I turn. He’s leaning casually against the wooden fence, broad shoulders relaxed against the weathered boards, those eyes bright with quiet amusement. His black t-shirt clings to his chest in ways that should probably be illegal, and his cornrows are neat and fresh like he just came from getting them redone. There’s motor oil under his fingernails and the faint scents of engine grease and something distinctly him carry on the breeze. My pulse quickens in ways I’m trying very hard not to analyze.
He takes one look at my face and his expression shifts, amusement giving way to concern.
“You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders,” he says softly, pushing away from the fence and stepping into the courtyard like he belongs here, like this space is as much his as anyone’s.
“I am fine,” I reply automatically, because that’s what you say, even when fine is the last thing you are.
“You are not,” Sir says with the kind of blunt honesty that makes me want to throw something soft at him.
I frown over at Sir and give him some serious stink eye, which only makes his whiskers twitch with what I swear is amusement.
“Are you arguing with the cat again?” Maceo asks, and there’s something in his voice that suggests he finds our dynamic more entertaining than he should.
“Yes,” I say, because there’s no point in denying it when it’s obviously true.
Lucien rises smoothly to his feet, brushing invisible dust from his perfectly pressed trousers. “We are finished for today.”
Maceo grins slightly, that easy smile that makes something warm unfurl in my chest. “Good timing. I’m a genius.”
He looks back at me, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe properly.
“Come have lunch with me.” Maceo says, inclining his head toward the shop.
It’s not really a question, more like a gentle command wrapped in an invitation, the kind of offer that assumes I’ll say yes because saying no isn’t really an option either of us wants to consider.
“I do not need?—”
“Keisha.”
The way he says my name is gentle but firm, like he can see through whatever protest I’m about to make and has already decided it’s not worth hearing.
“I am buying,” he adds, attempting to tempt me with the kind of grin that suggests he knows exactly how persuasive he’s being.
I narrow my eyes at the offer that sound too good to be true. “That sounds suspicious.”
“It means you are not paying,” he waggles his brows suggestively, and somehow makes the simple act of paying for lunch sound like the most scandalous thing in the world.
“Fine,” I sigh as I stand, accepting defeat with what little dignity I can scrape together. “But if I get kidnapped by Wolfie here and forced to eat a salad, I am blaming all of you.”
“You will live,” Sir says dryly.
“Salad, me?” Maceo points to himself with both hands, looking genuinely offended by the suggestion. “Oh, Ki-Ki, I’m all about the meat.”
I roll my eyes, of course he would find a way to make it sexual. Everything with this man somehow circles back to innuendo, like his brain is hardwired to find double meanings in the most innocent statements.
Lucien offers me a nod, already moving toward the shop. “Enjoy your reprieve, Keisha. I’ll see you later.”
“Stop calling it a reprieve like I’m a medieval prisoner,” I grumble, but I’m already moving toward the shop, because lunch sounds like air and Maceo’s presence feels like exactly the kind of distraction my brain needs right now.
Maceo falls into step beside me as if that’s where he belongs, his shoulder brushing against mine as we navigate the narrow path between the garden beds. I do not think too hard about how natural it feels, how right. Nope, not at all.
Chapter
Nine
OH, HEY THERE, MAGIC, IT’S ME!
The Pot & Kettle smells like fried dough, grilled meat, and coffee. It’s the kind of comfort you can’t buy in a city no matter how expensive the restaurant is, no matter how many stars some food critic has bestowed upon it. There’s a weight to the air here, a permanence that speaks of decades of conversations, of people coming here both for food and the ritual of belonging somewhere.
