4. Sincere
I’m not sure which captivates me more: the mean mug, her beautiful face, or the hypnotic presence of her perfume that permeates my nostrils.
Or is it the way the orange makes me instantly crave a tangerine?
But whatever it is, I’m intrigued and want to settle this mama bear.
Had she not announced her relationship to the little cutie between us, her clone-like resemblance would have told me everything I needed to know.
“Better, Mommy,” the little cutie tells her mother as she points to the knee I just kissed.
“What happened, Milan?”
My mind momentarily takes me back to what caused me to come to little Milan’s rescue.
Whoever her mama is should be commended because that little cutie knew she was that girl.
My eyes kept watching the little diva, dressed head to toe in orange, as she played with my little cousins.
I’m not sure what has me stuck as this little girl mingled with kids her age.
But here I am mesmerized and holding court like a creep.
If I ever had kids, I would love to have a little girl with the same pizazz and smooth brown skin as this little diva.
I sat up in my seat on instinct when badass Camren darted past the little girl, and she fell, instantly grabbed her knee.
Tears fell from her eyes, but she didn’t cry verbally.
Something magnetic and unexplainable forced me to react without hesitation, and I’m out of my seat within minutes.
I crouched down so I can be eye level as the purest and most captivating pair of brown eyes stared up at me.
A zing of electricity caused my heart to race as I spoke in a gentle tone that I pray won’t scare her due to my being a stranger.
“Did you get a boo-boo, Sweet Face?”
“Mmhm. It’s breeding.”
Be still, my heart! Hearing her sweet, raspy words makes my heart skip and swell, as my protective instincts unfold like a butterfly preparing to take its first flight.
“I’m sorry. How about I kiss it to make it feel better?”
“Prease.” I fought my chuckle when she extended her knee toward me.
Without thought, hesitation, or the presence of common sense, I leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her scratched and lightly bleeding knee. A second later, Heaven’s angel spoke in a tone opposite to the melodic timbre of her voice.
“Okay, Mommy will handle him.” Her voice returns me to the present after my brief recount of the events that led to this moment. “Now, back to you. Who are you to be putting your lips on my baby? Are you a fucking pedo—”
“Whoa. What’s going on over here?” Jamarion’s voice cuts off the angry diva’s attempt at calling me a pedophile.
“One of these badass kids pushed my baby down, and then this man took it upon himself to kiss her knee. Who do you have my baby and me around, Jamarion?” Angry mom’s eyes are slits as her rage-filled gaze falls on my cousin.
I stand to my full height after realizing that I’m still crouching on my knees, giving the woman more ammunition to continue berating me. But between Milan and her, my mind is scattered as hell. I mean completely and utterly befuddled, with a side of shell-shocked.
“Mimi, show me who pushed you, and I’m gonna take care of him,” Jamarion says as he picks Milan up before his focus shifts to her mother.
I fight the chuckle in my belly as Milan’s mom stands with that around-the-way girl flare as her left hand rests on her waist. Her posture reminds me of when Ma would be in the kitchen cooking, but would stop with a wooden spoon as I attempted to lie my way out of impending punishment.
“The last thing you want to label this man as is a pedophile. He also wasn’t here when you and Mimi got here, but excuse my fuck up for not introducing y’all.
This is my cousin and the man who keeps me from sitting down longer than I do, Sincere Kensington .
. . Attorney Kensington, if you’re nasty, or whatever my girl Janet said.
Cuz, this is Journee. She’s the mother of my godbaby, Milan,” Jamarion says with his cheesy grin on Milan as he tickles her stomach.
Her giggles slam into my chest like a dart, further pulling me into her orbit.
What is wrong with me?
I extend my hand and offer an attempt at waving the white flag because the last thing I want is to be an enemy of this woman. “I’m sorry to meet in such a tense way. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean any harm.”
For countless seconds, Journee looks me up and down as Jamarion and Milan’s banter fades into the background.
My hand rests in the air as I hold my breath while I beg with my eyes for her to release me from her offense by connecting our hands.
Our eyes war as I mentally communicate all the ways I can make it up to her if she’ll forgive me.
Her eyes flash with rage, then uncertainty, before settling on acceptance.
When her soft hand connects with mine, I feel like a rocket as fire surges from our hands throughout my body.
“I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions. She’s my everything, and I’m a little overprotective.”
Between her words and the sound of her voice, an old-school gospel song by Andre Crouch, performed by Vickie Winans, echoes in my mind. Why this particular song? That’s anyone’s guess, but I’ll be damned if it’s not what I mentally sing along with.
The voices of a million angels could not express my gratitude . . . To God be the Glory. To God be the Glory. To Goddd be the Glorryy.
“Yeah. I understand overprotection. My father is the same way with my sisters and me, and we’re all grown,” I say, but her focus is no longer on me as her eyes rake over her daughter.
“Uh, are you okay?” Journee’s hesitant voice snaps me out of my trance as I attempt to be cool.
“I hungry, Mommy,” Milan says.
The brightest and most soul-stirring smile slides onto Journee’s lips as she shifts her focus to her daughter.
“Alright, let’s go handle that. Do you want a hot dog or a hamburger?” Journee asks Milan as she takes her from Jamarion’s arms and then walks off without another word to either of us.
I shamelessly stare in their wake as the fruity scent of her perfume entrances me with every step she takes away from us.
“If you’re gonna push up on my sis, make sure your motives are pure. Family or not, I’ll fuck you over for mishandling Journee and my god baby.” Jamarion’s words are void of humor, remorse, or hesitation as I shift my gaze from Journee and Milan back to him.
“Who said I was gonna push up on her?”
“That thirsty, cheesy, simp-like grin and the twinkles in your eyes. Remember what I said, and you won’t have to worry about my promise.” Jamarion walks away without giving me a chance to respond.
I guess I am. But who can blame me? Ms. Journee has me wondering how she’ll look later in life. She’s what the old guys call a bad mamma jamma.
My thoughts spin as I process Jamarion’s declaration because the last thing I’m worried about is his threat.
My analysis is based on the fact that I’m not sure if I want to pursue Journee.
Or if my schedule warrants me the capacity to try to date a single mom.
It would be the first time I have done so, and I have no experience with what’s involved.
Sincere, it’s not rocket science. Dating a single mother just means considering her child as well,
my conscience says as I walk off upon seeing my sisters sitting not far away. One hostile conversation and my instant attraction to Journee doesn’t make a relationship. Nor does the tenderness I felt when engaging with Milan.
It’s been a few days, and my mind has been jammed with thoughts of Journee and little Miss Milan.
I got caught up with Serenity, Sarai, and another cousin playing poker and completely missed when they left the cookout.
It’s a mistake that hasn’t sat right with me ever since.
Ordinarily, work is a great distraction, but even while sitting in this courtroom, an image of the two surfaces.
Journee’s image has taken up residence more than Milan, as my brain has been on ways I could bring a smile to her face.
While I enjoyed the fire within her, I’m curious to know how her eyes transform when happiness is at work.
“All Rise, the honorable Judge Tangy Freedman presiding,” the bailiff says, instantly bringing the courtroom to order.
At the defense table is a man whose hair is in a nappy ponytail that’s seen better days.
The pea-green jumpsuit is a tighter fit than I’ve seen from most inmates, as my brows hike.
The court reporter goes through the preliminaries of this case as Judge Freedman gives the defense the floor.
That strikes me as odd because, usually, the prosecution speaks first.
“Your Honor, my client has been an upstanding and model inmate that I feel has learned the error of his ways,” Palmer Brant pleads.
My ears are insulted by the lie I know Palmer is telling, because none of his clients are worth lying to in front of this judge.
I’m a defense attorney, and while not all of my clients are innocent, I represent a good portion of them who are.
While my cousin is the only client I have who lives by street codes, my other clients are generally people who have fallen on bad times that I fight to keep from being swallowed up by the system.
“Mr. Noble, if I were to let you out of prison today, what would you do differently?” Judge Freedman probes with her stern gaze at the man who sits slouched at the defense’s table.
“I would get a regular nine-to-five and do my best to stay out of this courtroom. I understand that taking what’s not mine hasn’t been the smartest decision for me, and I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused those individuals. I have a kid somewhere, and I really want to be in their life.”
“Don’t try to smooth-talk me, Mr. Noble. I hear these rehearsed sob stories for nine hours a day. What makes you different?”
I smirk as I watch Judge Freedman light into the man trying his best to get on her good side. What I know from experience is that Judge Freedman is one of the hardest judges to convince if she believes that you’re trying to pull the wool over her eyes.
“My determination to right the wrong with the mother of my child makes me different. I want to be a better man for my child. But I have to get out of here to do so. I promise that you won’t see me again if you give me another chance.”
I tune out the rest of the hearing so I can go over my notes for my client’s docket, which is coming up after this one.
My client got arrested for simply driving while Black and refusing to cooperate with an overzealous officer who decided to teach him a lesson.
Kamon Bozeman is a business owner with no criminal record.
He has no business sitting in jail, and it’s my job to ensure that he goes home to his pregnant wife and two-year-old son.
“I’m gonna set you free, Mr. Noble. But this is your only and I mean only chance. If you come before me again, I’m sending you up the river,” Judge Freedman says, which wrinkles my forehead because that’s not what I thought she’d do.
“Thank you, ma’am. Thank you.” Brian Noble gushes as if his prize pig had won the highest prize.
When the deputy leads away a cuffed Noble and his attorney smiles like a Cheshire cat, I put my files back in my bag.
I stand and head toward the defense table just as Kamon is led out in handcuffs.
Seeing him tugs at my heartstrings as determination and indignation settle within me.
When Kamon and I are inches apart, I give him a confident smile just as the court reporter reads off his charges. It’s go time.