Chapter 9
NIA
I woke up expecting him, but the space next to me reminded me he wasn’t mine. I slipped out from under the covers, shivering in the cool air as I pulled his shirt on. The soft cotton held his unique scent that I’d already grown used to in just a day.
After using the restroom and washing up, I found him on the porch, his broad back to me, hands braced against the railing as he faced the lake.
He wore only sweatpants riding low on his hips, his upper body bare in the cool morning air, muscles defined under smooth brown skin.
Something hitched in my throat at the sight of him.
Not just desire, though Lord knows that was still there, but something softer and more dangerous.
I cleared my throat quietly so I wouldn’t startle him. He turned, and when he smiled at me, I felt a warm rush in my stomach.
“Morning coffee’s ready.”
“I smelled it. I was going to bring you a cup, but it seems like you beat me to it.”
He nodded toward two steaming mugs already waiting on the small table between the Adirondack chairs. “Great minds. Hope you still take it black.”
“You remembered.”
He shrugged, that half-smile playing at his lips again. “I notice things. It’s the cop in me.”
“Well, now I’m wondering what else you’ve noticed,” I joked, settling into the chair and reaching for a mug. The ceramic warmed my palms as I lifted it to my lips, savoring that first perfect sip.
Ronan sat next to me, and we watched the sun rise over the trees. I glanced at him when I thought he wasn’t looking. Without his uniform or the pressure of public scrutiny, he seemed younger.
I noticed him looking at me, too, his eyes lingering on my bare legs, on the way his T-shirt draped over my curves, on my locs tumbling loose around my shoulders. The way Ronan observed me made me feel both powerful and vulnerable, like I’d given something away I couldn’t take back.
“You sleep okay?” he asked, breaking the silence.
“Yeah,” I admitted. Peaceful sleep had become a luxury I rarely enjoyed.
He nodded and looked back at the lake. A fish jumped, sending ripples across the water. “Same. I used to come here to get away from the city noise, but it never really helped. My thoughts always followed me.”
“And now?”
“Now I sleep like the dead. Must be the company.”
“Mmm. Or the physical exertion,” I teased.
His laugh was genuine, rumbling from deep in his chest. “That too.”
A light breeze moved over the lake. I hugged my knees, feeling exposed in his shirt and in my feelings. The peace between us felt fragile, like it could break if we weren’t careful.
I pulled his shirt tighter around me, hoping it would shield me from how intense my feelings were. He watched me, his eyes growing darker.
“Cold?” he asked, voice dropping lower.
I shook my head. “Just . . . processing.”
He nodded slowly, understanding in his eyes. “Yeah. It’s a lot.”
I turned my hand palm up, allowing Ronan’s fingers to intertwine with mine. We sat there, hands linked, the connection growing between us, something I hadn’t expected but could feel taking root.
The morning progressed from coffee on the porch to a full breakfast Ronan insisted on cooking: eggs, bacon, and grits that were actually seasoned right, which impressed me more than I let on.
Now, we stood on the wooden dock that stretched into the lake.
He looked at me like a man with a mission, and apparently, that mission involved my learning to fish.
“You want me to do what now?” I stared at the fishing rod Ronan held out to me, then back at his face.
“Come on, city girl. It’s fishing, not rocket science.” His smile was playful, eyes bright in the midmorning sun. He’d changed into jeans and a faded blue T-shirt that hugged his shoulders in ways that made me briefly forget why I was protesting.
“I know what fishing is. I never seen the appeal of standing around for hours hoping some fish is dumb enough to bite a fake worm,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. I’d borrowed a pair of his basketball shorts, rolling the waistband several times to keep them from falling off my hips.
I knotted his T-shirt at my waist, my locs pulled back in a ponytail.
Ronan laughed, the sound carrying across the water. “There’s more to it than that. It’s about patience. Connection to nature. Plus, nothing tastes better than fish you caught yourself.”
“If you say so.” I reached for the rod, curiosity winning out over stubbornness. The thing was lighter than it looked, but awkward in my hands.
He stepped closer, his own rod tucked under one arm. “Here, let me show you. Hold it like this.”
I watched as he showed how to hold the rod, his hands moving with the confidence of someone who’d done this a thousand times. When I tried to imitate him, he shook his head, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth.
Instead of taking the rod back, he moved behind me, his chest pressing against my back as he reached around to position my hands. “Close, but not quite. Like this.”
His breath warmed my ear, and his body pressed against mine. I swallowed, suddenly aware of every place we touched. His hands covered mine, gently adjusting my grip. The closeness made my heart race, even after last night.
“You want to pull back and then cast forward, releasing the line right . . . here,” he said, his voice low near my ear as he guided my arms through the motion.
We cast the line together, his body moving with mine and reminding me of last night in a different way. The line flew out over the water and landed with a small splash, farther than I expected.
“Not bad. Now reel it in slowly. Give it little twitches every few turns.”
I followed his instructions, hyperconscious of his proximity. When the line was back in, he finally stepped away.
“Now you try it,” he said, moving to stand beside me.
I went through the motions he’d shown me, deliberately fumbling the release, sending the line weakly a few feet from the dock. “Oops.”
Ronan burst out laughing. “Need some more help with that?”
“If you wouldn’t mind,” I replied with exaggerated innocence.
He moved behind me again, closer this time, one hand settling on my hip while the other guided my casting arm. “You’re releasing too early. Hold it a little longer . . .”
We cast again, his body pressed firmly against mine, and this time the line sailed perfectly across the water. I leaned back slightly, fitting myself more snugly against him, noticing his sharp intake of breath.
“Like that?” I asked, turning my head just enough to meet his eyes.
“Exactly like that.”
We stayed close for a long moment, both knowing this wasn’t really about fishing anymore. Ronan’s hand tightened on my hip, his thumb tracing circles on my side. Ronan kissed the back of my neck, then stepped away.
After that, I got better at casting, though I kept finding reasons for him to help me fix my form.
“My daddy used to bring me out here almost every weekend after Grandpa died. Said a man needed to know where his food came from, even if he didn’t always have to catch it himself.”
“Your preacher father was big on fishing?” I glanced at him, curious about this glimpse into his past.
His smile turned nostalgic. “Oh yeah. He said Jesus picked fishermen for disciples for a reason. We’d talk about everything out on the water—school, girls, God, and politics. Things I couldn’t ask him in the church where everyone was watching the preacher’s son.”
I tried to picture a young Ronan, with skinny limbs, fishing beside his father. “Sounds like he was a good dad.”
He nodded, reeling in his line to recast. “The best. What were your summers like as a kid?”
“The library. Mama ran the branch in our neighborhood. I had my own little desk in the back office, surrounded by stacks of books she thought I should read.”
“Let me guess, lots of history? Civil rights leaders? Political theory?” His tone was teasing but gentle.
I laughed, remembering. “Some of that, yeah, but also fiction. Poetry. Mama said a revolutionary needed imagination more than anything to envision a world different from the one we lived in.”
“I love that.”
“Summer days, I’d read until my eyes hurt, then she’d take me for ice cream and make me tell her what I’d learned. Not what the books said, but what I thought about what they said.”
Ronan was quiet for a moment, watching his line bob in the water. “That explains a lot about you.”
I shot him a side-eye. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“How you think. Or always questioning, analyzing. It’s impressive.”
His compliment surprised me, and I stepped too close to the edge of the dock. My foot slipped on the wet wood, and for a second, I lost my balance, almost falling into the water.
Ronan moved faster than I would have thought possible, one strong arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me firmly against him. “Got you,” he said, his heart pounding against my back.
“Oh shit, I almost took an unintended swim.”
Ronan’s eyes crinkled with amusement, though his arm stayed securely around me. “Can’t have my favorite activist drowning on police property. Imagine the headlines.”
“Chief Banks Fails to Protect Yet Another Black Woman. Sorry, that was—”
“No, it’s fair. That’s the world we have to go back to, isn’t it? Where everything between us becomes political again.”
I rested my hands on his chest. “Maybe. Or maybe we bring a little of this back with us.”
He studied my face, eyes searching mine for something. Whatever he found made him smile, small but genuine. “I’d like that.”
“We should get back to fishing, since you promised to feed me fresh catch and all.”
His thumb brushed my lower back, sending a pleasant shiver up my spine. “One more cast,” he agreed, but his eyes said there was more at stake than fish.
Hours later, after we’d eaten, we moved around each other in the bedroom, gathering our items, my earrings from the nightstand, his watch from the bathroom counter.
We worked together to strip the bed, fold blankets, and close windows.
There was something intimate about these domestic tasks, about seeing how easily we moved around each other, anticipating needs, passing items without having to ask.
Like we’d done this for years instead of hours.
Ronan did a final walkthrough. I stood outside, trying to memorize it, the way sunlight filtered through the trees, the gentle lapping of water against the shore, the perfect quiet broken only by birdsong. A peace I hadn’t known I needed until I found it here.
“Ready?” His voice came from behind me as he locked the cabin door, keys jingling in his hand.
I nodded, but I wasn’t ready. We headed to the car. Ronan opened the passenger door, and I slid inside as he walked around to the driver’s side. For a moment, he just sat there, hands on the wheel, not starting the engine.
“What?” I asked when he took too long.
“Nothing.” Ronan drove slowly down the gravel road, like he didn’t want to leave either. When we reached the main road, and he turned toward Birmingham, I felt a tightness in my chest.
“You’re quiet,” he commented after we’d driven for a few minutes.
“Just thinking.”
“About what happens next?”
I glanced at him. His profile was strong against the sunlight streaming through the driver’s window, his hands steady on the wheel. “Among other things.”
“You know, nothing’s actually changed. The world’s still the same as it was a day ago.”
“We’re not, though.”
His eyes met mine briefly before returning to the road. “No. We’re definitely not.”
The silence that followed wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it felt heavier than before. It was full of questions we didn’t have answers to yet.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said about bringing some of this back with us. I want that, but I’m not sure how we can make it work.”
“Romeo and Juliet for the social justice era,” I said with a small laugh, though there wasn’t much humor in it.
“Hopefully with a better ending.”
After winding through the countryside, signs of civilization appeared: a gas station, scattered houses, and road markers pointing toward Birmingham.
Without warning, Ronan slowed the car and pulled onto the gravel shoulder. The abrupt stop sent my heart rate spiking.
I looked around for the cause of our sudden halt. “What’s wrong?”
He put the car in park, then turned to face me.
“Nothing’s wrong. I just needed to do this before we get back.
” His hand came up to my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone with a gentleness that made my breath catch.
“Whatever happens when we get back to the city, whatever complications we face, whatever roles we have to step back into, . . . I need you to remember something.”
I leaned into his touch, unable to help myself. “What’s that?”
“Remember how we saw each other at the lake. No opposing sides. Just Nia and Ronan.” His eyes held mine, intense and unwavering.
His words rang true. Despite our differences and everything waiting for us in Birmingham, what happened between us was real. We’d shown each other parts of ourselves few people ever saw. That couldn’t be undone, no matter what happened next.
“I’ll remember, though I might need reminding occasionally,” I promised, turning my face to press a kiss to his palm.
His smile reached his eyes this time, crinkling the corners in a way that made my heart flip. “I can handle that.”
He leaned across the console, his hand sliding to the back of my neck, drawing me toward him. This kiss differed from our others, deeper like a promise, a beginning rather than an ending.
When we broke apart, his forehead rested against mine for a moment. “Ready?” he asked, his breath warm against my lips.
“Yeah.”
He gave me one last quick kiss before sitting up and putting the car in drive. As we pulled back onto the road toward Birmingham, I knew we couldn’t forget what we’d seen in each other.