4
For the next six weeks, Keon kept his word.
He repaired my roof, replaced the ceiling, and communicated through email with the professionalism of a man negotiating an international treaty.
His messages contained greetings, itemized invoices, and absolutely no references to my body.
I hated every respectful word.
Meanwhile, I threw myself into planning Margin Notes’ biggest annual event.
LOVE IS A RISK was a neighborhood street festival benefiting the Riverton Youth Arts Center. We hosted local authors, musicians, food vendors, spoken-word performers, and enough single people to cause three public arguments by sunset.
I needed the fundraiser to succeed.
The youth center had given me my first summer job when I was sixteen. It was where I learned that a shy, dramatic girl with thick glasses could stand on a stage, read something she had written, and make people listen.
The building now needed a new heating system before winter. Our goal was thirty thousand dollars.
I worked twelve-hour days, accepted every vendor call, and ignored the empty space Keon had left in my life.
Mostly.
One Friday evening, Jessa walked into my office carrying a clipboard.
“Your date is here.”
I looked up. “What date?”
“The one I arranged.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because you’ve been flirting with a spreadsheet for two hours.”
“I have goals.”
“You also have lip gloss. Apply it.”
I glanced toward the doorway.
A man stood near the wine bar wearing a navy suit and a patient smile. He was handsome in a polished, sensible way. His beard was neatly shaped. His shoes looked expensive. His posture suggested he never misplaced receipts.
“Who is he?” I whispered.
“Ansel Reed. Commercial banker. Thirty-eight. Divorced. No children. Owns a home. Has dental insurance.”
“Why do you know about his teeth?”
“I asked grown-woman questions.”
“I’m working.”
“The event planning meeting is over. Go eat.”
“I don’t know him.”
“That is the purpose of dating.”
I narrowed my eyes.
Jessa shoved my purse into my arms.
Ansel took me to an elegant restaurant where the napkins were folded like birds and the menu refused to list prices.
He was kind.
He listened.
He asked thoughtful questions about my business.
He also used the phrase “market volatility” four times before our appetizers arrived.
I smiled, nodded, and tried to stop comparing him to Keon.
Ansel’s hands were soft.
Keon’s palms were rough from years of construction.
Ansel asked permission before ordering wine.
Keon would have already known which bottle I preferred.
Ansel described his five-year retirement strategy.
Keon once took me dancing on a Tuesday because I had complained that life felt boring.
Comparisons were rude, unfair, and completely beyond my control.
After dinner, Ansel walked me back to Margin Notes, where I had left my car.
Keon’s truck was parked outside.
“Of course,” I murmured.
“What was that?” Ansel asked.
“Community development.”
Inside, Keon and Tavron were installing new track lighting near the performance stage. The store was closed, but Jessa had given them access.
Keon stood on a ladder.
The moment he saw me with Ansel, his entire body became still.
Ansel placed a hand at the center of my back.
Keon’s gaze dropped to it.
I felt the air change.
“Page,” Keon said.
“Keon.”
Ansel looked between us. “You own the construction company?”
“I do.”
“This is Ansel,” I said. “He’s a commercial banker.”
Keon climbed down from the ladder. “Congratulations.”
Ansel frowned. “For what?”
“Banking commercially.”
I pressed my lips together.
Keon wiped his hands on his jeans. “How was dinner?”
“Wonderful,” I said.
“Where’d y’all go?”
“Vincenzo’s.”
Keon looked at Ansel. “She hates Vincenzo’s.”
Ansel turned to me. “You said you enjoyed it.”
“I enjoyed the company.”
“She thinks their pasta tastes like wet shoelaces.”
“Keon.”
“And she’s allergic to walnuts. The pesto has walnuts.”
Ansel’s face changed. “You didn’t mention that.”
“I didn’t eat the pesto.”
Keon folded his arms. “You should still carry your allergy pen.”
“It’s in my purse.”
“Is it expired?”
I looked at the ceiling.
Ansel cleared his throat. “How do you two know each other?”
Keon answered before I could.
“We’re friends.”
There it was.
The word should have felt like vindication.
Instead, it landed between us like a casket.
I smiled at Ansel. “Keon did some repair work here.”
Keon looked at me for a long second.
Ansel kissed my cheek before leaving.
It was sweet.
Respectful.
Completely harmless.
Keon waited until the door closed.
“He’s boring.”
“You spoke to him for forty seconds.”
“That was enough.”
“He’s accomplished.”
“He wears loafers without socks.”
“That is a style choice.”
“It’s a cry for help.”
I placed my purse on the counter. “You don’t get an opinion.”
“I’m allowed to have one.”
“You’re allowed to keep it inside your mouth.”
Tavron raised both hands. “I’m going to check the truck.”
He hurried outside.
Keon stared at me.
“Did you kiss him?”
“That is none of your business.”
“Did you?”
“Why does it matter?”
His eyes darkened. “You know why.”
“No, I don’t. Explain it using an official noun.”
He walked closer.
My heart began behaving foolishly.
“Page.”
“Friend?”
His face tightened.
The new lights cast a warm glow across the empty store. Rain had begun tapping softly against the windows again.
Keon stopped a few feet from me.
“I’m trying to give you space.”
“Then give it quietly.”
“I’m trying to figure some things out.”
“I am not an object you place on hold while you conduct research.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because you’ve been standing in the middle of my life with one foot outside the door.”
He looked away.
That tiny movement hurt more than any argument.
“Exactly,” I whispered.
I grabbed my purse.
Keon caught my wrist gently.
Every nerve in my body woke up.
His thumb rested against my pulse.
“Let me go.”
His hand loosened immediately, but he didn’t step away.
“I haven’t been with anybody else,” he said.
“That doesn’t create a commitment.”
“I don’t want anybody else.”
“That sounds beautiful. It still leaves me standing alone.”
He lowered his head.
Our faces were close enough for me to feel his breath.
“I love you,” he said.
The words hit me hard.
Keon had said he cared about me.
He had said I mattered.
He had never said love.
My eyes burned.
“Then why do you make loving me feel like something you have to survive?”
His throat moved.
“I don’t know how to promise forever.”
“I asked you to be my boyfriend, Keon. I didn’t request matching cemetery plots.”
A laugh escaped him.
I hated that I laughed too.
His forehead rested against mine.
“I’m scared I’ll fail you.”
“You’re already hurting me while trying to avoid it.”
“I know.”
His voice was rough.
The honesty between us stripped away my anger and left everything tender underneath.
I placed my hand against his chest.
His heart pounded beneath my palm.
When Keon kissed me, it began slowly.
A question.
A memory.
A surrender neither of us had earned.
His hand slid around my waist, pulling me against him. I tasted longing, regret, and the faint trace of peppermint on his tongue.
My fingers curled into his shirt.
Six weeks of distance vanished beneath the warmth of his mouth.
He kissed the corner of my lips, my jaw, the sensitive place beneath my ear that always made my knees forget their job.
“Keon,” I breathed.
“I missed you.”
His lips moved down my neck.
“I’m still mad.”
“I know.”
“This doesn’t fix anything.”
“I know that too.”
“You keep agreeing with me.”
“You’re very smart.”
I pushed at his chest.
He caught my hand and kissed my palm.
That tender gesture weakened something inside me.
Thunder rolled outside.
The lights flickered once.
Keon looked toward the windows. “Storm’s getting worse.”
“You should leave before the roads flood.”
Another crash of thunder shook the building.
The lights went out.
Emergency lamps glowed near the exits.
I stared at him.
“This feels like a setup.”
“I don’t control weather.”
“You own several ladders. I don’t know the limits of your power.”
He laughed.
Tavron texted to say he had already left in the second truck. The city issued a flash-flood warning minutes later.
Keon and I were stuck inside Margin Notes.
Alone.
With wine.
And unresolved sexual tension thick enough to require its own building permit.
We lasted forty-five minutes.
I tried reorganizing bookmarks.
Keon checked the windows.
I counted the cash drawer.
He ate half a bag of kettle chips.
Then I caught him looking at me from across the store.
“What?” I asked.
“You know what.”
I did.
The emergency lights softened the hard edges of his face. Rain ran down the glass behind him. His damp shirt clung to his chest, and his gaze traveled over me with a familiar heat that reached places my common sense could not supervise.
He crossed the room slowly.
“Tell me to stop,” he said.
I should have.
Instead, I pulled him down by the front of his shirt.
The kiss turned hungry immediately.
Keon lifted me onto the counter, stepping between my thighs as my dress gathered around my hips. His hands moved over my body with the certainty of somebody who knew every curve and had missed all of them.
He kissed me until breathing became optional.
My hands slid beneath his shirt, finding warm skin and firm muscle. He shuddered when my nails traveled lightly down his back.
“Page,” he groaned against my mouth.
The sound of my name in his voice made desire curl low inside me.
He kissed along my collarbone, then lower, pushing the thin strap of my dress from my shoulder. His mouth brushed the swell of my breast, slow enough to leave me trembling.
I threaded my fingers through his hair.
He lifted his head.
Even in the dim light, I could see the question in his eyes.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Keon carried me to the small sofa in my office as though I weighed nothing. We undressed each other between kisses, pausing to touch, to look, to remember.
He traced the stretch marks along my hips with his fingertips.
“You’re so beautiful.”
I swallowed around the emotion in my throat.
Keon had always made me feel wanted. Tonight, his touch carried something deeper. His hands moved with care, lingering over my thighs and waist. His lips followed, leaving warmth wherever they landed.
When he joined his body with mine, the first slow movement pulled a broken sound from both of us.
I wrapped my legs around him.
He kissed me through every trembling breath, his forehead pressed against mine as the rhythm between us deepened.
There was passion, but there was also grief.
We were making love inside everything we wanted and everything we feared.
Keon whispered my name against my skin.
I held him closer.
Pleasure built slowly, then rushed through me in waves that left my body shaking beneath his. He followed with a low groan, burying his face against my neck while I stroked the back of his head.
For several minutes, we remained tangled together on the sofa.
The rain softened outside.
Keon drew circles over my bare hip.
“I love you,” he said again.
I closed my eyes.
“I love you too.”
The words were true.
That was the problem.
I turned toward him. “What happens tomorrow?”
His hand stilled.
Silence entered the room before he answered.
“I don’t know.”
My heart sank.
I sat up and reached for my dress.
“Page.”
“I knew better.”
“I’m trying to be honest.”
“So am I.”
He sat up beside me. “What happened between us matters.”
“It matters enough to hurt.”
He reached for me.
I moved away.
“You love me,” I said, pulling the dress over my head. “You want me. You miss me. Every sentence stops before it becomes a decision.”
“I need time.”
“You have had two hundred and eighty-seven days.”
“I’m not Ephram.”
“I know. Ephram wasted my time with future promises. You waste it by refusing to make any.”
His face hardened. “That’s unfair.”
“Maybe it is. I’m tired enough to stop grading myself.”
I grabbed my underwear from the floor.
Keon dressed silently.
When he finished, he stood near the office door looking like he wanted to say something.
I prayed he would.
He didn’t.
The flood warning ended an hour later.
Keon left without touching me again.