Chapter 2
Mars
Valet was already waiting when we stepped outside, the city still warm and buzzing like it wasn’t ready to call it a night.
He opened the driver’s door, then glanced at me. “You riding up front.”
I paused. “I’m good in the back.”
Cal was already reaching for the rear door. “I’ve got calls to make,” he said, not even looking up. “You two will be fine.”
“I really don’t mind,” I said, already knowing I was about to lose.
Jalen smiled, patient but firm. “I don’t bite.”
“That’s debatable,” I muttered, but I moved anyway.
I climbed into the front seat and adjusted myself against the smooth, cool leather. The seat molded around me like it had been designed with intention, supportive without being stiff. Everything inside the truck felt solid. Quiet.
Then the scent hit me.
The same one from the elevator.
Warm. Clean. Something subtle underneath it that felt familiar without being identifiable. I closed my eyes for half a second before I could stop myself and breathed it in.
Incredible.
I opened them just in time to see Jalen glance over, amusement flickering across his face like he’d caught something he wasn’t supposed to.
I straightened. “Nice car.”
“Thanks,” he said easily, pulling his door shut.
Cal settled in the back, phone already pressed to his ear, half checked out of whatever was happening up front.
Jalen started the engine and pulled away from the curb smoothly, hands steady on the wheel.
I noticed his hands immediately.
Strong. Relaxed. Veins faintly visible as his fingers curved around the leather. The kind of hands that looked like they knew exactly what they were doing, whether that was driving or anything else.
I looked out the window before my thoughts could get disrespectful.
There was a quiet that followed. Not awkward. Just… there. I liked that he didn’t try to fill it immediately.
“So,” he said, glancing over briefly, breaking the silence. “What kind of music you like.“All kinds,” I said. “I’m versatile.”
He chuckled. “Alright. Give me a decade.”
I thought about it for a second. “Ninety nine and the two thousands,” I said, half joking.
He let out a real laugh at that.
“But honestly,” I continued, “I love classics too. Jazz. Forties through the sixties. All of it. It’s just good music.”
As I spoke, he glanced between the road and me, attention split but present. There was a softness to his expression, a small smile pulling at his lips like he was enjoying the answer more than he expected.
“I’m with you,” he said. “Those eras hit different.”
I nodded, satisfied. “Exactly.”
He reached for the screen and queued up a track without asking. The soft crackle of Otis Redding began to fill the car.
I glanced at the screen, then over at Jalen and gave him a small nod. He noticed, lips lifting just enough to acknowledge it, like he already knew he was playing something good and didn’t need the confirmation.
I leaned back into the seat and let the music settle.
Traffic moved easy for once. Jalen drove the same way he did everything else so far, smooth, unbothered, like he trusted the road and the road trusted him. No sudden braking. No jerky lane changes. Just steady hands and patience.
He was focused on the road, jaw relaxed, the glow from the dashboard catching his profile just enough to soften it.
I realized I didn’t feel the usual low level tension I carried when someone else drove.
That surprised me.
I watched Houston slide past the windshield from the passenger side, a perspective I didn’t get often.
Storefronts I normally sped by looked different at this pace.
Neon signs flickering on. Corner spots opening their doors for the evening crowd.
The city felt softer from this angle, less like something I had to navigate and more like something I could just exist in.
We cut through side streets, away from the main stretch, heading toward a quieter part of town where things slowed down on purpose.
The kind of neighborhood that didn’t need to announce itself.
Low buildings. Old trees. Bars and restaurants that looked like they’d been there forever because they had.
“This area always feels different,” I said, more to myself than to him.
“Yeah,” he replied. “It's a nice change of pace.”
I nodded. That was exactly it.
We turned into Montrose, the streets narrower now, calmer, familiar in a way that didn’t feel flashy. This was where you came when you wanted good food and good vibes.
As we pulled closer to Gutters, the song faded into the background, the moment stretching quietly between us. No pressure to talk. No need to perform.
Just the city, the music, and the steady feeling of being exactly in this moment.
Which almost never happened when I left the house.Cal ended his call as Jalen eased the truck into a spot along the curb. “Yeah, yeah, I’m off,” he said, already opening the door. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”
The engine cut, and the quiet that followed felt different from the hum of the ride. I stepped out and the concrete under my feet grounded me instantly. Solid. Familiar. Good after sitting still that long.
I stretched my shoulders once without thinking.
The smell hit us before the door even opened.
Burgers. Onions. Grease in the best way. The kind of smell that didn’t ask for permission, just wrapped around you and pulled you in.
Gutters looked exactly the same as it always had. Low light. A handful of tables. A few booths along the wall. Old school music playing just loud enough to feel intentional. No rush. No crowd. A neighborhood staple that had outlived trends by not chasing any of them.
Cal and I had grown up not far from here. It wasn’t a big thing. Just one of those places that stayed with you.
We grabbed a tall round table near the back with high stools, the kind that made sense for Cal and Jalen’s long legs and didn’t leave anyone folded in half.
Before we even sat, a voice called out, “My loyal customers.”
Mr. Cobbs came around the bar, wiping his hands on a towel. Older now, but still sharp. Same presence he’d had since the early nineties.
"I was wondering when you were gonna remember us.”
“I'd never forget,” I said as he pulled me into a warm hug. He clapped Cal on the back and drew him into a solid, fatherly embrace. Only then did he take in Jalen. Careful not to overwhelm him, he kept it simple.
“Good game last week, young man,” he said, extending a firm handshake, his expression bright with unmistakable excitement.
Jalen returned the handshake with a respectful nod, adding a brief pat to his shoulder. “I hear you’ve got the best burgers around.”
He chuckled, glancing between them. “These two keep me in business, that’s for sure."
He wiped his hands on a towel and nodded toward the room. “Hope you brought an appetite,” he said.
The smell of the grill grew heavier, onions hitting the flat top, grease popping just loud enough to hear over the music.
We ordered like we always did. Big round of fries. Burgers all around. A couple appetizers we didn’t need but wanted anyway.
While Cal and Jalen settled into talking about nothing in particular, I slid off my stool and headed for the bar.
The bartender looked up and smiled when he saw me. “Hey, stranger.”
“Hey,” I said, leaning my elbows against the worn wood. “You miss me.”
“Only when you don’t show up for weeks,” he replied. “Same thing?”
“You know it.”
I ordered a round of beers without thinking twice. This place didn’t need overexplaining. Everyone knew what worked.
As I waited, I leaned back against the bar and pulled out my phone, thumbs moving quickly.
Where you at? Nia texted again.
I smiled and typed back.
Gutters. Pull up.
Who’s there?
Food. Beer. Me.
I hit send before she could ask more questions.
I didn’t need the commentary yet.
I could feel it before I looked up.
That familiar awareness.
Jalen.
Not staring in a way that would make a scene. Just watching. Tracking movement the way some people did without realizing it. I kept my posture relaxed, weight shifted into one hip, scrolling like I wasn’t aware of anything beyond my screen.
The bartender slid the beers across the counter.
Wrapping my fingers around the bottles, I turned back toward the table, I caught Jalen’s eyes briefly. He didn’t look away this time. Just held it for half a beat longer than necessary.
I lifted one brow slightly, a silent what.
His mouth curved just enough to suggest he hadn’t been watching by accident.
I broke eye contact first.
Walking back to the table, I set the beers down one by one, the cold glass leaving rings behind.
“Bless you,” Cal said immediately.
I slid back onto my stool and glanced at my phone once more. No response from Nia yet.
Jalen nodded toward my beer as I settled back onto my stool. “So what do you know about drinking beer.”
I looked at him over the rim and took a sip. “I know what I like.”
He smiled. “Which is.”
“IPAs,” I said. “The hoppier the better.”
Cal laughed. “She’s serious too.”
Jalen raised his brows, impressed. Before he could add anything else, the first plates hit the table.
Fries. A mountain of them. Golden and hot, steam rising like a warning.
Onion rings followed. Fried pickles. Wings stacked high enough to make the table feel crowded in the best wayThe burgers landed not long after, wrapped in paper that was already darkening from grease. The smell alone was enough to quiet the table for a second.
I unwrapped mine but didn’t take a bite yet.
Instead, I waited.
Jalen picked his up, inspected it like he was trying to be fair, then took his first bite.
His reaction was immediate. Brows lifting. A slow nod. He chewed, then let out a quiet sound that felt involuntary.
“Oh,” he said. “Yeah. This is serious.”
Cal grinned. “Told you.”
I smiled to myself and finally took my own bite. Perfect. Juicy. Familiar in the way comfort food was supposed to be.
We settled into eating after that. Fries disappearing. Beers sweating against the table. Music humming low in the background, something old school and warm that fit the room perfectly.
Conversation loosened.