CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JACKIE
Jackie couldn’t believe Najee had her in bougie-ass Riverwards Produce.
She was a ShopRite, Aldi, Fresh Grocer, and Trader Joes on a good day type of girl.
Riverwards was not her ministry. It was one of those artisan, organic boutique markets the content girls raved about on TikTok.
Eco-friendly, overpriced, and full of yuppie transplants dressed in Anthropologie and Birkenstocks.
The same ones that lived in Center City and had no idea how the other half lived.
Everything in Riverwards felt pretentious.
And there were entirely too many cameras for her comfort.
But judging by the way Najee cracked open that nine-dollar alkaline water the second they walked in, she already knew what kind of man he was.
Hell, just looking at him, lean, clean, disciplined, you would not even think he ate sugar, let alone peach cobbler.
Yet here they were. On a school night. Looking like a couple picking up last-minute ingredients for dinner.
Jackie let out a quiet laugh at the thought, taking in her surroundings.
The place was bougie as hell, trying too hard to be Erewhon, but she could not lie.
It was peaceful, less crowded, and cleaner than what she was used to on her side of the city.
Jackie walked beside Najee, pushing the cart while he carried Max, slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour.
Max’s fists were balled, his face pressed into Najee’s sweatshirt, snoring softly.
Watching Najee carry him like that did something to her.
Something soft, domestic, and dangerous.
She cleared her throat, forcing a small laugh to shake the feeling. “So what’s the plan? “she asked, eyes on the cart instead of him. “You gon’ take my cobbler to family dinner and pass it off as yours?”
“Pretty much,” Najee said, grinning like he meant it.
“Might even say I made it in my Big Momma’s cast iron, with the ancestor’s whispering measurements in my ear.
” Jackie’s lips curved before she could stop them.
“You ain’t right.” Najee chuckled, the sound low and easy as he adjusted Max on his shoulder.
“Maybe not. But I’m efficient.” She shook her head, pretending to focus on the shelves, even as her chest warmed in a way she did not expect.
He was charming. Effortlessly so. And that was the fucking problem.
Men like him did not have to try hard. They just existed, and women like her ended up catching feelings they never planned for.
So she reminded herself this was a favor.
A one-off. Nothing more. Nothing less. He offered to help, she accepted and that was it.
Simple. Platonic. Transactional. At least that was what she told herself, to quiet the flutter in her stomach when he laughed again.
They hit the baking aisle, and Najee started reading labels like they were on Chopped.
Meanwhile, Jackie was already clocking prices. Twenty-dollar vanilla extract. Eleven-dollar butter. This place was for people who didn’t have to budget. She lingered near the endcap of the aisle, pretending to study the baking powder, her pulse steady but her mind busy.
It was the perfect opportunity to handle things the way she usually did.
Discretely. She slipped a few items under her purse.
Vanilla bean paste. Bourbon extract. Nutmeg.
Not because she was proud of it. But because she was practical.
Survival had wired her that way. Always thinking two steps ahead, even when nobody asked her to.
Still, a flicker of guilt pressed at her chest. Not just over what she tucked away.
Over everything. MJ. He would be seventeen at midnight.
And she had promised herself she would get him something.
Even if he was not here to receive it. Her heart ached thinking about it.
That was probably the real reason she had taken that job in the Badlands.
Keeping busy helped her breathe. It was easier to outwork grief than sit still and feel it.
In a lot of ways, she was grateful for the cobbler tonight.
It was not just a task. It was a distraction.
Something to keep her hands moving when her heart wanted to stop.
Najee glanced at her from the other side of the aisle, brow creasing slightly.
“You good?” he asked. Casual. “Yeah,” she said too fast. “Just thinking.”
“About the recipe?”
“Something like that.” She lied. He watched her a beat longer than necessary, like he was reading what she did not say.
Then he went back to scanning labels like he had not noticed the shift in her voice or the way her shoulders curled inward.
But he had. Jackie felt it. That quiet awareness.
The kind that made her throat tighten and her defenses rise.
She grabbed the brown sugar, forcing a small smile.
“Come on, Dr. Nigel. Let’s go before they start charging for oxygen in here.”
He did not respond right away. Just looked at her, steady and patient.
Observant in a way that made her uncomfortable.
She dropped the brown sugar in the cart, pretending not to feel it.
The air between them shifted again. Softer.
Closer. He was near enough now that she could smell his cologne again.
Clean. Expensive. Out of place in a fluorescent grocery store. Then his voice dropped.
“You got everything you need?” Jackie looked up, her heart giving one sharp, stupid skip.
“Yeah. I’m good.” He leaned in slightly, his breath warm near her ear.
“Then why you tucking shit under your bag?” Jackie froze. His words were quiet. Not harsh. But firm enough to trip her pulse. She did not turn. Just shifted her weight.
“I don’t know what you talking about.”
“Mm.” Not judgmental. But knowing nonetheless. “If you need something,” he said, “put it in the cart.” Her throat went dry. “I said I’m good.” His hand brushed her arm, light but enough to still her. “Good,” he said quietly. The word landed somewhere between a question and a warning.
“You sure?” he asked. “I think so,” she murmured. “Cool.” He reached for the cart, his gaze catching hers before she could look away. “Let me push it.” She blinked. “I can handle it.”
“I know you can.” His eyes held hers. Firm. Unreadable. “But you don’t have to right now.” Something about the way he said it made her chest tighten. He nodded toward her purse. “Take your bag.” Jackie hesitated, then lifted it slowly. The weight of what she had hidden felt heavier now.
Najee did not say anything else. He just took the cart, turned down the aisle, and kept walking like the decision had already been made.
Now, standing beside him at the register, she wished he would say something.
Anything. A joke. A lecture. A smart-ass comment.
The silence felt heavier than all of it combined.
He unloaded every item onto the belt—calm, deliberate, methodical.
No hesitation. No mention of what he’d seen.
The cashier smiled politely, scanning each thing while Jackie stared at a rack of mints like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
The total came up high enough to make her stomach twist. Najee didn’t blink.
Just slid his card through, signed the screen, and nodded when the cashier asked if he wanted cash back. “Gift card,” he said. “How much?”
“Five hundred.”
Jackie frowned, finally looking up. “For what?”
“Work,” he said easily, not meeting her eyes.
The cashier handed him the envelope, neat and unbothered.
He thanked her, gathered the bags, and pushed the cart toward the exit like it was nothing.
Jackie followed, quiet, her chest tight with embarrassment.
He wasn’t judging her, and that should’ve been a relief, but it wasn’t, unfortunately. Not to her.
Outside, the air was cool and still. Najee loaded the bags into her trunk, Max still asleep on his shoulder like he weighed nothing. When he shut the trunk, he turned to her. “I wasn’t—”
“Don’t do that,” he said, cutting her off.
“It’s insulting to my intelligence and yours.
” Jackie froze, heat rising to her neck.
Najee opened the back door and carefully settled Max into his seat, adjusting the belt so it sat flat against his chest. Every movement was deliberate.
Careful. When he shut the door, he turned back to her.
“I wasn’t gonna say nothin’,” he started, voice lower now, eyes locked on hers.
“But don’t do that shit no more. Not while you with me—and especially not while you with him.
” Jackie swallowed hard, her words catching before they could form.
“If you need something,” he said, “open your mouth.” She stood there, heat rising to her cheeks, pride folding in on itself.
Then he stepped closer—close enough that his scent hit her again, warm and sharp, like cedar and something darker underneath.
“You hear me?” he asked, quiet but deliberate.
She looked away, and his hand came up, fingers brushing her chin, tilting her face back toward his.
“Jackie,” he said, voice just above a whisper. “Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Najee,” she breathed. “I hear you.” He nodded once, slow.
The air between them shifted—thick and unspoken. “I’m behind y’all,” he said finally, stepping back toward his car. “So don’t try to lose me.” He laughed, but she didn’t.
Jackie just stood there, watching him walk off, feeling something, she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Understanding. Quiet. Gentle. Untouched by pity or judgement.
And just like that, all the shame she been carrying since the baking aisle, no longer felt quite as heavy.
Jackie climbed into the driver’s seat and let out a long, shaky exhale, the kind that came from too many held-in breaths.
For a moment, she just sat there, hands on the wheel, trying to steady herself against the quiet around her.
When she reached into her bag for her keys, her fingers brushed against something stiff, A card.
Wrapped in a folded receipt. She frowned and pulled it out.
Then she saw the logo. The same Visa gift card Najee had bought at the counter.
Her breath caught. He had not said a word.
Instead, he handled it with a quiet act of compassion.
Something she wasn’t used too. Jackie stared at the card, her throat tight.
Then she tucked it back into her purse, started the car, and pulled off into the night, windows cracked, radio low.
Trying not to think too hard about the man driving behind her.