Page 10 of Siren (The Enigma Affairs #1)

EIGHT

W e ended up at Zamari, a Black-owned bistro in East Liberty.

The walls glowed with a slow gold burn, jazz trailing low like a lover’s breath across skin. Thick tablecloths, soft lighting, waitstaff dressed in black like stagehands letting the scene unfold on its own.

The ma?tre d’ led us to a back corner where the shadows curled, and I exhaled when I saw how the table was set—Amaya and Amir already slipping into one side of the booth, knee to knee, a bottle of red between them like it had been waiting.

Taraj gestured for me to slide in first, then moved in next to me. The intimacy of our closeness reminded me of us moving through the gallery, steps in lockstep. Our energy dancing. But this time it burned hotter.

No distractions. No labels or handlers. No rehearsed pitch hovering in the air.

Just him.

And the light caught him like it wanted to—deep brown skin gleaming at the cheekbones, lips full and relaxed, eyes low but aware. Present.

He watched me. Not constantly. But when he did, I felt it.

We placed our orders. I asked for the halibut and coconut grits. He went with oxtails over mashed potatoes. Amaya and Amir shared a few tapas—comfortably, like they’d done it a hundred times.

Their rhythm made me ache a little.

They weren’t performative. There was no need to prove anything.

I liked her instantly. The calm in her voice. The ease of her presence. But more than that—I liked what they were. How they took up space together without crowding the room.

Taraj’s voice pulled me back into the conversation. He was talking about a mix he’d lost on an old laptop, and Amaya was laughing—this soft, caught-off-guard sound—and I found myself leaning in, wanting more of it.

More of them. More of… him.

I asked, “What about y’all?”

Amaya paused. “What about us?”

“How did you… become you?”

The way she looked at Amir softened something in the air. Even the candlelight shifted.

“It started slow,” she said. “Friendship. Distance. Circumstance. I used to think he wasn’t ready.”

“I wasn’t,” Amir said, without hesitation.

“But I wasn’t honest either,” Amaya added. “About what I wanted. About what scared me.”

Her hand slid into his under the table. I saw the slight shift in their arms. Quiet. Certain.

“I said no to him for a long time. And then one day…” She met his gaze again. “He asked me to say yes. Fully. No hesitation.”

My smile came easy. But inside… something tugged.

That kind of intimacy—that choosing, over and over, without shame or question—I’d always wanted it. Dreamed it. Wrote it into my songs. But watching it in real time did something different. It scraped at the surface of something I didn’t even realize was tender.

I held that ache quietly. Let it move in the background.

The food arrived and helped shift the mood. My halibut was buttery and perfect, resting over the silkiest grits I’d ever tasted. I closed my eyes, let the flavor hit, and let out a small, irreverent sound.

“Lord,” I muttered. “This might be better than the session.”

The table laughed. Even Taraj. And in that warmth, I felt myself exhale. For real this time.

We flowed easy after that.

Stories. Tour chaos. A blown gig. Amir nearly choking on a fried pepper.

At one point, I caught Taraj watching me again.

And I smiled. Not to flirt. Not for show. But to say—I see you, too.

My foot brushed his under the table. I didn’t move. Neither did he. But the tension rolled through me like smoke curling under a closed door.

When the check came, I sat back and watched Amaya rest her head on Amir’s shoulder for a beat. Just a beat. But it was enough to make my chest tighten. Enough to remind me that what they had wasn’t staged.

And that maybe… I still wanted something real too.

We stepped outside into a velvet-slick night. The air was cool and clean, kissed with spring. Amir and Amaya walked ahead, fingers brushing, locked into their own quiet orbit.

“I like her,” I said, slipping my hands into my pockets. “Amaya. She’s got a calm about her.”

“She’s real,” Taraj said. “Always been that.”

I nodded, eyes still on them. “You ever want that?”

It came out low. Softer than I meant. But the question felt honest in my mouth.

Taraj didn’t rush the answer.

“Yes,” he said finally.

The word hung there, warm and open.

I turned toward him, fully now. My body angled before I told it to be. And something passed between us—electric.

He didn’t crowd me. Didn’t lean in with ego. Just looked at me, gaze steady and unreadable.

“I had a good time tonight,” I said. “Didn’t expect to.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just let the air sit.

Then, low, he said, “I knew you would. You needed the reminder.”

My brow lifted. “Reminder of what?”

He stepped closer.

Close enough that the front of my coat brushed his chest. Close enough for my pulse to rise.

“That it’s okay to want something real.”

I didn’t breathe. Not properly. Not until he looked at my mouth and then back into my eyes.

The hunger between us thickened. Not just lust. But something knotted with curiosity. Recognition. A slow, aching draw. I didn’t step forward. But I didn’t move away either.

Not even when Dre opened the truck door behind me.

“Night, Raj,” I said, voice a little lower than before.

I slipped into the car, my body humming like it had been rewired.

And when I closed the door, I didn’t look back.

But I felt him still.

Outside. Watching.

Wanting.

Just like I was.