I held my face steady, but inside, my thoughts were moving quickly.Watch the tone. Watch the energy. Protect peace. Protect your woman.Being the big dog was not just about standing tall but about keeping the temperature right, keeping the room safe, and keeping everybody’s dignity intact. It was moving like a man who could read a situation and still speak with grace.
I dipped my head slightly, the way my pops taught me to acknowledge someone without inviting familiarity. “Respect,” I said calmly. “Appreciate you keeping it solid.”
Terryn lifted her hands a little, palms out, like peace offerings. “I’m not here to cause no issues. I’m not here to make it weird. I’m genuinely happy for y’all.”
I studied her, not in a disrespectful way, but responsibly. Her tone had no edge or heat, just surprise and acceptance.
She nodded toward the house, toward the girls, toward Solè. “I didn’t even know you had sisters,” she admitted, like she waspiecing together a puzzle she never got to see. “Me and you never crossed paths like that. This whole thing is a coincidence, for real.”
Life really did loop back like that sometimes, like it wanted to see if you learned the lesson or if you were still the same man with different clothes.
Solè gave her that soft, teacher-professional smile. The one she used when she was being kind without letting anybody cross the line into too familiar. She was gracious, even when awkwardness tried to creep in.
“Thank you,” Solè said gently. “Please be safe with the girls.”
Terryn nodded as if she understood boundaries and respected them. “Always.” Then she looked at Solè again, and the warmth in her face turned real, solid. “I’m happy for you,” she said.
She got back into the car, pulled off, and the taillights blinked red like little warnings disappearing into the night.
The porch went quiet, and my mind, already messy from everything that happened today, tried to convince me the quiet meant something else was about to go wrong. I could feel that old protective part of me trying to stand up too fast, trying to overcorrect, trying to take control of variables like control was the same thing as peace.
I stood there, tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Solè looked at me like she could see straight through my chest, past the places I hid guilt, fear, and love, and my hands flexed at my sides, restless with worst-case thinking. I exhaled heavily, like my heart was living outside my ribs.
The confession tried to rise. I grabbed Solè’s hand and led her back into the house.
“I’m . . . I’m messing up, ba?—”
She shook her head, soft but firm. “You haven’t,” she said. “I know you had a life before me.”
It should’ve soothed me. Instead, it ached because she offered grace so naturally, and she deserved never to have to be the bigger person in moments I created. I stepped in and pulled her close, careful as if she was sacred, making my embrace feel like shelter, not possession, and let my voice fall into that hood-intellectual sweetness I saved for truth.
“There won’t be anyone after you, Pretty Little Dipper,” I murmured. “Not because you trapped me, but because you aligned me.”
She smiled, and it loosened something in my chest. She kissed me. I kissed her back, grateful she still met me in softness. She watched me with hearts in her eyes as I ducked to the bathroom and came right back.
I pulled her into my arms, and she settled on my chest as if she belonged there. A few minutes later, her breath turned into those quiet little snores, and I kissed her freckles until she stirred. I just lay there, looking at her, holding the feeling like something rare.
And in the same breath, I knew I had to handle Hungry Hippo Harry swiftly and strategically so her peace could stay uninterrupted.
I wokeup in Roman’s bed with his arm anchored around my waist, his face tucked into my neck, and my leg draped over his like my body had chosen him in its sleep. When I tried to slip up for the bathroom, he tightened his hold, gentle and insistent, pulling me back like he wasn’t finished being close.
I looked up, and he was watching me as if I was something rare.
I looked away on instinct, but he caught my chin and guided my face back to his, like he was gently unlearning my habit of hiding.
“Don’t deny me this view,” he murmured, voice warm with that hood-intellectual sweetness. “You’re too fine to be hiding.”
Heat climbed my cheeks. His hands, softly calloused and honest, cupped my face, and he kissed across my freckles like he was counting stars, then traced them with his fingertips as if mapping a sky he meant to keep.
“My Constellation . . . Pretty Little Dipper,” he teased, smiling into my skin. “Come on. Let’s get up and get cleaned up.”
I laughed, nudged him off me, and slipped into the bathroom for my shower and morning routine. When I finished and started brushing through my wavy hair, curls loosening, I caught him in the mirror, just staring like he’d forgotten how to blink.
“Roman, stop,” I whispered, blush rising fast.
He stepped in behind me, hands settling at my waist as he rocked me gently. “You’re beautiful, baby. I can’t help it.” He grazed my shoulder with a playful bite, then paused like a thought landed. “Hold up. What you just call me, Pretty Little Dipper?”
I giggled. He refused to acknowledge that his mama named him Roman, so I was going to call his fine ass Roman. “You’re a menace.”
