I dapped her up across the counter. “What’s up, sis?”
Mel’s eyes swept the scene—Solé, NanNan, and me grinning like she’d planned the wedding, my sisters cackling. She knew exactly what it was.
“I’m trying to take my baby on a date,” I said, playful but clear. “She’s acting shy. Nan already blessed it, so she can stop playing like I’d ever hurt her.”
I looked at Solé when I said it, not to rush her, but to let her feel my meaning. I wasn’t here to push; I was here to prove.
Mel looked at Nan. “You co-signed?”
“Hell yes,” Nan said. “I like him. He smells like responsibility, and he look at my baby like she hung the moon—and he got that big?—”
“Okay, Nan, I get it!” Mel cut in, while Solé looked mortified.
“That’s my big brother—Mr. Responsible. He really the best, no lie!” Reagan bragged.
Mel clapped once. “Perfect! I’m free. I’ll help Nan and get her home safe, so you can go. Problem solved. You welcome, beloved.” She looked at Solé like it was already settled.
I lifted my hands and turned to my sisters, my protective reflex rising immediately. “Hold on. What about Sibling Day? Y’all sure y’all good? I don’t want y’all feeling no type of?—”
Reagan waved me off. “Boy, please. We see you every day. Go be in love.”
Reece nodded calmly. “We can stay with Nan. She’s funny. We’ll hit the bookstore later.”
Nan tossed the towel over her shoulder, bossy as ever. “You heard my new grandbabies. Get out my shop, and go enjoy the day!”
Solé clutched her chest, laughing. “Why, I never had such rude service!”
I laughed. “Come on, Connie. Before Nan writes us up.”
I held my hand out. She hesitated, then slid her palm into mine. That was it; my day was set.
Outside, the sun was bright. I walked her to my truck, still holding her hand—teacher hands: short nails, clean, practical, warm against my skin.
“Did you drive?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. Me and Nan walked. She says it keeps her young.”
I squinted. “You too fine to be walking around this city like that. Next time, call me.”
She tucked a curl, eyes dropping. “I didn’t know I had you like that.”
“You do, so don’t act like you don’t. If anything feels off or you need me, call me.”
Her mouth curved. “Okay, . . . Roman.”
I liked how she said my name, like she was trying it on to see if it fit. She looked nervous, like she wasn’t sure her outfit was good enough to go out with me.
“And what you wearing under that ‘I’m not dressed for a date’ disclaimer?” I teased.
She glanced down at her tee, fitted jeans, and clean sneakers. Her body clearly had been putting in work.
“I’m serious. I’m not dressed for a date with you,” she said, shyly.
I let my eyes travel from her sneakers back up to her mouth, then caught her gaze.
“You look good as hell, baby,” I said, voice low. “But I hear you. Let’s hit the mall and walk it. I want the time with you, . . . and we can pick you something out for tonight.”
Her lips curved. “That’s . . . cute. I like that.”
