Chapter Five
Dating a Man Who Read Romance
LaKeith and I took our time.
He still visited every Thursday, but now he also appeared on Tuesdays, Saturdays, and any other day he could invent a reason to stop by.
He replaced the loose handle on the café door.
He installed shelves in my office.
He attended our monthly romance discussion and shocked the group by arguing that the heroine should have made the billionaire apologize longer.
“The man bought her a vineyard,” Norelle said from her chair.
“He embarrassed her in front of her family,” LaKeith replied. “Grapes don’t erase trauma.”
Miss Clevonne Peakes, a seventy-two-year-old retired bus driver who attended every event, leaned toward me.
“Test that man faster,” she whispered. “One of these younger women will steal him.”
LaKeith looked across the circle. “I’m right here, Miss Clevonne.”
“Then hear me clearly,” she told him.
Everyone laughed.
LaKeith also introduced me to his mother, Eudora Vance, at a neighborhood cookout hosted behind her brick house.
Eudora was a slim, elegant woman with silver locs, sharp cheekbones, and the calm authority of somebody who could silence a room by adjusting her glasses.
She hugged me before LaKeith had properly introduced us.
“So this is Yandy,” Eudora said.
I glanced at LaKeith. “What has he been telling you?”
“Enough to know you made him read five romance novels.”
“Six,” LaKeith corrected.
Eudora patted his cheek. “I knew there was hope.”
LaKeith’s younger sister, Sabria, joined us carrying a tray of deviled eggs.
Sabria was thirty-one, tall, deep brown, and striking, with a platinum buzz cut and a nose ring. She owned a mobile bartending company and had the expression of a woman who collected secrets for sport.
“You’re prettier than his description,” Sabria told me.
LaKeith frowned. “I said she was beautiful.”
“You also spent ten minutes describing her attitude,” Sabria replied.
“My personality is part of my beauty,” I said.
Sabria grinned. “I like her.”
The cookout showed me a different side of LaKeith.
He grilled chicken for the elderly couple next door.
He fixed a wobbly table before anyone asked.
He allowed his mother to send him back into the kitchen three times because he kept bringing out the wrong serving spoon.
Later, I found him sitting alone on the back steps with a paper plate balanced on his knee.
I sat beside him. “You disappeared.”
“I needed a break from Sabria announcing that I used to sleep with a night-light.”
I turned toward him. “Did you?”
“I was six.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
LaKeith handed me a rib from his plate. “Eat.”
I accepted it. “Your family is nice.”
“They like you.”
“Your sister threatened to investigate me.”
“She investigates everybody.”
“Your mother showed me childhood photographs.”
“She likes you too much.”
I smiled and looked across the yard.
Jakari stood near the cooler, arguing with Norelle.
Norelle pointed at a bottle in his hand. “That is my drink.”
Jakari checked the label. “Your name isn’t on it.”
“I set it down for three seconds.”
“You abandoned it.”
“I was helping your aunt carry a chair.”
“Then you should have secured your property.”
Norelle folded her arms. “Buy me another one.”
Jakari took a sip while maintaining eye contact. “Ask nicely.”
Norelle’s expression suggested she was planning his funeral.
I nudged LaKeith. “Are they always like this?”
“They’ve been texting for two weeks.”
My head snapped toward him. “Norelle never told me.”
“Kari says they only communicate about work.”
Norelle snatched the bottle from Jakari and drank from the same opening.
I smiled. “That looks professional.”
LaKeith followed my gaze. “They’ll be a problem.”
“They already are.”
His arm settled around my shoulders.
I leaned into him before I could overthink the decision.
The evening sun warmed the yard. Children chased each other through sprinklers. Somebody’s old-school playlist shifted from Frankie Beverly to Maze, and Eudora started dancing beside the grill.
For the first time in years, I could picture myself fitting into someone else’s life without disappearing inside it.
That frightened me.
It also felt good.
A week later, I invited LaKeith to Mama’s grave.
I had not planned to.
We were driving home from brunch when I saw the turn for the cemetery and asked him to follow it.
LaKeith parked beneath a row of oak trees.
He didn’t ask questions as we walked toward the headstone.
I placed fresh flowers in the metal vase.
“Mama, this is LaKeith,” I said quietly. “He has irritated his way into my personal life.”
LaKeith stood beside me. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Willetta.”
I glanced at him.
His expression was sincere.
“She would have laughed at you,” I said.
“I would have worked harder.”
“She would have told you I’m stubborn.”
“I noticed.”
“She also would have asked about your credit score.”
LaKeith nodded. “Seven forty-two.”
I blinked. “Seriously?”
“I came prepared.”
A laugh slipped through my tears.
LaKeith reached for my hand.
I held on.
“I miss her most when something good happens,” I admitted. “Bad days make sense without her. The good ones feel unfair.”
LaKeith squeezed my hand.
“She would be proud of you,” he said.
“You didn’t know her.”
“I know what you built from the love she gave you.”
My chest tightened.
LaKeith didn’t try to fix the grief.
He stood inside it with me.
That mattered more.