“City money washed through that club. Everybody knew it.”
“Funny how Saint popped up at the funeral, standing with Nova like he owned her shade itself.”
I kept my rag moving over the counter, but my ears were wide open. I hear everything on this block. I don’t repeat it, but I hold it. Secrets and debts weigh more than frying pans. Lyon Crest held everyone’s secret.
I glanced at the picture taped near the register—me and Cruz at our wedding, his hand on my hip, smile wide. That was before the patch. Before every night turned into waiting on a man already claimed by something else. I rubbed my ring once, then sighed. “Lord,” I muttered under my breath, “give me patience. ‘Cause I love this man, but I swear I’m tired of loving alone.”
Pans snapping everywhere. Radio croons. Customers chatter. Employees bantering. Rain outside dries into steam on the pavement, and I braced myself. Nova gon’ walk in here soon, eyes carrying more storm than yesterday’s sky and I’d be ready, like always.
The bell above the door jingled again, cutting through the fryer pop and the hum of the oldies radio. Heads turned quick—folks always do when grief walks in wearing leather sleeves and tired eyes.
There she was. Nova. Rain still clung to her jacket, little beads dripping down to the checkered floor, her curls slickedback neat but damp. She moved like the weight of the graveyard was still strapped across her shoulders. The gossip died into whispers as they realized who entered.
“Hey, baby girl,” I called, voice carrying over the chatter, warm but rough.
She lifted her chin at me, hazel eyes soft and stormy all at once. “Hey, Lani,” she murmured, stepping up to the counter.
I didn’t wait for her to ask—grabbed a clean mug, filled it with coffee, steam curling in the air between us. The smell of roasted beans cut through the heavy air, made her close her eyes like she needed just that moment of stillness.
“You eat yet?” I asked, sliding the cup her way.
Her hand wrapped the mug, knuckles pale, voice low. “Ain’t had the stomach.”
I clicked my tongue, wiped my rag over the counter hard. “You gon’ fall out like that. Can’t raise no little one on fumes and coffee, Nova Rae.”
She managed a small smile—half gratitude, half weariness. Behind her, old heads at the counter went back to their chess game, dominoes cracking sharp as thunder.
Nova turned her gaze toward the booths, but she didn’t move right away. Just stood there a second, letting the heat from the cup warm her fingers. Her eyes glistened under the fluorescent lights, and I knew she was fighting to hold it in.
“Sit down,” I told her, softer this time. “I’ll bring you a plate. Fried catfish and grits—stick to your bones.”
She nodded, quiet, and slid into the booth near the window. The rain outside had slowed to a mist, blurring the block like the city couldn’t decide if it was done crying or not.
I leaned on the counter, watching her for a beat, my chest tight. Nova wasn’t my blood, but the way I felt protective of her you’d think she was my own.
And as I plated her food, I couldn’t help but think:this girl’s storm wasn’t just in her eyes—it was about to hit all of us.
I set the plate down in front of her—catfish golden, grits steaming, collards glistening with pot liquor. “Eat,” I told her, sliding the hot sauce across the table. “Don’t sit there makin’ love to the coffee.”
Nova wrapped her fingers tighter around the mug, eyes on the plate but not touching the fork. I pulled the rag from my apron and dropped into the booth across from her. If she wasn’t gonna move first, I’d drag it out of her.
“You lookin’ worse than the rain, baby girl,” I voiced, leaning back, folding my arms. “I know that funeral didn’t help. But it ain’t just Sal sittin’ on your chest. Spill it.”
Her hazel eyes flicked up, glassy, then dropped back to the steam curling off the grits. She breathed slow, like words hurt more coming out than keeping them in.
“I saw him at the funeral,” she whispered.
My brows lifted. “Yeah, I seen him circling.”
She didn’t answer right away. Just pushed a piece of catfish through the grits, hand shaking slightly, then finally looked up. “He came back for Sal, but not me after all these years.”
I let out a sharp breath. The whole block been buzzing, but hearing her say it? That put weight on it. “Mm. Three years gone and he just pop back like rainwater? Girl…” I shook my head, jaw tight. “And he didn’t look a day over 20.”
Her lips trembled into a small, dangerous smile. “Like he never left.”
I caught the flicker in her eyes, the way her fingers rubbed at the chain on her chest, thumb worrying the ring through the fabric. That girl was still tied up in him—whether she wanted to admit it or not.
Before I could answer, voices rose from the counter.
