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“René,” Harper scolds, gripping him by the arm and pulling him inside. “Come in, come in,” she says, ushering me in behind him.
“Mami, ju know dis man—”
She gives him a stern eye that cuts him off mid-sentence.
René crosses his arms. “Don’t ju look at me like dis, ju came to Ju York with plastic bags and a broken heart.”
Harper’s expression hardens as her ears redden. “Enough, or I’m calling Ricky and telling him you hated his Christmas present.”
“Ju wouldn’t dare!”
“I would so.”
“That’s just wrong,” he snaps. “He got me a fiber optic angel. Who wouldn’t hate it?”
Harper raises a brow, and he sighs. “Fine, do ju, Mami.”
Winning the debate, she wastes no time grabbing me by the hand and leading me through her living room, past a sad excuse for a kitchen before yanking me into her bedroom. When the door closes, she throws herself in my arms, and I catch her without hesitation. Holding her tightly to me, I get a whiff of the vanilla in her hair, and I’m back, there, in Texas, in the place of then while gripping tightly the reason why I’m here, the now.
We hold each other for several beats, neither of us speaking before she gazes up at me with a watery smile. “You know, I always knew deep down I would see you again. Someday, somewhere, I just wasn’t sure when.” It’s when she pulls away, I finally get a good look at her. Her gorgeous hair is a little longer, she’s filled out, some in her curves, some in her face. Eager brown eyes scour me, drinking me in just as greedy.
“How, God…” she lets out a nervous laugh. “How have you been?”
“Good, busy. I fight full-time now.”
“Yeah, I know, I’ve been following your progress. Lance, I’m so proud of you.” She removes a few sweaters off a vanity chair. “Sit down.”
I take the seat as she sits on the edge of her mattress across from me. Glancing around, I see she doesn’t even have a closet. Just a tall dresser and a rack of clothes sitting next to it. It’s the smallest bedroom I’ve ever been in. Much like the city, chaos seems to be the recurring theme in her corner of the apartment.
“I’ve been wanting to message you for a while now, to tell you how proud I am. Going pro, huh?”
“Yeah. Got my first fight in Vegas in a few months. It’s not Caesars Palace or anything but—”
“You’ll get there. Your record is forty-seven and—”
“Forty-eight, I fought tonight. KO.”
“Oh my God,” she exclaims with pride-filled eyes. “Look at you,” she moves in and gently turns my head. “Barely a scratch. I’ve seen you throw. I watched a few videos. Lance, the things they’re saying about you—”
“Shhh,” I wink, “let’s not jinx it.”
“K,” she says easily, “but I am proud of you.”
“Yeah, what about you, hot shit? You’ve danced your way across Europe.”
“Yeah.” She bites her lip. “That was something else. The budget was shit, so we stayed in some pretty sketchy places. But yeah, it’s been incredible.”
“I don’t know who’s taking those pictures and videos of you while you dance, but wow.”
“Yeah?” She asks, seeming surprised that I’ve kept up. “Thanks.”
We share a silence that lasts long enough for us to smile and again drink in the other.
“So are you—”
“What are you—”
We’re still smiling, and I point to her. “You first.”
