“I like that. A lot.”
“Text when you’re ready.”
“I’ll be there with bells on.”
“Will they be dangling from your nipples?”
“Too obvious. I can’t be ringing all over Town Hall.” She laughs. Then her grin shifts from playful warmth to seductive. “I have something more discreet in mind.”
“What?” I ask, my blood already rushing at the possibilities.
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
I would ask for a preview, but I know Luna doesn’t do anything explicit over video. She told me that Hollis secretly taped her once. She made him delete it, but that broken trust still carries a stain.
In two days, I’ll have her in my arms—real skin, soft, warm, no screen between us.
“You’re worth the wait,” I tell her as we settle deeper beneath our covers, neither of us wanting to hang up.
We talk for a little longer before doing the muscle-relaxation exercise she insists on every night. It helps. Sleep pulls her under first. I watch Luna’s face relax on the screen, slipping into dreams. I match my breathing to hers the way that calms me, until eventually, I drift off too.
“Play up your business strengths,” I say, standing in Diablo’s office. “Your tenure as President of Harbor Bank is your greatest asset when it comes to locking down the Chamber of Commerce endorsement.”
“Ten years,” he says proudly, straightening his tie.
“Lean into that fiscal leadership angle hard,” I say, even while my mind runs a split-screen between work and Luna.
Each hour until I see her tomorrow drips slowly through a narrow funnel, like time is being petty on purpose. As soon asDiablo leaves for his meeting, I do one final walk-through of the old municipal wing to make sure I haven’t missed anything. Empty corridors, no foot traffic, no cameras, the unlocked stairwell door. It’s a solid plan.
Ash and I hit the gym after work.
“You’re attacking those weights like they owe you money,” he says, spotting my chest presses. “You good, man?”
“Yeah,” I grunt, still pulsing with a restless energy a workout can’t touch.
Dinner is Gogo’s leftovers. The aroma of toasted coriander, black pepper, cloves, nutmeg, and allspice fills the kitchen. It smells like childhood. Like home.
The TV hums in the background while I eat. Election coverage rolls across the screen—Diablo looking seasoned, Rayne looking fresh. Voters have a real choice.
But it’s not the campaign on my mind. It’s telling my family about Luna.
I mute the sound and tap my mother’s number. She answers on the second ring, the kitchen behind her.
“Sawubona, ndodana,” she says, smiling, though her eyes are already doing that X-ray thing, looking for signs of exhaustion. “How are you sleeping?”
Before I can answer, Gogo’s voice cuts in from off-screen. “Is that my grandson or a ghost?”
I huff out a laugh.
She nudges my mother aside, leaning so close to the camera that her forehead takes up half the frame. “There he is.”
“It’s only been a few days, Gogo. And I text all the time.”
“Tap, tap,” she scoffs, jabbing a finger toward the screen. “‘Hey, Gogo.’ Your brother, too. Comes to eat, then disappears like a raccoon.”
“Ma,” my mother scolds gently, but Gogo only sniffs.
“Your face is telling stories, boy.”
