Chapter 38 Lily
Zea shows up thirty minutes early wearing a bright pink T-shirt, gold hoops, lip gloss, and a laminated badge clipped to her jeans.
I stare at the badge.
She stares back at me like she’s daring me to say something.
“What is that?” I ask.
“My badge.”
“I can see that.” I take a step closer and read it. “Lit with Lily Assistant Director of Vibes.”
She smiles. “Professional, right?”
“It’s cute!”
I look at Javonte, who is standing behind her with two folding tables tucked under one arm and a stack of canvases under the other. He raises his eyebrows and shakes his head slightly, making it very clear he had nothing to do with this.
Smart man.
“I told her to wait until you approve it,” he says.
Zea turns on him. “You told me a lot of things. I heard some of them.”
I press my lips together, trying not to laugh because I refuse to reward this behavior too soon. We are standing outside the community center where I’m holding tonight’s Lit with Lily class, and I’m overjoyed I am not already sweating through my shirt before the event even starts.
Tonight, I have real help that I asked for.
Zea pulls a clipboard out of her tote bag and flips a page up.
“Okay, I made a setup checklist based on the notes you sent me. I also made a content plan, but we don’t have to talk about that until after I get some behind-the-scenes footage.
I need the van doors opening, supplies coming out, you looking stressed but cute, and then the room transformation. ”
“No videos of me looking stressed.”
“You always look a little stressed before events. That’s part of your brand.”
“It is not.”
Javonte coughs into his shoulder.
I point at him. “Do not agree.”
“I didn’t say anything.” He smiles. “I thought you looked cute.”
Zea looks between us and groans. “Okay, I’m going inside before y’all start making eye contact for too long.”
She takes the sign-in folder and a bin of brushes from me, then marches toward the door like she has been doing this job since I started.
Javonte watches her go. He shifts the tables in his arms. “Where do you want these?”
I look into the room through the open door. “Two by the windows and two in the middle. Leave enough space for people to walk around without bumping into the water cups.”
“Got it.”
I stand by the van for a second, holding a bin of table covers against my hip, and let myself notice everything happening right now.
This is what I needed:people I trust, doing the things I asked them to do.
Inside, Zea has already set the sign-in sheet on the front table and is filming a slow pan of the empty room.
“Don’t get the trash can in the shot,” I tell her.
“I already moved it.”
I blink. “You moved the trash can?”
“It was ugly.” She shrugs and continues filming.
I turn away so she doesn’t see my smile. Javonte walks past me to grab another table, and his hand grazes my lower back for half a second. I can’t keep the grin off my face.
The three of us fall into a rhythm faster than I expect. Javonte handles the tables and chairs. Zea counts brushes, cups, and aprons while narrating half her thoughts out loud. I lay out the paint and canvases, checking colors against the sample I made last night.
There was a part of me worried this would feel weird after everything. Like bringing Zea into Lit with Lily would blur lines or make it feel like Javonte was still quietly steering things through someone else.
But it doesn’t feel like that.
Zea asks questions. She waits for answers, most of the time. She takes direction, even if she adds commentary. Javonte stays in the background unless I call for him. I am still the one in charge.
By the time the first guests arrive, everything is set and ready. The tables are perfect, and Zea has already posted a quick story with a sticker that says tonight’s class is full. She shows it to me, and I love how professional it looks.
“You’re amazing!” I tell her.
A group of women walk in laughing, and Zea immediately switches into customer service mode. “Hi, welcome to Lit with Lily. You can sign in right here, and aprons are on the table in the very back.”
I close my eyes for a second.
The class fills in quickly. Javonte stays near the back wall, helping late arrivals find seats and carrying extra chairs when I need them. He doesn’t perform. He doesn’t make the night about him even though three people recognize him and two ask for pictures.
The first time it happens, I tense automatically.
Old memory. Old reflex.
A woman near the door gasps and points at him. “Are you Javonte Kind?”
He smiles politely. “Yeah.”
“My husband loves the Vipers. Can I get a picture?”
“Sure,” he says, then looks at me first. “After class ends, if that’s okay. I’m helping right now.”
The woman looks surprised. “Oh, of course.”
I turn back to the paint table before my face says too much.
Zea walks past me with a stack of aprons and whispers, “Green flag.”
“Go work.”
“I am working. I’m observing brand partnerships.”
“Zea.”
“Going.”
The class itself is one of those nights that reminds me why I keep doing this.
The simple abstract sunset we’re painting has people nervous at first, but they get looser and louder as we go.
The room fills with smiles and laughter.
Someone else declares their painting trash and then loves it twenty minutes later.
Zea gets footage of the room without being intrusive, and Javonte quietly replaces paper towels and water cups. .
At one point, I look around and realize I’m teaching.
Just teaching.
My mind isn’t running through supplies, posts, booking messages, or all the tiny things that usually pull me out of the moment. I’m standing at the front with paint on my fingers, helping a woman blend gold into coral, and I’m actually here for all of it.
This is what the help I need feels like..
The realization makes me go still for a second. Then I smile and keep teaching.
After the last guest leaves, Zea’s still buzzing. She shows me clips on her phone, already explaining how she can cut them into three separate posts.
“Here’s the setup. This class vibes. And this one’s the final reveal. Then we can do a funny one where people say what they thought their painting was going to look like versus what happened.”
“That’s really good.”
“I know.” She bounces her shoulders.
“Humility is free.”
“So is confidence.”
I shake my head and start gathering paint cups. Javonte steps in and starts handling the tables. Just like he did earlier in the summer. It’s funny how things change.
By the time everything is loaded, I feel tired in my mind, but not my body. I happily accept that.
Zea’s mom pulls up right on time, and Zea gives me a quick hug before she leaves. “I’ll send you the videos tonight.”
She waves at us and heads to her mom’s car, still staring at her phone. She’s exactly what I didn’t know I needed.
Javonte and I stand near my van, the night air warm around us. For a minute, neither one of us says anything.
“That was perfect,” I say finally.
He nods. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I lean back against the van.
“I’m glad.”
Javonte’s shoulders ease when he sees my face, but he doesn’t say anything. He stays beside me while I take it in.
I turn to him and place my hand on his chest. He leans down, and I laugh. “You’re trained to do that now, huh?”
“Just trying to be accessible.”
I don’t say anything else. I slide my hand up his chest, curl my fingers around the back of his neck, and pull his mouth to mine.
The kiss comes fast, full of everything we’ve both been trying to hold.
His arms close around me, and I press closer, letting myself want him without pretending the hurt disappeared just because I’m ready to forgive him.
When I pull back, I’m breathless.
“Come home with me.”