Chapter 5 Roman #4
She looked down quickly, her freckles warming again, and that little change in her face hit me deeper than it should’ve.
She wasn’t used to being admired without being handled.
I could tell. Her softness still flinched like it expected something selfish to follow.
I wasn’t here for that. I was here to honor her.
The waitress came and asked for our drink order.
“Ladies first,” I said.
“I’ll have the Velvet Kiss,” she said, voice soft but sure.
I nodded, impressed. “And I’ll take the Black Silk Old-Fashioned.”
She ordered the braised oxtail eggrolls and the blackened red snapper with citrus herb butter, coconut rice, and broccolini; while I settled for the Juniper butter cornbread bites and the bourbon butter ribeye with loaded mashed potatoes and green beans.
I loved that she didn’t pretend to be delicate by ordering a dry salad.
She picked real food, food that filled you up, food you didn’t nibble on like you were trying to prove you didn’t take up space by trying to be too cute.
That told me everything I needed to know about her and about how comfortable she was with herself and me.
She didn’t shrink or perform. She simply existed.
Our drinks came first.
“Let’s make a toast, love.”
She shot me an inquisitive glance but lifted her glass as well.
“What are we toasting to?” she asked.
“To your last first date.”
I didn’t throw it out like a pickup line. I offered it as direction. It was a door I was opening and standing beside, waiting for her to walk through at her own pace.
She paused, then clinked her glass to mine. “Aren’t you confident?”
“I’m certain,” I corrected.
Certainty didn’t mean rushing. Certainty meant I was not playing with her time. It meant I saw what I saw, and I was prepared to prove it.
She took a sip, her eyes fluttering closed for half a second at the taste. Something in my chest pulled tight at that bit of softness. Her lashes fell, her shoulders eased, and for a beat, she looked like she wasn’t carrying anything heavy. I wanted more of that for her, more ease, and more exhale.
We talked about our careers and goals while we waited for the food. She told me about her kids and how she loved watching them finally understand something they swore they couldn’t get. I told her about my swimmers, the ones who came in scared of the deep end and left with medals.
“I have an interview Monday at Self Ridge for the head swim coach position.”
Her smile spread slowly. “If they have any sense, they’ll hire you. Do you realize, if that happens, we’ll be working at the same school? Teaching together?”
“There is no if,” I said. “And I’m not worried about tiring of you.”
“You sure?” she asked. “I see too much of people at work sometimes. I worry I’d get on your nerves.”
She was nervous. She expected love to come with irritation. She expected me to eventually act like her presence was a burden. I couldn’t have her thinking that at all.
“I could never tire of being in your presence, mama,” I said, my voice low. “Your spirit is calming as hell. I need that.”
I meant it. My life stayed on ten most days—responsibility, watchfulness, bills, schedules, teenagers with attitudes and big dreams. Being around her made my mind loosen its grip. It made me feel human again, not just useful.
She looked down, then back up. “I like the sound of that.”
“Good. Get used to it.”
We moved into past relationships. She told me about a college boy who didn’t know what he wanted and made her feel like she was asking for too much by needing consistency.
I told her about Zuri and how I chose my sisters over parties and lost a girl who didn’t understand that choice.
Saying her name didn’t sting like it used to.
It felt like a closed lesson now, a chapter I could reference without bleeding.
“What do you want now?” I asked her. “For real.”
“I want peace. Partnership. Somebody I don’t have to explain my worth to, someone who isn’t threatened by how much I love my kids at school or how much I love my family. Someone who understands I get quiet sometimes because life was loud for me early.”
Her honesty sat at the table with us, clean and unafraid. I respected it. I loved it. She wasn’t asking for perfection. She was asking for maturity.
“That’s me.” It was not an exaggeration or joke.
I didn’t mean to smile when I said it. I didn’t flirt it up. I just held her gaze and let my face be the proof—steady, open, present.
She met my gaze and held it.
“What about you?” she asked.
“I want a woman who’s soft with herself but firm with the world, somebody with a big heart who doesn’t let everybody play in it.
A woman I can cover without smothering, protect without putting her in a cage.
Somebody I can build with, have kids with, build a home and a real community around our name.
I want what my parents had, just without the early exit. ”
Saying it out loud made my throat tighten because that part always did. My parents were the blueprint and the heartbreak, love and loss in the same breath, an oxymoron that raised me.
Her eyes softened. “You talk about them like they’re still here.”
I gently tapped my chest. “They are. They taught me how to love. I’ve just been waiting for the right place to put it.”
That was the truth. Love had been stored up in me for years, boxed and labeled, waiting for a home that wouldn’t waste it.
I’d been pouring it into my sisters, into my work, into the kids at the pool, but romantic love?
I’d been holding that back, not because I couldn’t, but because I wouldn’t give it to someone who treated it like a convenience.
Our food came: oxtail eggrolls, crisp and full, my steak cooked right, and her snapper lay across the plate as if the chef believed in his own talent.
Halfway through the meal, she leaned back and sighed. “This is the best date I’ve ever been on,” she said, almost to herself.
That confession hit me tenderly. I could hear how rare ease had been for her. She seemed to be surprised that life could be so soft.
“You haven’t seen nothing yet,” I answered.
She laughed, and the sound wrapped around me. I held it like something precious.
We talked more about books and our future goals.
“I’m tired of watching kids get claimed by the same corners that almost buried me,” I said. “They deserve more than survival.”
“I know that feeling. I’m tired of watching smart, hurting children get swept up in systems that don’t see them. I want to be a consistent yes in their lives.”
“We on the same page. Different chapters, same book,” I said, a small smile tugging at my mouth.
And I meant that too. Our missions matched. Our hearts moved the same. That was a rare alignment. That was stuff not to be ignored when it walked into your life in a red dress.
After dinner, I walked her back to the truck.
The night air settled around us, cooler now.
The parking lot lights threw a gold glow across her hair.
Her perfume still lingered around us like she’d left sweetness everywhere she went.
When I closed her door and went around to my side, she slid over again and opened my door from the inside, the same gentle reflex as before.
That small act did something for me. It wasn’t flashy. It was care that was quiet, natural, and intentional. She didn’t know how deep that went for a man who’d been doing everything alone for so long. She didn’t know how it felt to be considered.
I sat down, closed it, but didn’t start the engine right away.
She looked at me with curiosity on her face.
“Can I kiss you?” I asked, my voice low. “I’m not finna play no guessing games with you.”
She nodded once.
I leaned in slowly, giving her space to change her mind. She didn’t. I kissed her—soft, warm, unhurried. Her hand found my chest, and everything in me settled and sparked at once. It felt like permission, . . . a beginning that didn’t need to rush.
When we pulled back, her eyes were a little unfocused. Mine probably were too.
“Yeah, that’s mine,” I murmured.
It came out quiet, possessive, protective—no threat in it, just claim.
She laughed, breath shaky. “You are so sure.”
“I am. You’ll catch up.”
By the time we pulled up to her house, Mel’s car was already in the driveway, lights off like she’d been there a minute. She really had done exactly what she said on FaceTime. She swung by my spot after we left, picked up the twins and Nan, and brought them over here for their movie night.
I walked Solé to the door. Nan had it open before we could even knock, like she was up listening for tires in the driveway.
“How was it?” she asked, eyes bouncing between us, soaking it all in.
“Perfect,” Solé said, cheeks glowing.
I hugged Nan and kissed her forehead. “I already told you once, but I will tell you again. You will be in a wedding by the end of the year. Let me know when you go shopping. I will buy your dress and new shoes myself.”
Nan grinned. “I already claimed that. Night, baby.”
Reagan and Reece were on the couch with Mel, with snack bowls everywhere, movie paused.
The second they saw us, the twins screamed and clapped, and Mel threw her hands up like finally.
Their extra warmed me. They’d never seen me move like this.
My life had been them, and I kept their world protected: no random women, no questionable energy, no strangers around my babies.
“We ship this,” Reagan said.
“This is canon,” Reece added.
“Good night,” I said, laughing, backing out the door before they started grilling us.
On the way home, the twins talked nonstop in the back seat.
“Ms. S looked so pretty,” Reece said.
“She’s always pretty,” Reagan replied. “But tonight, she looked loved.”
I swallowed as my hands tightened on the wheel. That was the plan.
Loved wasn’t a word to me. Loved was action. Loved was consistency. Loved was covering her without controlling her. Loved was making sure she could exhale.
Later, after they settled in, I sat on the edge of my bed and finally opened Terryn’s thread.
We needed to talk in person, somewhere public, where there could not be room for misinterpretation, just conversation.
I’m moving differently now. I hit send and put the phone face down. My mind was not with her. It was with a woman whose freckles still burned behind my eyes and whose laugh sat in my chest like something worth guarding.
This, . . . what I was feeling with Solè, was different.
From the moment I laid eyes on her at The Pour House, I knew she was special.
Now that I’d been in her presence, I knew for a fact that she was my forever.
I was grateful the twins liked her, and she seemed to have a special teacher bond with each of them.
It was one I knew would only become stronger as we got closer.
That was just who she was: loving, nurturing, and anyone could drown in her essence of just being.
I lay back, staring at the ceiling. For the first time in a long time, my life did not feel like I was just surviving. It felt like I had just met the reason I’d been staying ready.