Page 79 of When Love Takes Root

She laughed. “Mrs. Alberta asked about you twice.”

“She asked about me or my peppermints?”

“Both, but the peppermints had priority.”

“That sounds like Alberta.”

I signed in, clipped on my visitor badge, and started toward the activity room.

Then I saw him.

Josiah stood near the far window with Juice beside him and an elderly man seated in a wheelchair between them. His skin was deep brown and weathered, his hair silver and close-cropped, his hands rested beneath a blanket across his lap. Even from across the room, I could tell he belonged to Josiah. It was in the posture and the presence.

Josiah crouched beside the wheelchair, one knee nearly touching the floor, his broad shoulders bent in reverence. Juice stood on the other side, animated as always, holding a paper cup and talking with both hands. The old man watched him with dry amusement, then lifted two fingers and said something that made Josiah throw his head back and laugh.

The sound moved through the lobby and reached me before I could prepare for it.

Lord.

I stopped near the doorway to the activity room, my tote strap tight against my shoulder.

I had seen Josiah at my shop, in work mode, careful with tools and words. I had seen him across a dinner table, focused enough to make a woman forget how to sip a margarita. But seeing him here, lowered beside an elder, adjusting the blanket over the old man’s knees with hands that could pull wire through a wall and still fold fabric with tenderness, did something different to me.

Not attraction alone.

Recognition.

A man revealed himself by how he handled people who couldn’t offer him anything except history. He listened more than he spoke, received every correction with respect, and treated the older man’s touch like an honor instead of a burden.

Juice said something else, and the old man swatted at him with the back of his hand.

Josiah laughed again, lower this time, then leaned closer while the older man spoke near his ear. I couldn’t hear the words, but I saw what they did. Josiah’s face shifted. The humor moved aside, and something solemn took its place. He nodded once, slow and respectful, then covered the old man’s hand with his own.

My chest pulled tight.

“Ms. Celeste?” I turned too fast. Tasha stood beside me, looking between my face and the lobby with a smile she had no business having. “You okay?”

“Yes.” I adjusted my tote. “Absolutely.”

Her smile widened. “You sure?”

“I’m at a nursing home with Uno cards and contraband peppermints. I’m doing the Lord’s work.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Tasha.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You said plenty with your eyebrows.”

She laughed and pointed toward the activity room. “Mrs. Alberta is waiting on her scalp and her rematch.”

I walked in before my face told on me any worse.

The activity room held its usual Friday congregation. Mrs. Alberta sat at the round table closest to the window in a lavender cardigan, pearls, and an expression that suggested she had already judged my lateness and planned to announce the verdict after chapel. Mr. Clarence sat across from her, wearing a Veterans cap and shuffling cards with the confidence of a man who had cheated in three wars and at least two marriages. Ms. Ruthie, tiny and sharp-eyed, had a cup of tea in front of her and a tissue tucked beneath her watchband. Mr. Solomon slept in his recliner near the wall, though he would later swear he had only been resting his eyes and monitoring the room spiritually.

“There she go,” Mrs. Alberta announced. “Late and pretty.”