Chapter 3 #2
There was a set on the back shelf that felt right immediately. Simple and clean. Glassware that didn’t try too hard and still ended up better than everything around it.
“Those,” I said, already stepping in and angling myself toward the shelf. Of course they were out of reach. I rose onto my toes, stretching just enough to get my fingers to the edge of the box, brushing it once before it shifted back into place like it had decided not to cooperate.
Behind me, Deion stayed quiet, giving me the space to work through it the way he always did.
“Nova,” he said after a second, not moving yet, just watching.
“I have it,” I told him, adjusting my stance and reaching again, this time bracing my foot against the lower shelf like that was going to make a difference.
“You don’t,” he said, and I could hear the edge of amusement in it even without looking at him.
“I do,” I said, stretching a little farther, fully committed now.
I was one adjustment away from making a decision I was going to stand by when he stepped in behind me, close enough that the space shifted without warning. His hand came to my waist, light and familiar, settling there like it had done it a hundred times before, steadying without holding.
My body answered before my brain did, leaning back into him just slightly, like nothing about that had changed.
He reached past me with his other hand and pulled the box down easily, no stretch, no effort, like the shelf had always been meant for him.
“Got it,” he said, setting it into my hands.
I didn’t move right away, my fingers closing around the box while the rest of me stayed exactly where I was. Because his hand was still at my waist. And we both knew it.
It wasn’t anything we would have noticed before. It was something that would have passed without comment, morphing into everything else we had always been to each other.
Now it didn’t pass.
He stepped back first, smooth about it, the shift subtle enough that it could have been about space if you didn’t look too closely. His hand dropped away as he adjusted his jacket, already redirecting the moment into something safer.
“You want this set?” he asked, his tone even, like we had not just crossed into something we weren’t going to name.
I lowered onto my heels and turned the box slightly in my hands, giving myself something to focus on while I reset.
“Yeah,” I said, nodding once. “That’s the one.”
“You were about to climb that,” he added, glancing at the shelf like he was confirming it for himself.
“I had it handled,” I said, shifting the box against my hip.
“You had that all figured out,” he said, his mouth tipping just slightly. “That’s not the same thing.”
I looked up at him, ready to argue the difference, already halfway into whatever point I was about to make. Then I paused, because the space between us felt different in a way I couldn’t argue with.
Not far or awkward, just not automatic anymore.
“Next time,” I said instead, settling on something that sounded like a conclusion.
“Next time,” he echoed, like it still meant what it used to, but it didn’t land that way.
I shifted the box into his cart, letting the movement close the moment before it could stretch any further.
“Come on,” I said, brushing my hands together lightly like we were still moving through this the same way we always had. “You’ve got a whole store to figure out.”
He followed, easy as ever. And just far enough back to notice.
We eventually walked to the registers together because leaving separately would have required a decision neither of us made.
Outside, the air had shifted, the afternoon settling into something quieter that made everything feel a little more final than it had inside.
He loaded everything into his car with the same efficiency he applied to everything else, like it had already been planned.
I stood there a step back, hands in my jacket pockets, like I had somewhere else to be.
“Guess I’ll see you Sunday,” he said, closing the trunk.
“Yeah,” I said. “Auntie Rhonda said she’ll be back Saturday.”
He looked at me then, not searching, not asking, just looking. I didn’t try to interpret it. Instead, I lifted two fingers in a small wave. He nodded once in return. And that was it.
I sat in the parking lot longer than I needed to after he left, my hands resting on the steering wheel without actually gripping it, like I was waiting for something to settle that had already made up its mind.
The car a few spaces down pulled out, tires crunching lightly over the pavement, and the row went quiet again in a way that made it harder to pretend I wasn’t avoiding leaving.
After spending two hours inside of a Swedish furniture store, I was still sitting there holding a throw I had not needed until about ten minutes ago when my phone lit up in my hand before I could decide what I was going to do next.
Simone, calling on FaceTime like she had already decided this required visuals.
I let it ring once, then answered.
She didn’t speak right away. She just looked at me, her head tilting slightly as she took everything in at once, from my face to the surroundings visible outside of my car windows.
“Nova,” she said finally, slow and deliberate, like she was placing the name carefully. “I’ve been checking your location all afternoon, so pray tell, why you are sitting in a parking lot in Cherry Hill like you don’t have a home address.”
I leaned my head back against the seat. “I needed to get out of the house.”
“So you drove to another state.”
“Cherry Hill is not another state,” I said, shifting the phone in my hand.
She let that go, which meant she was saving it for later. Her eyes narrowed instead, focusing. “You talked to him or you still haven’t heard from him.”
Not a question.
I dropped my gaze to the steering wheel, tracing the seam with my thumb like it required attention.
“Actually, he was here. He’s working on the space and just happened to be inside shopping at the same time. I bumped into him while he was looking at chairs.”
Simone leaned back, exhaled, then leaned forward again like she had decided to stay in this conversation whether I cooperated or not.
“This is what I mean,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “You two stop talking and then somehow end up in the same place at the same time like your lives synced up without asking you first.”
I looked at her.
She held my gaze, completely unbothered. “Like a damn menstrual cycle,” she added.
“Simone.”
“I said what I said.”
“If that’s the case, it’s giving the cramps from hell that are making me think long and hard about calling off tomorrow.”
“Walk me through it,” she said.
I let out a breath and looked out through the windshield like the answer might be posted somewhere just past the hood. “So I’m walking around nibbling on a few of those little meatballs when I ran into Deion.”
Simone didn’t react right away, but her posture shifted, subtle and immediate. “Okay,” she said. “And?”
“And to catch you up,” I said, adjusting the throw in my lap like it had suddenly become very important, “he’s been seeing someone.”
Simone blinked once. “Since when?”
“Apparently not recently,” I said. “He told me yesterday at WaxCon. Marcus texted me after like, ‘So… he finally said something?’”
Simone leaned back a little, processing. “And you’re just now telling me this?”
“I was busy pretending I was fine with it,” I said.
That earned me a look.
“I knew he could be out here,” I said. “I just never thought it was anything I needed to pay attention to.”
She went quiet after that, which for Simone meant she was paying attention on purpose. I smoothed my hand over the throw in my lap, then did it again like the fabric might tell me something different the second time.
“It’s been months,” I said. “Months, Simone. And he just… mentioned it. Like it had already settled into his life and I was just now being brought up to speed.”
Simone’s eyes stayed on me, steady, and she offered no commentary yet.
“And she’s apparently easy to be around,” I added, quick, like that mattered. “From what he said. From what I can tell. She’s good for him, but also it makes me feel like if that’s the distinction he points out, am I not that for him?”
“Okay.”
“And now he’s opening the store,” I said, the words picking up now. “Not talking about it. Not circling it. D is actually opening it. He had a plan, a whole layout in his head like he’s already been living in it.”
“That sounds like progress.”
“It is,” I said. “That’s the problem.”
That got her. Just a slight shift in her face.
I leaned my head back against the seat. “He’s doing all the things,” I said. “The real ones. The ones you do when you’re building something that’s supposed to last.”
“And?”
I exhaled, slow. “And I wasn’t there.”
Simone didn’t interrupt.
“I didn’t know he was going today,” I said. “He didn’t call. Didn’t say, ‘Come with me,’ didn’t ask what I thought. I just… happened to be there.”
My fingers tightened slightly around the throw.
“And he was good,” I added, quieter now. “Like he didn’t need anything outside of what he already had figured out.”
Simone tilted her head. “Okay.”
I let out a small laugh that didn’t have anything funny in it. “And then we’re standing there, and he’s looking at chairs like he’s already decided what fits in his life…” I sat up a little straighter. “And he only needed one.”
“One what?”
“One chair,” I said. “That was it. That was enough. That was the plan.”
Simone didn’t move. Didn’t rescue me.
“And I told him to get more,” I said. “I gave him reasons. Made it sound practical. But that’s not why I said it.”
“Why did you say it?”
I opened my mouth, closed it, then tried again.
“Because I didn’t like what one meant,” I said. The words settled between us.
Simone leaned back just slightly, watching me like she already knew the rest but was letting me say it anyway.
I swallowed. “One meant he’s already figured it out,” I said. “What his life looks like. Who’s in it. What fits.”
My voice dropped.
“And I’m not in it.”
Silence held for a beat. Not heavy, just honest. Simone nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
I stared straight ahead. “I don’t like that.”
“No,” she said. “You don’t.”
I shook my head, a small laugh slipping out. “I really don’t like that.”
Simone watched me for a second longer, then exhaled like she was done letting me ease into it. “Nova.”
The way she said my name made me look at her.
“You are in love with that man.”
I closed my eyes. “That feels… like a very strong statement.”
“It’s a very overdue one,” she said.
I opened my eyes again. “He’s with someone.”
“I know.”
“And she’s apparently good for him.”
“I know.”
“And I’m not about to be out here acting like somebody in a Tyler Perry third act,” I said. “That’s not happening.”
That got the smallest flicker of a smile out of her.
“I know that too,” she said. “You don’t move like that.”
I held her gaze. “So what am I supposed to do with this?”
She tilted her head, considering me in a way that felt a little too accurate.
“You sit with it,” she said.
“That feels like a terrible plan.”
“It’s the only one you have,” she said. “You don’t get to show up late to your own feelings and start rearranging his life to match.”
I leaned my head back again.
She softened, just a little. “Go home,” she said. “Binge something on that has nothing to do with love, connection, or personal growth. I’m talking loud, a little ridiculous, questionable decisions across the board.”
I let out a breath that turned into a real laugh this time. “No music?”
“Absolutely not,” she said, pointing at the screen. “You cannot be trusted with music right now.”
“That feels extreme.”
“That feels correct.”
I shook my head, still smiling.
“Call me when you get inside,” she said.
“Okay.”
“Drive, Nova.”
The call ended and I sat there for a second, looking at my reflection in the dark screen, like I might recognize something new about myself if I stared long enough.
Then I set the phone down and started the car.