He exhaled, rubbing his chin. “Man called last night. Said the young man comin’ is…goin’ through somethin’. Be patient with him.”
Meadow raised a brow. “I’m always patient.”
Raymond stared at her knowing she was lying.
She sighed. “Okay, I’m sometimes patient.”
“That’s more like it.” He leaned against the cart. “You know this place…it helps people, always has. He might need quiet more than most.”
Meadow softened. “I’ll be good.”
Raymond nodded, satisfied. “Alright then. Go on. Make sure the AC in that house ain’t fried.”
Meadow groaned. “Ugh, Daddy, if it’s fried,youfixing it.”
“We’ll see,” he mumbled, already turning back to the engine.
Meadow went to walk away to finish her daily tasks but thought of something. “Who is it?”
Ray only grinned at her. “You just gon’ have to wait and find out…he’s real special though, baby…I can feel it.”
Rolling her eyes, she trekked on toward the guest house that wasn’t too far away from the main house. It wasn’t much to look at either but it was one hundred percent Black owned and that made up for that lack of five-star accommodations most of their elite guest were used to.
Meadow pushed open the guest house door with her hip, letting the familiar scent of lemon cleaner and lavender drift around her as she stepped inside. Her mother’s signature scent always lingered, softening the edges of the room in a way she could never quite replicate. Before she could even think about straightening anything, she dropped her phone onto the little dining table, thumbed through her playlists, and tapped the one that always got her through chores. Nar was a constant on herplaylist. The bass kicked in immediately, low and warm. A sound you felt in your hips before you felt it anywhere else.
“All right now,” she mumbled, pulling her bonnet off as the beat settled into her bones. “Let’s get this done.”
She started moving from corner to corner with an ease that came from routine. The music wrapped itself around her, sliding up her spine and loosening her shoulders. Before long, she was rolling her hips while tucking the sheet, swaying while adjusting the blinds, bouncing in place as she dusted the dresser. She was comfortable here, completely unguarded, her body catching every beat without effort.
She bent over the bed to tighten the fitted sheet, the leggings hugging her the way leggings always did when you bought the right size—the way they held everything together and still let it move. Her thighs brushed as she shifted. Her curls bounced across her shoulders. She reached even farther under the bed to grab some random piece of paper that the wind must’ve dragged inside, humming along like she hadn’t a care in the world.
Zaire walked toward the house with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, denim jacket halfway off, and his sweats sitting low on his waist. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion and his mind still buzzed with last week’s chaos. This place was supposed to be quiet, ducked-off…a safe retreat. So, he wasn’t expecting noise. But the moment he stepped closer, the thump of music leaking through the walls pulled him forward, curiosity nudging him into the open doorway.
He paused, resting his hands in front of him.
Meadow was bent forward, her body moving easily with the beat, curls swaying with each subtle bounce of her hips. She wasn’t performing. She was just existing in her element. Comfortable, feminine and soft in ways women only showed when they thought no one was around. It caught him off guard how beautiful it was.
Not the dancing, though he felt that too but the ease of her…the way she took up space without trying, the way joy lived in her movements, the way she seemed to bask in her Black woman essence.
He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. The corner of his mouth lifted while he watched her work. A gold chain peeked from under his plain white tee. His watch shined when he shifted. He wasn’t loud with money, but it was evident in his clean Chucks, diamond stud, or his whole outfit. His style wassimple yet expensive in that understated way hood niggas did when they grew up without switching their identity.
He licked his lips, taking one last look at her round ass bounce.
“Yo!” Meadow screamed so loud the music almost swallowed it. She shot up too quickly and smacked her head on the bedframe before stumbling backward, clutching her chest. “Are you serious right now?” she barked, staring at him like she was deciding whether to call 911 or swing. “Why are you creeping in here like the fuckin’ Candy Man?”
“I dare you to say it two more times…”
“Fuck you!”
Zaire pressed his lips together, holding back a laugh. The sound of it still slipped out, a low rumble deep in his chest. He lifted both hands in surrender as he stepped inside a little further. “The door was open,” he replied, letting the smoothness of his voice carry the moment. “I figured somebody was home.”
“Nah,” Meadow shot back, brushing curls out of her face. “You announce yourself. You stomp, you cough, you clap twice…something.”
“I did announce myself…I walked in,” he said, tapping at the air where the music had been. “You had that speaker rattling the windows. I didn’t want to interrupt your little…situation.”
“My little what?” she demanded.
He nodded at the bed she’d been bent over. “Your routine.”
