I sighed. No one was supposed to be here, and I didn’t feel like saying the same thing yet again.
“I shall see to it.”
“I’ll—” I started, then stopped. “Thank you.”
He went to the door. I hovered halfway down the hall, too introverted to stand right behind him, too nosy to hide. He opened it.
“Good evening,” a deep voice said.
It was foreign and familiar all at once. My heart tripped, skipped a beat, then started racing. My mind went back, ten years folding in on themselves. There was a moment of panic—then, I remembered that Aziza was gone. And then came the rage. I know this man didn’t?—
“May I help you?” Mr. Benton asked, cool but polite.
“I hope so,” he said. “My name is?—”
“Mr. Christopher. Yes. I recall. Ms. Grindley is not currently receiving?—”
“It’s all right, Mr. Benton,” I said. My voice sounded calm somehow, all cold and missing the heat of my anger. Just how I wanted it.
He looked back at me. Whatever he saw there softened his eyes. I hoped it wasn’t pity. I would hate it if it were pity. “As you wish, ma’am,” he said, stepping aside.
I walked forward, every step careful. I refused to look unsteady. And there he was.
Jabali Christopher.
He looked different than he did at seventeen, of course. He was still so handsome, all smooth, mocha skin and beautifully carved, masculine features. He was taller, broader through the shoulders, with a neat moustache and full beard now. But those warm brown eyes were the same, like they were trying to read me. That pissed me off more, because he no longer had that privilege. Reading my mood, Max growled half-heartedly. Jabali didn’t even spare him a glance.
“Hey, Ky,” he said quietly.
“It’s Ms. Grindley,” I corrected.
Something flashed in those eyes so much like my baby’s, but he nodded.
“Yes, ma’am. Ms. Grindley,” he said. His voice was deeper now, low enough that I felt it all over me. “I know I kind of just showed up. I appreciate you even opening the door.”
“This is my home. Not an office. You don’t make appointments at people’s homes.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “You still focused on technicalities.”
“You still ignoring boundaries,” I clapped back.
Mr. Benton made a small sound that sounded like a cough, snapped for Max, and disappeared, leaving us alone.
I kept one hand on the door. I needed something to hold on to. After ten years, Jabali Christopher still had the power to have me shook. “What do you want?”
He looked past me, taking it all in, like he was trying to see if anything had changed.
“I came on behalf of the town,” he said. “Mayor Shipley-Melrose asked me to talk to you.”
I tilted my head and peered up at him. “The mayor. Your mama’s sister.”
“Yes, ma’am. She said you got her letters, that you already answered. She still asked me to come. Face to face.”
“About the trees.”
“About the trees,” he confirmed. “She said Mrs. Amanda always let the town use the pines on top of the hill for decorations, and she was hoping you might reconsider. People look forward to it. The kids love it. It matters to the town.”
“I’m aware of the tradition. I lived here, remember?”
