That was the thing about moving through the world the way we did, people always looked. They looked at me because of who I was, what I represented. But when Coco stepped out of that building, they looked at her for completely different reasons.
She moved like music, all smooth lines and confident grace. That tan dress hugged her body in ways that made me thank God for luck, favor, and blessings. The belt emphasized the curve of her waist, making her look like she’d stepped off the cover of a magazine. Those heels made her legs look like they went on for miles. When she slipped her YSL sunglasses on, I looked up at the sky.
She wasn’t just beautiful, she was magnetic. The kind of woman who made traffic slow down, made conversations stop, made other women hate her on sight just because she existed in their space, and made it look easy.
As she slid into the passenger seat, I caught a hint of her perfume. It was different today, bolder. Mixed with the leather interior, my mind was going haywire.
“Why you so fuckin pretty?” I asked, kneeling down. I was in awe of her beauty.
She shrugged and smiled. “We’re going to be late.”
“Right.”
I rounded to the driver’s side and said a silent prayer that I made it through the day without pulling her into a corner and ripping her dress off.
“I never had anybody do something like this for me before,” she said finally, voice so quiet I almost missed it over the sound of the engine.
“What you mean?”
She turned to look out the window, watching Coupeville roll by, the mix of old Southern charm and new money gleaming in the morning light. “Cancel their whole day just to... take care of me. Make sure I’m good. Make sure I don’t have to stress about anything except what I’m supposed to be doing.”
The honesty in her voice hit me harder than I’d expected. Here was this woman who commanded respect in every room she entered, who could plan events that would make society pages and coordinate details that would make me give up, and she’d never had anyone put her first. I felt her, though. I felt the same way, to be honest, and it was why the little ways she showed me that she didn't mind looking out for a nigga I wanted to do the same.
“I’m on yo ass like Huggies,” I said, my voice soft but serious. “You need something done, you tell me. You need to be somewhere; I’ll make sure you get there. You need somebody to handle the things that stress you out so you can focus on being the queen you are. That’s what I’m here for.”
She turned back to me, eyes softer than they’d been all morning. A little open. A little scared. Like she was deciding whether to trust what she was seeing.
“Who are you right now?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Because this isn’t the man I married. This isn’t even the man who abandoned me for two weeks.”
I stopped at a red light and turned to look at her. The way the sun caught her skin, the careful way she held herself, even when she was being vulnerable.
“This is me when I stop pretending I don’t want you,” I said, my voice carrying the weight of months of holding back. “This is me when I stop acting like you’re just a name on a piece of paper. This is me when I finally admit that I’d rather spend my day making sure you’re taken care of than making another dollar or closing another deal. My concern is you.”
The light turned green, but I didn’t move immediately. I let the cars behind me wait while I reached over and pulled her lips to mine, soft, deliberate, a promise I intended to keep.
“This is me falling in love with you, Colecion. And I’m tired of acting like I’m not.”
Her breath caught, and for a moment, the only sound in the car was the quiet hum of the engine and the rapid beating of my heart.
“Really, Lesley?” she whispered.
“Yeah.”
“Bae drive,” she said, a smile spreading across her face. “Drive, before I have to get out and handle Mildred for blowing that horn at you.”
I laughed, squeezing her hand before pressing the gas. Colecion reached for the music, switching to her playlist. Gucci Mane’s “Mr. and Mrs. Perfect” filled the car, and I grinned at her choice.
“You ever been to Turks and Caicos?” I glanced at her. “Me and pops are thinking about taking y’all, you and Karyn. When’s the last time you've been out of the country?”
“At least four years. Rebecca got left at the altar and still had honeymoon reservations, so we went and turned up on that nigga’s dime in Belize.” She grinned. “I’d love to go.”
I laughed, remembering the video feed from that night when her friends had come over. Those women were loyal as hell to each other.
“Okay, Turks it is. Now one last question...” I reached over and retook her hand, intertwining our fingers. “What’s your wildest dream? Snap your fingers, and it’s done type shit.”
She was quiet for a moment, really thinking about it.
“You know what I really want?” she said finally, her voice getting animated. “I want to open an event emporium. Not just planning services, but everything under one roof. Venue space, catering kitchen, florist, photography studio, bridal boutique, everything someone needs to make their day or event perfect.”
