Then I turned and ran for my place, faster than the cooldown called for, putting road between us and trying not to think too hard about why her face wouldn’t get out of my head.
I toldherwe’ll see.Then I showed up at five the next time, and the time after that. It started as a couple of mornings a week, whenever Micah's schedule left her a window. Then I caught myself building a second run into the week, easy evening miles, so there'd be a time that worked even when her mornings didn't.
A few weeks later it had a shape. Two mornings during the weekday if she could make it, one evening run, and Saturdays at seven. Long enough that I stopped having to think about my stride beside hers. Half a length back when the road narrowed, even with her when it opened up, never ahead, never fully behind. We were running ten miles two or three times a week, and neither of us ever called it anything.
Her goal of running a marathon turned into a plan. I built it out for her over with mileage goals and charts, a long run climbingtoward twenty six miles, strength training, rest days. She rolled her eyes at the spreadsheet but followed every line of it.
She tried to give me an out once. Said she was disrupting too many of my mornings. That I could be chasing my own times instead of pacing hers. I told her I wanted to. She started to argue, and I said it again, and she let it go. The truth was, I enjoyed her company. Running used to be how I got away from everybody. Somewhere along the way that had started to shift, and I liked it.
8/
alyssa carter, esquire
alyssa
The service elevatordoors opened to reveal what looked like half a storage unit's worth of boxes and furniture crowding the hallway outside my new condo. Tre was leaning against the wall scrolling through his phone, Zion, a toolbox at his feet, was examining my door lock, and Raschad was directing their cousin Khairos, who was carrying my dining room chairs.
Julian stood in the middle of it all, dressed in black athletic shorts and a gray tank that was already damp with sweat, moving my coffee table like it was made of foam. The heat had everyone working in minimal clothing, and I had to force myself not to stare at the way his shoulders flexed as he lifted.
I paused in the doorway, still wearing the navy blazer and pencil skirt from my interview in Ashford Heights, taking in the controlled chaos. One minute I was packing up a life in New Jersey with shaking hands, the next here I was, watching my baby brother's extended family treat my fresh start like it was their personal mission.
“There she is,” Raschad called out.
“Interview ran longer than expected.” I set my purse on the kitchen counter, surveying the operation. “You all really didn't have to do all this.”
“Yes, we did,” Julian said, not looking up as he and Tre maneuvered my sectional.
“I should change out of this suit before I ruin it,” I said.
“Take your time,” Raschad said. “We got this under control.”
I changed and came back out in shorts and a tank top, ready to work instead of supervise. Julian glanced up, and his eyes held a half-second past necessary.
“Better,” he said.
Before I could respond, Raschad was calling for help with placement of my bedroom furniture.
The next two hours passed as they moved through the condo with efficient teamwork that spoke to years of family projects. Zion took anything with screws. Tre wired the electronics. Raschad and Khairos ran traffic.
Julian handled the heaviest lifting, moving my furniture with an ease that made me pause more than once to appreciate the view. There was something almost hypnotic about watching him move. The controlled power in his movements, the way he took charge without being bossy, the sheen of sweat that made his rich brown skin gleam.
But what struck me most was being surrounded by masculine energy that felt protective rather than overwhelming. These five men had shown up on a Friday afternoon to move furniture for someone they were still getting to know. Not one of them making me feel like I was a bother or owed them for it. It felt like being wrapped in family, like suddenly having a house full of more brothers.
Except Julian didn't feel like a brother. Not even close. When he caught me staring as he tested my new security system— something else he'd arranged without asking, claiming the building's doorman wasn't sufficient on its own — the energy that sparked between us was anything but familial.
By late afternoon my place looked like a showroom arranged by someone with excellent taste. Tre had a studio session; Zion had a dinner date with Taryn. Khairos left with a wave. Raschad pulled me into a hug on his way out.
“Glad you’re here, Alyssa.” He held me by the shoulders. “We’re gonna miss you at the house. How you feeling?”
“Good.” I gave him a squeeze. “You gonna miss me, or miss the free babysitting?”
“Both. And those services are still active. Don’t get comfortable.”
I laughed and gave him another hug before he left.
Then it was just Julian, running the kitchen tap, watching the temperature like the faucet might lie to him.
“Pressure’s good. Ten seconds to fully hot.” He shut it off to face me. “Security system's set up. I programmed the main code, but you should change it to something you'll remember.”
