“Yeah,” Cyren murmured, “it’s not for the weak.”
Her gaze shifted toward the door again, and unexpectedly, her mind wandered to Heavy. Lately, being with him felt closer to home than anything had in years.
“I bet,” Whitnee chirped. “I’ma let you go, though. I just wanted to check in and make sure everything was still good to go. I can’t wait until you get here.”
Cyren smiled. “I can’t either. I already have a few restaurants I want to eat at when I touch down.”
“Oh, that’s all I needed to hear.” Whitnee laughed. “If we don’t do anything, we’re gonna eat some good food and enjoy ourselves.”
“As we should.” Cyren chuckled. “I’ll call or text you later.”
“Okay. Love you, cousin.”
“Love you, too.”
Cyren let out another yawn, then stretched and opened the door. Heavy was still asleep, likely due to the blackout curtains she had him install the week before. Even in the subdued light, her gaze fell on his lightly hairy chest. His locs were hidden under a black durag, and one arm was stretched above his head while the other laid near his stomach.
“Fine ass,” Cyren whispered.
A smirk teased her lips as she stepped closer to him. The comforter sat low on his hips, exposing traces of tattoos she hadn’t gotten around to asking about. Somehow, somewhere between their grief, exhilarating sex, random lunch dates, and late-night conversations, Heavy had become someone important to her. The realization scared her.
Quietly approaching, she paused briefly before leaning down and gently placing a kiss on his lips. Heavy slightly stirred but didn’t fully wake. His hand instinctively reached toward her, grazing the back of her thigh before rubbing her backside.
“Good morning,” Cyren whispered, lips still pressed against his.
Heavy cleared his throat. “Good morning,” he rasped. “Why you up so early?”
“I had to pee, and I’m hungry. I’ma go cook us some breakfast.”
“A’ight.” He yawned, pulling her closer. “Gimmie me a kiss.”
With his morning breath and all, they pecked lips while he caressed her ass. Heavy was so touchy-feely, and Cyren loved it. She could see herself waking up to him every day, enjoyingtheir quiet mornings before starting their days. That was the dangerous feeling she didn’t want to tap into. Shaking it off, she pulled away to slip into a pair of his sweats and her house shoes before heading downstairs.
Cyren loved the calmness she felt in his home. It took a certain type of energy and a certain type of person to provide that. Wanting to make him feel just as good as the space he provided her, Cyren figured breakfast was a good start. Heavy was always feeding her, sending food to her job, and making sure she was good overall; it was nothing to fill his belly.
The kitchen faintly smelled like his signature plug-ins as she moved around, pulling ingredients together. She had a taste for something simple, yet fulfilling.
Opening the refrigerator, Cyren grabbed the milk, eggs, shredded cheese, maple sausage, butter, and thick-cut bacon he kept stocked. Heavy liked cheese folded into his eggs. In her opinion, he used too much, but she’d noticed he enjoyed his food a certain way. It made her slightly smile, realizing she’d paid attention to the small details.
She noticed how neatly he folded his towels. How he washed dishes right away instead of letting them pile up, and never went to bed with a dirty kitchen. How, like her, he separated his clothes a certain way before washing them. How the fruit bowl near the stove held bananas that were a day or two from turning brown because he swore he was about to start eating healthier.
It was domestic shit.
Dangerous shit.
The kind of details women paid attention to when their feelings were involved. Cyren was that woman.
She placed everything on the counter before opening the cabinet to grab the flour, baking powder, cinnamon, and vanilla extract. Her fingers hesitated around the container of cinnamon. If someone had been watching her, Cyren’s hesitation wouldhave gone unnoticed. It was brief, but thoughts of her mama immediately came to mind.
Nicole loved adding just a touch of cinnamon to her pancakes. Not enough to overpower the other flavors, but just enough to make them highly requested whenever she was on breakfast duty. Cyren remembered waking up on Saturdays to gospel or R&B playing on the TV, with her mama moving around the kitchen before the sun fully rose. Back then, she thought those mornings were normal for them. Now, she realized that ordinary moments are the most treasured and valuable memories.
As the bacon and sausage sizzled on one side of the stove, she whipped together the batter. Unexpectedly, wet lashes appeared. Blinking quickly, Cyren tried to ignore the tears and swallowed around the lump forming in her throat.
Suddenly, she was no longer in Heavy’s kitchen. She was sixteen again, sitting on the counter while Nicole cooked, complaining about being hungry before the food was ready. Nicole hummed her favorite song and took Cyren’s hands, making her dance. Knowing she could get away with it, Cyren would sneak a piece of bacon from the napkin-covered plate and run before getting popped with a dish towel. She would laugh every time while crunching on the perfectly fried meat. The memory hit her so quickly that it stole her breath.
One moment, she was in Heavy’s kitchen trying to make pancakes, and the next, she was recalling a version of herself untouched by grief.
A girl with a mama.
