Chapter 5 #7
Cedric absorbed that, and when he turned fully toward her, the seriousness in his face made the office feel smaller than it was.
“I do not want only the easy parts,” he said.
Trinity looked at him for a long moment, hearing the promise and the uncertainty inside it.
“You say that tonight,” she replied, not coldly, but honestly.
“And I believe you mean it tonight. But the hard parts do not stay conveniently inside this building, Cedric. They come home in calls, in flowers, in schedules, in garments hanging over doors because a service is early and I did not have time to put things away. They come into evenings when romance feels perfect until the phone rings. They come into my brownstone. They come into my calendar. They come into my mood when a family’s pain follows me longer than I expected.
That is what I need you to understand before you decide whether you can stay.
” Cedric’s expression shifted, not away from her, but inward, as though the truth had found another place inside him to settle.
“Then I will need to learn what staying actually means,” he said.
“Not as an idea. As a practice.” Trinity’s eyes softened despite the fear still moving beneath her ribs.
“That sounds very architectural.” “Maybe,” he said, stepping closer until her back nearly touched the edge of the desk.
“Or maybe I am finally understanding that love, or whatever this is becoming, cannot be built around the rooms we refuse to enter.”
The word love hovered unclaimed between them, not stated as a declaration and not withdrawn as a mistake.
Trinity felt it, and by the way Cedric’s eyes deepened, she knew he felt it too.
Neither corrected him. Neither made the moment smaller by pretending the word had not brushed against them.
Instead, Cedric lifted one hand to the side of her face, his thumb tracing a gentle line near her cheekbone, and Trinity allowed herself to lean into the touch because resistance had begun to feel less like wisdom and more like fear wearing an expensive coat.
“I am still uncomfortable with parts of this,” he admitted, his voice rougher now, quieter.
“But I am more uncomfortable with the thought of stepping back from you because I am afraid to grow up in an area where I did not realize I was still immature.” Trinity closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them, the vulnerability in her gaze stripped away whatever polished response she might have offered.
“Do not say things like that unless you mean them.” Cedric bent his head until his forehead nearly touched hers. “I mean them.”
The kiss that followed was not a way around the conversation but a continuation of it.
Cedric kissed her with the restraint of a man who understood the room mattered, the moment mattered, and the woman in his arms mattered more than his own desire to make discomfort disappear through closeness.
Trinity’s hands rested against his chest at first, but as the kiss deepened, her fingers curled into the fabric of his coat, holding him there with a need she would not have admitted in daylight.
The office around them carried the evidence of everything they had been discussing: the licenses, the letters, the schedules, the work, the dignity, the service, the weight.
Yet his mouth was warm, his hands were careful, and the longing between them felt unmistakably alive.
When they drew apart, both were breathing a little differently, and Cedric’s hand remained at her waist as though moving it would require more strength than he cared to use.
“This,” Trinity whispered, the edge of a smile returning despite the emotion in her eyes, “is exactly the kind of awkward romantic moment I was afraid of.” Cedric laughed softly, his forehead still close to hers.
“I am standing in a funeral director’s office, trying to be respectful, and wanting to kiss you again.
Awkward may be too polite a word.” Trinity’s laughter rose warmly then, and the sound seemed to bless the room in a way neither had expected.
Across the Bronx, Dominique was not having a quiet, emotionally controlled evening because Patrice had decided that Jamal’s reaction required immediate review, snacks, and what she called “a full committee conversation before somebody starts acting dignified and lonely.” Dominique sat at her kitchen island wearing a black lounge set and no shoes, her hair pinned loosely on top of her head, while Patrice paced with a bowl of popcorn and a level of confidence that suggested she had never once paid rent on emotional consequences.
“So let me understand,” Patrice said, waving one hand as if presenting evidence.
“He finds out you own a funeral home, looks at the flowers like they just filed taxes jointly with you, hesitates before kissing you, then says he needs to learn how to look. That is not terrible, Auntie Dom. That is a man with training wheels.” Dominique gave her a look over her tea.
“You are making my romantic life sound like a bicycle accident.” Patrice shrugged.
“Sometimes love is transportation with balance issues.” Dominique should not have laughed, but she did, and the laughter helped because Jamal’s hesitation had sat inside her all day like a bruise she refused to touch.
The humor faded when Jamal’s name lit her phone, and Patrice immediately stopped pacing as if the room itself had been called to order.
Dominique stared at the screen, not answering right away, and Patrice, for once, spoke more gently.
“You do not have to make him perfect tonight,” she said.
“You just need to know whether he is willing to keep showing up.” Dominique looked at her niece, surprised by the quiet wisdom beneath the jokes.
“When did you become useful?” Patrice smiled.
“I have always been useful. You were distracted by my personality.” Dominique answered the call before she could overthink it further, and Jamal’s voice came through low, warm, and careful enough to tell her he had been thinking all day too.
“I wanted to check on you,” he said. Dominique leaned against the counter, aware of Patrice silently retreating toward the living room but not nearly far enough to stop listening.
“That sounds like a man who knows he left a woman standing in her foyer with too many thoughts.” Jamal exhaled, and she could hear the regret in it. “I did. I am sorry for that.”
Dominique closed her eyes for a moment, letting the apology arrive without immediately deciding what to do with it.
“I do not need you to be sorry for needing time,” she said, her voice quieter than usual.
“I need you to be careful with the time you ask for.” Jamal was silent long enough for her to know he had taken that in.
“That is fair,” he said. “And I need to be honest enough to tell you that I spent today thinking about those flowers, the way I looked at them, and how much I hated that you saw my discomfort before I even understood it myself.” Dominique opened her eyes and stared toward the arrangement still sitting in the foyer, its pale blooms glowing beneath the entry light.
“I have seen that look before,” she said.
“Maybe that is why it hurt so quickly. You were not the first man to make the flowers change in the room, Jamal. You were just the first one I cared enough about to wish you had not.” The line held them both still, and from the living room Patrice murmured, “Lord,” before Dominique shot her a warning look that did nothing because Patrice had already disappeared with the popcorn.
Jamal’s voice softened further, carrying more emotion now.
“I do not want to be another man who makes you feel like you have to separate the beautiful parts of yourself from the difficult ones.” Dominique swallowed, hating that he could still reach her while they were standing on uncertain ground.
“Then do not ask me to make my home less honest so you can feel more comfortable in it.” The words came out stronger than she expected, but once spoken, she knew they were true.
Jamal did not rush to reassure her, and she appreciated that because quick reassurance often served the person giving it more than the person receiving it.
“I will not ask that,” he said. “But I may need you to help me understand what I am seeing when I come into your home. I do not want my first reaction to become my final one.” Dominique’s grip tightened around the phone.
“That is the most useful thing you have said since you started being handsome in my doorway.” He laughed then, and the sound loosened something in her.
“Useful and handsome. I will take that.” “Do not get comfortable,” she replied, though the warmth had returned to her voice.
“I am still deciding whether to make you work for dessert next time.” “Dominique,” Jamal said, his voice lowering in that way that always made humor feel like the doorway to something more intimate, “if there is a next time in your home, I intend to arrive ready to learn, not merely ready to be impressed.” Her smile faded into something softer. “Then maybe there will be a next time.”