Candlelight & Confessions #3
She pauses, swallowing hard. “Before she passed, she...well, she read me like a book. She saw how guarded I was. How hard it was for me to even let her in. And then she said—” her voice catches, and she collects herself, just like Linda had— “she said, ‘Some people stay.’ And that I didn’t have to be so afraid of letting people get close.
That anyone has the potential to become family. ”
I’m stunned.
“How do you think Linda knew?” I ask, voice low.
She looks at me, eyes shining. “I think you know, Grant.”
“I most assuredly do not know.”
She laughs. “Prophetic insight!”
“Clearly,” I reply, chuckling with her, taking another bite of ice cream.
I take a breath, knowing it’s my turn.
And for the first time—outside of those brutal, useless thirty days I spent in ‘grief group’—I talk about Maddy. Really talk.
“She was my everything,” I start. “The love of my life. After she passed, I tried the whole group therapy thing. Thought it might help. But all it did was make me more bitter. More resentful toward a God who’d take her from me and from my daughter when she still had so much life left.
I wanted to murder my eyeballs every time someone cried about hearing their spouse’s voice down the hall when they knew they weren’t there. ”
Eslin’s gaze softens, her hand resting lightly on mine.
“Group therapy isn’t for everyone,” she says gently. “There’s more than one way to work through grief. You just have to find the thing that won’t let it fester inside you.”
I arch a brow. “And how do you know that?”
She smiles knowingly. “Let’s just say I’ve had my share of rounds in the therapy chair.”
“Noted.” I grin. She’s still holding pieces of herself close. I respect that.
The chords to Journey’s Don’t Stop Believin’ start to play over the jukebox, and Eslin’s face lights up—just like it did when we first stumbled across the psychic.
The same spark, the same wild little glint in her eye that told me the second I was in her company, the whole world instantly got a little lighter.
A little louder. And a hell of a lot more fun.
As the song plays in the background, Eslin leans in closer, her voice playful but curious. “If your life were a movie, what would be the first song on the soundtrack?”
I glance over at her, watching the way the neon light catches the shimmer in her eyes.
She’s asking like it’s casual, but I can feel her trying to read my answer before I even give it.
I take a beat, actually thinking it through, which is a hell of a lot more serious than I usually take questions like this.
Finally, I smirk. “Bohemian Rhapsody. Queen.”
Her eyes widen with amused approval. “Dramatic choice, Mister.”
“That’s me.” I shrug, giving her a crooked grin. “Dramatic. A little unpredictable. A few moments of pure genius. Definitely way too long and full of questionable decisions that make you wonder what the hell I was thinking.”
I pause, watching her bite back a smile, that little dimple threatening to give her away.
“But you get it. Get them—Queen and other people like us.” I add softly. “Because even when you’re faced with something a little too crazy that was never meant to be tamed or contained in this world...it’s uniquely them.”
And for a moment, it’s clear I’m not just talking about the song.
“You’ve given this a lot of thought,” she says, but it’s more statement than question.
“Not really, actually.” I shake my head, my voice low. “Not until you just asked me. I just thought about the song that makes me feel the most like me...and blurted it out.”
She tilts her head, studying me in that way she’s been doing all night—like she’s reading all the words I haven’t said yet. “You don’t strike me as the type of man to just blurt things.”
She’s not wrong. I’m not a man who blurts. I never have been.
In my world, you don’t survive like that. You stay guarded. Controlled. Calculated. People are always watching, always waiting—looking for weakness to use as leverage. So I keep my circle small. My cards close. My emotions closer.
But somehow, with her...she sees straight through it. How does this woman see me the way she does and we’ve only just met?
From the moment I spotted her at the club tonight, I knew she wasn’t like anyone else in the building.
There was something instantly familiar about her—recognizable in a way that made no sense, because I knew for sure we’d never met before.
And now we’re talking like we’ve done this a hundred times, and I’m sitting here like some awkward teenager who doesn’t know where to put his hands or how to handle all these big, messy feelings that came out of nowhere and hit me square in the chest.
It’s dizzying. Completely unexpected.
And I want more.
She laughs, tipping her head back. “Fair point.” She taps her chin thoughtfully. “Mine would be Sophisticated Lady by Natalie Cole. Except I’d swap out the knee-length dresses for jeans and sneakers most days.”
I lean in slightly, dropping my voice just low enough to make her blush. “I don’t know, Es... I wouldn’t mind seeing the dress version every now and then.”
Her cheeks flush, and that smile—God, that smile—damn near knocks the air out of my lungs.
She flashes me a playful, wicked little wink. “The dress version ain’t nothin’ to sneeze at, either” she teases, her voice smooth like honey with just enough edge to make my pulse spike.
I suck in a sharp breath, battling my brain and my libido like they’re two heavyweight fighters in the ring. She’s been toying with me all night—throwing out these playful jabs, suggestive remarks, practically daring me to cross that line.
But I can’t. Not yet.
I want to enjoy her company a little longer. Get to know her—beyond the sparks, beyond the heat—before I risk stepping into something we can’t undo.
A woman like this comes around once in a lifetime. And if you’re lucky—damn lucky—maybe you meet someone just as rare a second time.
And with that knowledge pressing at the back of my skull, I have to suppress every single thought running through my mind.
Like how easy it would be to buy out this entire little ice cream shop, kick everyone out, lay her out across the countertop and explore all the toppings that would taste even better on her skin.
The problem is...I don’t know how to say any of that without sounding like the ancient, dangerously cautious man I’m starting to feel like.
So I take the safest route, letting my lips curve into a slow, controlled smile. “I’m sure the dress version would drive a sane man crazy. No doubt about that at all.”
Eventually, the ice cream’s long gone, and we find ourselves wandering, walking again, words flowing easy between us. For hours.
We talk about life. About loss. About the things that scare us and the things that set us on fire. But somehow, we never share anything personal that could actually identify us. No last names. No real specifics. Just two people floating in this perfect little bubble we’ve created.
It’s romantic. Intoxicating, even.
But it’s also torture—knowing that when the sun comes up, we might go back to being strangers.
How could anyone meet this woman and not instantly want her close? Not just for a night. Not just for a moment.
Forever.
She pulls out her phone and glances at the screen. “It’s nearly 4:30 AM,” she says, eyes wide but still sparkling with that same playful grin.
I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “Wow. I can’t believe we’ve been doing this all night. I haven’t done anything like this in…” I pause, actually thinking about it. “Honestly? I don’t think ever.”
“Whaaa?” she gasps, feigning shock. “You’ve never picked up some random Black lady in a club, walked around the city all night, and talked ‘til the sun came up?” She shakes her head like she’s genuinely disappointed.
I meet her gaze, steady. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”
She narrows her eyes, smirking. “You’ve gotta get out more, Mister.”
I lean in slightly, my voice a dangerously low tamber. “Sunshine, I’ve been to more countries than I can count. I’ve sat at tables with some of the world’s most impressive people. And I can assure you—” I pause, letting the words settle between us, “you are one of a kind.”
She’s fierce, sharp, quick, always ready with a comeback. But closeness? Eye contact? That throws her just a little. Knocks her off balance in the smallest, sweetest way.
And I decide, right then and there—I like having this effect on her.
“Wanna get some breakfast?” she asks, her voice light and playful, but I can hear the tiny edge behind it—she’s trying to steady herself, trying to reclaim a little control after I’ve clearly rattled her.
“My treat,” she adds, wiggling her eyebrows, throwing in just enough sass to pretend she’s still the one in charge.
“Fine,” I smirk, letting her have her little reprieve.
But I’m not done with you, Eslin.
“But just so we’re clear,” I continue. “I’m ordering the biggest stack of pancakes they’ve got, and you better not pull one of those ‘oops, I forgot my wallet’ stunts when the bill comes.”