Chapter 20 Brilliant
Brilliant
Sabrina
My closet looks like a war zone.
Half my clothes are hanging where they belong; the other half are taunting me from the suitcase sitting open on the floor. I cross my arms, staring them down like they might magically fold themselves.
Part of me knows I should start packing.
The other part—the mischievous one that’s had way too much fun watching Langston’s patience unravel—can already picture the fire in his eyes when he walks in tonight and realizes I didn’t.
That thought makes my stomach flip.
Or maybe it’s not just the fighting you like, a small voice whispers.
I shut it down fast.
Before I can overthink any of it, there’s a knock at the door.
“Come in!” I call, half expecting Langston to appear just to prove me wrong.
Instead, Mrs. D steps inside, the ever-dramatic Olga tucked under one arm like a furry handbag.
“Well, don’t you look like a woman with secrets,” she says, eyes scanning the unmade bed and unpacked suitcase.
I laugh. “You mean a woman with commitment issues.”
She waves a hand. “Same thing, dear. Now tell me—how’s married life treating you?”
I sigh, dropping onto the bed beside her. “Surprisingly… great.”
Her brows lift. “Great, huh? That’s a dangerous word.”
“I know,” I admit, smiling despite myself. “He took me on this date yesterday. We spent the whole day at this garden, and he found this little food truck that made the best tacos I’ve ever had. It wasn’t what I expected from him at all.”
Mrs. D’s eyes twinkle. “A man who owns half the city took you to a food truck? That’s either love or a cry for help.”
I laugh. “He was perfect. We just… talked. It felt real, you know? Like he actually saw me.”
Mrs. D hums, clearly delighted. “And how, pray tell, did you end up spending all day with this man who makes you talk like a Hallmark movie?”
“Oh God.” I press a hand over my face. “He saw me working at the Reserve the night before, and when some guy from my past showed up, he—well—went full caveman.”
Her mouth drops open in delighted horror. “He what?”
“Dragged me away from the guy, told him to stay the hell away from me, and then announced to everyone that I was his wife.”
Mrs. D fans herself with a wrinkled hand. “Oh, I love him already.”
I snort. “Of course you do.”
“Darling, if a man looked at me like that in public, I’d faint and call it romance.” She leans closer, lowering her voice. “You listen to me, Sabrina, live your life. Enjoy this ride you’re on, because life’s too short to be boring.”
Something flickers in her eyes—soft, wistful, almost sad—but it’s gone before I can ask.
She clears her throat and gestures toward the suitcase. “So. Are you packing like he asked?”
I grin. “Nope.”
She gasps, clutching Olga dramatically. “You’re defying him already?”
“I’m not defying,” I protest. “I’m… creatively delaying.”
She narrows her eyes. “You just want him to fight for you.”
The thought hits harder than it should. My grin falters for half a second before I cover it with a shrug. “Maybe I like the way his eyes burn when he’s frustrated.”
“Mm-hmm.” Mrs. D smirks. “Or maybe you like the way he looks at you, period.”
I roll my eyes and change the subject fast. “Want to help me brainstorm?”
She sits up straighter. “Brainstorm what?”
“If Langston’s going to make me quit working at the Reserve, then I’m not going to sit around and do nothing. I’ve been thinking about starting a nonprofit.”
Mrs. D blinks. “A nonprofit?”
“Yeah. Something for single moms who are trying to get back on their feet. My mom used to take me to help at shelters when I was younger—it stuck with me. I want to do something that matters.”
Her expression softens. “That’s wonderful, dear.”
“I figure if I’m going to be married for a year, I might as well do something good with it.”
She tilts her head. “A year?”
I nod. “That was the deal.”
Her eyes gleam. “Did he agree to that deal?”
“I—” I stop, replaying that conversation in my head. Langston, smirking, not answering, leaning in to kiss me instead.
Oh no.
Mrs. D bursts out laughing. “Oh, honey. You’re in trouble.”
I groan, grabbing a notepad and pen from the nightstand. “Then help me plan my escape route—or my nonprofit, whichever comes first.”
“Nonprofit first,” she says with a grin, settling beside me as Olga hops into my lap. “You’ll need a name, a cause, and a husband who doesn’t realize he’s funding it yet.”
I laugh, flipping open the notebook. “Good thing I married a man who loves a challenge.”
“Correction,” Mrs. D says, patting my knee. “You married a man who is one.”
It’s just after lunch when there’s a knock on the door.
Mrs. D and I are sitting cross-legged on the floor, papers spread across every available surface like a hurricane of ambition hit my apartment.
Olga’s asleep in a sunbeam, snoring softly, and I’m halfway through explaining how “Operation Empower Moms” might sound too much like a yoga retreat when the door opens.
Langston steps inside, holding two brown paper bags. His eyes sweep over the chaos—and the two of us in the middle of it—and his brows lift.
“Well,” he says, voice low and amused, “I see all the packing’s going according to plan.”
I grin. “Perfectly.”
Mrs. D looks him over like he’s dessert and leans toward me. “You didn’t tell me he was this handsome.”
Before I can stop her, she stands up—well, more like unfolds herself—and Langston, ever the gentleman, steps forward.
“You must be Olga,” he says, offering his hand.
For a heartbeat, the room goes completely silent.
And then it happens.
I lose it.
The laugh bursts out before I can hold it back, loud and uncontrollable, echoing off the walls. Mrs. D’s face turns beet red as she starts laughing too, bending over like she’s about to cry.
Langston blinks, totally thrown. “What—what did I say?”
Still laughing, I scoop Olga off the floor and hold her out toward him. “Langston, meet the real Olga.”
He looks at the tiny dog, back at Mrs. D, and then at me. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” I manage between giggles.
For a second, he just stares at the dog, then back at me—and then he laughs, a deep, genuine sound that makes my chest ache. “You let me make a fool of myself this long?”
Mrs. D wipes at her eyes. “Oh, my handsome man, we were enjoying it too much to stop you.”
He shakes his head, still smiling, and turns to her. “Then you are?”
“Ruth,” she says, shaking his hand. “But you can call me Mrs. D. Everyone does. And I have to say, young man, I approve.”
“Glad to hear it,” he replies easily, that smooth, confident tone slipping back into place. Then his eyes find mine. “I missed you.”
The words hit like a spark. He steps closer, holding out one of the bags. “I figured if your lunch habits are anything like your breakfast ones, you’d skip it. So I brought food.”
The warmth that floods my chest has nothing to do with the bag of sandwiches. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” he says simply.
He glances around, finally taking in the papers covering every table, chair, and inch of counter space. “So… what’s all this?”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly self-conscious. “I was talking to Mrs. D about maybe starting a nonprofit. Something to help single moms get back on their feet.”
He steps closer, scanning the mess of notes. “You did all this today?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “It’s just ideas right now. Probably dumb.”
Langston shakes his head. “Not dumb.”
He reaches out, brushing his fingers along my cheek, his thumb catching a strand of hair. “You’re brilliant, Sabrina. And I’ll help in any way I can.”
For a second, I can’t breathe. He says it so easily, like supporting me isn’t even a question.
Before I can answer, his phone rings. He sighs, glancing at the screen. “It’s Jack.”
He leans in, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. “I have to take this. But I’ll see you tonight. And, sweetheart—”
I lift a brow. “Yes?”
He grins. “Don’t forget to pack.”
I roll my eyes. “We’ll see.”
He laughs, says goodbye to Mrs. D, and disappears out the door.
The second it closes, Mrs. D fans herself dramatically. “Good Lord, that man. If I were fifty years younger…”
“Mrs. D!” I choke on a laugh.
She smirks. “Oh, don’t act like you’re not thinking it too. He’s hot, he’s polite, and he brings you food? That’s a keeper.”
I try—and fail—not to smile.
She tilts her head, eyes narrowing knowingly. “You’re not going to pack, are you?”
I bite my lip, fighting a grin, and slowly shake my head.
Mrs. D throws her head back and laughs. “Oh, honey. You're in for it tonight.”