Page 39 of Before I Say I Don’t

Chapter Twenty-One

KAMIRA

I woke up the next morning sore… in the best way. The bed beside me was empty, but the air was rich with the enticing aroma of butter, crispy bacon, sweet cinnamon, and something deliciously sizzling on the stove. A deep bass line pulsed through the house, adding a lively backdrop to my morning.

I rolled over and reached for my phone on the nightstand. My eyes blinked against the morning light as I squinted at the screen.

Angelo: Good morning, baby. I hope you’re feeling better. What time you plan on coming home?

Viangelo thought I was at Danica’s—at least, that was the lie I told him.

The surprise wasn’t him, though… it was Jayla’s text.

Jayla: Good morning, bestie! Just checking on you since you said you weren’t feeling good. I know I been MIA… just personal shit. Call me when you get up! We need a lunch date… just me and you before your big day! I love you!

I scoffed loudly. I didn’t even dignify it with bubbles.

She must think I saw those messages between her and Kendall… I did.

I slid out of bed, wincing slightly at the ache between my thighs, yet a smile crept onto my face at the thought of what brought it on.

I hit the bathroom, took care of my business in there, then followed the music to the kitchen, where the delicious scents wafted invitingly.

Roman was at the stove shirtless, and rocking gray sweats, moving like a man who meant business as he plated up vanilla-bean French toast, fluffy eggs, and crispy turkey bacon. A skillet of peach compote simmered low, the sweet scent cutting through the air.

Instead of gospel like I grew up hearing on Sunday mornings, Tevin Campbell’s voice poured from the speakers—silky, timeless music. And honestly? One could never go wrong with his songs.

Roman glanced over his shoulder, eyes skating down my oversized tee and bare legs. ,

I leaned on the doorframe, smirking.

“You can always tell when a man got some goodies the night before,” I teased, nodding at the spread. “Whole breakfast symphony.”

Roman chuckled low, closing the space between us. “Or maybe I just missed feeding you.” His lips brushed against mine in a slow, lingering kiss that felt like a sweet promise, as if it were breakfast before breakfast. Then, with a playful tap on my hip, he urged, “Come on. Let’s eat.”

I slid onto the stool at the quaint kitchen island, the scent of cinnamon and vanilla lingering in the air.

After he took his seat, I automatically bowed my head, feeling the familiar warmth of gratitude wash over me as I prayed out loud—for both of us, giving thanks for the moment and meal before us.

Roman’s silent presence beside me was comforting; it felt less like mere politeness and more like a shared connection.

“You’re always cooking for me. I’ma cook for you next time,” I said, cutting into the fluffy French toast.

Roman chuckled lightly. “I think you said that last time. But I don’t mind the always,” he added easily. “I also won’t mind you returning the favor either. That’s how a relationship eats —reciprocity.”

“Relationship, huh?” I smirked into my fork.

Roman held my eyes like the word was already carved in stone. “Call it whatever helps you breathe, baby.”

Noted, I thought, biting back a grin as I chewed.

He studied me for a beat longer, then asked, “How you feeling, though?”

“Sore. Floating. Hungry in three different ways… two of which you caused.” I chuckled.

Roman laughed, shaking his head. “That sounds like a five-star review.”

I smirked. “Cocky, much?”

“I have every right to be when it comes to this dick,” he shot back with a conceited grin.

That you do, I admitted silently, but the words stayed locked behind my lips.

His expression softened a notch as he leaned back.

“But seriously—how’s your head? I mean, mentally. ”

How’s your head? It was a question that delved deeper than the usual small talk. Not how’s the food, not how’d you sleep… not even some casual throwaway—are you good?

Roman was asking about the part of me that nobody else took a genuine interest in—besides Danica. That part of me I usually had to duct tape together in silence, shoving my feelings into a box to keep them from spilling over.

Viangelo rarely asked. If anything, he treated my emotions like an inconvenience, something that needed to be reset or silenced if it threatened his stability.

But Roman? He looked at me like my mind mattered more than the body he’d just worshipped…

like my thoughts and feelings were treasures he wanted to explore rather than obstacles to avoid.

And that… that felt dangerously exhilarating in a whole different way.

I set my fork down, chewing slowly on the thought before I answered, “I’m okay.”

And for once, I meant it.

“Honestly, I am. And I don’t say that lightly.

I’m not saying everything’s fixed; it’s not.

But I don’t feel like I’m drowning anymore.

Between you reminding me I don’t have to hold all this weight alone and Danica dragging me out of my feelings with her gospel-and-gems speeches, I’ve had more encouragement this past month than I’ve had in years. ”

Roman’s eyes stayed on me, steady, like he was checking for cracks in the words. Then his hand slid across the table, palm up. I set mine in it without hesitation.

“You’re more than okay, Kam,” he reassured, thumb brushing the back of my hand. “You just needed people in your corner who see it and remind you. Now you got that.”

I smiled.

This man.

“So…” He sipped his coffee, eyes locked on me. “What now?”

“Now… we wait. But there are a few things I need to do before I say, ‘I don’t.” I tilted my head. “I’m curious, though. How would we even work with you being there and me here?”

“I’m thinking about staying.”

“Y-You are?”

“Yeah. But only if there’s a reason to stay.” Roman let that hang, not blinking.

Rising from my chair, I stepped between his knees and eased into his lap. His hands slid to my bare thighs like they belonged there.

I bent to his ear and pressed sweet kisses down the slope of his neck, feeling him grow harder beneath me. Then I whispered the words that made his grip tighten.

“Is this a good enough reason?”

“More than enough. But you know me… I don’t do maybe ; I do mine. ”

“I know, Roman. Just let me get through this week. After that…”

“After that,” he interjected, thumb stroking my spine, “you’ll be all mine. No negotiating, no takebacks. I’m taking that offer… if there is one available. And… I’m taking you to breakfast where someone else washes the dishes.”

I chuckled, easing back just enough to meet his eyes. “I’ll give you a better deal. I’ll cook and wash the dishes.”

He smirked, shaking his head. “Nah, you can cook; I’ll do the dishes. Teamwork, baby.”

I raised a brow. “So I guess I have to do the dishes today, huh?”

“Hell yeah!” he fired back, making both of us laugh. Then he softened. “Nah. I got the dishes, baby. I know you gotta get home.”

On cue, his phone buzzed on the counter and mine rang in the bedroom—but neither of us moved.

I sighed, brushing my forehead against his. “Unfortunately, yes.”

He kissed my hairline and said, “When you’re ready, text me the schedule for this week. I’ll be wherever you need me—front row, back door, or across the street with my lawyer face on. Just say the word.”

I slid off his lap, feet meeting the floor again, and swiped a strip of turkey bacon off his plate. I stole a quick kiss, then returned to my seat like nothing had shifted—although everything had.

After breakfast, I went back to the room and opened my phone. Jayla’s message still sat there, dripping with hearts and fake bestie energy. I swiped it away like lint. Viangelo’s “good morning” was waiting too—that got the same treatment.

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like answering anybody but me.