Obligated

Chiana

I looked in the mirror of the hospital bathroom looking at the scar on my shoulder, side and left arm. I was out for a week before I woke up. Realization set in quickly what had taken place. Juste at my side along with Nia and Amina. Still I didn't feel like myself. nothing felt the same . I had scars I didn't have before. I would have to go through physical therapy. I was just frustrated with it all . I hated Maseon for what he'd done to me . I hated him even more because it was like that's all Juste could focus on. "This aint me"

I sighed before hopping back over to the bed.

On a positive note I was going home today. I heard the door creek open just before I sat down to cover myself . Juste stepped into the room, his brows low, eyes scanning me like he was tryna assess how bad I was hurt all over again. "You know damn well you ain't supposed to be out that bed,"

he muttered, walking over to help me pull the blanket around me tighter. I let him fuss, didn't say much. I was too tired for another back and forth. My body felt heavy all the time. And truthfully? So did my spirit.

"I'm fine, Juste,"

I mumbled, settling back into the hospital bed, the stiffness in my shoulder making me wince as I leaned against the pillow. "You not fine, ,"

he said flatly, pulling the chair up beside the bed. "You ain't been fine since you woke up. You barely talk to nobody. You won't eat unless somebody make you. What's really good?"

I stared out the window, watching the wind shift through the trees. "I feel broken,"

I finally said. "Like... not just physically. But in here."

I tapped my chest. Juste exhaled through his nose, jaw flexing like he wanted to fix it but didn't know how. "You not broken, baby. You healing. It's gon take time."

"Yeah, well, time feel slow as hell when you sittin in it,"

I said, eyes stinging but I refused to let the tears fall. "And all I ever see is the back of you lately. Or you on the phone with one of your people 'bout that nigga. Like I'm not even here."

His shoulders tightened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I ain't forgot you, . You the only thing on my mind. But I can't rest until I handle this shit. What happened to you—what he did—it don't sit right with me."

"I know. But you already lost sleep, now you losing me too,"

I said, voice barely above a whisper. He didn't respond right away. Just sat there, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes lowered. "I got your clothes in the bag,"

he finally said, voice tight. "We'll get you home today. And... we'll talk."

I nodded slowly, but in my heart, I already knew we were drifting. Not on purpose. But grief and vengeance had a way of building walls between people who love each other.

I looked out the window as we rode home. He took phone calls the whole ride, speaking in that low, clipped tone he always used when it was business. One name kept coming up—Maseon. Every time I heard it, it felt like someone scratching against my skin. I eventually tuned him out and focused on the trees whipping past the window, the slight bounce of the SUV, the hum of the engine. Nia and Amina had offered to come over, even tried to bribe me with gumbo and good weed, but I declined. I didn't want jokes or comfort or distractions. I wanted him. I needed Juste.

When we got in the house, he helped me to the couch like I was made of glass. Grabbed a blanket. Adjusted the pillows behind my back. Put my water on the side table. "You good?"

he asked. I nodded. "You need anything?"

I shook my head. He kissed my forehead before heading to the kitchen. I watched him move around the space like he wasn't even thinking about it—like he was used to taking care of me now. And still, somehow, I'd never felt more distant from him.

Later that evening, I called him over as I laid curled up in the bed. The meds had worn off. My body ached. My chest ached more. He kicked his shoes off and slid in beside me, one hand on my thigh, other propped behind his head like he didn't feel the weight hanging in the air. "Juste?"

I whispered. "Yeah, baeeby?"

His voice was quiet. I hesitated, then placed my hand on his chest. "You think we gon' be okay?"

He turned to look at me, eyes narrowing just a bit. "What you mean?"

"I mean us. All of this. We went through something life-changing. And it's like... we ain't never really talked about it. You keep leaving, chasing after Maseon. I get it, I really do. But what about us?"

His phone buzzed on the nightstand. One glance at the screen, and he was already sitting up. "Shit... I gotta take this."

I grabbed his arm. "Juste, I'm really tryna talk to you. I need—"

"We'll talk later, aight? I promise,"

he cut me off, grabbing his phone and heading toward the hallway. "Get some rest."

I stared after him, the door clicking shut behind him like a period on the end of a sentence I hadn't finished.

-

A month had gone by. The bruises had faded, but the scars—those were forever. The one on my shoulder looked like a jagged little reminder of the night my whole world flipped. Literally. Another trailed down my side, a little softer but just as ugly. I'd healed enough to move around without help, to fake normal on the outside. But inside? I still didn't feel like myself. Still didn't recognize the woman in the mirror. Still trying to figure out how to breathe without tasting resentment. And the worst part? The distance between me and Juste had only gotten wider.

He was barely home. And when he was, It felt like his body showed up but his mind stayed elsewhere—buried under the weight of vengeance and bloodlust. Maseon. That name stayed on his tongue more than mine ever did now. His obsession with finding that man had become his purpose, and I was just... background noise. Something he fed, rubbed, and kissed on the forehead before disappearing again.

I tried to be patient. Tried to understand. But understanding didn't make it hurt less. The birthday trip he'd been whispering about for weeks before the accident? Cancelled. No heads-up. No plan B. Just a tight-lipped, "It ain't safe right now. I can't focus on no getaway until that nigga buried."

Like I was asking him to pick beaches over bullets.

I didn't even want anything extravagant—I just wanted him. The version of him that held me when I woke up confused in the hospital. The man who whispered I love you against my hair every night while I recovered. But that man was gone. Replaced by a colder, harder version I wasn't sure I liked. Now he came and went like a shadow. Checked in just enough to say he did. And what hurt the most was... I ain't even think he noticed the difference.

I sat at the bar with Nia and Amina, a tequila shot in each hand like I was tryna numb more than just the sting in my chest. Tomorrow was my birthday. And even though we'd made plans to go out, the girls insisted we hit the bar tonight too. Said they just wanted to be outside, but I knew the truth—they were covering for the fact Juste hadn't mentioned my birthday once. Not a card. Not a candle. Not even a damn, What you wanna do tomorrow, baby? Nothing.

So yeah, they had me out tonight. Their way of being there for me when the one person I needed wasn't. "You bitches better not let me get sloppy drunk,"

I said, tossing back another shot and sucking on the lime like it owed me money. "I still wanna look like a bad bitch tomorrow."

"Oh you gone look like a bad bitch, alright,"

Amina said, grinning as she reached for the salt. "You just might feel like roadkill."

We all laughed, but the ache in my chest didn't move. Then Nia leaned back in her seat, that signature messy smirk on her face. "I bet y'all ain't heard how they got Ms. Evie hemmed up."

My eyes narrowed. "The hell they do to Evie?"

Amina leaned in too, already grinning like a nosy cousin at a cookout. Nia snorted, laughing between words. "Girl, they got her ass on a leash. For real. Ain't even exaggeratin'. Juste, Jules, Saint—they rotate watching her like she a toddler or somethin'."

My eyebrows shot up as I slammed my empty shot glass on the counter. "You lyin'. They got Evie on house arrest?"

"Worse."

Nia was damn near in tears laughing. "She can't hit no casino, no bingo hall, no corner store with a damn scratch off. They got her shit locked tighter than Fort Knox. One of them gotta be with her anytime she leave the house."

I cackled, the laughter bubbling out of me louder than I meant. Probably louder than I felt. But it felt good to laugh, even if it only lasted a minute. Amina was already reaching for the next round.

"They basically pulled a Juste on her ass,"

Nia added between laughs. "Same way he had you tucked away like a secret."

The joke was light. But it landed hard. Because it was true. I looked down at my phone again. Still no text. No missed call. Not even a fuckin' thinking about you from Juste. Just the glowing lock screen fading to black as my battery hit 1%... then nothing. The screen powered down in my hand, and I sat there staring at the dark glass like it had betrayed me. Maybe it had.

2:30 AM crept up on us like we hadn't been tossing back shots since midnight. My head was buzzing, my chest warm, and Nia's phone lit up with Jules' name again for the fifth time in ten minutes. We slid out of the bar, heels clicking on the pavement, giggling like we ain't have a care in the world—except I did. I always did these days. And I carried it in silence.

The black truck was parked right at the curb like clockwork. The driver hopped out, opened the door for us, and we climbed in, still half-laughing at Amina's dumbass story about a security guard who tried to holla at her in Family Dollar. Then the phone rang again. This time Nia sighed and sucked her teeth like she'd been holding it in all night. She answered, eyes rolling, and put Jules on speaker before leaning back in the seat. "What?"

she snapped, already irritated.

"Nia,"

Jules growled through the line. His voice was low, tight with frustration. "You gon' fuck around and make me put my foot in yo ass."

I damn near snorted, covering my mouth with my hand to hold back the laugh. Nia waved her hand like he could see her through the phone. "Oh please. What do you want, Jules? Why you not sleep with the kids like a responsible ass daddy?"

He chuckled—but not the warm kind. This one was cold, sarcastic. The kind of laugh that said he was trying not to lose it. "Yeah, aight. Ima handle you when I see you. with you?"

Nia and Amina both looked at me. I lifted an eyebrow like what I done now? "Yeah, she right here,"

Nia said slowly.

"Well, tell her Juste been blowin' her shit up for damn near an hour. Say her phone goin' straight to voicemail and that nigga is not happy."

Amina turned toward me, lips parted in surprise. I shrugged. "Phone dead."

Jules must've heard me. "Yeah, well, charge it. That nigga pacing the floor like a maniac. Said you aint tol' him shit and he ain't know where the hell you was. You know he don't play dat."

I leaned my head back against the headrest, eyes closed, the dull throb in my temples matching the ache in my chest. "He don't play about a lot of shit,"

I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. "But he damn sure been playin' about me lately."

The truck got quiet. Still. Like everybody knew that was a wound too fresh to touch. Even Jules went silent. "Tell him I'll be there in a minute,"

I said after a pause, sitting up and staring out the window like it could offer peace I hadn't found in weeks.

The truck crept up the driveway, headlights casting long shadows across the house. Juste was already out front. Posted up in a goddamn lawn chair like he was security for a trap house, his big gun sitting across his lap. I blinked slow. The hell? As soon as the tires stopped rolling, Juste stood up, eyes locked on the driver's window. He cocked the gun, walked around the truck and tapped on the glass with the barrel. "Girl, what the fuck is goin' on right now?"

Amina muttered, her voice low and wide-eyed from the back seat. "Juste, get that gun off the damn driver, I thought they took that mutha fucka from you."

Nia hissed, rolling down her window with attitude.

"Suhhh... fuck dis nigga,"

Juste muttered, his eyes cutting to the back seat the moment he spotted me. His whole body relaxed just a little, and he tucked the pistol back in his waistband like it was part of his damn outfit. ". Get the fuck out the car,"

he barked, jaw tight, eyes wild like he was five seconds from blackin' out.

I raised my brow, slow. He must've forgot who the fuck I was. I was tipsy, irritated, and emotionally drained. All that yelling wasn't finna fly, not tonight. So instead of responding, I calmly reached in my purse and started digging for my keys like he wasn't standing there talking to me like I was one of his little runners. That's when I heard it. "Oh shit, bitch—"

Amina started, but before I could react, I was yanked clean out the truck. My heels scraped the gravel. My purse hit the ground. Juste had his damn hands on me like he lost all sense.

"JUSTE!"

Nia and Amina shouted in unison from the truck, doors flying open behind us. "Have you lost your fuckin' mind?!"

I yelled, shoving at his chest as he held me by my arm.

"You really had me out here thinkin' somethin happened to you, !"

His voice was shaking—rage and relief dancing a thin line. "I done buried people behind less than this! Your shit goin' to voicemail, it's 3 in the goddamn mornin', and you out here bar hoppin' like you not still recovering from almost dyin'?!"

He was breathing hard, staring at me like he couldn't decide whether to cuss me out or fall apart.

"I was with my friends. Celebrating the fact that I'm alive. Because clearly you forgot,"

I snapped, my own voice cracking from the weight of everything. "I didn't disappear. I been right here, Juste. Trying. Waiting. Hurting. And where the fuck you been?! oh I forgot chasing behind Maseon ass."

The silence that followed was thick—stretched between us like a rubber band pulled too far. His jaw clenched. He didn't have an answer. Didn't say shit.

"I'll call y'all in the morning,"

I said, turning back to look at Nia and Amina. My voice was low but steady, like I was holding everything else inside by a thread. "Happy Birthday, !"

they both yelled from the truck as it pulled off, their voices fading just like the energy I had left. I didn't respond.

I turned back toward the house, the gravel crunching beneath my heels as I snatched my arm away from Juste's grasp without a word. My body moved on autopilot, the chill in the night air biting at my skin, but it was the weight in my chest that had me numb. There wasn't shit left to say. I walked through the front door like I didn't live there, didn't love there. Like this wasn't the place I imagined being celebrated, being held. Instead, all I had was silence, tension, and a man who used to see me. Used to.

I headed up the stairs, not even looking back to see if he was behind me—but I could feel him. Juste's presence was thick, heavy, like smoke from a fire. When I reached the bedroom, I didn't hesitate. I opened our shared closet, grabbed a pajama set—nothing silky, nothing sexy, just cotton and comfort. Something that didn't beg for his attention. I could feel his eyes on me as I moved, standing there at the threshold like he didn't know whether to speak or stay quiet.

He chose silence. And so did I. I clutched the folded clothes to my chest and brushed past him, my shoulder bumping his on purpose. He didn't reach for me. Didn't stop me. Didn't ask me to stay. I walked straight down the hall and into the guest bedroom—the same one that used to be mine before I made the mistake of loving him with my whole damn soul. I closed the door quietly, locked it behind me, then leaned against it for a second, eyes closed, breath shaky.

The click of the lock felt like the last word in an argument that never had a winner. This was how I spent the first hours of my birthday. Locked behind a door, in a house filled with a man who had become a ghost in his own body. And for the first time since waking up in that hospital bed, I let myself cry.

_

The next morning, I laid still, staring blankly at the ceiling, my body wrapped in cotton sheets that felt colder than usual. The quiet was loud—too loud. No knock. No voice on the other side of the door checking to see if I was okay. Just silence. I rolled over and grabbed my phone off the nightstand, swiping through the bright notifications that felt dull against my mood. A few "Happy Birthdays"

from friends and cousins I hadn't talked to in months. Texts from Amina and Nia asking how I was feeling, if Juste had come to his senses. I didn't reply. Instead, I scrolled through social media for a minute, watching other women be spoiled, kissed, loved on for their birthdays. Soft background music, "Happy Birthday"

overlays, balloons and brunch plates. I locked my phone.

I got up, brushed my teeth, and wrapped a silk robe around my body before heading downstairs. My feet padded softly against the wood floors as I took the familiar turn into the kitchen. And froze. Pink and yellow roses spilled across every surface—countertops, the island, even the damn floor. Designer boxes were stacked with precision near the dining table, each wrapped with ribbon and labeled in that familiar bold cursive font. A bouquet of helium balloons floated near the ceiling, dancing in the early morning light.

The scent of syrup and butter hit next. Breakfast from Sammie's—my favorite—was spread across the table: crispy catfish and grits, Belgian waffles, honey-drizzled biscuits, and two tall flutes of mimosas waiting side by side. At the head of the table, Juste was sitting back in one of the chairs, head bent over his phone . But when he looked up and saw me, his phone slid onto the table, forgotten. He stood immediately, walking toward me with a look that was softer than anything I'd seen on his face in weeks. Without saying a word, he pulled me into his arms, holding me like the world hadn't gone sideways. Like we were still good. Still us.

He pressed slow kisses up the side of my face, each one like a quiet apology, stopping just at the curve of my jaw. "Happy birthday, baeeby,"

he murmured against my skin, his voice low and gravelly, full of that old warmth I used to crave. The kind of tone that could've melted me a month ago. Now It barely softened the wall I'd started building between us.

"I know I been fuckin' up,"

he breathed, pulling back just enough to look me in my eyes. His gaze held weight. Regret. And that same fire that used to pull me under so easy. "I'm sorry, . I love you, baeeby. I just wanna make sure you safe. Seeing you in that hospital bed like that? Shit damn near broke me. Girl, you don't even know—I turned the whole fuckin' city upside down about you."

He exhaled and started placing soft kisses up my neck, like he was trying to remind my skin of something my heart hadn't felt in a while. And for a second, I let him.

"That's the problem, Juste,"

I whispered, barely able to get it out. My voice trembled, but I held my ground. "I don't need you turning the world upside down for me. I need you right here. Present. I need you. Not the version that disappears behind locked doors and late night meetings. Not the man chasing ghosts when I'm standing right here."

He looked at me like I'd punched the air out of his chest. Then he nodded slowly, rubbing his hand down my lower back, his other one finding the curve of my ass. "I know dat, Chi,"

he muttered. "I do. Let me make it up to you."

His voice dropped even lower, his lips brushing against mine again. "Eat breakfast. Let me take you shopping. I got somethin' for you—something I been workin' on."

Before I could respond, he dipped his head and kissed me. Deep and slow. Like he was trying to breathe life back into us.

I didn't answer, but my body moved anyway, betraying me the second his mouth met mine. I melted into the kiss, into him. My hand gripped the back of his neck, mumbling a soft "mmhmm"

into his mouth as I pulled back, dazed. That was the thing about Juste. Even when I was mad at him—sick and tired of chasing his attention—he made it hard to stay angry for too long. He had that charm. That magnetic pull. The kind that could wrap itself around your throat and kiss it at the same time.

We sat at the kitchen table surrounded by roses and balloons, sharing breakfast from Sammie's like we didn't have a single care in the world. Between bites of fish and grits, he had me laughing at some foolishness Pierre did the other day. For a moment... just a moment, it felt like the world slowed down. Like it was just us, the way it used to be before the accident, before Maseon, before everything got heavy. And it reminded me—when Juste was present? He lit me up in ways I couldn't even put into words. That man could fill a room without saying shit, just off the strength of being him. And when he was mine, really mine? It made everything else fade out.

After breakfast, we got dressed and left the house. I threw on a two-piece knit set with some shades, and he kept it chill in a clean black tee, joggers, and that slick Cuban link he loved to tuck under his collar when he was being laid-back but still wanted to flex a lil. Now, what he didn't know was—I had a trick up my sleeve.

He thought we were headed to buy purses and heels, some fancy designer shit to butter me up. Nah. I'd been peepin' a washer and dryer set with a digital panel and steam option. I wanted a new dishwasher too—the old one was starting to hum like a bad remix—and I'd been craving a bigger dining table, something more us, more grown. I wasn't about to let this moment go to waste.

So when I told him to make a right and we pulled up in front of the home improvement store, Juste looked at me like I had two heads. "Chi, what we doin' here?"

he asked, eyebrows raised. "Grown woman business,"

I said with a smirk, already unbuckled He followed behind me, hands in his pockets, his chain glinting under the sun. But he didn't complain. Not once. Didn't make a face, didn't roll his eyes. He just let me point out what I wanted—touchscreens, custom options—and when it came time to swipe that card, He paid without saying a word.

On the way home, I was feeling good. A little tipsy off the champagne we'd had with breakfast and still floating from the fact he was actually giving me his time. We ended up detouring off the main road and stopping at this little pop-up food truck festival on the outskirts of the city. The air smelled like smoked brisket, jerk wings, and funnel cakes. Kids were running wild, music played low in the background, and vendors were posted up like it was a block party. Juste and I walked side by side, close enough for our hands to brush, even though he didn't grab mine right away.

We ordered tacos from a truck that had a line wrapped around the back and stood off to the side to eat. Mine were beef birria with extra consomé. His were spicy shrimp. I looked over at him as he wiped his mouth with a napkin, the gold on his wrist catching the light. "You know,"

I said, licking a little sauce off my thumb, "this actually been one of my better birthdays. Even without the trip."

He glanced at me, then finally reached for my hand. "It ain't over yet."

I gave him a look. "Mmm, you got more up your sleeve?"

He smirked, that cocky grin sliding across his face. "Somethin' like that."

And just like that, I let myself lean into him. Resting my head against his shoulder as we walked toward the next food stall, the music behind us playing a slow, soulful R&B track.

After we left the festival, Juste didn't take the usual turn toward the house. Instead, we headed out past New Orleans, where the concrete turned to cracked gravel and the street signs started fading. Before I could ask where we were going, I saw it—Thiloux.

A small, mostly Black town that sat quietly just outside the city. It had heart, but you could tell it'd been overlooked. Boarded-up buildings, corner stores with rusted-out signage, schools that hadn't been painted in years. It was one of those towns with potential, but no damn backing. We pulled into a wide, empty parking lot surrounded by construction tape. The foundation of something big was being laid—literally. Framing and steel beams stretched high into the sky. It didn't take a genius to figure out this was a project in motion.

Juste put the truck in park and leaned back in his seat, one hand resting on the wheel, the other on his thigh. Calm, quiet... that kind of energy that meant something was up. "Remember that Black-owned shopping center we talked about? For community flow, and money recirculation?"

he said, turning to look at me with that low, serious gaze. I nodded slowly. "Yeah. That was a solid plan."

"What you think about this location?"

he asked, motioning toward the lot in front of us.

I looked out the window at the land. Then back at him. "You smart as hell, you know that? Thiloux needs this. Nobody ever invested in this side of town like that. You might be onto somethin'."

He grinned, reached into the center console, and pulled out a slim manila folder, handing it to me.

"I know you be sayin' you not a St. Jean,"

he teased, making me side-eye him and laugh under my breath. "So I wanted to make sure you got your own piece of this empire. Happy Birthday, baeeby."

I blinked, slowly flipping the folder open. My eyes scanned the documents inside, and my breath caught in my throat. Alexander was printed in black ink—notarized, stamped, official. My name was listed as 50% owner of the St. Jean & Alexander Development Group. Every page confirmed it—buildout plans, ownership structure, projected revenue streams.

I looked up at him, heart full, eyes shining. "You serious?"

I asked, voice soft. He nodded once. "Dead serious. You said you didn't wanna just be attached to my name—I respect that. This ain't no gift. This is equity. This yours."

I stared at him, speechless. Then, without another word, I leaned across the console, cupped his face, and kissed him. Not soft. Not sweet. But deep. Grateful. I slid my tongue past his lips and tasted the richness of him—everything he was, everything he gave. "Thank you,"

I whispered against his mouth.

We left Thiloux with the sun dipping behind the trees, casting the sky in streaks of orange and pink. I didn't say much on the ride back—I was still too caught up in what he'd just done for me. Not the shopping center. Not the paperwork. But what it meant. He saw me. He respected me. That meant more than anything he could've wrapped in a bow.

The closer we got to the house, the more I caught Juste glancing at me with that sneaky little smirk—the kind that said he was hiding something. I side-eyed him, suspicious but too tired to press. The drive had been peaceful, his hand resting on my thigh, the silence between us comfortable for once.

But as soon as he pulled into the driveway and parked, I climbed right over the center console and onto his lap. "Mmm,"

I mumbled against his neck, trailing kisses up his jawline as my fingers tugged at the waistband of his joggers. "I missed you like this."

He chuckled, trying to hold me still. "Chi—wait."

"I don't wanna wait,"

I whined, grinding my hips against him. It had been too long. Between physical therapy and all him not really being home, we hadn't touched each other in weeks. My body was starving for him. He groaned low, his voice strained. "You tryna make me forget my whole damn plan."

"I hope I do,"

I teased, kissing him again, deeper this time. But then he grabbed my waist and tapped my butt twice. "Out. Now. Go."

I blinked, lips parted in protest. "You serious?"

He just grinned and nodded toward the house. "Go on."

Still slightly annoyed, I climbed off his lap and smoothed out my outfit as we made our way to the door. I didn't even notice how quiet the neighborhood was. As soon as he unlocked the door and pushed it open, we were hit with a loud—

"SURPRISE!!!"

I froze. Literally stopped breathing for a second. The lights popped on and everybody was there—everybody. Nia and Amina, Pierre, Jules, the kids, Noles, even Saint and Evie. Balloons floated near the ceiling, streamers danced in the air, and the smell of baked macaroni, garlic butter crab legs, and strawberry cake hit me all at once. But what got me the most was seeing Evie and Saint standing front and center like they'd been waiting on me. Emotion flooded my chest, and I pressed my hand over my heart, trying to keep it together. "Y'all really did this for me?"

I asked, blinking rapidly to keep my lashes from falling off. Nia ran over first, wrapping me in a tight hug. "Happy Birthday, Chi. Told you we had you."

"You better not cry,"

Amina added, sliding me a flute of champagne before handing Juste a look like you did good. I bent down to hug the kids, kissing little Jezel on the cheek while Jules tried to keep Juelz from knocking over the cake table. That's when Saint stepped forward, all cool in a linen shirt and gold chain, holding out his arms. "Happy Birthday, ."

"Thank you,"

I smiled, hugging him gently. Evie wasn't far behind, her wine glass in hand, eyes already squinting at me like she was about to start. And she did. ", why you got to wear this little knit outfit? I just don't understand it. Ain't you cold?"

I laughed, stepping into her side-hug like we'd done this a hundred times before. "Ms. Evie, you keep talkin' about my clothes, I'ma start thinkin' you want a lil' taste."

That made Saint chuckle deep and low from the chest, and even Pierre started cackling. Evie rolled her eyes like she always did but smiled anyway. "Girl, please. Ain't nothin' you can do for me. I wouldn't have you."

She paused, eyes softening slightly. "But... Happy Birthday."

It was the closest I'd ever get to a real compliment from her, and that was enough for me. Juste slipped his arm around my waist, kissing my temple. "Told you we wasn't done celebratin'."

I leaned into him, feeling the warmth of the moment