“It’s my cousin Dre’s best friend.”
“I wonder why he’s stopping by,” Gabi said.
Cyren didn’t have to wonder. Considering the day, she was almost certain why he was there.
3
The resounding noise from the doorbell made Cyren flinch, although she should’ve been expecting it. She glanced at the screen of her phone while inching toward the front door.
“I’ma call you right back,” she told Gabi, who said okay.
Unprepared for this impromptu visit, Cyren cleared her throat to ask a question she already had the answer to. It was an automatic polite formality.
“Who is it?” she called out.
“It’s Heavy.”
Twisting the locks, she pulled the door open and had to remind herself to breathe. Heavy’s presence hit her, immediately. Something about him shifted the air, making her more aware of herself than she’d been all day. Cyren didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing, but she welcomed it.
“Hey,” he greeted, smoothly. “How you doing?”
“I’m doing fine,” Cyren replied, despite the way she’d just been caught off guard minutes ago.
Heavy nodded. “That’s what’s up. Ms. Nia here? I wanted to give these to her and Skylar.”
“Not right now,” Cyren answered, stepping to the side. “But you can bring them inside for them.”
The moment he entered, a subtle wave of his cologne followed. The woody-musk scent, with a hint of citrus, was clean yet warm. It hit her senses in a way that made Cyren pause internally, locking in the fragrance. She loved a man who smelled like a grown-ass man. And looked like one, too. Cyren closed the door behind him, and her gaze flickered over his frame now that he was closer.
Damn, he’s fine.
This was the second time the word had been used today, but Heavy had rightfully earned the praise. His skin was a shade or two lighter than Cyren’s, but not by much. A rich, deep brown hue with a smooth, subtle glow; reminiscent of chocolate left beneath warm sunlight just long enough for it to sweat and soften. Cyren appreciated the healthy, well-maintained quality of his skin. It matched his overall appearance.
A charcoal-colored short-sleeve shirt stretched across his broad chest and thick, tattooed arms. He was more on the sturdier, solidly built side and had to be at least six inches taller than Cyren’s physique. His black cargo-style pants fit him just right.
The black KC fitted he was rocking, was pulled low, shadowing his eyes just enough to add to the calm, unreadable look he carried. Cyren admired his mustache-and-goatee combo, which she felt was truly slept on. It suited him and added to the grown-man appeal he already had going. His chin hair looked to be well-groomed and moisturized, while his locs were freshly styled in two-strand twists that fell past his shoulders.
Her eyes were trained on his cushiony, naturally dark, brown-tinted lips, wondering if they felt just as soft as they looked. So caught up in howfinehe truly was, she almost missed his question.
“Where can I put these?” Heavy asked.
Cyren cleared her throat softly, pulling herself back into the moment. “Oh, um. The kitchen is fine,” she said, turning slightly.
As she headed for the kitchen, Cyren became hyperaware of him behind her. Not in a way that made her uncomfortable, but just aware. She could feel the space he took up, commanding it as if it belonged to him. It had been a while since she’d seen him in person, and even though they weren’t strangers, they weren’t familiar either.
Heavy had always been around in some capacity. He checked in on Aunt Nia and looked out for Skylar, but his visits were never consistent. Life had him moving differently, tied into things that didn’t always allow for pop-ups and casual visits. Showing up today was imperative, even if his timing had been off… or on, considering how you looked at it.
Cyren wasn’t used to being alone with him. On the few occasions they had interacted, it had always been with her aunt or cousin at home. Their exchanges had been quick, passing conversations and polite exchanges. One thing she could say was that he’d always been respectful and that hadn’t seemed to change.
Heavy stepped further into the kitchen, setting the oval-shaped vase carefully on the island. The flowers were fresh, full, and vibrant. Not something thrown together at the last minute. He hadn’t been sure what to get them, because truthfully, nothing would suffice for the pain he was sure they felt. Cyren’s eyes lit up as she stepped closer, leaning slightly to take them in.
“These are gorgeous,” she said, genuine appreciation in her tone. Her fingers hovered near the petals but didn’t touch them. “Were you trying to figure out how to get them inside?”
Heavy glanced at her, brows dipping at her question. “Nah. Why you ask that?”
Cyren leaned away from the island. “Because you were sitting out there for a minute. I didn’t think you were going to get out.”
“I was taking a phone call.”
