“I had help.” I shrugged. “May have hired a few people.”
Her face balled up like she was about to ugly cry, and I pulled her into me.
“I just . . . this is . . . it’s a lot.”
“In a bad way?” I asked.
She shook her head quick. “No. No, in a . . . in a nobody’s ever did this for me way.”
Something in me tightened at that. I already knew that much. I’d watched her spend more than one Valentine’s Day settling for less than she said she wanted. That was half the reason I even started buying her and Mama flowers every year. If they were getting bare minimum from dudes, it damn sure wasn’t gon’ be from me.
“This is just so beautiful, Hashy.” She started walking around the pool, taking in every detail. “Did you . . . Did you see my Valentine’s Pinterest board or something?” she asked, half laughing, half crying. “Because this looks exactly like?—”
“Nah. That live you made last year. The one where you described your dream Valentine’s Day.”
Her eyes widened. I could tell she didn’t know I’d seen it. I’d been in some crowded restaurant with Simone that night, watching Harlowe on live. I watched the whole thing on mute at the table then replayed it later with the sound on.
“I didn’t even think you saw that,” she said softly. “I didn’t even know you were watching.”
“I see everything,” I told her. “I just don’t always say anything. Don’t mean I’m not paying attention.”
She looked at me like she was about to ugly cry again. She reached for her phone out of habit, thumb already opening the camera. Then she froze, glancing back at me.
“I know you said you wanted this to be just for us,” she said. “I don’t have to?—”
“Go ’head,” I said. “You can take your little video. I ain’t gon’ block your bag.”
“You sure?” she asked.
“Yeah. Just don’t turn it into a whole production,” I added. “Get your clip, then put it down and actually be here with me.”
Her shoulders dropped like she didn’t know she needed that permission until I gave it.
“Okay,” she said. “Deal.”
She flipped her camera, angling it toward herself with the setup behind her. The switch-up was instant.
“Hey, Harlings,” she said, voice soft and happy as she grinned. She turned just enough to catch the flowers, the pool, the food. “Look what my man did for Valentine’s Day.” She paused for a playful little side eye. “Y’all men coming like this or nah? Anyway. . . I hope you feel loved today, even if it’s just by you. You deserve romance too. Okay, bye.”
She hit end, thumb hovering like she might do another one. I stepped forward and plucked the phone right out her hand.
“Alright, that’s enough internet,” I said, dropping it face down on the table. “You hit ’em with the flex. Now you mine.”
“Bossy.” She laughed with watery eyes.
“Been like that,” I said. “Sit down so you can eat your rich girl breakfast.”
I pulled her chair out for her. She sank into it slowly, still looking around like she might wake up any second. I started fixing her plate, acting like my chest wasn’t warm as hell over all of this. Eggs, fruit, a little bit of everything the chef had sent up. I set it in front of her.
“Hasheem, that’s too much,” she said. “I’m not gonna eat all that.”
“You been running off vibes and anxiety this whole trip.”
She snorted. “That’s my normal diet.”
“Yeah, and it’s trash,” I said. “Eat.”
She rolled her eyes, but she picked up her fork. First bite went in, and her eyes slipped shut for half a second.
