay in silence for a few moments in the afterglow of their lovemaking both with wide smiles on their faces. 

“You did that, Elijah,” Annie said between breaths. “Is the sex getting better somehow?”

“Shit, I don’t know.” He was still dazed by the feeling of her around him. “In like two more minutes, I’ll need you to ride me like that again.” He pulled her close and sucked on her neck. “You really want another baby?”

Annie nodded enthusiastically. “Do you?”

“Fuck yes. You been thinkin’ about this a lot lately?” His tongue wrapped around her dark nipple. 

She shrugged. “I always wanna have your babies, Elijah.”

“Then that’s what you’ll have and anything else you want.” He took his chance to suck her nipple while his hand made its way between her legs. “Let’s get you ready for round two.”

***********

Heat flooded her lower half while she drove. It was a good thing Elijah was home for the day. She needed him to address the ache she was feeling. 

***********

The house was silent as Elijah slipped in bed next to his wife. They faced each other both taking a moment to study the other—noticing and appreciating the way the years showed on their faces. Elijah’s focus was on the soft lines around Annie’s eyes as she smiled at him. The feeling of being carried to safety and wrapped in warmth filled him as it always did when she gave him that look. He couldn’t imagine not being in love with her. “You gon’ tell me what they said?” 

Shrugging, Annie ran her fingers over his head, giving him a light scalp massage. “What you think they said, Elijah? This ain’t our first rodeo.” 

His body trilled from the feeling of her hands on him but he remained focused on her face and the expressions it made. “How you feelin’ about it?” Without much thought, he ran his hand down her side, stopping on her thigh.

“Good, mostly,” she sighed. “It’s what I said I wanted. You?”

Leaning over, he kissed her forehead. “It ain’t even a question for me. You know I’m happy about it. Why you say mostly?”

“Cuz I just got my titties back to myself like six months ago. Don’t tell me you ain’t enjoyed them. Especially when I woke up twice now with your mouth on ‘em.” The memory made her clench her thighs together.

His eyes zeroed in on her chest, his favorite place to lay his head. “You right about that. I definitely enjoyed free titties but I think that’s why we in this situation now. But I’m happy about this, Annie. Real happy.”

“I know, that’s what I told the technician when she asked if my husband would freak out.” She nudged him until he was on his back and she hovered over him trying not to giggle at his hopeful eyes. “I told her that she don’t know my husband obviously. Cuz my Elijah is wonderful.” She kissed his nose. “My Elijah is an amazin’ father.” Her lips moved to his jawline. “My Elijah was just as excited when we found out about our third baby as he was about the first.”

“Damn right, baby.” Elijah pulled his wife completely on top of him. 

For a moment, Annie just laid her head on his chest and breathed him in. The steady beating of his heart matched hers perfectly. “Mmhmm. And I told her that even with three kids already, my Elijah will be over the moon that we about to have two more.” Not giving him time to react, Annie smashed her lips to his and ran her hand under his shirt.

Just as he was getting lost in Annie’s actions, her words echoed in his mind making him sit up quickly and causing her to roll off of him. “Two more?”

Biting her lip, Annie nodded. “Take your shirt off.”

“Like twins?” He stared at her partially in wonder, partially in disbelief.

“Yep, like twins so you should be familiar. You gon’ take this shirt off or am I gon’ have to rip it off ya?” Tugging at his shirt, she tried unsuccessfully to remove it. “Selfish.”

“I’m sorry, baby. Twins? How?”

“I mean, I’m not clear on the science of twins but I’m pretty sure it happened the way our other kids happened. Still happy about it?”

He rubbed his face as if he was in deep thought before a wild grin appeared. “I put two of ‘em in you? Let’s go!” He jumped up and bounced on the bed. 

“Get down!” Annie laughed at her husband. “That’s why Andie thinks she can jump on everything now.”

Dropping back down to the bed, Elijah covered his wife’s lips with his. Indeed, he was over the moon and elated at the fact that they would have two more on the way. There was no greater feeling than coming home to a house full of little ones who were the perfect mixture of him and Annie. Their little squeals of excitement as he opened the door was his favorite sound. 

“Thank you so much, baby.” He removed his shirt and tossed it to the floor. “Thank you for givin’ me a beautiful family and lovin’ me even when I was too much of a fool to accept it.”

Not paying attention to what he was saying, Annie licked her lips and rubbed his taut chest and abs. “Now, this is what I been waitin’ for. Take them pants off too.” She nipped at his neck. “Hurry up before Junior wake up from his nap.”

Following her command, he removed his pants with a quickness. “You heard anything I said?”

“You heard me say ‘hurry up’ or do I have to repeat myself?” She snapped the elastic band of his boxers. “Take ‘em off!”

“Okay, bossy! Damn!” Though he feigned annoyance, he loved it when she was like this—forceful and demanding. He pulled down his boxers and gripped his hard length. “Gon’ make me put another one in there.”

Pulling up her muumuu, Annie bit her lip at the sight of him. “Yeah, yeah. Do what I pay you for and quit talkin’ so much.”

“Bet.” He settled between her legs and slid inside her. Even after all these years, he had to pause after he entered his wife for fear of finishing too soon. “Fuck!”

“That’s what I’m trying to get you to do, baby.” She wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him to move. Unfortunately for Annie, her mouth wrote a check her body couldn’t cash. Elijah was holding back in a lot of ways, still she came multiple times and her voice grew hoarse from all of the screaming she was doing. Just as her husband finished inside her, another strong orgasm was triggered and she passed out from the amount of pleasure filling her so deeply.

A satisfied grin came across Elijah’s face when he realized the love of his life had fallen asleep in the midst of their afternoon escapades. Giving her a kiss on her temple, he pulled out and got up to clean himself up before returning to take care of his wife. She slept soundly as he wiped between her legs with the practiced gentleness of a man in love. “Y’all be good for mommy. I’m gonna go check on your big brother.” He kissed her belly and went to tend to their two-year-old who would just be waking up from his nap.

When he picked the oldest two up from pre-k and primary school, he managed to keep quiet about their impending siblings. “When we get home, we have to be quiet. Mommy had a long day and she’s sleeping, okay?”

“Okay, Papa!” Their middle child, Andie, exclaimed. “I wanna nap with Mommy when we get home.” Andie was the spitting image of her mama and she was also her little sidekick never wanting to be too far from her if she could help it. The start of pre-school had been rough because she cried for her mama everyday for the first few weeks. 

“You can nap in your own bed, Ladybug,” Angel, their oldest, told her sister. “Papa, when Mommy wakes up, I need her help with my homework.”

“I can help you, Sunshine.”

“You can help Mommy help me.”

One thing that warmed Elijah is how obsessed his kids were with their mama. Sure, they loved him and he knew it but they couldn’t let a moment pass without mentioning her. It was completely understandable because he was the same way. “Okay, we can do it your way. What y’all want for dinner?”

“P’sghetti!” “Fries!” The two youngest kids shouted together. 

“Can I have PB&J, Papa?” 

“Okay. No, no, and no. Mommy just made spaghetti last week and you hardly touched it, Ladybug. Junior, fries is not a meal and the same to you Sunshine. What about pizza or chicken nuggets and fries?”

“Pizza!” “Fries!”

“Okay, we’ll have pizza and fries tonight.”

*******

When Annie woke it was dark outside. She sat up quickly, making herself dizzy. “Shit!” The time on her phone read 8:38 pm. Carefully, she got out of bed and went to find her husband. 

He was sitting at the dining room table with Angel helping her with her homework. He spotted his wife whose bonnet was halfway off of her head. The hours of sleep she had showed on her face and still, he wanted her. “Hey, Boss!” He went to kiss her soft lips. “We saved you some pizza and I can make you some fresh fries.”

It was then she realized how hungry she was. “I’ll eat anything you give me.”

Andie came running up to her mama. “Mommy! You took a nap for a loooong loooong time! I missed you!”

“I’m sorry, Ladybug. Papa should’ve woke me up when y’all got here.” She threw a pointed look to Elijah as she bent down to hug her second born. “You have fun at school today?”

“Yep! I played on the swings and we had a dance party. Mrs. Vera said we can have another one tomorrow after lunch.” She yawned. 

“Sound like Mrs. Vera is doin’ the Lord’s work, tirin’ y’all out like that,” Elijah chuckled. “Go get ya night clothes ready so you can get in the tub.”

“Mama, I’m finished with my homework!” Angel waved her paper around. “Come look at it!”

“And I’m the bossy one?” Making her way over to her firstborn, Annie felt a small body tackle her legs. She looked down to see it was her baby boy, Eli. He wasn’t completely named after his daddy but he looked so much like him, Annie started calling him Junior. “Sweet baby! What you been up to?” She saw that his face and shirt were covered in tomato sauce and picked him up. “Somebody else needs a bath too.”

“Bubbles!” One thing about Junior, is that he never needed convincing to get in the bath tub. The sight of bubbles was enough. “Kiss, Mama, kiss!” He puckered his lips.

Annie kissed his forehead—the only clean spot on his face—and carried him to the table where Angel held up her paper. “Let’s see if sissy did her homework right. How was school today, Miss Angel?”

Angel rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. “Mrs. Seabrie put Ke’onte at my table again today and he acted a whole fool. Mr. Biggs had to come get him. I hope she don’t move him again.”

While Andie was Annie’s spitting image, Angel had her mama’s whole personality. “I’ll have to talk to her about that. He can’t keep disruptin’ your learnin.” She looked down at the paper and saw it was math. They were learning how to identify the names and values of coins. “Well, you certainly didn’t need me for this. Papa can count money in his sleep.”

“He said if I get an A on my test, he’ll give me a dollar.”

Annie shook her head. “Nah, an A is worth at least $5 but I bet we can talk him up to $10.”

A wide smile broke across Angel’s face. “Yeah! I can put it in my piggybank and I’ll have—” she did the calculations in her head. “$249.63!”

The amount surprised Annie. “Sunshine, how do you still have that much money when your Papa took you shoppin’ this weekend?”

“Papa said I’m not supposed to spend money when he around,” Angel shrugged. 

“You know what? He ain’t wrong. Spend all his money, baby!” She gave her daughter a high five. “Go get your stuff ready for bed. And you, Mr. Ketchup Face—” She smiled down at her youngest. “Let’s get you ready for bed too.”

“Want blueberries, Mama!” He pointed in the direction of the kitchen. 

“You want blueberries? Okay, but you can’t tell Ladybug. You know how crazy she is about her blueberries.”

Once all the kids had been bathed and put to bed, Annie and Elijah sat at the dining room table while Annie ate pizza, fries, potato chips, and baby carrots. “They give you any trouble today?”

“Nah,” Elijah shook his head. “You know Sunshine just wanna read, Ladybug wanted to show me a new flip she learned, and Junior—Okay, so he did give me a run for my money a lil bit, I ain’t gone lie.”

Annie gasped. “My baby? No he didn’t! He’s just the sweetest lil thing.”

“They call ‘em terrible twos for a reason, baby. He didn’t eat half of his food, kept throwing his toys across the room and climbing on stuff. Yo sweet baby get into everything when you ain’t lookin. That’s why he went to bed so easily. Tired himself out.”

“I think you exaggeratin’, Elijah.”

“I think you in denial, Boss. You’ll see soon enough. He can’t keep up that sweet act forever.”

“And you still spoil him just like you do the girls.”

“Aw, yeah! When he ain’t tryna jump off the counter, he cool people.”

“You ready to add two more cool people?”

“Yep!” He nodded vigorously. 

“Elijah,” Annie said, her tone serious. “You know I’m worried about space. Junior is still in the nursery and the office is too small.”

“So we can put Junior in the office and put another crib in the nursery for now.”

“We’ll have to sell the house, won’t we?” Tears came to her eyes at the thought of selling the house they bought together before they got married. She thought they’d be here longer than the ten years they had.

“Baby, it’ll be fine. We’ll find a bigger place and you’ll love it like you love it here.” He moved his chair closer to hers and pulled her to him. 

“But I walked all my babies through that door, Elijah and they took their first steps on these floors. We been measuring their height on the kitchen archway.” She leaned against her husband. “We gotta start all of that over?”

He rubbed her soft belly imagining it bigger and moving under his hand. “We just need maybe three extra rooms. Everything else we ain’t startin’ over, just…transferrin’.”

“Hmm,” Annie hummed and closed her eyes. If there was anything she could count on, it was Elijah’s level-headedness. She never knew why she bothered worrying so much when he’d jump in and alleviate her fears. Her eyes popped open. “Wait, did you say three extra bedrooms?”

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

With Elijah returning to work, Annie returned to drop off and pick up duties. The morning had been normal enough and the girls were up getting ready while Annie packed their lunches.

Andie came rushing into the kitchen with her shoes on the wrong feet like she saw something she couldn’t believe. “Mommy, Angel said you and Papa got married. I thought Papa was your boyfriend.” Her little eyebrows scrunched and her head tilted in disbelief.

Going over to her middle child, she crouched down and tapped on each foot to let her know to make the correction. “Ladybug, why do you think Papa is my boyfriend? How do you even know what a boyfriend is?” 

“Because Micah said when she is grown she is gonna move in with her boyfriend. You and Papa live together so he is your boyfriend.”

Annie had to chuckle at the innocence of her child. “We gotta keep you away from Micah, Ladybug.” The youngest child of Elijah’s Uncle Jed and Aunt Ruth could be a wild one when she didn’t get her way. “Me and Papa are married so he’s my husband and I’m his wife.” 

Crossing her little arms across her chest, her lips turned to a deep pout. “Why I wasn’t there when you got married?”

“Now what did we say about that poutin’? Fix ya face, Ladybug,” Annie said sternly waiting until her daughter’s face relaxed. “You couldn’t be at our wedding because you weren’t born yet, babygirl.” She smoothed down Andie’s edges so they laid flat.

“Was Angel born yet?”

Shaking her head, Annie chuckled. “No, she wasn’t so she didn’t get to see me and Papa get married either. Go on get your book bag and jacket. Tell Angel to turn that TV off. I gotta go get your brother up.”

She nodded her head sadly. “I want to see you get married to Papa.” Turning away from her mother, she stomped back to her room.

When Annie dropped them off at school, Andie started to cry. “Ladybug, what’s wrong? I thought you wanted to go to your dance party.”

“You and Papa will get married again without me and I want to be there, not at school.” Tears rolled down her small face as she held on to Annie. 

Annie used the sleeve of her shirt to wipe Andie’s face before pulling out a small tub of Vaseline she kept in her purse. “I promise you we won’t. We’ll wait until you get out of choir practice with Aunt Ruth to get married again.” She spread the Vaseline over the little girls’ face and cleared up the traces of her tears. “I’ll call Papa and let him know, okay?” 

Nodding, Andie gave her mama one final hug and wiped her eyes. “Okay, Mommy.”

“Oo! Mommy, you should make cupcakes for the wedding!” Angel squealed, not being one to waste an opportunity to get sweets from her mama. “Let’s go Ladybug so Mama can start making the cupcakes.” She grabbed her little sister’s hand and led her to the school building. “Bye, Mommy! We want chocolate and strawberry!” 

Annie groaned once they were in the building. She looked in the back at Eli who was happily playing with the toy steering wheel on his carseat. “You want cupcakes too, Eli?”

He threw his hands up and smiled big. “Cupcake!”

Elijah called around lunch time to check on his wife and see if he needed to pick up anything from the store. 

“Some white icing for the cupcakes because I don’t feel like makin’ it.”

“Why are you making cupcakes?”

“For our wedding, Papa! Your child, Elijah, she just could not handle the fact that she didn’t see us get married. Just cryin’ and sad. I don’t even think she fully knows what a wedding is.”

“Ah, my Ladybug,” Elijah chuckled knowing exactly which of his kids it was just on the description alone. “How did this even come up?”

“She thought you were my boyfriend and Sunshine had to tell her that we’re married and it spiraled from there. I promised her we wouldn’t get married again when she was in school and now I’m making cupcakes for our impending nuptials. And you already know which child asked for cupcakes.”

“From boyfriend to fiancé to husband in one day? This is movin so fast, to be honest. What’s next—three kids with two on the way?”

Annie rolled her eyes and laughed. “You just better be at that alter tonight. Sunshine has soccer practice tonight so I’ll go pick her up. Aunt Ruth is gonna drop Andie off after choir practice at the church. Should I even make cupcakes?”

“You better! Sunshine gon’ be waitin’ for ‘em, wedding or not. I’ll pick up the icing before I get home. What we havin’ for dinner?”

“I don’t know. I feel like all I want to eat is fruit right now. Can you get some more kiwis at the store?” She had finished off the rest of the kiwis in the house and now was on the hunt for an apple. “That pizza didn’t sit well last night. What you want to eat?”

“If you feelin’ up to it, Boss, some of that beef and broccoli you made a few months ago with rice? I know it ain’t what we had on our first wedding night.”

“Good, because I ain’t makin’ no salmon and roasted chicken tonight so beef and broccoli it is.”

They talked a little bit longer, mostly wanting to hear each other’s voices, before they got off the phone. Annie made sure they had what they needed for dinner and went to check on Eli.

She looked in the nursery and saw his bed was empty. “Junior? Where are you?” Walking in, she looked around to see if he’d hidden behind something. She checked the closet, under the bed, and even behind the curtain. “Junior, mommy wants to give you a kiss but I can’t find you!” Pausing, she listened to the sounds in the house—it was too quiet. Moving as quickly as she could, she went into she and Elijah’s bedroom and heard movement in their bathroom. “Gotcha!” 

There sat Junior with his face covered in his Papa’s shaving cream. “Mommy, look!” He grinned proudly at his work.

Annie pulled out her phone to take pictures to send to Elijah. She thought about their conversation last night Lifting the little boy off the ground, she couldn’t help but laugh at his face. “You can’t be usin’ Papa’s stuff like this now.” She sat him on the countertop and grabbed a towel to clean his face. “Why didn’t you come get Mommy after your nap?”

“I pee, Mommy!” He giggled from the towel tickling his face. 

Annie checked to see if she’d have to change his Pull-Up but it was dry. Potty training was going okay but there were still accidents and he still hadn’t been able to go to the bathroom without help. A pang of fear came over her thinking that maybe he went to potty somewhere in the house. “Where did you pee, baby?”

He pointed to the toilet. “I pee there.”

Looking over, she saw the seat had been lifted and sure enough there was evidence that he had went to the potty all by himself. Squealing, she squeezed her son and spun him around. “My big boy went to the potty by himself! Aww!” Tears sprang to her eyes at the realization that her baby was growing up. 

“No cry, Mommy!” Junior’s little lip quivered at the sight of his mama’s tears. “Kiss!” He puckered his lips and leaned toward her assuming that a kiss would make it all better.

She leaned down so he could give her a kiss on her forehead. “My baby is a big boy now! Aww! You’ll probably be driving soon.” Sniffling, she continued to clean his face. “Your Papa is gonna be so happy!” She let the toilet seat down and flushed. “Gotta remember to let the seat down and flush every time you potty. And then we do what?” She rubbed her hands together as a clue.

“Wash hands!” Eli grabbed the soap dispenser and pressed down on it getting more than he needed. “Uh-oh! Too much, Mommy!”

“Give Mommy some.” She took some of the soap and washed their hands together. This was the simple part of motherhood but also the most heartbreaking—teaching them the little things they needed to know so they needed her less and less. Tears came to her eyes again at the thought of her kids growing up; even the ones who weren’t born yet. Sniffling, she grabbed a clean cloth to dry their hands and dab at her tears. “Mommy is so proud of you, Eli.”

***********

Elijah was greeted with the sound of the kids playing in the living room and a delicious smell wafting from the kitchen as he walked into the house. “I heard there was supposed to be a wedding tonight so I brought somethin’ for the cupcakes and somethin’ for the bride!” He held up the bag of icing and a mid-sized bouquet and stood in place as the kids ran to him.

“Papa! You and Mommy gettin’ married!” Andie jumped in his arms. “Mommy has to wear a white dress and you have to wear a tie.”

“You can wear your church clothes,” Angel suggested reaching for the icing. “I’ll take this to Mommy.” She hurried away in hopes of having a sample before dinner.

He smiled at Andie. “It’s that serious, Ladybug? I can’t wear what I have on?” He gestured to the slacks and button down he wore to the office.

Shaking her head Andie giggled. “You gotta look like a prince because Mommy will be a princess and kiss you so you won’t be a frog no more.”

“Oh so I’m a frog now?”

“Yes, until Mommy kisses you when you get married,” she nodded.

After dinner, the oldest two rushed their parents back to their room to get ready for their wedding.

Sitting Eli on the bed with a toy, Elijah turned to his wife. “You think they’ll make us say our vows over again?”

“I don’t know but they bein real strict tonight so anything is possible,” Annie said going into their closet. “The only other white dress I got that ain’t for church is the one I wore for my maternity shoot with Junior. I hope it fit okay.”

He joined her. “It’ll fit perfectly in a few months. When you wanna tell them about the babies?”

Annie shrugged removing her dress from its hanger. “I don’t know. Maybe in a few weeks after we get the second scan done. We can do something for them so it’ll be fun. Grab that black dress shirt right there and get a pair of black slacks. I’ll put a silver bowtie on you.”

In the course of getting dressed, they noticed Junior decided to jump off the bed repeatedly. 

“Junior, stop before you hurt yourself,” Annie warned while pinning her hair back.

Being the little daredevil that he was, Junior took a leap and landed hard on the floor.

“Oh no! You okay?” Annie rushed over to comfort her little boy only for him to pop back up without a care in the world.

“I jump, Mommy! Yaaay!” He clapped his hands.

Elijah came out of the bathroom and picked his son up and put him over his shoulder. “See, Boss? I told you he couldn’t keep up that innocent act for long. This boy rough as sandpaper.”

“I really thought he was hurt.” She inspected him for any bumps or bruises to make sure. “You scared Mommy.” She kissed his forehead and rubbed his arm. “You tell Papa that you went to potty all by yourself?”

“What?! Big man!” Elijah gave his youngest a high five and hugged him. “We ready for big boy underwear now?”

“Maybe only for the house for now but I think so!” 

Once they were dressed, they went back to the living room only to see that Elijah’s twin, Elias, and his girlfriend Niecey were there along with the twins’ little cousin, Sammie who had his guitar.

“Wait, why y’all here?” Annie looked at Angel pointedly. Obviously her oldest had texted her uncle and invited him over.

Chairs were arranged on each side of the fireplace with some of them occupied with the kids’ dolls and stuffed animals. Niecey waved and snapped a picture with her phone.

Elias stood up and took Eli from his brother. “Heard y’all was gettin’ married again so I’m here as the bodyguard for the best man here. Niecey is the photographer and you know Sammie couldn’t resist singin a lil song for y’all.” He leaned in to whisper. “Plus, I heard somethin about some strawberry cupcakes afterwards.”

Niecey got closer to them and took a few more pictures. “Y’all look good for a wedding where mostly toys were invited.” 

Annie shook her head in amusement. “I didn’t know they’d be here either. They bet not expect a cupcake after this.”

“Mommy, you have to go back and wait until Sammie starts singing,” Andie pushed at her mama’s legs so she’d walk down the hallway. “Wait, get the flowers that Papa got you.” She ran to the dining room to grab the bouquet and give them to her. 

Everyone took their places while Sammie strummed a few notes before starting to play the melody to “For You” by Kenny Lattimore.

While waiting for Sammie to start singing, Annie felt a rush of giddiness at the thought of marrying Elijah. She knew the first time she did it she wanted to run down the aisle but took carefully measured steps so she didn’t seem to eager. She tried to do the same this time knowing it was only a short walk from the hallway to the living room. Once she turned the corner and saw the look on her husband’s face, her feet glided to him.

Elijah took his wife’s hands in his and every feeling he ever felt since he laid eyes on her the first time came flowing through him. He thought of all they had been through together and all they still had yet to approach and felt his throat tighten as his cousin crooned softly. This was beyond luck or blessings, this was destiny and he was grateful it was kind to him.

Once Sammie finished his song, Angel and Andie stood up as the officiants of the ceremony. 

Angel pretended to clear her throat. “Everybody, my mama and papa love each other a lot. They want to be together forever. Mommy likes to kiss Papa all the time.”

This caused the adults in the room to chuckle.

“And Papa likes to kiss Mommy’s feet sometimes too,” Andie chimed in.

Annie hung her head in shame wondering if Andie would ever forget the time she walked in on Elijah with her toes in his mouth. “Only when they hurt.”

“Papa do you love Mommy? And do you want to give her lots of flowers?”

Grinning, Elijah nodded. “Yes, I love Mommy. I’ll give her anything she wants.”

“Mommy, do you want to kiss Papa forever so he won’t be a frog no more?”

“Yes?” Annie was confused but decided to go along with it. “Yes, I wanna kiss Papa forever.”

“You now can get married,” Angel declared and clapped her hands in delight. When her parents just stood looking at each other she cleared her throat. “You gotta kiss to get married!”

Laughing off his daughter’s bossy attitude, Elijah pulled his wife in for a kiss. He wanted to deepen it but decided to tone it down in front of company. “I hope you ready for the wedding night, Boss, ” he whispered in her ear.

“Ain’t you glad you’re not a frog anymore?” Annie giggled.

“I don’t even know how I got to be a frog in the first damn place but I do feel like a new man, bein’ married to you.” He dipped her down and kissed her again.

*********

After the wedding, everyone except the toys gathered in the dining room for cupcakes.

“Congratulations to the happy couple!” Sammie raised his glass of milk. “It only took ten years and three kids but y’all finally made it legal.”

“Next thing you know, they’ll be droppin’ another one on us,” Elias joked not catching the way Elijah and Annie eyed each other.

“And now I know who to book to plan my wedding,” Niecey winked at Angel and Andie. 

“Oh yeah, you will be up next. Here.” Annie handed her the bouquet. “So I don’t have to throw it out to a crowd of stuffed animals.”

Andie let out a big yawn and pushed away her half-eaten cupcake. Eli had already fallen asleep and was resting in his Papa’s arms. 

“Sounds like it’s bedtime for somebody.” Elias grabbed the rest of the cupcake. “More for ya uncle.” He shoved it into his mouth before anyone could protest.

Not caring, Andie rubbed her eyes and yawned again. “I gotta go get ready for bed.”

“You need any help, Ladybug?”

“No, Papa.”

Annie pulled her daughter close and kissed her forehead. “Okay, just brush your teeth and put on your night clothes. You’ll have to get up earlier for a bath.”

“That was greedy, uncle Elias!” Angel pouted obviously wanting the piece he ate. 

“That was greedy, Elias,” Annie agreed. “Now you gotta make up for it somehow.”

Angel held out her little hand to him and without needing to say a word, waited until he pulled a five dollar bill out of his wallet and gave it to her. “Thank you, uncle Elias!” She stood and hugged her uncle and high-fived her mama before skipping to the back.

“That girl gotta have more money than me by now,” Elias grumbled.

“She definitely will someday. Gon’ have more money than all of us.” Elijah said proudly. “Thank y’all for comin on short notice. I hope we ain’t interrupt y’all’s plans with this shotgun wedding.”

Elias shook his head. “Nah, we ain’t have much happening.”

“Not when he heard Annie was baking something we didn’t.” Niecey rolled her eyes. “But this was really cute. I hope our kids do somethin’ like this for us.”

Annie’s eyes narrowed and she looked closely at Niecey, noting subtle changes. “Girl!” She jumped up and hugged her soon-to-be sister-in-law. “We gotta go shoppin’! What colors you thinkin?”

Niecey smiled brightly. “Maybe a mint green or some shade of green. I don’t know. You gotta tell me what to do and how this gon’ be.”

“Girl,” Annie pointed to her stomach. “I need to know how this is gon’ be. Twins!”

“Aye!” Sammie said surprised. “Y’all tryna catch up to my mama and daddy?”

“Wait, what’s goin’ on?” Elias was confused before it clicked. “Twins? Like—” He gestured between him and his brother. “Damn! Y’all tryna build a lil NBA team over here?”

“Trying,” Elijah winked at his wife.

********

The couple laid in bed facing each other; the glow of their lamps illuminating their features. “I kinda wish they had let us give our vows.” Elijah ran his hand down Annie’s arm.

“What would you have said if they did?”

Looking at his wife for a moment, Elijah smiled. “That every moment with you is like a thousand years in paradise. With you, I feel how the moon must feel when it orbits around the earth—it’s a celestial connection with you, baby. I wished on a million stars and a hundred birthday candles and you’re every single one of those wishes come true. I don’t just love you because you a good wife and a good mother. That would be too easy. I love you when you get mad at me and you just don’t want to talk because even then you’ll lean your head against my chest just so you can feel my heartbeat.

"I love you when you get stubborn because I know you still have things that you passionate about. I could count so many of my faults and you’d come back with a list twice as long of all the things you love about me. Seeing your body change to bring life into this world and seeing you get older, knowing I’m getting old with you make me feel things I can hardly express. I love you, Annie Moore, and I hope I can meet half of the expectations you have of me because I know you have exceeded mine.” Tears fell from his eyes as he finished vows.

Annie’s eyes became blurry as the words sunk in. She reached over and wiped the tears from her husband’s eyes. “Well thank goodness you didn’t say that in front of everybody.” Wiping a stray tear from her eye, she pressed herself closer to him. “I would’ve jumped on you in that living room.”

His hand eased down to the apex of her thighs. “Oh really?” He nipped at her neck.

“Mhm,” Annie nodded. “It’s no wonder I’m always pregnant. You just say stuff like that and my legs automatically open.”

“Well, they gon’ stay open again tonight since we have a lot to celebrate.” He flipped them over so that he was on top of her. “Let’s see how long you can last, Mrs. Moore.”

**********

A/N: I've been working on a lil bit of different stories at a time. I hope to have "You Mine, Ain't You?" done in the next week but I'll be traveling for work so it may be the week after that. Also putting up more of my abandoned fic (the arranged marriage one). Also almost done with the angst one. I wanna focus on the NOLA one because I have too many thoughts about it.