12. Beauty Between These Pages
CHAPTER TWELVE
BEAUTY BETWEEN THESE PAGES
J anuary settled over Long Island with a quieter kind of cold than December.
The holiday lights had disappeared from most of the houses along the block, and the neighborhood had returned to its usual rhythm of early sunsets and the faint smell of fireplaces drifting through the air.
Trevor didn’t mind the stillness. After the chaos of the past year, the quiet felt earned.
His mind drifted back to New Year’s Eve before he could stop it.
The Porter house had been full in the way it always was when his family gathered.
Music in the kitchen. Angelou arguing with Jackson about something stupid while Nina laughed loud enough to drown them both out.
Zara running between rooms with the cousins on a mean sugar high.
And Aniyah had been there in the middle of it, barefoot on the living room rug helping Zara stack blocks while Mackenzie watched her with that knowing smile she got whenever she decided someone belonged with their family.
Trevor had caught that look.
He had ignored it.
Mostly.
A few minutes before midnight he’d leaned down beside Aniyah and murmured something in her ear, watching the way her eyes narrowed before she rolled them and stood anyway.
She followed him up the stairs while the house counted down in the background, voices echoing through the hallway as they slipped into his childhood bedroom like two teenagers sneaking away from a party.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
Trevor had pushed the door shut behind them, his hands already finding her waist.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
“You’re ridiculous your entire family is downstairs,” she had whispered, though her hands had slid beneath his shirt like she’d already decided she wasn’t leaving. She pulled it over his head.
Four.
Three.
Two.
He’d sank into her right as the house shouted Happy New Year downstairs, the sound of laughter and champagne corks rising through the floorboards while he murmured the same words against her mouth.
That was how they started the year.
Together—having a quickie trying not to get caught.
The memory still warmed his chest days later.
Life had been surprisingly steady since then.
Zara’s therapy with Dr. Sanders was helping, little by little smoothing out the tight sadness that had taken root after Katelyn walked away.
She still had questions sometimes, still woke from the occasional nightmare, but the laughter had returned to her voice and that alone felt like a victory.
Trevor saw it when she ran toward Leon’s truck after school or when she called Angelou just to tell him about a spelling test she aced.
His family had closed ranks around her without discussion. The Porters didn’t wait for invitations when one of their own needed something. They showed up. Always had.
A new development he loved? Zara and Aniyah getting manicures together every Saturday, his treat.
Zara absolutely glowed when Aniyah dropped her off after their lunch.
He could also tell how happy it made Aniyah.
She always had the brightest smile when he opened the door.
He would pull her in and convince her to spend the rest of the day with them.
Those were the best days, his home was filled with love and laughter. The way it was always meant to be.
And Katelyn…
He hadn’t heard from her.
Not really.
Every door she once used to reach him had been shut. Phone blocked. Social media gone. The only thing that slipped through was a short email two weeks earlier that sat unopened in a quiet corner of his inbox until curiosity got the better of him.
I’m sorry.
Trevor had stared at the screen for a long moment before closing it again. Some apologies arrived long after the damage had been done .
Tonight Zara was with her Papa. Trevor had dropped her off earlier, watching the way she launched herself into her grandfather’s arms while Leon pretended the impact nearly knocked him over.
That had been the entire point of the night.
Zara got time with Leon, and Trevor got the first real break he’d taken in weeks.
Which meant he got to take Aniyah out.
The restaurant had been her choice. A small place tucked along the water where the windows looked out over the dark Atlantic and the lights were low enough to make the room feel intimate.
Trevor watched her across the table while she talked about something one of her students had said earlier that day, her hands moving gently through the air as she explained it.
“You should’ve seen his face,” she said, shaking her head with a soft laugh. “He was so serious when he asked if sharks get cavities.”
Trevor leaned back in his chair, studying her the way he had started doing more often than he probably should. “And what did Miss Henderson say?”
“I told him sharks don’t brush their teeth, so cavities probably aren’t the biggest concern.”
He chuckled under his breath.
Aniyah tilted her head. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to say something ridiculous.”
Trevor lifted his glass.,“I’m behaving.”
“For now.”
“You don’t want me to tell you that you taste better than anything on my plate right now. Or that I’m ready to eat?” He saw her breath catch. The way she adjusted in her seat.
“Trevor,” came from her lips so softly.
The warmth in her voice settled somewhere deep in his chest. He ended his teasing there, knowing that she would be just as turned on as him for the rest of dinner was satisfying enough.
As Aniyah talked about her last girls’ dinner, Trevor thought about how easy it had been for them to be together.
They kept things careful during the day, especially with Zara still in her class.
Trevor never lingered too long during pickup, never crossed the invisible line between parent and boyfriend while they were on school grounds.
But moments like this—quiet dinners, shared laughter, the soft brush of her knee against his beneath the table—reminded him how real this thing between them had become.
When they returned to her condo Trevor barely closed the door before pulling her into his arms, his mouth finding hers like he’d been waiting all evening.
“You’re impatient,” she murmured against his lips.
“Very.”
She laughed softly before kissing him again, and the sound followed them down the hallway. That night, they made love on her kitchen counter. Trevor made a home inside of Aniyah and he wasn’t leaving anytime soon.
Later, much later, the bedroom had fallen quiet.
Aniyah slept curled beneath the blankets, one arm stretched across the empty space where Trevor had been moments earlier.
He’d slipped out of bed carefully, pulling on a pair of sweats before wandering back into the living room, his mind already drifting toward the long list of production details waiting for him tomorrow.
The lamp beside the couch cast a soft golden light across the room.
That was when he noticed the notebook.
It sat on the coffee table like it had always been there, its worn cover softened by time and use. Trevor picked it up absentmindedly, expecting lesson notes or grocery lists.
The first page stopped him cold.
A poem.
He read it softly, the quiet of the apartment wrapping around the words.
When I Was Eight
My grandfather says
words are seeds.
He hands me a notebook
like it is a garden.
“Plant what hurts,” he says.
So I do.
The page fills
with things I cannot say
out loud.
Trevor flipped the page slowly.
Another poem waited.
This one was written in the uneven handwriting of a teenager trying to make sense of a house that no longer felt like home.
Daughter
My father says
greatness has a uniform.
White coat.
Stethoscope.
Prestige.
I try it on.
It fits his dreams
perfectly.
But my lungs collapse
inside it.
Trevor leaned back slightly, the weight of her words settling in his chest. He kept turning the pages. Another poem caught his eye. This one was quieter, more fragile.
Scars
There are places on my body
that bloom pain
like flowers no one asked for.
I learned early
to hide the garden.
I learned early
to apologize
for the soil.
Trevor exhaled slowly. He turned the page again. The handwriting had grown steadier now, stronger.
Mirror
I stood naked
in front of the truth
one night.
Not the kind
the world tells you.
The quiet one.
The one that says
a scar is still skin
that survived.
Trevor shook his head softly, “Damn…” He kept reading. Grief appeared next.
Earl
My grandfather laughs
like thunder.
The kind that rolls
through your chest
before the rain comes.
When he leaves this earth
the sky will not change.
But my weather will.
Trevor swallowed hard.
Another page.
Another life.
Bad dates.
Broken expectations.
A woman slowly learning herself.
Then he reached the more recent poems.
The title repeated again and again.
What I’m Not
He read this one aloud.
What I’m Not
I am not the woman
who mistakes attention
for affection.
I am not the girl
who builds a home
inside potential.
I am not lonely enough
to confuse
temporary warmth
with fire.
What I’m Not 2
I am not the woman
who loses herself
in gravity.
But Trevor Porter
walked into my life
with the patience
of sunrise.
Now I am learning
how light
feels on my skin.
Trevor leaned back against the couch.
“Jesus…” Her words had broken something open in his chest. When Aniyah told him she wrote poetry on their first date, he didn’t know it would be like this.
Her art was…gut-wrenching in all the right ways.
Her words landed exactly where they were supposed to, his heart.
This type of work should be shared. The idea struck him like lightning.
“You weren’t supposed to find that.”
Her voice floated from the hallway.
He looked up to see Aniyah standing there in one of his t-shirts that fell halfway down her thighs, her curls loose around her shoulders and sleep still softening her expression.
Trevor held up the notebook. “How long have you been writing?”
She crossed her arms like she’d been caught doing something illegal. “Since I was a kid.”
“This is more than a notebook.”
“It’s a habit.”
He flipped another page. “Aniyah, there’s three hundred pages in here.”
“That just means I’ve had a lot to say.”
Trevor met her eyes, the weight of what he’d just read still sitting heavy in his chest. “You should be part of my docuseries.”
She blinked like the suggestion had physically hit her. “Trevor, absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because this,” she said, tapping the notebook as she walked closer, “was never meant to be public. I don’t even know what I would say.”
He studied her a moment before leaning forward slightly.
“Your art is too good to stay hidden.”
Aniyah huffed softly, “Boy please.”
“I’m serious.”
Her gaze softened just enough to tell him she knew he meant it.
“You ever thought about publishing this?” he asked.
She stared at him. “Publishing poems about you?”
“You could change my name. ”
She lifted her chin with mock offense, “I would never change my muse.”
Trevor laughed then, the sound filling the room as he handed the notebook back to her. When she reached for it, he pulled her down by his side on the couch and wrapped his arms around her.
“You’re doing the docuseries,” he said gently.
Aniyah studied the worn pages in her hands, her thumb brushing over the edge like she was deciding whether the world deserved to see them.
Finally, she sighed.
“One poem.”
Trevor leaned back against the couch, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“One poem.”