Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“That’s good.” He pulls back to push the hair away from my face. “Because I’m apparently not very good at losing things, and I’m really bad at losing you.”
I lean in to kiss him again, but the sound of paws on the hardwood floor makes us both turn our heads. Otis trots into the kitchen and walks up to Josiah, leaning his head into his hip, obviously angling to be touched.
Josiah rubs the huge dog behind his ears. “Whaddya say to coming home?” he asks.
Otis barks as if in complete support of this idea and we laugh.
“Byrd knew what she was doing leaving him with you,” I say. “She saw in you what I do. That you’ll do whatever is necessary for those you love.”
“And I do love you,” he says, the truth of it blazing clearly in his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it back before.”
“Don’t be. We have a lot to work out.” I laugh. “Hey, Merry and Ken have been shacking up for thirty years. I think we can take our time. I love you and there’s no rush.”
He angles my face up for another kiss. Compared to all the hot stolen moments we’ve shared lately, it’s chaste. A mere press of his lips to mine, but there’s such tenderness to it. It feels like it did before, inlaid with commitment and devotion, but laced with a new appreciation. Maybe we took what we had before for granted, didn’t know it was fragile because we were fragile in ways that had never been tested. Now, though, this thing between us is a tensile thread that I truly believe won’t snap when life jerks. His arms tighten around me, possessive, protective. It will take time for him to be sure I won’t slip away, so I’ll just keep standing still, held by him.
The kiss deepens, probes like he’s seeking answers in the touch of our lips, in the tangle of our tongues. We break apart, breathing hard, our foreheads bunting as I slip a hand behind his neck, anchoring us together.
“Ewww.”
Deja’s voice jars us both, and I can’t help but laugh at the disgusted look on her face as she enters the kitchen.
“We eat here,” she says, pointing to where I sit and he’s pressed to me. “Not anymore. That counter is officially suspect.”
I breathe out a laugh and Josiah’s chuckle vibrates through me at the places where we touch.
“What’s going on?” Kassim asks from just behind his sister. His wide eyes flick from us to Josiah’s suitcase standing by the door.
“It’s a lot to explain,” I say. “And we’ll talk through everything.”
Josiah clasps our hands together on the counter for our children to see.
“But long story short,” he says, his openly loving gaze set on me, setting me on fire, “I’m coming home.”
Epilogue
Yasmen
“Why are you cast down, O my soul…Hope.”
—Psalm 42:5
New Year’s Eve is always one of my favorite nights of the year, though one of the busiest. I made the midnight toast, as I usually do, ringing in a new year at the Grits celebratory bash. Bottles popping. Champagne flowing. The place, pulsing with possibility and jubilation an hour ago, is starting to clear out. By one o’clock, everyone should be gone. The DJ was great, a new guy I found by chance. He played “Feels Good,” and Hendrix did lose her mind the way she does every time that song comes on. She’s still slightly sweaty and breathless when she and Soledad find me on the roof wishing the diners Happy New Year and thanking them for coming.
“Great party,” Hendrix says, coiling her waist-skimming braids up into a messy bun. “Once again.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“How are things going in Charlotte?” Soledad asks. “With their first New Year’s Eve bash?”
“Great,” I reply with a smile. “Our new manager there, Charles, sent us some pics. Everyone looked like they were having a ball. The place looks fantastic. Thanks again for your help decorating it, Sol.”
“It was nothing,” she says.
“I’ll have to check it out next time I’m visiting Mama in Charlotte,” Hendrix says.
“Yeah, you can kind of keep an eye on it for me.” I smile, grabbing an unopened bottle of champagne from a nearby table. “One last drink to toast another year? I wasn’t with you tricks when the New Year rang in, so shall we?”
“Oh, we shall.” Soledad takes a seat at the table.
“Lemme get us some glasses,” I say as Hendrix sits too.
I walk over to the bartender on this level, who’s shutting down for the night, and snag three shot glasses from the bar since there’s probably not one clean flute in the building.
“Pour it up!” I hold the glasses triumphantly, returning to the table to take my seat. “These are the best I could do.”
“That’s about as much as I can take anyway.” Hendrix laughs. “I’m lushed. You hear me?”