She had walls taller than the buildings she wired for a living, but I could feel the cracks forming. If I could just keep real, I knew we were going somewhere. She made me feel alive. More than that—she made me feel loved.
That thought followed me to Grandma’s the following Sunday.
Grandma was folding napkins when I came in, sitting atthe table like it was her pulpit. Bangles clinked every time she snapped the corners into triangles. The kitchen smelled like cornbread cooling on the stove.
“I texted Jada,” I said, and put my hands on her shoulders for the brief kiss-hug she pretended to hate.
“Texting Jada is not calling me.” Her eyes were bright and a little stern. “Don’t get slick.”
I grinned and sat. She smoothed another napkin, pressing the fold until it snapped flat. “You been scarce lately. And don’t tell me it’s grading papers. I know the weight of a woman when it’s sitting on a man’s time.”
I shifted. “It’s not like that.”
Her eyebrows did the work my aunties used to do. “Not like what?”
“Not like somebody pulling me away from you,” I said, careful. “Grandma, I know my priorities.”
She studied me like she studied choir robes before Easter: making sure every stitch matched. “I’ve seen men say that and then lose themselves in somebody who wasn’t worth the time. You hear me?”
I met her. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her voice softened a hair. “Don’t let some woman put herself between you and family. Don’t let yourself forget who was here first.”
She wasn’t blind to the way my attention had shifted — to how my eyes softened when I said Rayna’s name — but she had the right to be wary. Grandma Ruth loved hard and she guarded what she loved with an old-time fierceness that came from living through loss. She dresses pretty — pearls and scarves, hair set in a style that flatters andannounces “I still got it” — and she’s sharper than she looks. She’s also, in the quiet, the kind of woman who’ll sit you down and say the thing you don’t want to hear because she’s seen where you can go wrong.
Chapter 14
Current & Ground
Itold myself to keep my eyes on the road.
Didn’t help.
Rayna sat angled toward the window, the late Sunday light spilling over her cheek like it had been waiting for her all day. Her hair loose around her shoulders, chocolate glow, tomboy-stylish—fitted sweater under a light jacket, hugging curves without begging, dark jeans, heeled combat boots. No fuss. All presence. Her mouth was glossed, soft and kissable, and every time she caught herbottom lip between her teeth, I felt it in my chest like I’d leaned into live current.
My hand rested on her thigh because it needed somewhere to be. She covered it with hers, small but sure, heat seeping through denim. From the outside it read calm. Inside, her pulse matched mine.
“Your people gonna grill me?” she asked, still watching the glass.
“They’re gonna love you,” I said. “Jada’s there.She’ll balance it out.”
She exhaled, low. “It’s early, Quentin. I don’t want your family thinking I’m trying to push in. That’s not my style.”
“I know.” My hand stayed put. “But it feels right.”
Silence. That was the only tell she was rattled. On the phone, she could dodge, tease, flip a subject. In person, quiet gave her away. Late-night talks had told me the truth: commitment made her lungs seize. Not because she didn’t want it—but because once, promises came with traps.
“Rayna.” I squeezed her thigh.
“Mhmmmmmm.”
“I’m not trying to scare you off,” I said. “I just want my family to meet the woman who’s had me grinning at my phone three Sundays straight.”
That pulled her. She turned, eyes direct, a little amused. “You telling your grandma I make you grin like a fool?”
“She’s the one who noticed.” I didn’t mention Grandma’s warnings. “I want more time with you. That’s all this is.”
A beat. She nodded once. Tendons in her throat shifted when she swallowed. Gratitude flickered behind the armor shewore so well.
