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)
“It’s just right,” Hendrix assures. “And your hair sets it all off. You did that?”
“Deja.” I pat the curls. “You like?”
“It looks great,” Hendrix says. “I’m telling ya. Kid influencers are blowing up. She might be onto something with that hair thing.”
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes. “She needs to be onto those grades. I’m more interested in her midterms than how many followers she has.”
“I hear that.” Hendrix shrugs. “Just saying she does have real talent and she’s great on the socials.”
“Okay. Okay.” I walk back to the counter and sit. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“Yes, later,” Soledad says. “Tonight is all about you and Mark. Are you nervous?”
“Not really.” I meet two sets of disbelieving eyes on-screen. “Okay. A little.”
“You’ll be fine,” Hendrix says.
“Thanks, guys,” I tell them. “Lemme bounce, but I’ll let you know how everything goes.”
When the doorbell rings, I gulp a huge breath into my air-starved lungs. I force myself to walk down the stairs serenely and to the foyer, pinning a bright smile on my face and opening the door.
Josiah stands on the front porch, broad and towering, the light carving shadows under his high cheekbones. Damn my ex for being this fine when I’m about to go on my first non-husband date in a decade and a half.
“Si, hey.” I turn back into the foyer. “Thought you were Mark. You’re early.”
“Between Anthony and Vashti, everything is under control at Grits tonight.” He walks in, Otis at his heels, and closes the door behind him, holding up a take-out container. “Plus, Deja texted asking me to bring her dinner.”
“Leftover lasagna was good enough for Kassim, but obviously can’t hold a candle to Vashti’s ribs.”
“Fried chicken,” Josiah corrects with a faint smile. “You look…”
His eyes take their time assessing the studded pins in my curls, traversing the vibrant pantsuit molding my curves, and the glittering shoes I forced my feet into.
“Nice.” He glances away, a line sketched between his brows.
“Thank you,” I say, my tone wry. “No chance I’ll get a big head from your effusive compliments.”
“I’ll leave that to your date.” He walks to the bottom of the stairs and yells up, “Day, your food’s here.”
She barrels down to him, her face lit up like Santa just slid from the chimney.
“Dad!” Dejah rises onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek and takes the food from him.
I can’t remember the last time she greeted me like that. I know we’re going through a phase, but there is a small part of me that covets the ease Deja and Josiah still share. Something soft and warm brushes my hand, and I glance down to find Otis sitting at my feet, nuzzling his sleek head into my palm.
“Hey, old friend.” I scratch behind his ears, leaning down to whisper. “You’re always glad to see me, huh?”
I’ve caught Josiah talking to Otis before. I’ve even teased him about it, but looking at the steady dark eyes of our dog, I can’t blame him for thinking Otis understands every word, because he makes me feel more seen than I have all day.
“You are something else,” I tell him with a chuckle.
The doorbell rings, and all conversation ceases, Deja and Josiah both turning their full attention on the door. With perfect timing…or imperfect, from my POV…Kassim makes his way down the stairs and sits on a step halfway down, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand like he has a courtside seat.
“Are you guys gonna just…” I lift my brows expectantly, hoping they’ll scurry and give me some privacy, but no one moves. “Ugh.”
Plastering on my first-date smile, I open the door. Mark Lancaster stands on the front porch holding a bouquet of flowers. An immaculately tailored dark suit and slate-colored open-collared shirt contrast with his brushed-back blond hair. Despite the weight of three sets of eyes on my back, my mood lightens with genuine pleasure at the sight of the flowers and at the sight of him. He’s tall and handsome and is looking at me like he wants dessert first.
It’s me. I’m dessert.
“Mark, hi.” I accept the bouquet, lowering my nose to the wildflowers wrapped in paper. “These are lovely. Thank you.”
“Hi, Yasmen. You look…” His blue eyes gleam, heating as they roam my face and figure, and then widen when he notices my family congregated behind me in the foyer. “Ummm, great. You look great.”
“Thank you.” I don’t want to invite him in, not with the gang all here and clocking our every move. I turn, unseeingly shoving the flowers at the nearest Wade, which happens to be Josiah. “Could you put these in water for me? Thanks.”
After a hesitation, and a long look at Mark that seems to simultaneously probe and warn, he accepts. The man’s running for Congress. Does Josiah think he’ll slit my throat and stuff me in the trunk of his Tesla? He’s not my husband anymore. I know exactly how little he cares about who I’m dating. I also know how Vashti looks wearing nothing except his shirt. With that mental reminder, I check inside my clutch for essentials and turn to the spectators.