Chapter 6 #7
The sentence reached her so deeply that for once Dominique had no immediate comeback.
She simply stood there, looking at him, letting the words land in all the places she had guarded with humor.
Jamal did not try to rescue the moment with charm.
He waited because he was finally learning that some silences were not empty; they were rooms where trust decided whether to stay.
When Dominique stepped closer, he opened his arms, and she allowed herself to lean into him, not dramatically, not helplessly, but with the quiet surrender of a strong woman choosing rest for one brief moment.
He held her carefully, his cheek near her hair, and whispered, “I do not want to lose you.” Her eyes closed.
“Then keep learning how to see me.” “I will.” “And do not make me regret believing that.” His arms tightened just enough. “I will work not to.”
Behind them, Trinity watched without interrupting, and Cedric watched Trinity watching her friend.
The love between the women was its own story, deep and sustaining, and he understood that any man who entered Trinity’s life would never be the only relationship that mattered.
He was surprised to realize that did not threaten him.
It humbled him. “They are good together,” he said quietly.
Trinity’s mouth curved. “When Jamal is not emotionally buffering.” Cedric laughed softly.
“Dominique said that?” “Of course.” “She is terrifying.” “She is loyal.” “Both can be true.” Trinity looked at him then, her smile warm with affection.
“Yes. Both can be true.” Cedric reached for her other hand, turning her slightly toward him in the glow of the bridge lights.
“That might be the lesson of us too,” he said.
“Beautiful and awkward. Romantic and difficult. Uncomfortable and worth it.” Trinity studied him, feeling the words move through her with slow force.
“You are getting better at this.” “Committee review?” “No,” she said.
“Loving complicated things.” His expression softened, and though neither of them said the word again, both felt it standing close.
They finished the bridge walk slowly, the city glittering around them like a promise nobody was foolish enough to take lightly.
When they finally reached the far side, no one rushed to declare the evening a success.
Success felt too simple a word for what had happened.
They had laughed, kissed, stumbled through public awkwardness, spoken hard truths, and walked beneath a winter sky carrying both romance and unresolved fear.
It was not the easy love any of them might have imagined when the matchmaking app first paired them.
It was heavier than that, more mature, more demanding, and perhaps more honest. Trinity and Dominique stood together for a moment while the men stepped aside to discuss parking, and Dominique glanced toward her friend with eyes bright from wind and emotion.
“We are really doing this,” she said. Trinity looked at Cedric, then at Jamal, then back at the woman who had known her before the men, before the brownstones, before the businesses became legacies.
“We are trying,” she replied. Dominique nodded, accepting the answer because trying was no longer a weak word in their lives.
It was the work of love learning the whole address.
After the bridge walk, none of them wanted the evening to end, but the cold finally became persuasive enough to move them toward their cars.
The men walked slightly ahead for a few minutes, not out of distance but because Cedric had quietly asked Jamal whether he was all right, and Jamal had given the kind of laugh men use when they are trying not to admit how much a conversation shook them.
Trinity and Dominique noticed the exchange immediately, of course, and said nothing because grown women understood when silence could gather more information than interruption.
Still, Dominique leaned close to Trinity and murmured, “Look at them trying to have emotional development without supervision.” Trinity smiled into the wind, her eyes on Cedric’s broad shoulders beneath his coat.
“Let them struggle. It builds character.” Dominique gave a soft laugh, then grew quiet as Jamal turned back briefly and smiled at her with such open affection that the humor in her face gave way to something warmer.
“I hate when they make it difficult to stay annoyed,” she said.
Trinity’s smile softened. “That is how they keep getting invited back.”
Cedric and Jamal’s conversation was quieter than the women’s commentary but no less important.
Jamal walked with his hands in his coat pockets, the city lights flashing across his face as he looked toward the water and exhaled like a man still sorting through too many thoughts.
“I almost messed that up tonight,” he admitted.
Cedric glanced at him, understanding immediately that he meant more than the dinner, more than the public mention of funeral homes, more than the flowers.
“But you did not,” Cedric said. “Not completely.” Jamal laughed under his breath.
“That is generous.” “No, generous would be saying we are handling this smoothly.” Cedric looked back toward Trinity and Dominique, both women stunning in black, walking together with the confidence of queens who had survived more than either man fully knew.
“We are not handling it smoothly. We are handling it honestly, and apparently that is the only version available to us.” Jamal nodded slowly.
“Dominique told me she would not beg me to honor her life. That hit me harder than I expected.” Cedric’s gaze returned to him.
“Because she meant it.” “Yes,” Jamal said.
“And because I realized she should never have had to say it.”
When they reached the parking area, the city seemed to close around them again, the grandeur of the bridge giving way to car doors, street noise, and ordinary end-of-night logistics.
Yet the emotional charge from the walk remained.
Cedric helped Trinity into her coat more securely before she reached her car, his hands lingering at her shoulders with a tenderness that made her look up at him.
“You were quiet walking back,” she said.
Cedric smiled faintly, not hiding the seriousness in his eyes.
“I was thinking about what you said.” “Which part?” “That effort counts.” He slid his hands down to take hers, holding them between them while wind moved softly around the parked cars.
“I do not want effort to become something I use as an excuse. I do not want to keep saying I am trying while you keep absorbing the cost of my learning.” Trinity studied him, hearing the humility and also the promise beneath it.
“Then let effort become evidence,” she said.
“Not speeches. Not perfect lines. Evidence.” Cedric nodded, his thumb moving slowly across her fingers.
“Then here is my first piece. I want to come to the scholarship event next month, the one connected to your business. Not as a test. Not as a man being brave near funeral directors. As your guest.” The invitation in his words touched her more deeply than she expected because he was not asking to enter the quiet, private version of her world again; he was asking to stand beside her in public, where titles were spoken without apology.
“Are you sure?” she asked. Cedric bent closer, his voice low and warm.
“No. But I am willing, and I think willing may be more honest than sure.”
A few feet away, Dominique and Jamal stood beside her car, though neither had opened the door.
The warmth between them had returned, but it carried a new seriousness, the kind that made even a simple goodbye feel like part of a larger decision.
Jamal reached for her hand and held it without hesitation, his gaze moving once toward the lights of the bridge before settling on her face.
“I need to ask you for something,” he said.
Dominique’s brows lifted, but she did not pull away.
“Proceed carefully.” He smiled because that sounded like her, and the familiarity steadied him.
“I want to visit Toussaint Family Funeral Services when you think it is appropriate. Not during a service. Not when a family needs you. But I do not want to keep learning your life only in your foyer, one awkward flower at a time.” Dominique looked at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable enough to make his pulse quicken.
“That is a big ask for a man who recently looked at roses like they had a secret agenda.” Jamal accepted the jab with a nod.
“They did have an agenda. They were exposing me.” Her mouth curved despite herself.
“At least you are aware.” He stepped closer, his voice softening.
“I am aware of this too. I do not want to be a man who only loves you in restaurants, theaters, bridges, and rooms where your profession stays polite in the background. If I am going to care about you the way I already do, I have to learn how to stand in the places that shaped you.”