Chapter Six
Amariah
The next morning, I woke up with a dozen ideas buzzing in my head.
Yesterday’s little tour through town had sparked something in me.
I’d spent the day visiting my favorite spots—the Black History Museum, the walking trails by the river and falls, and the gardens where autumn leaves scattered like confetti.
The crisp air and golden light made my creative juices hum.
By the time I stopped by Seasons, our local craft and holiday shop, I might as well have set my credit card on fire.
Ribbons, wreaths, cinnamon sticks, pinecones…
you name it, I bought it. When I got back to my parents’ house, I spent hours pulling everything together.
So lost in my vision, I barely noticed the clock, skipping dinner entirely.
Mama didn’t even fuss, probably because Daddy told her to leave me alone.
He always understood how my mind worked, always the calm voice cheering me on.
By morning, I had a notebook filled with sketches, color palettes, and notes.
Daddy had always run the store with pure practicality.
The aisles were clutter-free, shelves lined neatly, and tools in their proper bins—nothing more, nothing less.
But I wanted to add warmth, a little life.
Something that said home instead of hardware.
As a gesture of compromise, I went digging in the back storage for the old fall decorations.
Dust puffed into the air as I opened boxes that hadn’t seen daylight in years.
Slowly, I merged nostalgia with newness—rustic and rural meets contemporary and chic.
Soon, the front display gleamed with pumpkins, orange-and-gold wreaths, and the faint scent of cinnamon-scented pinecones.
I stood back, hands on my hips, smiling.
It wasn’t flashy, but it felt right. Cozy.
Inviting. The kind of place people would want to linger instead of rushing through.
By the afternoon, I’d even mocked up a flyer for a Shop Local holiday sale complete with photos, festive fonts, and a coupon clipped to the corner.
I could already picture people stopping in after work, picking up last-minute tools and a few Christmas trimmings.
For the first time, the store felt like it could breathe again.
I was rearranging a shelf of ornaments when I heard the familiar chime. Turning, I brushed glitter from my sweater just in time to see Jacob walk in.
“Looks different in here,” he said, glancing around with that unreadable expression of his.
“Different good or different bad?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow.
His lips curved slightly. “Different good. You’ve been busy.” He walked farther inside the store, admiring the decorations and inspecting the displays that I’d arranged.
“I told you I had ideas.” Pride slipped into my tone before I could stop it.
He stepped closer, studying the display before picking up one of the flyers off the counter. “A good sale goes a long way, too. Shop Local, huh? Clever.”
“Thank you.” I stacked boxes to return to the back room. “A little incentive always works.”
Jacob poked his lip out and nodded. His expression finally revealed that he was impressed. He took the few strides to stand next to me and pointed downward. “Good to see you swapped the heels for sneakers.”
I gave him a playful nudge. “Ha! Smart-ass. I figured since I was doing manual labor, I’d play it safe and avoid another lecture from Mr. Safety Compliance Police.
” I looked down at my outfit: fitted jeans, my favorite sweater that read I’m Fallin’ for You, and new sneakers.
“But don’t get it twisted, I could still run a marathon in heels without breaking a sweat. ”
He threw his hands up in mock surrender. “No arguments here.” He reared back. “Although the shoes should be steel-toed.”
That earned him a laugh from me. “Yeah, not happening. I’d rather risk a broken foot than mess up my pedicure.”
“Duly noted,” he said, still grinning. “Need help putting any of this away, or are you planning to win that marathon solo?”
I looked at the stacks of decor waiting to be organized and sighed dramatically. “Oh no. This part is definitely more of a team relay than an individual medley.”
For the next hour, we worked side by side, trading small jokes and tending to customers in between. By the time we finished, I checked my watch, and it was well past noon.
“You hungry?” he asked suddenly. “I didn’t eat breakfast, and your stomach’s been talking to me since ten.”
I gasped, pretending to be offended. “Excuse me? I could’ve sworn your stomach started the conversation. Mine just joined the choir.”
He covered his mouth with his fist. “Ooh, you got jokes. Same ole Mari Mar.”
The nickname froze me for a second. It’d been years since I’d heard him say it, and it stirred something deep inside me, and I didn’t know how to respond readily. But my mouth worked where my memory failed. “Whatever, JuJu Bean,” I muttered, returning the favor.
Surprise flickered across his features, and then it softened into something that looked dangerously close to fondness.
Unspoken words lingered, but I was already moving, not out of hunger, but mostly because standing there any longer felt a little too much like slipping back into something I hadn’t fully walked away from.
When we arrived at Sister Johnson’s Food for the Soul, the restaurant was loud, busy, and full of life, but somehow, all I could hear was the echo of “Mari Mar” playing on a loop in my head.
The sight of the lunch special was enough to give my mind a brief reprieve.
It was a Southern comfort soul food meal that never missed: turkey and dressing with homemade gravy and cranberry sauce.
I ordered it without thinking twice, along with a side of collards and honey-butter cornbread.
I knew I’d be up early to burn off these calories, but it was worth the sacrifice.
Jacob ordered fried pork chops, collards, and macaroni and cheese with honey-butter cornbread.
No lie, the look and smell of his plate almost made me denounce clean eating altogether.
We ate mostly in silence at first, savoring the food and the easy hum of conversation around us. For the first time in a while, things between us didn’t feel strained. They just were. Until Jacob decided to break it.
“So,” he said, his tone teasing, “I hear you’re not into soul food anymore. Surprised you picked this place.”
I narrowed my eyes. “First off, I’d never betray Sister Johnson’s. Second, who told you that?”
“Your mom.” He grinned. “I ran into her at the grocery store. She was asking the dairy department about the differences between almond milk and oat milk. When I asked her what that was about, she told me it was for you. Then she went on to explain how big-city life has made you betray your humble upbringing in your eating habits. But the way you’re tearing up that food… ” He allowed his voice to trail off.
My mom could guard family secrets with her life, but would hand out my grocery list like church fans. She might as well have put up a billboard listing all my information. That was the last time I’d allow my mother to go grocery shopping for me.
I pointed my fork at him, twirling it around pointedly. “Don’t even go there. I can appreciate a good home-cooked meal and still adhere to lifestyle changes.”
“You can.” He raised a hand with a smirk. “All I’m saying is that for someone who adheres to healthy eating, you sure are committing double homicide on those hammock-seasoned collards, turkey, and dressing.”
I almost spit my food out trying not to break out into hysterics behind that quip.
I drank a gulp of the sweet tea as he had a good time at my expense.
The sad part was that it was true. I hadn’t missed it until I’d returned home.
My quick stops over the years were such fast turnarounds that I barely got the opportunity to enjoy my mother’s cooking, let alone the old staples in the community.
“You’re not funny, Mr. Gold.”
“I ain’t corny either.”
It wasn’t lost on me that this was the first time in the nearly two weeks since I’d been here that Jacob acted as if I were present in the room and wanted to have a conversation with me—if you could consider the jokes at my expense conversation.
It felt as if he didn’t know where to start or how to broach me, so he fell back on humor.
I wasn’t going to call him out because I wasn’t sure how he’d take it, and I didn’t want him to revert to the unwelcoming version of himself that I’d been experiencing since my arrival.
But I would use the moment to my advantage.
He wanted to talk, so I was determined to make him do just that.
“That’s debatable, but since I have your attention, I do have a question.”
His gaze flicked to mine as he wiped his hands on his napkin. “I pray I don’t regret this, but go ahead.”
“It’s not about the store,” I promised. “Well, not our store.” I hesitated, watching him carefully.
“I heard about your other business. The helmets. Janelle mentioned it. I researched it and found that they monitor vitals during games. That’s incredible, Jacob.
Why didn’t you ever bring that same innovation here?
You could’ve expanded: hardware meets sporting goods. ”
For a long moment, he was quiet, his jaw tightening as if he were choosing his words carefully.
“Because the hardware store isn’t mine. It’s your father’s.
And your father believes in simplicity.” He glanced toward the window before continuing.
“Your dad built that store with his hands, his sweat, and his way of doing things. His business model is simple and no-fuss. My helmet invention is a different world. It’s more corporate, and that comes with high pressure.
Not the lane your dad wants to drive in. ”
I stared at him with my heart tugging in two directions, understanding and frustration. “But simple and no-fuss doesn’t have to mean stuck. You’re capable of doing so much more, Jacob. Why continue operating in the same way when it obviously isn’t working?”
The air between us thickened, and his eyes flickered with something unreadable.
“Because…” He lifted his head, an indignant smirk crossing his face.
“Showing up for someone means being there for them how they need you, even if you feel differently. It’s realizing it’s not about what you want. It’s about them.”
The words hit harder than I expected. And I knew that he wasn’t just talking about my father or the store.
I swallowed deeply from the tightening in my throat.
We sat there, caught in the heavy quiet of all the unspoken words and unexpressed feelings that yet again swirled around in the atmosphere like a tornado waiting to touch down.
Before I could speak, the waitress walked over to ask if we needed anything else.
Jacob asked for the bill and two to-go trays, indicating he was ready to leave, and our lunch was officially over.
As we waited, he distracted himself by scrolling through his cell phone while I picked over my remaining food until the waitress returned.
I reached for my purse when she presented the bill, but Jacob held up his hand to stop me as he lifted his wallet out of his inside jacket pocket, removed three crisp twenty-dollar bills, and told her to keep the change.
She smiled, thanking him for the generous tip, and handed each of us a tray and a bag.
We packed up our meals, and Jacob was the first to stand.
“I need to make a stop, so feel free to drive back to the store. I’ll walk,” Jacob said, pulling on his coat.
It was obvious that he didn’t desire to be around me any longer than necessary, seeing as though he’d rather weather the wintry mix and cool temperatures than allow me to drive him to his next destination.
“I can take you—”
“I’m good, Amariah. I’ve been taking care of myself for years. I think I can make it on a walk in town.” He knocked his knuckles on the table. “Thanks for lunch. Be safe on the roads.”
Just like that, he was gone. I sat there for a moment, staring at his empty chair.
For all our laughter and lightness earlier, the distance between us had crept back in quietly, smothering any progress.
By the time I slipped on my coat and gathered my things, the warmth of Sister Johnson’s had cooled into something else entirely that felt an awful lot like regret.