Chapter 10 Lesley #2
The idea had been brewing, but now it felt urgent. I was going to pull the trigger on Turks and Caicos. Blue water, white sand, somewhere beautiful enough to match her. I could fly in her friends—Rebecca and Yaslynn—to give her the celebration she’d never had.
She’d said she didn’t need a big wedding because it was just her. But it wasn’t just her anymore. She had me. And I wanted to show her what that meant.
I pulled out my phone and called my travel coordinator. “I need a villa in Turks. Private beach, big enough for a small wedding party. And I need it fast.”
The elevator hummed as it climbed toward the penthouse. Thirty-five years old, and I was about to take the biggest risk of my life. Not with money or territory, but with my heart—the one thing my father had taught me never to gamble with.
When the doors opened, her scent hit me first, wrapping around me. I wanted to stay in it forever.
I rounded the corner and stopped. Candlelight flickered against the walls, casting dancing shadows. The table was set to perfection—featuring white linen, crystal holders, red roses, and plates that matched the color scheme perfectly. She’d gone all out, and the sight hit me harder than expected.
But this was Coco. She enjoyed doing the most for people. And she was able to read people and situations better than most men I knew. She knew her worth and wasn’t afraid to remind you when you forgot. She’d done that this morning without saying the words.
“Grim, I’m in here,” her voice carried from the kitchen, smooth and melodic.
I followed the sound of her voice straight to the kitchen.
When I stepped into the kitchen, I stopped dead.
That black halter dress clung to her curves, the fabric flowing in ways that made my dick jump.
Black heels with delicate straps wrapped around her ankles, red pedicure catching the light.
She looked so good standing at my stove that I had to ball my hands into fists to keep from reaching for her and saying fuck dinner.
“Coco,” I said, my voice rougher than intended. “Stop calling me Grim when we’re like this. And you look incredible. I like that classy shit.”
Her eyes went wide, surprise flickering across her features before her whole face softened. She pulled the pot from the burner, dropped the oven mitts on the counter, and turned to face me fully. I extended my hand, and when she took it, electricity shot up my arm.
I led her to the dining room and pulled out her chair like a gentleman. We’d eat her cooking later—it was probably perfect, like everything else she did—but first, we needed to have the conversation I’d… Nah, that we’d been avoiding.
“I want you to be my girlfriend,” the words spilled out as soon as she sat down, raw and unfiltered. She giggled. “You know what I mean. But I didn’t know how you felt about that, if it was something you even wanted. Talk to me, Colecion.”
She blinked, those full lips parting slightly before closing again. She was testing words before letting them out.
“I want that too,” she said finally. “I didn’t think you saw me that way. You’ve kept your distance, stuck to our agreement. Your mixed signals never made me feel like you wanted more. But I like you, Lesley. I like what you’ve shown me.”
“I never sent those papers,” I said, reassuring her.
“Okay.”
“My pops did that behind my back. I hadn’t planned any of that shit.” I paused, running my hand over my face. “I can handle business, handle the streets, but this? Being somebody’s man? I don’t have any experience with that. I’m learning as I go.”
Her expression softened. “Do you want to start over?”
“I do.” I exhaled slowly. “I want to take you on real dates. Plan a vacation somewhere you’ve always wanted to go. Do right by you. Earn the pleasure of changing your name.”
A smile tugged at her mouth.
“I’d like that. But right now, go shower. You know the rules.”
I stood and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead. The slight hum she let out told me I’d surprised her, but she didn’t pull away.
By the time I came back, steam still rising from my skin and a fresh t-shirt and joggers covering the scars and tattoos I’d collected over the years, she had everything ready.
Plates steaming with food that smelled like home, wine poured into glasses that caught the candlelight.
She sat there with her legs crossed under the table, waiting like the queen she was.
I dropped into the chair across from her, she reached for my hand, and I placed my hands in hers while she said a quick prayer:
“Father, thank you for bringing Lesley home safe tonight. Thank you for this food, for this moment we get to share, and for whatever this is growing between us. I pray you protect him when he’s out there handling business I’m not aware of.
Help me be the woman he needs me to be, and help him be the man you called him to be.
Bless our hands, bless our hearts, and if this is real—if what we’re feeling is something you want for us—then show us the way forward.
Keep us covered under your grace. Amen.”
Her thumb brushed over my knuckles as she spoke, and I felt every word settle into places I didn’t know were empty.
She’d prayed for my protection in a world she was still learning, asked for wisdom about our future, and somehow managed to make it sound like she was talking to someone who gave a damn about what happened to people like me.
Picking up my fork, I cut into the steak she’d seared just right, the juice pooling on the plate next to roasted potatoes, crisped at the edges, and grilled zucchini, kissed with garlic and butter.
One bite in and I had to shut my eyes, let the flavor sit.
She hadn’t just cooked—she’d put herself in this plate. Time. Care. Love.
“You outdid yourself again, Co,” I said, voice low, steady.
She looked up, skeptical. “It’s just dinner.”
“Nah.” I shook my head, chewing slowly. “This is you putting love on a plate. This is the opposite of breakfast. Don’t downplay that.”
Her eyes softened before she caught herself and threw on that little shrug like she didn’t care. But I saw it. I always saw it. And sitting there across from her, candles flickering, her food in my mouth, I knew this was it. Not the streets. Not the money. This.
She smirked, creeping in the sass. “Don’t act like you don’t expect it at this point.”
“I do expect it,” I admitted. “That’s the problem. Shit don’t taste right anywhere else. You spoiled me.”
Her cheeks warmed, and she sipped her wine to hide it. “So, Grim—Lesley. The man who never talks about himself. What are we supposed to talk about? Favorite colors? Basic shit?”
I chuckled, leaned back. “You really wanna know that?”
“I wanna know you,” she said. “Not the boss. Just Lesley.”
I sat with that, chewing slowly, thinking on how to answer.
“Not much to tell you ain’t already peeped.
Came up fast, made money faster. Pops taught me the game.
Mama died when I was two, so the rest was survival.
Pops filled the house with women who weren’t her, but it never hit the same.
So, I stayed to myself. Learned to build, learned to fight, learned to run shit. That’s me.”
She tilted her head, studying me, trying to see the cracks. “And what does Lesley want now?”
Nobody had asked me that in years.
I set my fork down. “Lesley wants peace. Routine. Wants to walk in the crib and know the same woman’s there every night. Wants dinner, conversation, that laugh you try to hide. Wants lazy mornings. Wants to hear you in the shower like you don’t know I’m listening.”
Her glass froze halfway to her lips before she let out a quiet laugh. “So, you do hear me.”
“Every note,” I said, smirking. “Don’t quit your day job, though.”
She gasped, threw a piece of bread at me, and for a minute, the room filled with the one thing I missed: her joy.