Chapter 2 #5
On Thursday afternoon she was walking through the chapel at St. Clair Memorial House reviewing seating arrangements for a Saturday service when her phone vibrated.
She should have ignored it. There were employees nearby.
Families were expected within the hour. Work deserved her complete attention.
Yet the simple possibility that the message might be from Cedric made her glance at the screen anyway.
Marva saw it.
Of course Marva saw it.
Marva Collins missed very little.
The older woman stood near the front pews reviewing floral placement while pretending not to monitor Trinity's entire emotional journey from across the room.
"Good news?" Marva asked casually.
Trinity slipped the phone back into her pocket.
"I wasn't smiling."
Marva didn't even look up from her clipboard.
"I didn't say you were."
"You implied it."
"No. I observed it."
Trinity sighed.
Marva finally looked at her.
"You know, for somebody who spends all day helping people through life's major transitions, you are remarkably uncomfortable with your own."
A younger employee walking past immediately changed direction. Nobody volunteered to remain between Marva and Trinity when they entered one of these conversations.
Trinity folded her arms.
"I am perfectly comfortable."
Marva nodded.
"That's why you've checked that phone six times in the last hour."
"It has been four."
Marva smiled.
The smile of a woman who had already won.
Trinity hated that smile.
The phone vibrated again.
Marva's eyebrows lifted.
Trinity ignored her.
Then she ignored her some more.
Finally she walked toward the office before curiosity defeated discipline.
The message was simple.
Lunch meeting ended early. Saw a bookstore. Bought the novel you recommended. If it's terrible, I'm holding you personally responsible.
Trinity stared at the screen.
Then laughed softly.
Then immediately stopped laughing because she was at work.
Then smiled anyway.
Because the image appeared so clearly in her mind.
Cedric walking through Manhattan.
Passing a bookstore.
Thinking about her.
Stopping.
Going inside.
Buying a book because she had mentioned it.
The intimacy wasn't grand.
That was exactly why it mattered.
Meanwhile, across the Bronx, Dominique was discovering that Jamal possessed a dangerous combination of patience and timing.
The man knew how to make her feel desired without making her feel pressured.
Every conversation left room for another conversation.
Every date ended with the expectation of another date.
Nothing felt rushed.
Nothing felt forced.
Which somehow made everything stronger.
That evening she was finishing paperwork in her office when Jamal called.
The sound of his voice immediately improved her mood.
She disliked how obvious that fact had become.
"You sound tired."
Dominique leaned back in her chair.
"You say that every time I answer."
"Because every time you answer, you sound tired."
"I own a business."
"You also carry people."
Dominique smiled.
There he was again.
Close to the truth.
Without actually reaching it.
She rolled her chair toward the window overlooking the parking lot.
The winter sky had already begun darkening.
Dominique laughed so hard she had to lean briefly against the foyer wall, though the laughter carried more truth than either woman wanted to examine too closely.
The roses stood between them and the front door, elegant and fragrant beneath the warm light, looking less like decorations and more like witnesses.
For a few moments neither woman moved. Outside, Brooklyn continued its nightly performance of headlights, distant conversations, and the occasional burst of music drifting from passing cars.
Inside, however, the brownstone felt suspended between celebration and concern.
"You know what makes me nervous?" Dominique asked, finally slipping into her coat. "Not the profession. Not even the reveal."
Trinity tilted her head.
"What then?"
"The fact that I actually care what he thinks."
The admission settled quietly between them.
Dominique was not a woman who built her identity around male approval.
Neither of them were. They had spent decades creating successful lives, building businesses, surviving disappointments, and proving themselves in rooms where people frequently underestimated them.
Yet caring about a particular man's opinion felt very different from needing validation from men in general.
Trinity understood immediately.
Because she felt the same thing.
When Cedric smiled at her, she cared.
When he listened, she noticed.
When he remembered small details, she appreciated it.
When he looked at her, really looked at her, she felt it.
And that was becoming increasingly difficult to dismiss.
"That's the problem," Trinity admitted.
Dominique nodded.
"Exactly."
Neither woman spoke for several seconds.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable.
It was honest.
Eventually Dominique adjusted her coat and headed toward the door.
"Call me tomorrow."
"I always do."
"I know."
"You'll call me first."
"Probably."
"You definitely will."
Dominique grinned.
"Good night, Trinity."
"Good night, Dominique."
The door closed behind her, leaving Trinity alone with the roses, the quiet house, and entirely too many thoughts.
She locked the door, switched off the porch light, and stood in the foyer longer than necessary.
The house felt different lately. Not because anything had changed physically.
Every room remained exactly where it had always been.
The artwork still hung in the same places.
The furniture remained perfectly arranged.
The staircase curved upward with the same graceful confidence it always had.
Yet something felt different.
Perhaps because for the first time in years, she found herself imagining someone else inside it.
Not guests.
Not family.
Not colleagues.
A man.
Cedric.
The thought appeared so naturally that it startled her.
She imagined him standing near the front window discussing architecture. Sitting in her living room. Drinking tea in the kitchen while arguing with her about books. Walking through rooms she had spent years creating.
Then, inevitably, her imagination reached the flowers.
The arrangements.
The sympathy cards.
The occasional late-night phone calls.
The reality.
Her smile faded.
Not completely.
Just enough.
Because the future she wanted and the future she feared had become increasingly difficult to separate.
Upstairs, she changed into a comfortable black silk robe and settled into bed with a book she had absolutely no intention of reading. Her phone rested beside her on the nightstand. She told herself she was not waiting for a message.
Then immediately checked the screen.
Nothing.
She shook her head.
Forty-eight years old.
Successful business owner.
Respected professional.
Reduced to checking a phone.
The absurdity amused her.
A few minutes later the device lit up.
Her heart responded before logic could intervene.
Cedric.
The message was short.
Made it home. Hope you got back safely.
Simple.
Thoughtful.
Entirely unfair.
Because it made her smile again.
She typed a response.
Deleted it.
Typed another.
Deleted that one too.
Eventually she settled on something brief and composed.
Home safe. Thank you. Sleep well.
She sent it.
Then stared at the screen.
Immediately annoyed with herself.
A few moments later three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then reappeared.
Cedric was typing.
Stopping.
Typing again.
Apparently he was experiencing his own version of uncertainty.
That realization pleased her more than it should have.
Finally his message arrived.
I had a really good time tonight, Trinity.
No cleverness.
No performance.
No strategy.
Just honesty.
Her chest tightened unexpectedly.
She reread the message.
Then read it again.
The sincerity made it more powerful than something polished ever could have been.
After a moment she typed:
So did I.
This time there was no delay.
His response appeared almost immediately.
Good. I'd hate to discover I was the only one looking forward to seeing you again.
A slow warmth spread through her.
The dangerous kind.
The kind that had nothing to do with physical attraction, though physical attraction certainly existed.
No.
This was something else.
Something deeper.
Anticipation.
The feeling of wanting more conversations.
More time.
More shared experiences.
More opportunities to discover who somebody really was.
She lowered the phone onto the nightstand and stared up at the ceiling.
Sleep should have come easily.
Instead her thoughts drifted toward Cedric.
His voice.
His patience.
His intelligence.
The way he looked at her when she spoke.
The way he listened.
The way his hand had rested at her waist.
The brief kiss still lived vividly in her memory.
Not because it had been dramatic.
Because it had felt intentional.
Across the city, Dominique wasn't sleeping much better.
She sat curled into the corner of her sofa beneath a throw blanket, replaying portions of her evening with Jamal despite repeatedly telling herself to stop.
The effort was unsuccessful.
His laugh.
His smile.
His observations.
The way he somehow made her feel feminine without making her feel diminished.
That particular combination was surprisingly rare.
Her phone vibrated.
A message from Jamal.
A smile immediately appeared.
She didn't fight it.
Still thinking about our conversation.
Dominique stared at the screen.
The message looked innocent enough.
Yet it felt intimate.
Because she was doing exactly the same thing.
She typed back.
Hopefully the good parts.
His response arrived quickly.
Mostly the parts where you laughed.
Dominique leaned back against the sofa cushions.
That one hit harder than it should have.
Because there was something profoundly attractive about a man who noticed joy instead of merely appearance.
She found herself smiling into the quiet room.
Outside her windows, Bronx traffic moved steadily through the night.
Inside, however, everything felt strangely still.
Peaceful.
Promising.
Dangerous.