12. Nolani
By three o’clock, Self Springs had eaten nearly everything we brought. Brown sugar praline disappeared first. Butter pecan survived another eleven minutes, and the final scoop of strawberry shortcake went to a little girl with pink beads who informed me she intended to marry it when she grew up.
“I support ambitious love.”
Her mother laughed so hard she had to turn away.
The literacy bags had disappeared before the ice cream, which pleased me most. Children wandered the festival with books tucked beneath their arms and melted sweetness clinging to spoons.
A middle-school librarian asked whether Scoops & Stories partnered with schools.
Three people requested catering information.
Several customers asked whether Crème & Chill had ever considered Self Springs permanently.
I collected names.
Asked questions.
And allowed Saturday to remain Saturday.
“What you smiling at?”
I turned toward Nyla, who was wiping the same section of counter far longer than cleanliness required.
“Nothing.”
“You been saying nothing while looking at Coach Landon for weeks.”
“I wasn’t looking at him.”
“You weren’t. This time.”
I studied her.
“Malcolm come back?”
The cloth stopped.
Barely.
Enough.
My smile widened.
“Don’t start, Noli.”
“I asked a question.”
“He came back.”
“Oh?”
“For water.”
“There are water stations.”
“He said ours tasted better.” I stared at her. Nyla threw the cloth into a bin. “Exactly. Ridiculous.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Nyla.”
“He asked when we were packing up.”
“Why?”
“Said he’d help.” My brows rose. “Don’t.”
“You tormented me about Big Lando since Willow Run.”
“That was sisterly guidance.”
“You planned my wedding before he asked me to be his woman.”
“I planned one duet.”
“At my imaginary wedding.”
“Details.”
I laughed.
A woman in a festival staff shirt approached before I could exploit my sister further.
“Nyla? Nolani?” We turned. “I’m Andrea with entertainment. We’ve got a vendor appreciation set before the scholarship announcements. Open mic. Song, poem, whatever somebody wants to share. Either of y’all interested?”
“Yes,” Nyla said.
“No,” I said.
Andrea laughed.
I looked at my sister. “Why do you answer for both of us?”
“Because sometimes, one of us answers wrong.”
“I didn’t.”
Nyla looked back at Andrea. “We both sing.”
I turned toward her.
Andrea smiled. “No pressure. We start in about twenty.”
Then she walked away.
I pointed at Nyla.
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re about to.”
“I’m saying we can.”
“I know we can.”
“You sang for Landon Monday.”
“That was different.”
His voice returned easily. My refusal. His equally easy acceptance. The way I later chose to sing because he hadn’t treated no like something he needed to negotiate.
Nyla reached for my hand.
“I’m not pushing you, Noli. If you don’t wanna do it, we don’t. But if you want to, and nerves trying to answer first, that’s different.”
“That sounded suspiciously like Landon.”
“Big Lando got good material.”
“I’m reporting plagiarism.”
“Cite me correctly.”
I laughed and looked toward the stage.
I could say no.
Nobody would punish me for it.
Landon least of all.
I searched for him.
He stood near the field, listening to another coach. As if some part of him had expected me to look, his head turned.
His eyes caught mine.
His brows lifted.
You good?
I nodded.
His hand touched his chest once.
I remembered the bookmark hidden inside a book I’d wanted and denied myself.
Every beautiful story deserves another chapter.
I looked at Nyla.
“One song.” Her entire face lit. “Control yourself.”
“I’m controlling myself.”
“You look like you’re about to explode.”
“That’s private.”
“No theatrics.”
“Okay.”
“Reasonable runs.”
Nyla looked offended. “Why invite talent if you plan to suppress it?”
I laughed as we headed toward Andrea.
Twenty minutes later, I stood beside my sister at the edge of the stage, wondering whether personal growth came with a return policy.
“You good?” Nyla asked.
“No.”
“You wanna back out?”
I looked at her.
No teasing.
She meant it.
If I left, she would leave with me.
I filled my lungs, then saw Landon.
He stood near the front with Malcolm beside him. No grin. No teasing signal. Just my man watching me with the same question on his face.
You good?
I nodded.
His hand touched his chest.
I looked at Nyla.
“Let’s do it.”
The keyboard began.
We’d sang together too long for one of us to follow the other. Nyla knew where I’d climb before the note left me, and I knew when she would pull back and make room without needing to look at her. Our voices met where they always had, neither carrying the other.
Nyla took the opening.
I joined beneath her.
By the time the melody curved toward me, the crowd had stopped mattering.
I looked at Landon.
Only Landon.
And sang.
“If the road keeps turning, let it turn.
I already know where my heart is going.
Every mile gets sweeter when I know
whose arms are open at the end.
I don’t need the distance disappearing.
I just need a love worth coming home to.”
Something changed in his face.
Malcolm leaned toward him and said something.
Landon never looked away.
Nyla slipped beneath me on the harmony and left the next line entirely mine.
I gave it to him.
The final note faded into applause.
Nyla squeezed my fingers, then Landon started toward the side of the stage.
My pulse jumped.
“Go get your man, Noli.” I looked at my sister. “What? That one was wholesome.” I laughed. She kissed my cheek. “Go.”
I barely made it down the steps before Landon stood in front of me.
Emotion still sat openly in his expression, but he didn’t reach first.
He held out his hand.
“Come walk with me, love.”
I placed mine in his. “As you wish, baby.”
His eyes flashed at the callback.
“Keep playing.”
He led me behind the vendor row where the crowd thinned beneath the trees. We walked until festival music softened behind us, his thumb passing slowly across my hand.
When he stopped, he turned toward me.
“Did you want to sing today?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. “I wanted you to hear me.”
“Hershey.”
“You heard me Monday, but Monday was different. Today I wanted to choose it before you ever asked.” His free hand settled at my waist. I covered it with mine.
“You tell me when you want me. You tell me when you miss me. You let me into your family and your work without making any of it a test. You told me you loved me and never stood there waiting for me to hurry up and say it back.”
“There wasn’t a deadline.”
“I know.” My voice lowered. “That’s part of why I got there.”
His body stilled. “Got where, my love?”
I lifted one hand to his face.
“I love you, Landon.” For once, language left him first. He stared at me. I smiled. “Baby?”
His eyes closed.
When they opened, the swagger had disappeared.
Just Landon.
“Say that again.”
“I love you.”
“Nolani.”
I stepped closer. “I love you, Landon.”
His forehead came down to mine.
The breath he released trembled between us.
“My love.”
He kissed my forehead, one cheek, then the other before finally reaching my mouth. None of it hurried.
When he looked at me again, something bright sat behind his eyes.
“You have no idea what you just did to me.”
“I think I do.”
“Nah, baby. You don’t.”
I curled my fingers into his shirt.
“Then show me.”
He kissed me.
Slowly.
His hands stayed at my waist while mine held his face. Somewhere beyond the trees, a saxophone stretched a note across the festival, but his mouth moved against mine again, and everything else receded.
When we parted, his forehead stayed against mine.
“I love you.”
“I know.”
“I’m gon’ keep saying it.”
“Good.”
“Morning. Night. Random Tuesday afternoon.”
I laughed. “You threatening me with affection?”
“Informing you of future conditions.” His lips touched my forehead. “You sang to me.”
“I sang with Nyla.”
“You sang to me.”
“There were hundreds of people listening.”
“Could’ve been ten thousand. You looked at me.”
Heat warmed my face.
“Hershey.”
“Don’t.”
“My woman got onstage and aimed a whole verse at me.”
“That is more accurate.”
“So we agree.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You ain’t deny it either.”
I laughed and tucked my face against his chest.
His arms closed around me.
For a few seconds, I listened to his heartbeat.
Then I lifted my head.
“You hungry?”
Suspicion narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
“You’ve been working all day.”
“So have you.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
He stared.
I lifted one brow.
Recognition arrived.
“Look at you.”
“What?”
“Using my own mess against me.”
“Annoying, isn’t it?”
“Actually, accountability looks fine as hell on you.”
“Landon.”
“Yes, baby. I’m hungry.”
“Come eat with me.”
We bought seafood plates and found a picnic table beneath one of the broad trees bordering the lawn. I had barely settled before Landon stole one of my fries.
I stared.
“You have your own.”
“Yours looked better.”
“They came from the same tray.”
“Visual assessment suggested otherwise.”
“You’re a thief.”
“Allegedly.”
I stole a piece of shrimp from his plate.
His brows rose.
“Community redistribution.”
“You developing dangerous policies.”
“I learned from an intellectual thug.”
“Who?”
I looked around.
Landon laughed.
I held the shrimp toward his mouth.
“Open, baby.” For one beautiful second, Big Lando had absolutely nothing to say. I smiled. “Problem?”
He leaned forward and accepted the bite, his lips brushing my fingertips.
“Nah.”
“No?”
His hand settled against my thigh beneath the table.
“Just recalibrating.”
“My man got nervous over shrimp?”
“My woman told me she love me, sang to me in public, and now feeding me. Respect the conditions.”
I laughed.
He stole another fry.
I let him.
Mostly.
A few minutes later, Malcolm appeared near Crème & Chill carrying two flattened boxes.
Nyla spotted him.
“What’s that?”
“Help.”
“I didn’t ask for help.”
“I know.”
“Then how’d you know I needed it?”
Malcolm set the boxes beside the booth. “I got eyes.”
“Seems like those been distracting you all day.”
His attention settled fully on her.
“They have.” Nyla looked away. Just for a second. Malcolm grinned. “You shy now?”
“I’m not shy.”
“Nah?”
“No.”
“Good. I’d hate to think all that mouth disappeared because I came back.”
Beside me, Landon made a low sound.
“That ain’t my ministry.”
I covered my smile.
Across the walkway, Nyla pointed toward the trailer. “Those go over there.”
Malcolm picked them up.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t start behaving now. It’s suspicious.”
“Damn. Can’t win with you.”
“You weren’t invited to compete.”
“Still participating.”
He carried the boxes away.
When Malcolm returned a few minutes later, Nyla had folded most of the table coverings.
“You leaving without giving me a way to bother you later?” he asked.
“You were serious?”
“About your number? Hell yeah.”
“You said you weren’t asking.”
“I said I wasn’t asking earlier.”
“So what changed?”
“I survived long enough to reach later.” Nyla stared at him.
Malcolm pulled out his phone, then stopped.
“Actually, nah.” Her brows rose. “I said I wouldn’t put you on the spot.
” He grabbed a pen from the supply cup, wrote his number on the back of a tasting card, and slid it toward her. “Mine. Do what you want with it.”
Nyla looked at the card, then at him.
“You rehearsed that?”
“No.”
“That restraint came naturally?”
“With yo’ pretty ass? Took effort.”
She laughed once.
Malcolm’s face said he’d won something.
“Don’t.”
“I ain’t say nothing.”
“Your face did.”
He laughed.
Nyla studied the card for another second.
Then held out her hand.
“Give me your phone.”
Malcolm blinked.
For once, nothing came out of him.
Nyla wiggled her fingers.
“Phone, Coach.”
He handed it over.
She typed.
Returned it.
Malcolm looked down.
Nyla.
Her number beneath it.
His eyes lifted slowly.
“You gave me your number.”
“I know what I did.”
A smile moved across her face.
Malcolm stared.
“Oh.”
Nyla folded another tablecloth like she had not just knocked the wind out of him.
“You can be caught off guard twice in one day.”
“Nyla.”
“What?”
“You dangerous.”
“Thought defensive backs liked a challenge.”
“We do.” His attention stayed on her. “Especially fine ones.”
“And if the challenge wins?”
Malcolm grinned. “Then I shake hands with the champion and ask when the rematch is.”
Nyla laughed.
“Go somewhere, Malcolm.”
He started walking backward.
“You gon’ answer when I text?”
“You’ll find out.”
“That mean I gotta wait?”
“That’s generally how waiting works.”
He stopped.
“Nyla.”
“What?”
“I like when you say my name.”
She stared at him, then deliberately returned to the table.
Malcolm laughed and finally walked away.
Beside me, Landon murmured, “He in there.”
I elbowed him.
“Mind your business.”
“Gladly.”
His fingers slid through mine.
I looked at my sister, who was suddenly far too interested in folding a tablecloth that had already been folded.
For once, I kept my mouth shut.
Some stories deserved the dignity of introducing themselves.