My eyes met hers. “That’s a lie, Ms. Grindley.”
She looked away first. Aziza grabbed her hand. “Please, Mama,please. We can just look. We don’t have to buy one if you hate them. But I want to see.”
She looked so hopeful that I already knew what her mother’s answer would be. Kyleigh exhaled long and slow, eyes closing for a second.
“Fine. We can go look. Looking only,” she agreed stiffly
Aziza shrieked and nearly tackled her. “Thank you!” she crowed, as Max erupted into happy barks.
The tightness in my chest loosened.
“Good,” I said, standing. “Then let’s go look.
I meantevery word when I texted him5:30 is fine.
That didn’t stop my stomach from twisting like I’d swallowed a fistful of all the damn tinsel around town.
At three yesterday morning, when he’d stood in my bedroom like the shadows belonged to him, I’d been scared in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. Not scared he’d hurt me. Scared because he’d been very clear: my money and my gates and my alarms were nothing compared to his determination… and his skills.
You don’t keep a man like that out. You negotiate. So, here I was, being reasonable… against my will. The idea of walking out in the middle of people’s Christmas joy made my skin itch. But I knew he was compromising, too. I could see it all over himthat he wanted to announce his connection to her, but he was waiting, trying to ease her into it. For that, I was grateful. For that, I could cooperate.
“Tonight works,” he said after doing what I assumed was a quick Google search for Primrose’s Pretty Pines. “Lot closes at eight. We got time to go and come back.”
Excited, Aziza took off upstairs to grab her things, Max on her heels. Jabali looked at me then. Really looked, like he used to.
“You good?” he asked quietly.
He sounded like it mattered. I wanted to believe it did. But then, I remembered, and I swallowed down any soft-hearted foolishness.
“No. But she is. So, I will be,” I replied.
His mouth twisted. “That’s something, I guess. Go get your coat, Ky,” he commanded.
I stiffened at the nickname. “I’ve asked you not to call me that.”
He just looked at me, like he remembered all the times I’d smiled when he said it. “I’m not calling you Ms. Grindley. Iwillcall you Kyleigh,” he agreed dryly. “Get your coat.”
Being in a truck with him again was a special kind of hell. I buckled my seat belt like I was getting ready for war. Aziza sat behind us, leg bouncing, humming something that sounded suspiciously like “This Christmas.” He adjusted the heat, flipped on the radio low, and drove like he’d never left, with one hand on the wheel, the other loose on his thigh. Once upon a time, it would’ve beenmythigh. He smelled like soap, something clean and warm, and underneath it, a cologne that wasn’t loud but wrapped around me slowly. It was somehow familiar but different. My brain was making no sense. Jabali had always had that effect on me.
“You alright back there?” he called over his shoulder.
“Uh-huh. Do they let you touch the trees? Or is it like the museum where you only look?” she asked eagerly.
“You can touch ’em. Smell ’em too.”
She gasped, like that was scandalous.
“Youcannotlick them. I feel like I have to say that,” I added.
“I’m not a baby, Mama,” she retorted.
I watched town lights appear between the trees as we drove downhill. Emancipation looked like a postcard from up here, all red and green and white. Everything below us was bright and busy. The part of me that had always loved quiet was anxious. The part of me that had always loved Emancipation refused to acknowledge how much I’d missed this.
“What you looking at?” he queried softly when he caught me staring out the window.
“Just thinking of all the people who’ll have something to say when they see me, especially with you. Mentally preparing my bail money,” I answered.
He laughed, low and deep in a way that I felt all over. “They can say it to me. I got time.”
