“I don’t mind carrying it,” he returned, gaze steady, no push in it.
My hand went straight to the chain under my tee again. I pressed the ring until the edges bit. Warmth from my skin met cold that never fully leaves gold. That was the point: feel both. Promise and cost at the same time.
Thunder loosened in the distance. Not gone. Just farther.
I lifted Aaliyah from the floor. Her curls damp at the edges, cheek hot from play, milk on her breath. She tucked in, heavy, trusting. My shoulder fit her like it had been built for that only. I swayed without music. Old habit. Her lashes lowered, rose, lowered again. “You ready for bed, mama?” I murmured into her hair. She answered with a soft grunt, thumb finding her mouth.
He rose again, gathered the cups, ran water through them. He didn’t ask where anything lived. He watched once and found the cabinet without opening the wrong door. He handed me a towel. Our fingers brushed. Heat flashed through my palm and slid away before I could name it.
Ro at the grave swelled up without warning. Wet leather. Rain knocking my collarbone. His eyes catching mine under the tent—hurt and pride in the same stare, both refusing to step aside. I tasted iron then. I taste it now, faint, a memory that keeps its own key. His mouth had moved around my name like he hadn’t used it out loud in a long time. “Nova”. No question on it. Just fact and claim. The ground shifted that whole hour. I’ve been bracing my knees ever since.
“I’ll take Thursdays, Saturdays,” Saint continued, stacking bowls, moving easy. “Some Sundays. If the block crowds late, don’t open your door. I’ll be posted.”
“You don’t have to pencil us in, Saint.” I muttered, keeping my voice small so it wouldn’t carry. “We aren’t truly your responsibility.”
He dipped his chin. “You’re covered. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Covered. The word landed in the room and found a chair. Ro used to cover a different way—loud, chest out, presence first. He’d park the bike wrong on purpose to block my building’s entry, make trouble choose another door. It worked until it didn’t, until the heat he drew never cooled. Saint’s version sat quiet. The hallway doesn’t change when his boot hits the step. The street just behaves.
The storm’s center slipped past us. The rain had softened. The windows stopped shivering. Aaliyah’s breath went heavy on my neck. I shifted her weight and felt the pull in my back from a morning spent lifting what needed lifting. My thighs ached in that good, lived-in way. I snagged a paper towel and wiped the corner of her mouth. She grunted again, satisfied.
“Let me take her,” he offered, hands open, not reaching.
I shook my head. “She falls faster like this.”
He nodded once and backed a step to give me space. He watched my feet so he wouldn’t crowd them. That small attention pressed against the inside of my ribs.
I slid Aaliyah into her crib. The Rugrats nightlight threw its small multi-colored square across her sheet. The stuffed rabbit I washed yesterday was already back under her arm. I tucked the blanket to her chest the way Grams taught me—two smooth strokes and a kiss to the forehead. Her thumb settled where it belonged. Peace poured out of that little chest like the apartment took orders from her lungs.
I stood there longer than necessary. I had to cover my baby. My palms pressed to the crib rail. The vow throbbed under my sternum in time with hers. The air thickened, electric, like the whole room bent under Heaven’s hand.
“Father God, I thank You for the breath in my baby’s chest tonight. Cover her in Your wings as she sleeps. Let no evil, no fear, no sickness come near her. I plead the blood of Jesus over her mind, her body, and her soul.
Let her dreams be filled with light, not shadows. Let her ears only hear Your voice when the world tries to speak lies. Make her strong but keep her gentle; make her wise, but let her heart stay pure.
I declare Psalm 91 over her: that she dwells in the secret place of the Most High and abides under the shadow of the Almighty. Lord, send Your angels to stand guard at her crib, at her window, at her future.
Let her grow into the woman You designed her to be—fearless, loved, and rooted in You. I give her back to You every night, because she is Yours first.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.”
I finally waltzed back into the kitchen. I couldn’t get enough of that gorgeous swirl of all the good things Ro and I’s personalities housed. Saint had the trash bag untied and knotted new, the can wiped out, a fresh liner clipped clean. He’d pulled my wet dish towel through his hands and draped it open across the oven handle so it could dry right. The precision of it read like a word: order. The danger in me answered back: careful.
“You want coffee for the road?” I asked, voice quiet. “I can make it quick.”
“I’m straight,” he dismissed, mouth easing. “It’ll just make me drive too fast.”
“You always drive slow,” I pointed, brow lifting.
“I just look slow,” he corrected, a ghost of a grin. “Difference between steady and lazy.”
“Hmm,” I answered, noncommittal.
He reached in his jacket and set three-hundred-dollar bills on the small table by the door. Not a show. He did it like he’d do it whether I looked or not. He propped a small black umbrella by the door. The handle was scuffed. Not new. “In case it leaks tomorrow. You know Lyon Crest can’t hold water.” he noted.
“Thank you,” I breathed, the words finding me before I could approve them.
He adjusted the list with one finger, squaring it with the counter edge. “If you think of something later, write it. I’ll grab it before work.”
