Page 40 of 1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Forty-Two

He pauses for the nervous laughter before going on. “We’rehere to celebrate the best season St. Catherine’s has ever had,” he says. “Andparty like that trophy is already ours.”

They whoop and high five, which to my thinking is prematuresince that trophy isn’t actuallytheirs yet. Cliff walks through life with this sense of inevitability,like his success is only a matter of time. I try to forecast everything thatcould go wrong, whereas Cliff seems to expect that nothing—at least forhim—ever will.

When the doorbell rings, Mama, who just sat down, rises fromher recliner in the corner.

“I got it, Mama,” I say, shooing her back down. She’s beenon her feet all day.

“Probably Coach,” Myron says. “He’s supposed to be stoppingthrough, even though he can’t stay.”

I walk to the foyer and pull the door open.

And the world stops.

My breath can’t quite seem to make the trip from my lungs tomy mouth. My heart pounds against my rib cage like a tassadrum as I stare up and up at the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen in reallife. Dark brown skin stretches over the chiseled planes of his face. I’venever actually seen anyone with a square chin, but he has one. Everything seemsto be at odds on his face. His nose is too bold. Hislips too full and soft looking. His brows too heavy and severe. His eyes, warm and dark like velvet,framed by a feathering of sooty lashes. But somehow, all those disparate partscooperate into a face so striking, my jaw falls open.

“Um…” His voice is a low, quiet rumble as he peers over myshoulder into the foyer. “Is this Cliff’s house? I took a wrong turn, but…”

Just as I’m about to shake myself out of the stupor, I stopbecause, all of a sudden, it feels like the same raptway I was watching him, he’s now studying me. I go still as if with his eyes,he’s painting me, and I don’t want to distract him.

“Who’s at the door, Kira?” Mama asks from behind, drawing upbeside me. “Oh, hey, Nazareth.”

Wait. Nazareth as in…Naz?

She extends her arms, and with a smile, he crosses thethreshold and walks into them, bending to return her squeeze.

“Mrs. Fletcher.” He pulls back and offers her a bouquet ofwildflowers I hadn’t noticed. Who cares about flowers when you’ve got thisguy standing in front of you? “These are for you.”

“Hmmm. Thank you.” Mama buries her nose in the flowers andsmiles up at Naz. “And how’s your mama doing? Didn’t she have surgery on herknee a while back?”

His expression clouds, and he nods. “Yes, ma’am. She justwent back to work.”

“She teaches, right?” Mama asks.

“Seventh grade, yeah.” His eyes flick from Mama, settle onme briefly, and then shift back to Mama. “I guess the team’s already here? Sorry I’m late.”

“You right on time.” Mama links her arm through his andguides him toward the living room and the increasingly rowdy basketball team.“Come on. We’re about to start eating.”

I haven’t moved, my feet sealed to the floor like I’vestepped into fast-drying cement. He glances back over his shoulder. Our eyescatch and hold, some odd understanding passing between us. Whatever that joltwas when I first saw him, I think he felt it, too. I knowit, but I don’t know what to do with it. How could I when nothing like this hasever happened to me before?

I take a minute to collect my scattered thoughts beforeheading back into the living room. Everyone’s eating, plates balanced on theirknees or on the big table in the middle of the room. Mama, making sure everyonehas drinks, looks up when I return.

“Go check on Naz in the kitchen,” she says. “Make sure hedoesn’t need anything.”

My pulse quickens at the thought of me and that beautifulboy alone. “Yes, ma’am.”

When I enter the kitchen, sure enough, Naz is staring at allthe dishes, his empty plate held between two huge hands.

“Need help?” I ask, walking farther into the kitchen to leanagainst the counter.

“Uh, maybe.” He points to a few covered dishes. “Is any ofthat fish? I don’t really eat chicken or beef.”

“What about duck?” I ask, nodding to a plate of curriedduck.

His nose scrunches. “No, and not any goat either.”

“Oh, well, goat is all we have left.”

He looks at me like he’s not sure if I’m joking.