Page 42 of Rekindled Love

She hugged him too. “Handle her with care, Jay,” she warned in a low voice. “I meant that punch.”

“Yeah, I felt that,” he said dryly.

Then she was gone, leaving the two of us at the table with my appetite evaporated.

He slid into her seat like it was nothing. “You done?” he asked, nodding at my plate.

“Yes,” I lied.

“Where’s my baby?”

“At the Children’s Museum.”

He sighed. “I know she has… I’d like to do stuff like that with her, Kyleigh.”

All I could say was say, “I know.”

He studied my face for a second, then stood. “Come on. I’ll take you home,” he said.

I should’ve said no. I didn’t.

We stepped out of Darnita’s, the bell jangling behind us as the door shut. The cold air hit my cheeks, smelling like exhaust and a little like the fry grease where Darnita made the magic happen.

“You cold?” he asked.

“I live up the hill, not in the tropics. I’m fine,” I said.

“Mm-hmm. Put this on before you start shivering and try to sue the town for emotional distress.” He shrugged out of his hoodie anyway and held it out.

“I would absolutely win,” I muttered, but the wind was a littlebrisk, so I slid into it.

The hoodie was warm and smelled like his detergent, warm cologne, and something that was just… him. I hated that my shoulders relaxed on reflex. I hated that I wanted to just zip it up and bury my face in it like I had back in the day.Weak!

We walked side by side toward his truck. People on the sidewalk did that thing where they pretended not to stare but somehow still saw everything. I kept my chin up, hoping my expression was somewhere between bored and unbothered.

“You came and sat and had a meal. I’m proud of you.”

I scoffed. “Had to tell Shayla off, too. She was breathing too much in Darnita’s space. I did community service.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm. “You ain’t pop her? You always did have a mean right hook.”

“That was one time,” I said.

“And I’m still low-key impressed.”

We reached the truck. He opened my door like he’d been doing it every day for the last ten years instead of… not. I hesitated half a second, then climbed in. By the time I buckled my seat belt, he was in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other draped lazily on his thigh.

“Aziza staying at the museum ’til when?” he asked.

“Three, then they’ll go for dinner. Serena said she was gon’ wear her out good before they came home.”

“So, you technically got a couple hours to yourself,” he mused aloud.

I narrowed my eyes. “Technically, I have a couple hours to work.”

“Girl, you ate shrimp and grits. Ain’t no productivity ’til about 4:30 when the -itis passes.”

“I don’t remember asking for a medical opinion,” I said.