I lifted my hands and did that little motion my sisters do. “What’s that saying y’all be using? Clocked it,” I teased, trying to lighten the room and slow my pulse.
Solè laughed—real—and I thanked God for it. That laugh was proof she was still here, still herself, still soft, even after somebody tried to make her hard.
I stepped closer, voice gentle. “I’m not gonna lie. I am protective over you. Not in a controlling way, though, but in the way that says you deserve to be loved, covered, and cared for the same way you pour into everybody else. His energy was off—creepy, entitled.”
I helped her to her feet. “I already told Keys I was keeping an eye on him,” I said. “I’m glad I got here when I did. Listen, baby. You get one life and one nervous system. I’m not letting anyone tamper with either. If somebody forgets how to act, I’ll remind them, clearly.”
I kissed her forehead, slow and steady, right where she needed it. “Come on. We’ll see if they need a statement, then we’re out.”
My phone buzzed.
Keys:
Ms. Stevens can submit her statement in the morning if she prefers.
Solè glanced at it, then squared her shoulders. “Let’s get it over with.”
That was resilience—quiet power. I nodded. “Yeah. Together.”
I texted back,
We’re on our way now.
I took her hand and walked her toward the front office, holding on like an anchor until her body remembered what her mind already knew: she was safe, and her no was a full sentence she’d never have to say alone again.
I waited in the diner lobby on purpose. It was public and bright, no room for escalation. The air smelled like old coffee and syrup, neon humming while my mind stayed disciplined. When meeting somebody worth protecting, letting loose ends swing would stop.
Terryn walked in, looking ready to win—hair laid, lips glossy, confidence in a slow stride. It used to work. Not anymore.
“Hey, baby. I missed you. Why we not at our usual spot?”
I sat back, owning the truth. “Look, Terry,” I said steadily. “I asked you here because you deserve clarity, and I owe my life some order.” I met her eyes. “I’m not your man, and I never was. This ends here. No late-night links, no check-ins, no access. I should’ve been direct sooner. Silence isn’t a boundary; it’s confusion.”
Her face tightened. “So, there’s somebody else.”
“There is,” I said. “And I’m not playing with her. I’m building.”
I kept it firm, not cruel. “I’m closing the door the right way, out of respect for you and for the woman I’m with.”
She nodded, holding onto what dignity she had.
Outside, the cold air hit clean. I breathed like I taught my swimmers—in, hold, out—then walked away with no loose ends, just intention.
I pulled up to Nourish Nook with my mind made up, not impulsive, but deliberate, the kind of decision a man made when he was tired of watching a good woman burn like a candle so everybody else could borrow the light. The lot was packed with Saturday traffic, life moving like it never paused. I cut the engine and let my shoulders unclench.
I’d witnessed my lady get disrespected at the job where she gave her best, and it didn’t sit right. Solé was gentleness with a backbone, and I wasn’t built to let the world treat her softness like it was up for grabs. If she kept blessing everybody, then I was going to make sure somebody blessed her back.
Inside, the air was cool and clean—fruit, fresh bread, and those fancy soaps. Carts squeaked, a kid begged for cereal, and an old couple debated tomatoes like it was romance. It was regular life, but my heart wasn’t regular.
I moved the aisles with purpose, calm and focused. I couldn’t erase how Hungry Hippo Henderson tried to make Solé feel small, but I could answer it with consideration, with tenderness that meant something, and with protection.
So, I grabbed what she loved because I listened: lobster tails, steaks, shrimp, potatoes, butter, herbs, lemon, and garlic that made a whole house smell like love working overtime. Her sweet rosé—summer in a bottle—and candles in the scent she called peace because I’d been memorizing her the way I memorized swim times.
My hands stayed steady, but my thoughts drifted. Somewhere between seafood and checkout, it hit me.I’m really doing this for her, becoming the man who builds a home outof small moments.It felt prophetic, like God was nodding at my growth.
Back at the house, I cleaned with intention, not because it was dirty, but because I wanted the air to respect Solé. Lights were low, candles lit, and plates neat. I wasn’t trying to impress her. I was building comfort.
I checked the time twice. The girls were with NanNan, and Solé finally had room to breathe, even if she’d never admitted she needed it.
