Page 75 of The Wright Man

Angel's head slowly turned to me, disbelief painted all over her face.

And then she burst out laughing.

Her laugh hit me like sunlight—bright, wild, and warm. The kind of sound I didn't realize I'd been starving for until I heard it again.

It was loud, unfiltered, beautiful. Her whole face lit up, eyes squinting, shoulders shaking. She covered her mouth, half-embarrassed, but that joy had already filled the whole damn patio.

I chuckled, leaning back in my chair.

"Okay," she said, wiping her eyes. "Okay, maybe you do know me a little bit."

"Mmhm." I held out my hand, palm up. "Gimme my money."

Still smiling, she reached into her bra without thinking—just a quick, casual motion. Pulled out a crumpled five-dollar bill like it was nothing and dropped it in my hand.

And yeah, I tried not to think about where that money had just been.

She caught herself a second too late, eyes going wide. "Oh my God—I didn't even think—"

I laughed, slipping the bill into my pocket. "Relax. Not like it's the first time I've seen you dig in there."

She flushed, flustered. Opened her mouth to say something else, but the drinks arrived just in time to save her.

We swapped them wordlessly. My Sprite. Her tea.

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. Just full.

Full of history. Full of moments we hadn't shared in years. Full of everything we weren't saying.

I watched her stir her straw slowly, eyes focused on the melting ice.

She looked up slowly, fingers frozen around her straw. Didn't say anything.

Didn't have to.

Then I finally said what I'd been carrying around for four years.

"I missed you, Angel."

The words landed between us like a quiet confession, carried on the back of too many unspoken things. She didn't look away, didn't try to deflect with a joke or shift the energy like she used to when she was uncomfortable. She just looked at me with something soft and unreadable in her eyes.

Then she smiled, small but real. "I missed you too, Leek."

And just like that, the knot in my chest loosened.

We eased into conversation like no time had passed. Four years lost, but somehow nothing about this felt rushed. If anything, it felt like we had all the time in the world to get reacquainted.

Angelica leaned back in her chair, tucking one of her braids behind her ear as she sipped her drink and told me how she wound up opening her salon.

"I was fresh out of college. I was already certified, already freelancing. One day, Tina comes storming into my place, crying and mad as hell. Tells me she needs a revenge look after her and Rico's third breakup."

I chuckled as she continued. "She was leaving him voice messages, cussing him out while I was detangling her hair. At some point she said something like, 'being with me was like fire—warm if you respected it, deadly if you played with it.'"

I nodded. "A bar if I've ever heard one."

"Exactly what I thought," she said with a smile. "It gave me an idea. Waist-length knotless box braids with a color blend that went from black to deep red to burnt orange to honey blonde—looked like flames. Like if rage was a hairstyle."

Her hands moved as she talked, animated and precise like she was braiding the air.