Chapter 5 Roman #3
She did a proud little dance that made me smile, and something in me softened.
I didn’t just want her to look good; I wanted her to feel safe while looking good, her joy covered.
She headed back to change, still smiling.
I paid before she could argue. Providing wasn’t a flex, just instinct. It was I got you without the speech.
On the way back to the truck, I tested my next move: how to keep her close without rushing her, lead with intention, and still give her room to breathe.
“How you feel about coming by my place to get ready tonight? You can use my bathroom to shower and change. I’ll use the guest bath. We can head out from there,” I suggested, praying she agreed.
I kept my tone light. Inside, I was holding my breath. I didn’t doubt myself, but I respected her. I knew safety wasn’t a word to throw around like confetti. It was something proven with consistency, with restraint, and the way one moved when nobody was watching.
She studied me for a second, searching my face like she was checking for lies.
That pause felt loud. Her eyes weighed my intention, checked my spirit, and I let her—no jokes, no rushing, no talking her into trust. Trust wasn’t something you hustled; it was earned and protected.
“Yeah, . . . that’s fine. I feel safe with you,” she said at last. Safe. Pride and fear hit me together, glad she meant it, terrified to ever give her a reason to take it back.
“Good, baby. That’s the point. You are always safe with me.”
My house was loud with twins. Reagan and Reece were on the couch with snacks, and Nan and Mel were on FaceTime, laughing.
“Hey, Ms. S,” Reagan said, eyes bright.
“Hey, our favorite teacher, new sister! Ms. Grayson brought us home!” Reece beamed.
Seeing Solé in my doorway with my sisters already loving on her hit me deep, my mind flashing to family dinners, school mornings, kitchen laughter, her voice woven into my life. I stayed present, but the feeling sat heavy in my bones.
I kissed both their foreheads. “Y’all good?”
“We’re great. Please enjoy your date,” Reagan said.
“We won’t wait up,” Reece added.
Nan propped the phone up on the table so Mel could see all of us.
“Okay, Ms. Grayson, you see your babies?” Nan asked, tilting the screen toward Reagan and Reece.
“They help you with a couple tutorial sessions, and now they your babies?” I teased Mel, shaking my head.
“Don’t be jealous, Romey,” Reagan said as she laughed.
“Roman, don’t be a hater,” Mel responded to me, and I laughed.
Mel laughed at Nan. “I see ’em, and they cute, but why they draped across Roman’s couch?” She snorted. “Y’all not slick. And you know I get off early Fridays now—district trainings.”
Nan shot back, “You said you wanted to see what he gon’ wear with our girl. They ain’t dressed yet, chile.”
I shook my head, adjusting my watch. “Y’all really doing roll call on FaceTime?”
“Boy, hush,” Mel said. “When you roll out with my girl, I’ll scoop the twins. We’ll keep Nan company, watch movies. I'll bring snacks; y’all bring vibes.”
Reagan and Reece started cheering like somebody announced Christmas early.
“You sure? You done worked all week,” I said.
I didn’t take help or love lightly. I’d carried too much for too long to treat support like it was guaranteed.
“I’m positive,” Mel said. “Go on your lover-boy date. Bestie better tell me everything. I’m rooting for you, new brother. I’ll grab a few things, come back for Nan and the girls, and you can pick ’em up when you drop off bestie boo tonight. We got it.”
New brother. I liked how that sounded. It felt like the circle was making room for me because my intentions were pure.
I turned to Solé and nodded down the hall. “Use my bathroom, baby. Fresh towels under the sink. Take your time. I’m not rushing you.”
“Thank you,” she said, heading that way with her bag.
I watched her go and breathed through the urge to follow. I wasn’t crossing lines. Being near her just felt right, like my nerves recognized peace and wanted to stay close.
I hit the guest bath, showered quickly, then paused under the water with my eyes closed. Pops’ voice drifted back the way it did when something shifted.
You’ll know when you meet her, Son. Not ’cause she perfect. ’Cause your spirit gets quiet, and your mind stops arguing.
I thought about Solé at the game, in the truck, in my passenger seat, without flinching, like she belonged. My mind wasn’t warning me off. It was stacking evidence.
Call me crazy as hell, but I just knew.
I dried off, wrapped a towel around my waist, and headed back to my room to grab my clothes.
She was already there, sitting on my chaise with lotion in her hands, rubbing something sweet and warm into her skin. Vanilla and something softer drifted through my room as if it belonged there.
I stopped in the doorway for half a breath. “You smell good, Connie.”
The words came out rougher than I meant because that scent hit something primal—comfort, sweetness, cleanliness, care.
She looked up and blushed. “Thank you.”
There it was again, those freckles brightening like they had their own heartbeat. Her eyes dropped like she was trying to hide how she felt, and I loved that. I was not trying to embarrass her. I wanted her to feel cherished.
I grabbed my clothes and forced myself right back out before I forgot what boundaries were.
I dressed in the guest room in a silk red button-down, dark slacks, clean dress shoes, and checked my phone.
A text from Terryn popped up; her name was still in there from old habits.
I stared at the screen for a second, then locked it.
I would meet her soon in public, say what needed to be said, and close that book completely. There would be no more late-night calls and no more mixed signals. I had no room for halfway when I knew exactly who and what I wanted now.
When I came back, Solé was standing in front of the mirror, fully dressed. That red dress on her looked better now than it did in the store. I swallowed, walked up, and held my hand out.
“Spin for me, baby.”
She twirled slowly. I took in every detail—the smooth fall of the fabric, the way it hugged her curves without begging for attention, the open back showing just enough to make my mind go quiet and loud at the same time.
Her hair framed her face like it knew its job.
Her posture stood proud, but her eyes still carried that shy little flicker, like she wasn’t used to being admired without having to defend herself.
“You are gorgeous. Let’s go show you off, beautiful.”
I said it with warmth, not play. It was admiration with boundaries and possession without disrespect. The words were bold, but my eyes stayed gentle, letting her feel desired without feeling consumed.
We said goodbye to everybody, and Nan pulled me in for a hug on the way out.
“She’s a good one, so don’t you mess this up.”
“I don’t plan on it. I’m marrying your grandbaby by the end of the year, just so you know,” I said. I didn’t even try to soften it. I didn’t need to. My spirit had already decided, and my mouth was just catching up
Her eyes watered. “I’m holding you to it.”
I nodded once, firm. “You should.”
The Velvet Juniper was on the corner of Ester and Hymes, like it knew it was special.
There was deep charcoal brick, warm amber lights washing up the walls, and a brushed-gold sign catching the glow.
The valet lane stood smoothly, the curbside traffic moved with patience, and the front doors opened and closed with quiet confidence.
Inside, the air held cedar, vanilla, and that sharp, green note of juniper: fresh-grown, expensive.
Black luxury had a home address, and tonight, I brought my baby to it like I was introducing her to a life she deserved.
There were emerald booths lining the walls, black-stained floors underfoot, and gold light fixtures hanging low.
R&B floated through the room—H.E.R.,—just loud enough to feel and low enough to talk.
Black art filled the walls, bold and tender at the same time, paintings of brown skin, crowns, hands, and history.
The tables were set with black stone plates, gold flatware, and crystal glasses that caught the light and threw it back like little sparks.
Her whole face lit up when she stepped inside.
“Oh my goodness! I’ve heard so many good things about this place,” she said excitedly.
I filed that joy away in my memory bank. I wanted to see that look again. I wanted to be the reason she kept making that face—soft, surprised, pleased, like life finally decided to be kind.
The host, a young dude with too much confidence and not enough sense, looked my baby up and down before he remembered I was standing there.
I saw it happen in real time, that quick pause, and split-second hunger in his eyes.
I didn’t tense up, get loud, or make a scene.
I just stepped into my own certainty. Protection didn’t have to be noisy to be effective.
“Evening,” he said.
“Evening,” I repeated, my tone stiff. “Eyes up, lil’ man. She’s taken.”
My voice stayed calm, but it carried weight. No anger, but ownership of responsibility and boundaries had been set.
He snapped his gaze to my face. “Yes, sir. My bad.”
He walked us to our table quickly.
I pulled her chair out, waited until she sat, then slid it in. The booth cushioned her like it knew she was precious. She opened the menu, her brown orbs scanning fast and eagerly, like she was excited to pick something for herself for once.
She caught me staring. “What?” she asked, smiling shyly.
“Nothing,” I said honestly and unashamedly. “I just like looking at you.”