Page 79 of Keller

The interior is quiet. Cream leather seats, polished wood trim, everything in its place. I settle into my usual spot by the window and buckle the lap belt. Through the glass, the tarmac stretches flat and gray toward the runway.

The engines begin to whine. Low at first, then building. The sound fills the cabin, overtaking the silence, drowning out everything else.

Two paths now. Quinn in one direction. Charlton Grant in the other.

The jet rolls forward, picking up speed.

Whatever waits in Savannah might change what I think I know about my mother. About my father. About the fight that ended everything.

I press my palm flat against the armrest and watch the ground fall away.

TWENTY

Quinn

Closed Membership Policies:Historically, many traditional krewes limited membership based on race, gender, religion, or social standing, reinforcing rigid social boundaries within Carnival culture. These exclusionary policies shaped the structure and reputation of elite krewes for generations, embedding hierarchy into the fabric of their traditions.

The alarm cutsthrough the quiet at seven sharp.

I reach across the mattress before my eyes open, searching for him without thinking. My hand meets cool sheets instead of skin. The cotton is smooth under my palm. Flat. Undisturbed.

For a second, my body waits for the weight of him to shift back toward me but it never does.

I blink my eyes open at the ceiling.

I replay last night in fragments. The way Keller held me after, the steadiness in his voice when he talked about his mother, how he described her laugh as loud and unapologetic, the jasmine scent that reminds him of her.

He shared something real with me. Something he keeps close.

I stare at his pillow. I'm not sure if it is a good thing I slept through him leaving, or that it's worrisome. As a woman, I shouldn't sleep so hard. I'll be a terrible mother.

A flicker of something moves through my chest. Not quite hurt. More like a question I do not want to ask myself: Why didn't he wake me?

I push the thought down. He has a life, a business and people who depend on him showing up places at specific times. He probably had an early meeting.

He didn't owe me a goodbye. That doesn't change the part of me that wanted one anyway.

I roll onto my back and stare at the pale morning light filtering through the curtains and waving fluidly on the ceiling. The room is quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen that I can hear from here.

Last night was different. That wasn't just the sex, though that was amazing. Fucking phenomenal. It was after, the way he pulled me close, the way he shared intimate parts about him.

We laugh well together, have a fun, sharp banter. But in bed, that was stripped away. I got to see more of the unguarded, uncharasmatic Keller.

Running through our conversation makes me think about my own mother. Gone when I was barely a teenager. I was old enough to remember her clearly, but still robbed of so much of the important time a girl needs from her mother.

I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. The wood floor is cool under my feet. I grab my phone from the nightstand and check the screen.

I'm disappointed to see there is nothing from Keller. Oh, God. I can't take myself. If I turn into a clingy girl after one nightof mind-blowing sex and a little bit of pillow talk, I'm officially never letting myself like a man again. That's pathetic.

I set the phone back down and stand. I need coffee. I need to stop overthinking.

I walk into the bathroom to get my camisole off the back of the door and head toward the kitchen.

The kitchen floor creaks under my feet as I pad across the worn hardwood. I reach up and twist my hair into a loose knot at the back of my head, securing it with the elastic I keep around my wrist.

The coffee maker sits on the counter. I grab the canister of grounds from the cabinet and scoop enough for a strong pot. The machine gurgles to life, and the smell of brewing coffee fills the small space.

The morning light slants through the room brighter now than when I woke up. I turn toward the island and notice there's writing in big black letters on the brown paper bag from Elephant Thai. It's flattened, smoothed out with care.