Two Weeks Later #2
She laughed, nudging my arm. “You’ll probably be wrong.”
“I’m ready.”
She scanned the shelf, slower now, more intentional. Then she pulled out a burgundy book.
A Love That Knows How to Stay.
“This one.”
I nodded. “Alright.”
Stay.
“You really want to read a romance with me?” She studied me like she was testing the truth of it.
“I want to know what you like.”
“I doubt it.”
The timer chimed.
Dr. Malcolm rang the bell. “Time.”
Celeste looked down at the full basket, eyes widening. “I got too much.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Josiah.” She reached for it like she might start putting things back.
I took the basket before she could. “You followed the rules.”
“That’s a lot.” Her voice softened, guilt creeping in.
“You’re worth it.”
Her eyes filled.
I turned to Dr. Malcolm. “And two copies of this one.”
He nodded. “Good choice.”
Renee smiled. “That one will have y’all talking.”
Celeste wiped her eye, laughing through it. “I feel set up.”
“You are,” Renee said. “In a good way.”
I paid while Celeste stood beside me, still smiling through it all.
When we stepped away, I took her hand again.
“Now,” I said, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze, “come see the rest.”
“The rest?” Her brows lifted.
I smiled. “That was just the beginning.”
Her eyes widened, and she laughed softly.
I led her into The Velvet Margin, the private reading room tucked behind an archway draped in deep-green velvet.
She stepped inside slowly, taking everything in. “What is this?”
I stood behind her, watching her reaction. “Just something for you.”
Her shoulders rose and fell as she breathed it in.
A small table sat between two tall bookcases, dressed in cream linen with gold-rimmed plates, candles, and a vase of lilies, rosemary, and red celosia.
A tray of mini desserts waited beside two coffee cups, and a handwritten menu rested on her plate.
On the loveseat near the window sat three wrapped books tied with silk ribbon, a leather journal, and a purple bookmark covered in glitter, crooked hearts, and a tiny crown drawn in gold marker.
I pointed things out one by one. “Flowers from my mom. Desserts from Aunt Hilary. Coffee from Dr. Malcolm. Books Melody helped pick.”
Then I handed her the journal.
Her name was engraved on it.
Celeste Alexandra Coleman.
Beneath it were the words:
For the woman still writing.
She touched it, and the tears came. “Josiah.”
“I know life hasn’t been easy.” My voice softened. “But your story’s not over.”
Her breath caught.
I handed her the bookmark from Lyric.
The front said:
Miss Celeste’s Book Saver
On the back, in wobbly handwriting, it read:
Uncle Siah said you love books, and he loves you. Don’t tell him I told you.
Celeste laughed through tears, shaking her head.
“Lyric told on me,” I said.
Celeste smiled, wiping her cheeks. “She’s perfect.”
“She’s dangerous.”
Celeste held the bookmark close. “This is beautiful.”
She looked at me, and everything shifted.
I stepped closer. “I just wanted you to feel seen.”
“I don’t know what to do with this.” She let out a shaky breath.
“You don’t have to do anything. Just take it in.”
“That’s hard.” She laughed weakly, overwhelmed.
“I know.”
“I’m used to being the one doing everything.” Her voice dropped, almost apologetic.
I touched her cheek, brushing away a tear. “Then let somebody do something for you.”
She closed her eyes, leaning into my hand. “I’m trying.”
“I see you.”
“I love this.” Her voice steadied. “I love how you think. I love how you listen.”
Something in me settled.
And something else tightened.
Because this was the part where things got real. Where feelings stopped being implied and started being spoken. Where love stopped being safe and started being accountable.
“I love you.”
The room went quiet.
Celeste stared at me, searching, maybe bracing.
I didn’t look away.
A small voice in the back of my mind whispered that saying it out loud changed things; once it was spoken, there was no pretending it didn’t matter.
No stepping back into comfort if things got complicated.
“I love you, Celeste.” Her eyes filled again.
“I’m not saying it to rush you.” I took a breath, steadying myself.
“I just needed you to know before fear talked me out of telling the truth.”
She looked at me like she saw all of it.
Then she stepped in and wrapped her arms around my waist.
“I love you too.” Soft. Sure. I held her close. She pulled back, tears still on her cheeks. “I didn’t think I could say that again without guilt.”
“And now?” I brushed her cheek.
“I’m still scared,” she whispered. “But not guilty.”
“That matters.”
It did.
Fear could be worked through.
Guilt buried things.
“I love you, Josiah.”
I closed my eyes, letting it settle.
Quietly, I asked God to help me hold it right.
To not mess this up.
“Thank You, Big G,” I muttered.
She laughed, nudging me. “Right here?”
“Especially here.”
“Because stories matter?” She glanced around.
“Because this one does.”
And because I wanted ours to last.
She smiled.
I kissed her forehead, then her cheeks, then her lips.
The kiss started slow, then deepened.
The room faded.
For the first time in a long time, everything felt right.
Even if part of me was still learning to trust it.
Dinner came after that, but it felt like communion.
We ate shrimp and grits, honey-glazed cornbread, roasted vegetables, lemon pound cake bites, and peach cobbler cheesecake jars Aunt Hilary had labeled Do Not Let Justice Touch.
Celeste laughed until tears gathered again, and I watched her across the table with gratitude pressing hard against my ribs.
We talked about her salon, my business, the kids, Kayden’s boxing stance, Maya’s sketches, JJ pretending he wasn’t emotional, and Skye announcing that any future baby brother would need to be “cute but obedient.”
Celeste smiled over coffee. “JJ finally gave me the graduation ticket count.”
“He gave me mine yesterday,” I said.
Her eyes lifted. “JJ invited you?”
“He did.”
“What’d he say?”
“I asked if he’d already cleared it with you.” I smiled. “He looked me dead in my face and said, ‘I’m asking you.’”
The emotion that crossed her face made me reach for her hand across the table.
“And Kayden?” she asked
I rubbed my thumb over her knuckles. “Told me I’m sitting beside him.”
Her lips parted.
“He asked you?”
“Tried to make it sound like crowd control.” I smiled. “Said somebody needed to keep me from embarrassing JJ when they called his name.”
Celeste laughed, but her eyes filled. “You’re absolutely going to embarrass him.”
“Without shame, love.”
She squeezed my hand. “He’ll love it.”
“I think he will too.”
She blinked hard, then shook her head. “And Skye is still talking about that imaginary baby brother.”
“That child’ll be the end of us.”
“She’ll be somebody’s judge.”
“She already is.”
She looked down at our joined hands and smiled to herself. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For loving my babies like they’re easy to love.”
I shook my head. “Red, . . . they’re yours. That already settled it for me.”
She blinked hard, then laughed through the tears threatening her eyes. “You make it real hard to keep mascara on.”
“Good thing you look beautiful without it.”
She smiled and pointed her fork at me. “Don’t start.”
“I haven’t started anything.”
“Mm-hmm. That’s exactly what a man who already started would say.”
I laughed. “Fair enough.”
She was quiet on the ride.
So was I.
The silence wasn’t empty. It was full, tender, and aware of everything we’d just said. Her hand rested in mine, her thumb brushing my knuckles like she needed to feel me there.
When we pulled into my driveway, neither of us moved.
The truck hummed before I turned it off. Darkness settled around us, the porch light warming her face.
She looked at me. “Are you inviting me in?”
“I am.”
“For coffee?”
“No.” Her lips parted. I leaned back, studying her. “For prayer if you need it. Dessert if you want it. My arms, either way.” My voice lowered. “And if you walk in looking at me like that, . . . it won’t be just coffee.”
Her chest rose.
“Good,” she said.
One word.
Soft.
Certain.
Dangerous.
By the time we made it inside, desire moved through the hallway like a slow strike of flint. She set her books and journal on the entryway table, then turned and placed her palm on my chest.
“Sit.” I blinked. Celeste nodded toward the couch. “Sit, baby.”
Lord.
I obeyed.
Not because I had to but because there was something sacred about watching her claim space she used to apologize for. Candlelight cut across her curves, her locs loosening, her eyes no longer hiding.
She reached for the hem of her dress.
“Red.”
“No.” Quiet, firm. “You told me not to run.” I swallowed. “I’m not running tonight.”
She pulled the dress over her head.
The sight of her in gold lace and brown skin nearly took my soul with it.
My hands curled against my thighs.
She noticed and smiled. “You struggling?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I exhaled a weak laugh. “You feeling bold.”
“I’m feeling loved.” That shut me up. She came closer, placed one knee beside my hip, and lifted my chin. “I want to love you back.”
She kissed me slow, deliberate, like patience had something to prove. When she settled over my lap, I gripped her waist and fought for what little restraint I had left.
“You know what you’re doing?”
She rocked once.
My head fell back.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Celeste.”
She kissed my jaw, then my neck. “Talk to me, baby.”
That word again.
Baby.
Warm. Wicked.
My body answered before my mind could.
I lifted my hips; her breath broke.
“You want me to tell you what you’re doing to me?”
Her hands worked at my belt. “Yes.”
I helped her, saved, not slow.
She laughed softly, pushed my sweater up, and kissed down my chest.
At first, I tried to watch her with sense. I tried to keep my breathing even, tried to keep my hands loose at my sides, tried to remember I was a man of discipline and not somebody’s undone testimony waiting to happen.
Then she sank between my knees.
My breath caught so hard my chest stuttered.
“Red.”