He put his hands up like he was being arrested. “Aight, big dog. Message received. For the record, I was talking about the energy. That whole section saw she had you locked in. I would never holla at the new cousin-in-law, even though shorty is finer than a muthafucka. Respectfully.”
I stopped and turned to look at him fully. My ears perked up. “That’s the last time you say ‘finer than a muthafucka’ and ‘cousin-in-law’ in the same sentence, you hear me? That’s your only warning.”
He snorted. “If you don’t get yo’ German shepherd ass, loyal, territorial, whole security team in one body head ass the fuck on somewhere. I get it. I’m just saying. I know she is off-limits. Mel’s fine ass is the one who curved me anyway, remember? She was blitzing out of The Pour House like somebody was chasing her. I’ve never tried to shoot at your girl. I know boundaries.”
“Good. Keep it that way. You can joke, but don’t play with what I’m serious about.”
He clutched his chest. “I would like it stated for the record that Bryce DeLane has never disrespected, pursued, or attempted to flirt with your future wifey. I’m Mel only. I know my lane.”
“That’s better,” I said, smirking. “Stay there before I put cones around it.”
He laughed until his shoulders shook. “Oh, you gone, gone.”
I didn’t answer. I was replaying it all—the small of her back in my palm when I stopped her panic, the way those freckles turned the color of a sunrise when she blushed, the calm in her eyes like she’d been steady for people her whole life. That crazy best friend of hers said it out loud. She always put everybody ahead of herself. I felt that sit down in me, a chair I didn’t know I’d been needing to sit in. I grew up in that posture—head up, hands full, and heart last. Every choice I’d made from the age of seventeen had Reagan’s and Reece’s faces on it. You learn how to go without and still look full.
“What you call her?” Bryce asked, nudging me like he couldn’t help himself. He was riding the adrenaline of the interaction as if it was a highlight reel. “You straight up told shorty she was ya future wifey. You’re insane! You didn’t ask baby her name or nothing. No ‘hey, ma’am’ or nothing. She gon’ think yo’ ass don’t have no home training,” he said, laughing hard as hell.
I didn’t argue. I did one better. I pulled my phone out, thumb moving softly, and tilted it so he could see the contact saved. The screen light hit my knuckles. Bryce snorted the second he read it.
“Future Wifey? You corny and bold, but I respect it.”
“It worked, and I mean that shit,” I said, sliding the phone back into my pocket. The word wifey rolled off my tongue before I could consult the committee in my head. It fit. It felt as though it was something I’d bought months ago and finally took out of the box. It wasn’t about claiming she was property but recognizing her. I was speaking what I felt without trying to dilute it. Some men were too scared of sounding sure. I wasn’t built like that. If I saw something rare, I said so. If I felt something real, I stood on it.
Bryce squinted at me. “You think you know, huh?”
I heard my father’s voice—warm, familiar, a little amused.You’ll know when you meet her, Son. Don’t force it. It’ll stand still for you.My jaw tightened the way it always did when I felt my daddy close. Grief and love shared space in me, whether I invited them in or not. I didn’t get to keep him, but I kept his standards, lessons, and his voice living in my decisions.
“Yeah, I know. That’s her. My future wife with her perfect, pretty ass,” I said out loud to myself.
I didn’t say it recklessly, but respectfully. I understood the weight of it. Speaking something into the air meant I had to be prepared to honor it if God gave it to me.
“Lawd. She got freckles like connect the dots, and you already drawing houses and a dog.” Bryce cackled, hands on his knees.
“Stop projecting,” I told him, but I was smiling. Those freckles of hers, . . . they were something else . . . They didn’t just sit on her face; they belonged there. They made her look soft and smart at the same time. I liked how they got louder when she got shy, like her skin was telling on her sweetness. She tried to stay composed, and her freckles betrayed her, turning her quiet feelings into visible truths.
My mind gave her a nickname without me even trying.My Constellation.Her freckles sat across her face like a pattern I wanted to memorize. I liked how they sat across her cheekbones like a map. Looking at her made me want to orient myself, straighten up, and move better.
My Constellation, I thought, and it landed perfectly. That was what I’d call her when it was just her and me. Connie, or Pretty Little Dipper, if I was feeling playful and wanted to see the corner of her mouth fight a smile. I went back to my phone and edited her contact’s name toFuture Wifey—My Constellationwith a star emoji and heart.
“You goin’ back to my spot, or you goin’ home?” Bryce asked as we hit the row with his car.
“Home. I’m finna be on the phone caked up like a teenager,” I said, already knowing.
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Say less. Text me when you get home, fam.”
“Bet.” We dapped.
As I turned toward my truck, my chest warmed in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. It was hope with discipline attached. It made me want to be even better than I already was because I could see somebody worth being better for.
The house was quiet when I pushed the door open. The lights were low, the living room neat, my girls in their usual spots. Reagan lay sprawled across the couch, pretending not to stalk Instagram, and Reece was cross-legged on the floor, journal open, headphones around her neck, humming something delicate and in tune.
Reagan popped her head up. “You’re smiling,” she said suspiciously, like joy owed her an explanation.
“Mind your business,” I said, dropping my keys in the bowl and my phone on the counter like I didn’t want to check it yet. I wanted to savor the anticipation for a minute. Then I failed and looked anyway. No text yet. I tucked the phone again like it hadn’t just humbled me.
“What happened? Did your team win?” Reece asked softly, curiously.
“Of course,” I said, peeling my jacket off and draping it over a chair. “And I met somebody,” I said. I tossed Reagan the look that saidfeet off the couchwithout saying it. She put them down immediately.
