When Love Takes Root

Prologue

Morning always found Jamal before it found me.

I first noticed him by the rise and fall of his chest under my cheek and weight of his arm across my waist. Soft morning light spilled through the curtains, warming the brown skin I’d loved for fifteen years. I stayed there, caught between sleep and the quiet of our home.

His lips brushed my temple before he kissed my cheek and the corner of my mouth, making me moan and pull the blanket higher.

“Baby, what ya doing?” I asked, my voice still thick with sleep.

“I’m celebrating.”

“It’s six in the morning.”

“Exactly.”

After fifteen years of marriage, Jamal Coleman still woke up smiling like life had given him more joy than he could hold. He looked at me with the same playful confidence that first pulled me in at Self Ridge State University.

“You’re doing the most already.”

“Our anniversary’s tomorrow. What you expect?”

I rolled onto my back and stretched beneath the covers. “Fifteen years, and you’re still acting brand new.”

“Fifteen years still trying to impress you, baby.” My cheeks warmed. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not,” I said.

“You are.”

“Jamal.”

“That’s my name.”

I smacked his chest and laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you said yes anyway,” Jamal countered.

“You proposed outside that Mexican restaurant in the rain.”

“And you still said yes,” Jamal said.

“You were shaking so hard you almost dropped the ring.”

“I was nervous.”

“You were terrified.”

“I was in love.”

“Well, I’m still glad I said yes,” I said softly.

“Best decision I ever made,” Jamal confessed.

He kissed me like he had all the time in the world.

When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead to mine.

“Let’s pray before our squad get unruly,” Jamal said.

“Let’s do it,” I agreed.

He laced our fingers together over the blanket.

“Lord, thank You for another day. Thank You for waking us up with breath in our bodies and peace in this house. Thank You for fifteen years of marriage, five beautiful children, and a love that still feels like a blessing. Cover our family today. Guide our steps. Keep us safe. Keep us tender with each other. Keep love in the center of everything we do. In Jesus’ name,” Jamal prayed.

“Amen,” I whispered.

“Amen,” Jamal said.

Right on cue, something thudded upstairs, and then running.

The unmistakable sound of a child in distress over something small enough to end the whole world before school.

“Mama, I can’t find my shoe!”

I closed my eyes and groaned. “There it is,” I said.

“Our daily alarm clock,” Jamal said.

“Your children.”

“Our children,” Jamal clarified.

“Your genetics.”

He laughed and climbed out of bed. “Come on, Mrs. Coleman. Let’s go feed these little people,” Jamal said.

The kitchen came alive the second we stepped into it.

Bacon sizzled in the skillet. Pancake batter spread across the griddle. I moved between counters in fuzzy socks and one of Jamal’s old shirts, checking inventory for Celestial Crowns as breakfast cooked. Owning a salon meant my mind started working before the rest of me did.

“You wake up doing business already,” Jamal said.

“Bills exist.”

“You run a whole establishment.”

“I run a salon,” I said.

“You run peace for half the women in Self Ridge.”

I laughed and pointed my spatula at him as heavy footsteps sounded upstairs.

Kayden shuffled into the kitchen, looking exactly like fifteen-year-old boys were supposed to look on school mornings: half awake, mildly annoyed, and already wearing his father’s face.

“Morning,” Kayden said.

“Good morning,” Jamal corrected.

“Good morning,” Kayden said with a sigh.

Maya followed with her sketchbook tucked beneath one arm and sleep still clinging to her eyes.

“Why is everybody loud this early?” Maya asked.

“Because the sun came up,” Jamal said.

“That doesn’t require all this talking,” Maya retorted.

“Mama, I can’t find my other shoe,” Zuri said.

“Did you look where you left it?” I asked.

“No,” she admitted.

“Go look,” Jamal said.

She turned and ran right back out.

Skye came in next, clutching her small Bible to her chest.

“Good morning, Mama,” Skye said.

“Morning, baby,” I said, kissing the top of her head.

Jamal Jr., JJ, came in last, home from Self Ridge A&M for the weekend.

“Something smells good,” JJ said.

“That’s because I cooked it,” I said.

“Fair point.”

Everybody settled around the table while JJ helped carry plates over with bacon, eggs, and pancakes.

Jamal stood at the head of the table and cleared his throat. “You know the routine,” Jamal said.

The children straightened.

“I’m disciplined,” Kayden said.

“I’m creative,” Maya said.

“I’m confident,” Zuri said as she came back holding one sneaker in the air.

“I’m loved,” Skye said softly.

“I’m built for purpose,” JJ said.

Jamal nodded and folded his arms across his chest. “Who gave you that purpose?” Jamal asked.

“God did,” they all said together.

I leaned against the counter and watched them—watched him. Watching Jamal lead our family never got old.

“Does everybody have shoes now?” Jamal asked.

“Yes,” Zuri said, holding up both feet proudly.

“Miracles still happen,” Kayden muttered.

“Boy, hush,” I said.

The table filled with chatter after that. While everyone wrapped up their breakfast, Jamal stood and grabbed his keys.

“Alright, let’s move. Let’s be on time for school,” Jamal said.

Groans followed him across the kitchen. He walked over to me, set his hand at the small of my back, and kissed my cheek.

“My day to transport the squad,” Jamal said.

“I know,” I confirmed.

“Happy anniversary again, Mrs. Coleman,” Jamal said.

“Tomorrow, baby,” I teased.

“Everyday with you, love,” he proclaimed.

My face warmed. “Drive safe,” I replied.

“Always,” Jamal said.

The front door opened, and my house filled with backpacks, gym bags, footsteps, arguing, laughter, and one last, “Bye, Mama,” before the door closed behind them all.

I cleaned up, grabbed my purse, and headed to Celestial Crowns.

I sat in my car for a moment, one hand on the wheel, Jamal’s kiss still warm on my cheek.

Some mornings, I had to pause before stepping into the life I’d prayed for.

It wasn’t perfect. Bills, inventory, payroll, hard clients, and long hours kept me busy.

But it was mine, and every inch of it carried my fingerprints and God’s grace.

I climbed out, locked my car, and smiled at Celestial Crowns beneath the morning light. Lavender walls glowed through the windows while the plants stretched toward the sun.

“Thank You, Lord,” I whispered as I unlocked the door.

Shea butter, shampoo, hair oil, fresh linen, and eucalyptus greeted me the moment I stepped inside.

I turned on the lights, tucked away my purse, tied my apron, and settled into my opening routine.

Towels. Products. Appointment book. Coffee.

My ’90s R&B playlist drifted through the salon while I checked on my plants before the day began.

Black women walked through my doors, carrying jobs, marriages, grief, babies, church news, receipts, secrets, and strong opinions. Hair got done at Celestial Crowns, but spirits got tended to. Edges were laid, locs were retied, and hearts found room to breathe.

Fridays had their own rhythm. Blow dryers hummed, rattail combs tapped against trays, and somebody always swore she was done with a man we all knew she’d answer by Tuesday.

I loved every bit of it.

By midmorning, every chair was full, and Ms. Daphne sat beneath her roller set like royalty preparing for a grand entrance. Her Pekingese rested beside her in a rhinestone collar, looking almost as judgmental as she did.

Celestial Crowns was more than a salon. It was relief on hard days, edge control with testimony, a lavender room where women remembered who they were.

Ms. Daphne lifted her chin toward the mirror. “Y’all know I’m trying to look cute tonight. It’s the anniversary of my divorce. Freedom Day. I finally broke free from that abusive fuck nigga. It’s a celebration, bitches.”

The whole shop hollered.

She’d been in my chair since I opened in 2012. Back when my savings stayed on life support, she’d shown up with snacks, encouragement, and enough referrals to keep me believing my dream would survive.

I smiled through the mirror.

“Ms. Daphne, your cussing always takes me out because it sounds so foreign coming out your mouth.”

She fluffed the front of her roller set. “Baby, freedom changed my vocabulary.”

I checked one of her rollers. “If freedom was a hairstyle, this right here is emancipation.”

She cackled. “That’s why I come to you, Celeste. You don’t just do hair. You do deliverance with a rat-tail comb.”

Ms. Brenda lowered her magazine with a knowing smile. “Celeste, you’re celebrating something too, aren’t ya? I saw that little heart emoji post this morning.”

I laughed. “Mm-hmm. Fifteen years of marriage tomorrow. Big J keeps telling me to pack a bag, but he won’t tell me where we’re going. The kids know something too. They’ve been whispering all week.”

Ms. Brenda smiled. “Girl, that man loves you openly and fiercely. I love that for you.”

Warmth spread across my face. “Yeah. He does,” I said softly.

The bell over the door chimed. My fingers paused around the comb.

I knew the shape in the doorway before my mind caught up. Broad shoulders. Work boots. One hand wrapped around a bouquet full enough to quiet my entire shop.

Jamal stood there with purple lilies, white roses, and eucalyptus. My colors. My flowers. A small bag from my favorite chocolate shop hung from his wrist, and a card rested beneath his arm like he already knew it was going to ruin me.

Heat climbed my neck before he even smiled. After fifteen years, my body still had the nerve to act brand new over that man.

Ms. Daphne fanned herself with her magazine. “He’s way too fine. Lord, it’s me again. I know You sent me one, but mine must’ve got damaged in transit. Please bless me with a replacement and overnight shipping. Amen. Hey, Big J.”

Jamal chuckled. “Hey, Ms. Daphne. Hey, Ms. Brenda.” He crossed the shop, reached for my hand, and kissed my forehead, my cheek, then my lips.

“Hi, husband,” I murmured.