4. The Space Between Hello and Forever #2
Sincere held her hand, steering with the other, his thumb tracing slow circles against her skin without even realizing it.
As they drove, people greeted him with quiet respect, head nods, lifted chins, a few rolled-down windows just to say what up B.
She noticed the ease in it. No performance.
No ego. Just recognition. It made her look at him differently.
Like he was some secret celebrity she knew nothing about.
“People love you, huh?” Kira said, breaking the silence as she studied his profile in the passing lights.
He shrugged humbly. “Maybe they love me. Maybe they love what I do for them. I don’t know who I am to them in their story, it’s not mine to tell.
But what I do know is I show up authentic…
and I get back what I pour out.” His eyes shifted back to the road, focused. Grounded.
“Okay,” she teased softly. “Is everything deep to you?” He smirked.
“Yeah. Because intention is always better than moving recklessly. I need to stay on my path… not get knocked off it.” Kira squeezed his hand gently, feeling the steadiness in him.
The car slowed as Lenox Avenue came into view, the glow of neon reflecting against the windshield.
Harlem was alive, music spilling onto the sidewalks, laughter rising into the night air, people dressed like they had somewhere meaningful to be.
Sincere eased into a parking spot, cutting the engine but not releasing her hand just yet.
“Naw, ma,” he said quietly, “I don’t bring just anybody here.” She raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, so this special?” He looked at her then, really looked at her. “Yeah.” Her stomach fluttered.
They stepped out into the night, heels clicking against the pavement, his jacket settling against his shoulders.
The red sign above the entrance glowed bold and proud.
In front of them stood Red Rooster Harlem, soulful, upscale, unapologetically Black.
He placed his hand at the small of her back, guiding her inside.
The scent of spices and something slow-cooked wrapped around them.
Candles flickered on tables. Live music hummed low in the background.
The host smiled. “Right this way.” Kira glanced around, taking it all in, the culture, the pride, the intention behind every detail.
“You bringing me somewhere I gotta act right?” she whispered playfully. He leaned closer to her ear.
“Nah., I brought you somewhere you already belong.” And just like that, Harlem felt smaller. Not because it wasn’t big. But because she felt chosen in it.
“I need to ask you something, Kira,” he said, holding her gaze like he was already searching for the answer inside her.
“Anything,” she replied softly.
“What made you leave Detroit? What made you choose Harlem?” She swallowed, her throat tightening, and looked up at the ceiling as if the memories were written there.
“I felt trapped,” she began. “Like I couldn’t soar. Like I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t heal in the same environment that broke me. Every street, every corner, every conversation reminded me of who I used to be.” She paused.
“I became a shell of myself without even realizing it. Just existing. Being everything to everyone who could give nothing back to me. I poured and poured until there was nothing left.” Her eyes found his again.
“I had to change my mindset. It started with how I talked to myself. I carried this quiet belief that I would never be enough. Not for my family. Not for the man I shared my world with. I was present, but I was never nurtured.” A breath escaped her, steadier now.
“When my job offered me the opportunity to travel to Harlem, I didn’t overthink it. I signed the paperwork. I got on the plane. I chose myself.” She gave a small, knowing smile.
“And now I’m here.” He studied her for a moment, something warm settling in his eyes
“I love the way you took a chance on yourself,” he said. “There are no problems, only solutions. You got this, ma. I see you. You’re doing the work and I’m proud of you.” He lifted his glass slightly.
“Let’s drink to that.”
The two enjoyed their dinner, talking, laughing, and sharing their dreams. Time seemed nonexistent in that space. The music played, but neither of them heard it. Eventually, they began to look around. The staff were clearing tables, the people long gone, and neither of them had noticed.
“Damn, ma… I guess that’s our cue, huh?” he said.
“Well, I guess so. Looks like we’re the only ones left,” she replied. Sincere reached for the bill, but Kira slowly and seductively placed her hand over his and slid it away. “Not this time. And you better not stop me. It’s reciprocity.”
“Okay, baller, shot caller,” he joked.
After she paid, he grabbed her hand, and they walked out the door. Before they knew it, they were back in the car, not wanting the night to end.
“So, what now?” Kira asked, her voice light but her eyes searching, a small part of her bracing for his answer.
Sincere glanced at her, the glow from the dashboard brushing against his jaw.
“It’s whatever you want it to be,” he said calmly.
“Baby girl, I’m with you. And the world is yours. ” She laughed softly, shaking her head.
“Don’t say that. Now you’re talking dangerous.”
“Why? You scared of big energy?” he teased. She looked out the window to hide her smile.
They drove with no destination, just letting Harlem carry them.
The windows were cracked, and the warm night air wrapped around them like silk.
Streetlights stretched endlessly down the boulevard, casting golden halos on the pavement.
Brownstones stood proud and quiet, their stoops holding the last whispers of conversation from neighbors not quite ready to go inside.
Music drifted faintly from somewhere, a blend of old-school soul and late-night bass.
The city felt alive but unhurried. Vendors packed up carts.
Couples lingered on corners. Laughter echoed between buildings.
Headlights slid past like slow-moving stars.
Harlem wasn’t just awake. It was breathing.
And inside the car, so were they.
Neither of them said it out loud, but something had shifted. The night no longer felt like a date. It felt like the beginning of something neither of them wanted to rush, or end.