Chapter 10 - Kyleigh #2
She hadn’t told one lie. Neither had I. Jabali Christopher made me hungry, made me crave things I could never have again. He walked over and each step felt louder than it should.
“Look at my hill princess outside. I’m proud,” he greeted.
I decided not to address his use of that possessive pronoun. I was not “his” anything, so why debate it.
“Niyah kidnapped me,” I said lightly.
He chuckled, before giving me a once-over with those liquid brown eyes. “You good?” he asked, voice dropping for just me.
I hated that part of me softened at the question. “I was. Now you here,” I surprised myself by teasing.
He smirked. “That answer got a lot going on.”
“We were just talking about you,” Taniyah cut in, way too cheerful. “In a very respectful, mostly holy way.”
“I doubt that.”
His laugh was louder this time, brightened his handsome face in a way that… ooh, Lord Jesus!
“Anyway, I would love to stay and referee, but I just remembered I told my cousin I’d pick up her kids so our littles could have a play date. If I don’t get them, she gon’ post about me on Facebook.”
“You told me you were washing clothes,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, and now I’m washing kids, too. My life is full.
” she said with no shame. “Ooh, and look! I’m running late!
” She slid out of the booth and kissed my cheek.
“I brought you here, so you ride back with him. I know you scared, but you need some practice being around him without combusting,” she said in my ear.
“Taniyah—”
“Text me when you get home,” she said, ignoring me. “Or if he says some dumb shit so I can cuss him out later.”
She hugged him too. “Handle her with care, Jay,” she warned in a low voice. “I meant that punch.”
“Yeah, I felt that,” he said dryly.
Then she was gone, leaving the two of us at the table with my appetite evaporated.
He slid into her seat like it was nothing. “You done?” he asked, nodding at my plate.
“Yes,” I lied.
“Where’s my baby?”
“At the Children’s Museum.”
He sighed. “I know she has… I’d like to do stuff like that with her, Kyleigh.”
All I could say was say, “I know.”
He studied my face for a second, then stood. “Come on. I’ll take you home,” he said.
I should’ve said no. I didn’t.
We stepped out of Darnita’s, the bell jangling behind us as the door shut. The cold air hit my cheeks, smelling like exhaust and a little like the fry grease where Darnita made the magic happen.
“You cold?” he asked.
“I live up the hill, not in the tropics. I’m fine,” I said.
“Mm-hmm. Put this on before you start shivering and try to sue the town for emotional distress.” He shrugged out of his hoodie anyway and held it out.
“I would absolutely win,” I muttered, but the wind was a little brisk, so I slid into it.
The hoodie was warm and smelled like his detergent, warm cologne, and something that was just… him. I hated that my shoulders relaxed on reflex. I hated that I wanted to just zip it up and bury my face in it like I had back in the day. Weak!
We walked side by side toward his truck. People on the sidewalk did that thing where they pretended not to stare but somehow still saw everything. I kept my chin up, hoping my expression was somewhere between bored and unbothered.
“You came and sat and had a meal. I’m proud of you.”
I scoffed. “Had to tell Shayla off, too. She was breathing too much in Darnita’s space. I did community service.”
He laughed, the sound low and warm. “You ain’t pop her? You always did have a mean right hook.”
“That was one time,” I said.
“And I’m still low-key impressed.”
We reached the truck. He opened my door like he’d been doing it every day for the last ten years instead of… not. I hesitated half a second, then climbed in. By the time I buckled my seat belt, he was in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other draped lazily on his thigh.
“Aziza staying at the museum ’til when?” he asked.
“Three, then they’ll go for dinner. Serena said she was gon’ wear her out good before they came home.”
“So, you technically got a couple hours to yourself,” he mused aloud.
I narrowed my eyes. “Technically, I have a couple hours to work.”
“Girl, you ate shrimp and grits. Ain’t no productivity ’til about 4:30 when the -itis passes.”
“I don’t remember asking for a medical opinion,” I said.
“I’m certified in knowing you.”
I hated how my heart did a stupid little skip at that.
I turned to look out the window instead of at his face.
He pulled out of the parking lot, heading down Main.
For a minute, it felt normal. Just streets I knew, buildings I’d grown up passing, Christmas decorations on every pole like the town was auditioning to be a snow globe.
Then we passed the turn that led out toward my hill. I frowned and twisted toward him.
“You missed my turn.”
“Nah. I ignored it on purpose,” he said, eyes still on the road.
My stomach dipped. “Jabali. I told you I have work.”
“And I told you your productivity window is closed. You on break.”
“Take me home,” I said, trying to make my voice firm instead of curious.
“In a minute. Could you just trust me?” he asked.
I stared at him. “That’s a stupid question.”
He winced like I’d actually slapped him. “Fair. Let me rephrase. Will you give me forty-five minutes before you go back to the hill to overthink your whole life?”
I folded my arms. “Why?”
“Because every time I see you, you either mad at me, dodging me, or hiding behind a big-ass gate.” His voice was quiet. “You came off the hill. Let me show you that this town ain’t all torches and pitchforks. Some of it is funnel cake.”
I blinked. “Funnel cake?” Intriguing.
“Funnel cake,” he said, like that answered everything.
I tried not to smile. “If this is some elaborate plan to feed me then drag me to a prayer circle about the Christmas lights—”
“I ain’t bringing you to no prayer circle. The last time somebody invited you to a prayer circle, you almost fought a deacon.”
“He started it,” I pointed out.
“I didn’t say you was wrong,” he agreed, his lips curving up just the slightest bit.
Silence stretched, comfortable and annoying at the same time. We rolled past storefronts dressed up in wreaths and fake snow. Bits of Christmas songs drifted into the truck’s cab at red lights. People were out walking the sidewalks, little kids darting all around them. Only in the country.
“So where are we going?” I asked.
He tapped his thumb against the steering wheel. “You’ll see.”
“I don’t like surprises,” I reminded him.
“You liked me.”
I snorted. “That was a lapse in judgment.”
“A long lapse. Ten years and counting.”
“I’on like you now!”
But I turned back to the window again, so he wouldn’t see my smile.
We crossed the main intersection instead of turning.
Up ahead, the glow of lights got brighter and brighter, warm and golden against the gray afternoon.
We were at Freedom’s Field on the edge of town.
It was wrapped in garland and bows. Strings of lights crisscrossed inside, outlining little wooden booths, a big tent, a stage, and a giant inflatable Santa, his brown cheeks colored rosy as he smiled.
A banner fluttered over the entrance: Emancipation Christmas Village Opening Week.
I stared. “Absolutely not.”
He parked like he didn’t hear me.
“Jabali,” I said slowly. “You drove me to another crowd.”
“It’s not even that deep. It’s early. Half the town still at work. It’s mostly kids right now,” he cajoled.
My lip curled. “Exactly. Small, fast, sticky people.”
“So, Aziza is a small, fast, sticky person?” he countered.
“That’s different. She’s mine.”
“And mine,” he added softly. “Okay, but think about her. She gon’ wanna come out here. You know she is. And I can tell how you are. Don’t you wanna get a feel for it?”
“Who gon’ tell her about this?” I challenged.
“I definitely am. And if Serena told her about Ruston, she probably will. And Zoriah will tell her on their first play date—they’re going to have lots of playdates.”
His words were their own challenge. They hit something I’d been trying not to think about. My baby’s world was expanding. It was bound to happen, but still. I shifted in my seat.
“That’s manipulative,” I said.
“I know,” he said, glancing at me from the corners of his eyes. “Is it working?”
I glared. He just waited me out, eyes patient but stubborn, hand resting easy on the steering wheel like he wasn’t pressing at all.
Through the windshield, I watched a little girl in a puffy pink coat run past the entrance, dragging her father toward a booth that said HOT COCOA in crooked paint.
Her laughter floated across the lot, so pretty and bright.
My heart felt like it expanded, like my chest was too tight to hold it.
“Forty-five minutes?” I asked.
He promised. “Forty-five. You start to feel weird, we bounce. No questions. No attitude.”
“You don’t know how not to have an attitude,” I mumbled.
He smiled a little. “You right. But I’ll keep it quiet.”
I sighed, long and dramatic. “If one person throws anything at me—”
“Who throwing something?” he cut in. “I wish they would. I need a reason to retire these shoes.”
“You always looking for a reason to fight,” I said.
“I’m looking for a reason to make sure you know somebody got you,” he said.
My throat tightened. I looked away fast, pretending to dig for my phone. “You real proud of that line, huh?”
“A little bit,” he said. “It sounded smooth in my head.”
“It sounded like it belongs in a Tyler Perry movie,” I scoffed.
“Ouch,” he said, putting a hand over his heart. “You just gon’ disrespect my creativity like that?”
“Yes,” I said, but the corner of my mouth twitched.
He caught it. Of course he did.
“There she go,” he said softly. “I knew you still knew how to smile in public.”
“Relax. That was indigestion.”
He looked at me skeptically. “From shrimp and grits? You lying on Darnita name now? That’s how I know you nervous.”
I rolled my eyes. “If I agree to go in here, this counts toward that deal thing.”
“I accept,” he said quickly.
“Good.”
“And if you on probation, this counts as a court-ordered community service outing for one emotionally difficult hill princess,” he added.
I swatted his arm. He caught my hand, his fingers wrapping around mine, warm and familiar in a way they had no business being. The air in the truck shifted. We both felt it. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t push. He just held my hand for a second like he liked the feeling.
“You ready?” he asked.
“No,” I responded honestly.
He smiled. “You coming anyway, though.”
I stared at the glow of the Christmas Village, the silhouettes moving against the lights, the faint sound of a kid screaming about cotton candy. My heart pounded. Fear, irritation, and something that felt suspiciously like anticipation.
“Fine. But if I see mistletoe, I’m leaving.”
“Nobody wanna kiss yo’ mean ass,” he teased.
“Times have truly changed,” I shot back.
He chuckled all low and deep in that way that did something to me inside. “I missed you, man.”
That, I couldn’t deal with. “Don’t start,” I warned.
He lifted our joined hands and pressed his mouth to my knuckles before I could snatch them back. The kiss was quick, almost playful, but heat shot straight up my arm.
My voice came out shakier than it had in a long time. “You so aggravating.”
“And you still here,” he said.
He finally let my hand go and hopped out, jogging around to my side. When he opened my door, the sound of laughter and Christmas music spilled in, wrapping around us. He held out his hand again, eyebrows raised.
“You coming, Ms. Grindley Who Stole Christmas? Or you gon’ sit out here and write a strongly worded email about it?”
I snorted and slid to the edge of the seat. “If this is terrible, I’m putting your name in the subject line.”
Against my better judgment, I put my hand in his. We walked toward the lights together, my pulse doing the most… and for the first time in a long time, my dread about this town was mixed with something else. Curiosity.
And maybe—just maybe—a little bit of excitement.