Two Weeks Later
By the time Celeste stepped onto her porch, I had already prayed twice, checked my watch three times, and reminded myself that a grown man could be nervous without surrendering his dignity.
And still, something in my chest wouldn’t settle. Not nerves exactly. Something quieter. Heavier. Like I was standing on the edge of something good, hoping I wouldn’t lose it.
Then she opened the door, and dignity became negotiable.
She wore a deep-green dress that fit her just right, her locs gathered high with red-tinted strands catching the porch light. Gold hoops brushed her neck. Her eyes were soft, cautious, and enough to make my thoughts scatter.
My Red walked outside looking like trouble I wasn’t ready for.
For a split second, I wondered if I’d ever really be ready for her; if loving Celeste would always feel like reaching for something holy with hands still learning how to hold.
Like I’d always be aware of how easily something this good could slip through fingers that hadn’t always known how to keep what mattered.
I stood beside my truck with one hand on the passenger door and the other trying to remember I had some self-control.
She tilted her head, catching me staring. “You just gonna stare at me?”
“Yes.”
The word slipped out before I could dress it up.
Her brow lifted, waiting.
“I mean . . .” I cleared my throat and straightened. “Good evening.”
Her laugh hit me square in the chest, warm and easy.
“You look beautiful.”
Her fingers brushed over the fabric of her dress, smoothing it like she needed something to do with her hands. “Thank you.”
I opened the door for her. “And before you ask, no, I’m not telling you where we’re going.”
She paused halfway into the seat, glancing back at me. “I wasn’t going to ask.”
“You absolutely were.”
She settled in, folding her hands in her lap. “I was going to inquire.”
“That’s asking with extra steps.”
She shook her head, a smile tugging at her mouth. “You think you’re funny.”
“I know I am.”
Her laugh followed me around the front of the truck, and by the time I got behind the wheel, the nerves had eased into something steadier.
I drove us across Self Ridge as the evening settled in, passing storefronts and glowing windows. Celeste kept sneaking looks at me, trying to play it cool, but her hands gave her away. They smoothed her dress, reached for the door handle, then folded back in her lap.
“You’re enjoying this too much.” She caught me watching her hands.
“I’m enjoying you trying not to ask questions.”
“I’m doing fine.” She lifted her chin, but her fingers betrayed her again.
“Barely.”
She rolled her eyes, but the smile stayed.
Tonight needed to feel different. Celeste loved beauty, but she also loved quiet spaces, books, and words that didn’t rush her. I wanted to give her something that felt like her.
When I pulled up in front of Mahogany Bookmarks their names lined across the table like a reminder that Black love stories could be tender, messy, hilarious, spiritual, sensual, and unforgettable all at once.
“I’ve been meaning to read more of these.” Her voice dropped, almost to herself.
I held the basket closer. “Then start.”
She looked at me.
I nodded. “Go ahead.”
Her eyes widened, then she laughed, the sound lighter now.
“You’ve got four minutes.”
“You’re stressing me out.” She grabbed the first book anyway.
“That’s the point.”
She dropped a poetry book into the basket.
Then her hand hovered over the BLP table again, and she added a B.
Love title first, a Kay Shanee romance next, and a Rosè Dior book with a cover that looked like it had secrets.
She reached for a Fallynn West novel Renee had quietly pointed toward, then grabbed a Tracy Gray title that promised grown-woman emotion and a Soleil book she’d heard readers mention with that special warning that usually meant heartbreak, heat, and healing were all waiting inside.
“There you go.”
Something shifted in her.
Not wild.
Just free.
Watching it did something to me.
I just hoped I wouldn’t be the reason she ever lost that again.
She moved faster, picking books without second-guessing herself. A devotional. Another romance. A suspense novel. A book on prayer. Each choice came easier.
Renee watched from the counter, smiling.
Celeste found a purple sticky note and peeled it off.
She laughed softly, eyes lighting up. “Lyric.”
I walked over. “What’d she do?”
Celeste turned the note toward me.
Pick the purple one.
Love, Lyric
She grabbed the purple book and held the note to her chest. “She’s so cute.”
“She’s also messy.”
“She has good taste.”
“She has too much access.”
She added the book to the basket, her fingers lingering on it.
The timer dropped under a minute.
I stepped beside her. “One more thing.”
She looked up. “What?”
“We need a book to read together.”
Her face softened instantly. “Together?”
“Yeah. Same book. We read it, talk about it, argue about it.”