“I’ve watched you all day, trying to make sense of how someone I should consider an adversary matches my energy. Ronan . . .” His name now felt different on my lips.
He moved closer. “Tell me to step back if that’s what you want.”
What I wanted had never been more clear or confusing. In the light, we were chief and activist, opposite sides of a divide, but in the dark, we were a man and woman attracted to each other.
My answer was to lean forward as his lips found mine. The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, questioning, but then his hand tightened at my waist, pulling me against his as his mouth moved more insistently against mine. A slight sound escaped me as my fingers curled into his shirt.
The darkness created a world where only we existed, the sensation of his lips pressing against mine, and the slight scratch of his beard against my skin. My hands moved from his chest to the back of his neck, his close-cropped hair against my palm.
Our kiss deepened, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips until I opened for him. Ronan flooded my senses, leaving me unable to process how the man I planned to critique in my lecture was now kissing me like he’d waited his whole life to do this.
We were so lost in each other that the sudden flash of emergency lights startled us. We broke apart, blinking in the harsh red lights. Ronan’s hand was still at my waist, and for a moment, we stared at each other, processing what happened.
The people in the holding area were relieved at the partial lighting. The guard shouted to restore calm.
I stepped back, breaking our physical connection, though my body protested the distance.
“I—” Whatever Ronan planned to say was cut off by the guards and their flashlight sweeping the holding area.
“Power company’s working on it. The main lights will be back shortly. You two, back to your assigned area.”
Ronan and I moved to return the brooms and cleaning supplies to the caddy. The electricity between us had nothing to do with the building’s failed power, but everything to do with wondering what would happen when we walked out of this holding cell.
6
RONAN
I shifted on the metal bench, my back stiff after sitting for hours as night settled over the holding area. I kept thinking about Nia’s lips on mine in the dark.
Most of the detainees slept where they could, curled up on benches or pressed against the walls. Every so often, a snore would pull me out of my restless thoughts. The place stunk of sweat and neglect.
Nia sat next to me, her locs framing her face and softening her features. Neither of us brought up the kiss. It lingered between us, hard to forget.
“You ever go fishing as a kid?” The question came out in a hushed voice.
“Fishing?”
“Yeah. I was thinking about summers in Alabama. My daddy used to take me to this creek out past Birmingham.”
Nia was quiet for a moment, a half smile tugging at her mouth. “My uncle had a spot. A little lake only the locals knew about. Unc would catch catfish bigger than my arm and talk about it for months.”
I felt something ease in my chest. “Sounds familiar. My old man could stretch a fishing story, too. The bass got bigger every time he told it.”
“Black folks and their fishing stories. A universal constant. Like church picnics lasting all day.”
“And family reunions where you meet cousins you never knew existed.” I chuckled.
“And the auntie who pinches your cheeks so hard you almost cried.”
We both chuckled softly, conscious of the sleeping people around us.
“My mother had this garden, nothing big, a little patch behind our house. Man, she grew the best collards. On Sunday mornings, I’d wake up to those greens cooking with ham hocks and cornbread in the oven.”
Nia nodded. “Don’t forget the hot sauce. I like mine spicy. Or what about sitting in church for three hours, sweating through your good clothes while the pastor went on and on about hellfire.”
“And somehow your mama knew when you were about to fall asleep.”
“That’s the sixth sense. Listen, mine would give me a look, and that’s all it took.”
