Page 69 of Cuffed By Your Love

I looked down. “Mean what?”

“You’re safe here. You don’t have to perform. You don’t have to protect me from your tired. You don’t even have to talk some nights. I’ll just hold you till the world shuts up.”

I blinked hard.

I kissed her temple.

I pulled her tighter.

And for the first time in a long time, I let myself sleep without armor.

The air in my parents’house always smelled like something warm had been prayed over—cinnamon, sage, maybe grief slow-cooked down into resilience. Mama was posted up in her recliner wrapped in her favorite throw blanket, sipping chamomile tea with honey and holding the remote like it was gospel. Daddy was in the kitchen humming old Al Green, cooking neckbones and cabbage like it was Sunday instead of Wednesday.

“I see you got your glow back, baby girl,” he said without looking up, stirring the pot with one hand and pointing his wooden spoon like a sermon with the other.

“Daddy, hush,” I mumbled, blushing like I was sixteen again and caught sneaking in late.

He turned then, lifting an eyebrow. “Don’t hush me. You out here grinning like a damn Cheshire cat, looking joyful as hell. That ain’t somethin’ you can buy, baby girl.”

I chuckled and slid onto a stool at the counter. “I came to check on Mama.”

“And you should,” Mama called from the living room, “but don’t act like you ain’t here to tell us about that fine police officer who laid that fool Kam out like ya used to do ya new clothes the night before school.”

I damn near choked on air. “Mama!”

“I ain’t lying,” she said, patting her knee like she was ready to spill gossip over pound cake. “He loves you. You can see it in how he looks at you like you the last prayer he wanna say at night before bed, chile.”

Daddy cleared his throat and turned the heat down. “Long as he ain’t like that last fool, I support it. I never knew what you saw in Kam anyway, but I ain’t say nothin’ ’cause I wanted you to feel grown.”

I swallowed hard. “I didn’t either. Not really. I just… didn’t wanna be alone.”

Daddy wiped his hands and kissed the top of my head. “You ain’t never alone, baby girl. We your people.”

My phone buzzed just as I was about to respond.

Detective Fine Shyt:

Pull up on me later Gorgeous for the Self Ridge Fair. Me and EJ want our favorite lady with us.

My heart did that dumb little flutter thing.

I texted back a simple,

Say less. I’m yours.

He responded not even ten seconds later.

Detective Fine Shyt:

As long as you know

I stared at the screen for a moment, lips curving into a full-on smirk before I had to bite it back.

Because feelings weren’t just catching me slipping; they were grabbing me by the collar and snatching me forward.

The Self Ridge Fair was already alive when we pulled up. Elias drove like he read my mind, radio low, hand resting heavy and warm on my thigh, his hoodie slung across my shoulders like a silent claim. The fair stretched across the field like a celebration God handcrafted for summertime joy and petty redemption. Neon lights blinked against the dusky sky, cotton candy spun in the air like pink halos, and the sound of kids laughing mixed with the creak of old Ferris wheels and the slap of dominoes at a vendor table.

It was a sensory baptism. Kids screamed on rides that looked like they were one screw away from a lawsuit. Old heads grilled turkey legs while flirting with aunties in biker shorts. Gospel from the praise tent blended with trap music from the funnel cake stand. It was a literal hood heaven.