Zaire’s eyes darted toward her. “Yeah.”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
He shifted in his seat. “I ain’t had a chance.”
Meadow set her fork down. “We was just talking.”
“It just got confirmed,” Zaire said, tone measured. “And I ain’t wanna stress you out.”
“Stress me out?” Her voice clipped sharper than she meant. “It’s good news.”
“Yeah but-”
“You should’ve told me.”
Zaire leaned back. “I’m tellin’ you now.”
Meadow looked away, lips pressed tight.
Ray cut in. “It’s gon’ be good for you, son. Reset…New team…New start.”
Zaire nodded, but his attention didn’t leave Meadow. She was pushing her food around, pretending she didn’t feel a way, pretending her stomach didn’t drop, pretending she didn’t just let him kiss her stupid not even twenty minutes ago.
Dinner went quiet again.
Magnolia hummed.
Ray scraped his plate.
Meadow stayed small.
Zaire stayed watching her.
After they finished, Meadow stood to clear the plates. “I got it,” she said.
Zaire stood too. “I’ll help.”
“No!” she stressed firmly.
He took the plates from her hands anyway and carried them to the sink.
Meadow stared after him, irritated but soft.
Zaire washed the dishes like he’d lived there for years. Warm water running, muscles flexing under the kitchen light, chain swinging just enough to annoy her feelings. Meadow dried each plate he handed her. They worked in silence because Zaire didn’t feel like arguing with her, knowing Meadow kept something slick tucked in her pocket at all times.
When they finished, he wiped his hands on a towel and looked down at her. “You busy tonight?” he asked.
“Always,” she sassed wiping the table down.
“Stop playin’ with me, cuh. Come to the guest house.”
Meadow lifted her chin. “For what?”
“To finish the conversation we ain’t finishin’ in front of your folks.”
Her stomach flipped.
“And,” he sniffed, thumb brushing the side of her hand, “so I can make sure we straight before you go to bed actin’ like you not in your feelings.”
