Page 192 of When Love Takes Root

The doorbell rang.

I went motionless.

Something in my spirit stood up before my body moved.

I crossed the living room, looked through the peephole, and forgot every reasonable thing I’d planned to say if God answered quickly.

Celeste stood on my porch with a tote bag on her shoulder and a covered dish in her hands. She wore jeans, sandals, and a burnt-honey blouse that made her skin glow beneath the porch light. Her sisterlocs were pulled away from her face, and her expression sat somewhere between brave and terrified.

I opened the door.

For a few seconds, neither one of us moved.

She lifted the dish a little. “I brought food.”

I looked at the container, then back at her face. “You came with an offering?”

Her fingers tightened around the edge, and her thumb rubbed the same spot on the lid. “Food felt safer than flowers.”

“It’s hard to argue with smothered anything.”

“Smothered chicken. Rice. Green beans. Cornbread. And peach cobbler.”

I stepped back. “Come in, Red, before I stand here staring at you like I forgot how doors work.”

Her mouth twitched, but the smile didn’t hold. She walked past me with careful steps, shoulders drawn in, tote strap pressed tight beneath her fingers. The soft scent of vanilla followed her inside, warm and familiar enough to make my chest pull tight before I could tell my hands to behave.

I took the dish from her hands and closed the door.

“You didn’t have to cook for me.”

“I know.”

I carried the food to the kitchen. She followed but stopped near the island. I set everything down, then turned toward her.

“You want water?”

“No, thank you.”

“Tea?”

“No.”

“A minute to breathe?”

Her shoulders dropped. “Yes.”

So I gave it to her.

She drew in a breath, released it slowly, then met my eyes.

“I talked to my kids.”

My pulse changed, but I kept my voice even. “How’d that go?”

“It was hard.” She blinked fast. “And necessary.”

I leaned against the counter, giving her space without letting distance disguise itself as indifference.