Page 206 of When Love Takes Root

She shook her head, a smile tugging at her mouth. “You think you’re funny.”

“I know I am.”

Her laugh followed me around the front of the truck, and by the time I got behind the wheel, the nerves had eased into something steadier.

I drove us across Self Ridge as the evening settled in, passing storefronts and glowing windows. Celeste kept sneaking looks at me, trying to play it cool, but her hands gave her away. They smoothed her dress, reached for the door handle, then folded back in her lap.

“You’re enjoying this too much.” She caught me watching her hands.

“I’m enjoying you trying not to ask questions.”

“I’m doing fine.” She lifted her chin, but her fingers betrayed her again.

“Barely.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile stayed.

Tonight needed to feel different. Celeste loved beauty, but she also loved quiet spaces, books, and words that didn’t rush her. I wanted to give her something that felt like her.

When I pulled up in front of Mahogany Bookmarks & Brew, Celeste leaned forward, eyes widening.

The bookstore sat on the corner of a restored brick building, warm light spilling onto the sidewalk. Inside, shelves lined the walls, chairs sat in cozy corners, and the whole place looked calm enough to make a woman exhale before she knew she’d been holding her breath.

Celeste’s hand went to her chest. “Josiah.”

“You know it?”

She nodded quickly, eyes still fixed on the sign. “Of course I know it. I’ve been wanting to come here forever.” Her voice dropped, almost reverent. “They’re always booked.”

I put the truck in park. “Good thing I know Dr. Malcolm and Renee Whitfield’s favorite son-in-law.”

She turned to me, suspicion and excitement mixing. “Juice?”

“Juice.”

Her smile widened. “This is Melody’s parents’ place?”

“Yes, ma’am. And before you ask, he made sure I understood Black-owned businesses deserve payment, deposits, and respect.”

Celeste laughed, shaking her head. “Good.”

“He also said if I embarrassed him, he was telling Aunt Hilary.”

“Smart man.”

“He has his moments.”

She looked back at the building, and the expression on her face made everything worth it.

When I opened her door, she stepped out slowly, still taking it all in. “You planned this?”

“I had help.”

“From who?” She turned, searching my face.

“My family.” Her eyes met mine, something deeper passing between us. I held out my hand. “Come on.”

The bell chimed when we walked in. The place smelled like coffee, vanilla, old pages, and baked sugar. It was quiet in a good way, warm and full, like stories were resting on every shelf and expected us to lower our voices out of respect.