Chapter 5 Roman #2
Nan slapped the counter. “My grandbaby better not play with you. That’s a good man right there, Santa Anna! Or whatever y’all youngins say.” Nan kept going, proud and fearless. “He been taking care of these pretty twins since he was a pup; now he a big dog. Woof! Woof!”
I laughed, head tipping back. NanNan was off the chain, lively and loud with the truth. And if she was on my side, I was letting her talk.
Still, in my head, I was already preparing to translate slang for her later. Even me, raised how I was raised, knew it was “He’s a good man, Savannah,” that little line referencing Whitney Houston’s character from the movie every lame man hated but every woman loved.
Nan waved a towel. “Don’t mess this up for me and my future great-grandbabies. You gon’ go with this fine man wherever he takes your homebody self, you hear me?”
Solé hid her face, laughing. “Nan, I’m literally helping you for free.”
“Exactly,” Nan said. “This your payment—love and good meat.”
“Wow.” I laughed. “The pressure in here is crazy.”
Right on cue, the bell over the door chimed again.
“Well, lookie, lookie . . .” Mel walked in, doing a full Sheneneh voice. “What do we have here?”
I dapped her up across the counter. “What’s up, sis?”
Mel’s eyes swept the scene—Solé, NanNan, and me grinning like she’d planned the wedding, my sisters cackling. She knew exactly what it was.
“I’m trying to take my baby on a date,” I said, playful but clear. “She’s acting shy. Nan already blessed it, so she can stop playing like I’d ever hurt her.”
I looked at Solé when I said it, not to rush her, but to let her feel my meaning. I wasn’t here to push; I was here to prove.
Mel looked at Nan. “You co-signed?”
“Hell yes,” Nan said. “I like him. He smells like responsibility, and he look at my baby like she hung the moon—and he got that big—”
“Okay, Nan, I get it!” Mel cut in, while Solé looked mortified.
“That’s my big brother—Mr. Responsible. He really the best, no lie!” Reagan bragged.
Mel clapped once. “Perfect! I’m free. I’ll help Nan and get her home safe, so you can go. Problem solved. You welcome, beloved.” She looked at Solé like it was already settled.
I lifted my hands and turned to my sisters, my protective reflex rising immediately. “Hold on. What about Sibling Day? Y’all sure y’all good? I don’t want y’all feeling no type of—”
Reagan waved me off. “Boy, please. We see you every day. Go be in love.”
Reece nodded calmly. “We can stay with Nan. She’s funny. We’ll hit the bookstore later.”
Nan tossed the towel over her shoulder, bossy as ever. “You heard my new grandbabies. Get out my shop, and go enjoy the day!”
Solé clutched her chest, laughing. “Why, I never had such rude service!”
I laughed. “Come on, Connie. Before Nan writes us up.”
I held my hand out. She hesitated, then slid her palm into mine. That was it; my day was set.
Outside, the sun was bright. I walked her to my truck, still holding her hand—teacher hands: short nails, clean, practical, warm against my skin.
“Did you drive?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. Me and Nan walked. She says it keeps her young.”
I squinted. “You too fine to be walking around this city like that. Next time, call me.”
She tucked a curl, eyes dropping. “I didn’t know I had you like that.”
“You do, so don’t act like you don’t. If anything feels off or you need me, call me.”
Her mouth curved. “Okay, . . . Roman.”
I liked how she said my name, like she was trying it on to see if it fit. She looked nervous, like she wasn’t sure her outfit was good enough to go out with me.
“And what you wearing under that ‘I’m not dressed for a date’ disclaimer?” I teased.
She glanced down at her tee, fitted jeans, and clean sneakers. Her body clearly had been putting in work.
“I’m serious. I’m not dressed for a date with you,” she said, shyly.
I let my eyes travel from her sneakers back up to her mouth, then caught her gaze.
“You look good as hell, baby,” I said, voice low. “But I hear you. Let’s hit the mall and walk it. I want the time with you, . . . and we can pick you something out for tonight.”
Her lips curved. “That’s . . . cute. I like that.”
I opened the passenger door, and when she reached for the handle, I lightly tapped her hand away—playful, firm.
“Stop insulting me, love. I got it.”
She blushed, slid in, and surprised me by scooting over to pop my door open from the inside before I made it around.
When I climbed in, I looked at her, letting gratitude show. “Thank you. Sweet of you. I appreciate that.”
Her eyes dropped again, and she smiled.
I pulled off with the radio humming. “So, what you do for fun?” I asked. “And don’t say work, or I’m pulling over for a talk.”
She laughed. “Honestly? I don’t really have fun. I work, help Nan, tutor, read, grade, sleep, repeat. I haven’t had a boyfriend since college.”
I glanced at her. “No, you didn’t. I’m the only man you ever had, baby. That’s the story now. The rest was trials; I’m the release date.” She covered her mouth and laughed, color blooming across her freckles. “I love how your face lights up when you smile. Them freckles tell on you.”
She tucked her hair again. “You are something else.”
“What kind of books you like to read?” I asked. She sounded like an avid reader, and I was curious. I loved to read too.
Her whole face lit up. “Crime fiction, mysteries, psychological thrillers, and Black romance.” She grinned.
“I’m in my Black male author bag right now.
King Benjamin’s Virgin Kisses: A Hip Hop Love Story got me in a chokehold.
I love S.A. Cosby, Brandon Massey, and Lamartz Brown too, stories with real plot, good writing, all the feels, and something to think about. ”
I grinned proudly. “You read Lamartz Brown and King Benjamin? Yeah, I’m gone behind you now, love. That’s my lane too. Bryce clowned me for reading Back Down Memory Lane, and I about shed a thug tear.” I laughed, thinking of his wild behind.
She gasped. “Your taste is immaculate. Have you read KOLD or Quardeay?”
“KOLD in my Tbr,” I said, then let a little respectful possessiveness slip. “Quardeay? I don’t know how I feel about you reading him. I like you sweet, . . . and I want you to be my good girl, not his. You feel me?”
I licked my bottom lip, teasing her. Her whole face went hot.
“Stop.” She laughed into her hands. “This is so exciting. We gotta hit the bookstore, baby.” The word slipped out and hung between us. Her eyes went wide. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Nah,” I cut in at the red light, turning to her. “Say it again.”
“I can’t believe I called you that,” she said softer. “It just . . . felt natural.”
“That’s because I’m yours, and you mine,” I said. “Stop fighting it. The stars already wrote it on your face.”
She bit her lip, looking out the window. “Light’s green, Ro.”
“Nah.” I smirked. “I’m baby. The hell? Don’t play.”
She giggled, shaking her head, and I eased back into traffic.
We made it to the mall, and it was busy, but manageable. I stayed close, hand at the small of her back when the crowd thickened, guiding her like a promise: I’m here. You safe. We talked about everything—her students, my swimmers, what we wanted, and what we wouldn’t tolerate.
Every answer she gave clicked into place like it was already mine. She wanted consistency, honesty, and somebody who protected her peace instead of pulling it apart. I wanted a woman soft-hearted but sharp-minded, giving, not na?ve, loving, but never playing about herself.
She was it. Every sentence confirmed it.
We ducked into a boutique with good lighting and decent quality on the racks. She browsed with that focused eye teachers had, checking tags, feeling fabric, and thinking ahead.
“What’s your favorite color?” she asked.
“Red, same as one of yours. On everything.”
After that, everything she grabbed was red until she found the dress: a deep-red, satin halter with an open back and side cutouts.
“I don’t know. Is this too much?” she murmured, holding it up.
“For church? Yes. For me? Not even close.”
She rolled her eyes and disappeared into the dressing room. I leaned back, trying to act normal, already bracing. Stay respectful. Don’t stare too hard. Don’t make her shrink.
When she stepped out, my hand tightened on the nearest chair. The dress hugged her waist and hips, legs on display, everything lined up so right I had to shift my stance before I embarrassed us both.
“What do you think?” she asked teasingly, spinning slowly like she didn’t realize every inch of that dress was making my self-control earn its paycheck.
My eyes stayed on her—steady, respectful, hungry in a way I didn’t try to hide but refused to turn distasteful. Her smile sat on her mouth, pretending to be confident, feigning shyness. The red hugged her the right way, not loud, . . . just undeniable.
Before I could answer, some dude walked past with his boys and did a full double-take. I clocked it instantly, not with panic but principle.
I looked dead at him. “She fine as hell, ain’t she, my G?”
“Hell yeah,” he said automatically, still staring like his brain forgot where his feet were.
“Facts,” I said, voice calm but firm, a quiet boundary laid down. “Don’t stare too hard though. She mine,” I added, calm but clear.
He snapped out of it, saluted, and kept it pushing.
I turned back to her, and my chest tightened because her cheeks had warmed, freckles bright, eyes sparkling like she enjoyed being chosen, . . .even if she wasn’t ready to admit how much.
“I think,” I said lowly, letting my gaze sweep her once and then come back to her face, “I’m going to catch a case behind you in that dress.
” She laughed that low, happy sound. It already had me addicted to it.
“But yeah,” I added, stepping closer without crowding her, voice dropping just for her. “That is definitely the one.”