Page 96 of The Sweetest Return

She stared at it for a moment before sliding hers into mine.

I lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles because if I did anything else in that booth, Ms. Jean was going to call my mama before sunrise.

We finished our food slowly after that, easier conversation filling the places where too much truth had been. Ms. Jean refusing to retire. People we remembered from AWU. A professor Imani still believed had held a grudge after she challenged a grade junior year.

But nothing between us had gone back to casual. Not after that.

Once the last of her shake was gone, I didn’t want the night to end.

“You ready to go back?”

“I should.”

“Ride with me.”

Her eyes met mine.

“Okay.”

I paid before she reached for her bag.

She frowned. “I can buy my own fries.”

“I know.”

“And my shake.”

“I know that too.”

“Then why did you pay?”

“Because I wanted to.”

She gave me the look, which I ignored. I stood and held out my hand instead.

For a second, she stared at it before sliding hers into mine.

When I handed the Escalade to the valet, the air between us had changed.

Mason’s had given us words. The ride back had taken them away.

Imani walked beside me through The Nocturne lobby, quiet in that cream knit set and long coat, her braids down her back, her mouth still carrying the faint shine of gloss and strawberry shake. My hand settled at her back because I could not seem to make myself stop touching her in small ways. She did not move away.

That did not help.

Two women near the elevator bank recognized me. One whispered my name, soft enough to pretend she had not meant for me to hear it. Imani heard it too. Her eyes flicked toward mine, but she said nothing.

The elevator opened.

We stepped inside.

I pressed eight, then leaned back against the opposite wall because some distance felt necessary if I planned to keep acting like I had sense.

Imani looked at me.

I looked back.

The doors slid shut.