Chapter 6 #4
The words affected her more than the compliments had.
Trinity picked up the phone, glanced at the screen, and turned it facedown with deliberate calm.
“That was Marva,” she said, watching his reaction with less fear than she would have a week earlier.
“If it were urgent, she would call twice and text in all capital letters like the building was on fire and she had already corrected the flames.” Cedric’s laugh came easily, and the sound helped both of them move through the moment without letting it become another test. “I would like to meet Marva properly one day,” he said.
“From everything you have told me, I suspect she has already formed an opinion of me and filed it somewhere.” Trinity’s expression shifted into amusement sharpened by truth.
“Marva formed an opinion of you when I smiled at my phone for the third time in one morning. She has been collecting evidence ever since.” “Should I be worried?” “Only if you have secrets, poor manners, or weak shoes.” Cedric looked down at his polished shoes with mock seriousness.
“Then I may survive the initial review.” Trinity laughed, and the ease between them returned, not because the interruption had not mattered, but because they had handled it without turning away from each other.
In the Bronx, Dominique and Jamal’s evening had taken a similar turn toward intimacy wrapped in friction.
They had moved from the living room to the kitchen because Dominique insisted that serious conversations required food within reach, and Jamal had wisely chosen not to challenge a woman who owned the room, the tea, the pastries, and the emotional agenda.
The kitchen lights warmed the deep wood cabinetry and the gold accents along the backsplash, while the flowers in the foyer remained visible through the open doorway like a quiet third participant in the conversation.
Jamal watched Dominique plate pastries with the dramatic precision of a woman who could make dessert feel like both hospitality and warning.
“You know,” he said, leaning one shoulder against the counter, “I am trying to decide whether you feed people when you are happy, irritated, nervous, or all three.” Dominique slid a plate toward him and gave him a look over one shoulder.
“A wise man eats first and analyzes later.” “Then I will start with wisdom.” “Good. It may be useful to you tonight.”
He smiled, but he heard the seriousness beneath the line.
Dominique had let him in further that evening, but she had not let him off easily, and Jamal found himself respecting that even when it made him uncomfortable.
She had spent too many conversations making room for his adjustment; tonight she was asking him to make room for her dignity.
He took a bite of pastry, nodded approval, and watched her settle across from him at the island.
“I talked to my cousin about you,” he admitted, deciding honesty would serve him better than charm.
Dominique’s brows rose with immediate interest. “Did he give you one of those man-to-man speeches full of confidence and no seasoning?” Jamal nearly choked laughing.
“Terrence has too much seasoning. That is part of the problem.” Dominique leaned forward, suddenly delighted despite herself.
“Now I need to hear this.” Jamal set the pastry down and shook his head.
“He said owning a funeral home was not the worst thing a woman could own, which was not helpful, then compared love to transportation with balance issues, which was also not helpful, then accidentally said something wise.” Dominique laughed warmly, the sound filling the kitchen and easing the edges of the conversation.
“Accidental wisdom is still wisdom. What did he say?”
Jamal’s smile faded into thoughtfulness.
He looked toward the flowers once, then back at Dominique, making no attempt to hide the connection because hiding had already caused enough damage.
“He said maybe the question was not whether I could handle your job. Maybe the question was whether I could handle being the kind of man a woman like you deserves.” Dominique grew still, and for once no joke rushed to protect her.
The sentence landed exactly where Jamal hoped it would, not as flattery, but as accountability.
“That is a better question,” she said quietly.
Jamal nodded. “It made me uncomfortable, which usually means it is worth considering.” Dominique folded her hands loosely on the counter, her gaze direct now.
“Then let me ask you something without making it easier for either of us. Are you trying to understand because you want me, or because you do not want to feel guilty for wanting me and still being uncomfortable?” Jamal’s face changed, surprise followed by respect, because the question was sharper than he expected and fairer than he wanted it to be.
He took his time before answering, and Dominique did not rescue him from the silence.
“I think at first,” he said finally, “I was trying to understand so I would not lose access to the parts of you I already liked.” The honesty was not flattering, but it was clean, and Dominique respected clean truth even when it cut.
Jamal continued, his voice lower now. “The laughter, the dates, the way you make an ordinary room feel brighter, the way you look at me like you know I am trying even when I am failing. I did not want to lose that, so I tried to process your profession quickly enough to keep everything else.” He reached across the island, not touching her yet, just placing his hand where she could choose whether to meet it.
“But tonight, when you explained the flowers, I realized understanding your work is not the price I pay to keep enjoying you. It is part of knowing you. If I separate those things, I am still reducing you, just more politely.”
Dominique looked at his hand, then at his face, and the emotion in her eyes shifted from guarded to deeply moved, though pride kept her from softening too quickly.
“That,” she said, placing her hand over his, “is the first answer that sounds like a man walking through the front door instead of peeking in from the sidewalk.” Jamal laughed, relief and affection mixing in the sound.
“I will take that.” “You should. It was generous.” His thumb brushed across her fingers, and the warmth of the gesture traveled through her in a way that reminded her how much she still wanted him, even when he irritated her.
“For the record,” he said, his voice dropping into a more intimate register, “the more I learn, the more I want to know. That includes the things that make me uncomfortable. It also includes the woman standing in front of me pretending that dress is not a direct attack on my concentration.” Dominique’s mouth curved slowly.
“This old thing?” “Dominique.” “Yes?” “Do not insult both of us.” Her laughter came softer this time, more feminine and more affected than she intended, and when he stepped around the island to stand beside her, she did not move away.
He kissed her in the kitchen, not hurriedly and not to erase the seriousness of what had just passed between them, but with the warmth of a man who understood the kiss had to honor the conversation rather than hide from it.
Dominique’s hand settled against his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath his shirt, and for a moment the flowers in the foyer, the uncertainty, the difficult questions, and the bruise of his earlier hesitation all remained present but no longer stood between them like a wall.
They became part of the room, part of the life he was learning to enter.
When the kiss ended, Jamal rested his forehead lightly against hers.
“I still have a long way to go,” he said.
Dominique smiled, though her voice carried warning and affection together.
“Yes, you do.” He laughed under his breath.
“You were supposed to disagree.” “I am too fond of you to lie.” The admission, casual as it sounded, touched both of them, and Jamal drew back just enough to look at her fully.
“Too fond?” he asked. Dominique’s eyes held his.
“Do not make me repeat myself before you have earned it.”
By Friday evening, the four of them found themselves on a double date again, partly because Dominique claimed group outings reduced overthinking and partly because Trinity suspected her friend wanted witnesses in case Jamal said something foolish in public.
They chose a sophisticated lounge-style restaurant with live piano, no bar scene, and enough space between tables for privacy without isolation.
Trinity wore black satin with a tailored jacket that made Cedric nearly forget how to speak when he saw her, and Dominique arrived in a sleek black dress with gold at her throat, looking so confident that Jamal simply stood for a moment and shook his head.
“What?” she asked, already enjoying his reaction.
“I am trying to behave,” he said. Cedric, overhearing, leaned toward Trinity and murmured, “I understand his struggle.” Trinity gave him a sidelong glance, pleased despite herself.
“Both of you need more discipline.” Cedric smiled as his hand found the small of her back.
“We are doing our best under difficult visual conditions.”