Honestly I am not a writer but was thinking about the paternal side of smoke when he taught the little girl about negotiating! It was an epic part of the film that I think shows so much of his character as a father figure.. so what if his baby girl would’ve lived. I think that scene showed parallels to if she would’ve lived, how he would have been in a way. Idk my first ever anything !
“ Papa!! Papa look what I got “ the young girl shrilled excitedly as she ran into the front yard. Smoke had turned to quickly see his baby girl barreling towards him. He snatched her up before she could run face front into his lower half.
“ whoa slow down baby girl, you nearly knocked papa off his feet” he said with a chuckle. “ awe papa nobody can knock YOU down, not even uncle stack!“ his little girls faced twisted in a sly grin that mirrored his twin as she looked at him & said “cept mama.” she beamed at her papa and he looked at her bashfully knowing she was telling the truth.
“ what’s got you so in a hurry ? “ he asked his beautiful little girl. She slowly opened her tiny hand to show him the nickel that lay upon it. Smoke raised his eyebrows and scrunched his face in mild confusion. Not that he didn’t know what a nickel was, but because he didn’t understand the cats meow about a nickel. He had always given his baby girl the world. She never knew what it felt like to wake up before God to go and pick cotton, she never had to feel the burn of the Mississippi sun beating down on her back and she didn’t have to feel the blood drip from her hands because of the hard dried pericarp of cotton. And as long as he lived and breathed she would never know that life, sharecropper was another word for slave, and she would never know the feeling of being either. She was down right spoiled, let her mama tell it. “ she’ont know the meaning of the word no when it comes to you Elijah” he could hear Annie telling him when he brought her home a new doll or teddy. This was his purpose though, when he found out Annie was pregnant it grounded him.
She and the baby stabilized him. He realized he could no longer be the man who cared about nothing except protecting his brother, he had to protect himself so he could be there to protect his wife & little one. He had decided he was done with robbing and scheming and the money he had saved up he opened a shop, a shop by day servicing the black folk of the community and a juke joint by night, giving freedom to hard day and week they put in. It was so successful stack even had to invest in the business. So it puzzled him because his baby girl had plenty of nickels in the jar her mama gave her as a piggy bank, what was so special about this one?
“You got a nickel from ya bank ?” Smoke asked his little girl. She shook her head and said “ no papa, I got it from cousin Sammie” “Sammie ?” Smoke question raising his right eyebrow, what Sammie give you a nickel for ? “
“ he tried to give me a wooden nickel, said he needed me to watch out for uncle Jed while he go walk a lady down the road.” Smokes brows raised high to meet the lining of his hair he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “ he wanted you to do what now ?” “ but I told him I’m not watchin less he give me a real nickel, then he said he give me two wooden nickels.” She raised her index and her middle fingers to emphasize the number two. Smoke stared in disbelief as his daughter recounted the story. “I said 1 nickel or I’m not watching for you. He aint want too but he gave me the nickel see papa” Alisha ( Ali for short) held the nickel in between her and her papa eyeing it with pride. He couldn’t help but smile a big wide grin. Both of their deep dimples showing while he held her as she looked at the nickel and he looked at her. His heart burst with love. Ever since she could talk, which was the age of 3 , he started teaching her the ways to negotiate and stand up for herself. He would always be there, but he knew he carried a lot of sins from his past and one day that might catch up. So he wanted to teach her everything he knew so she wouldn’t be vulnerable to the ways of man. Negotiating was the first lesson. Knowing your worth and what you have to offer. He beamed with pride as he kissed her little dimple and held her close and said “ that’s papas baby girl”
Summary: Amelia packed her things and took a train to Clarksdale Mississippi to reunite with an old friend, Annie. Annie promised she’d teach Amelia the art of Hoodoo. After a month, Smoke and Stack return with a plan to open a Juke Joint.
Warnings: SMUT
Part Eight
The scream tore out of her throat and vanished into the trees.
Remmick moved.
Not like a man.
Like something slipping through the dark between moments, his body bending forward, jaw split wide, fangs bared as he lunged for her with a hunger that had waited centuries.
Amelia stumbled back, hands flying up on instinct.
“Don’t—!”
Her light answered before her mind could. It burst from her palms in a wild, unshaped flare gold and white and flickering blue. Like fire that hadn’t decided what it wanted to be yet. It struck him full in the chest.
Remmick hissed—sharp—his body snapping back as the light burned across his raggedy coat, searing through fabric, biting into skin beneath. Smoke curled from him, thin and bitter.
But…it didn’t stop him. It only made him laugh. A broken, delighted sound clawed up from his chest as he straightened, eyes glowing red now, brighter…hungrier.
“There it is,” he rasped, “there it is…show me again.”
Amelia’s breath hitched. Her hands trembled as she tried to summon it again—tried to shape it, control it—but it flickered, unstable. Too bright one second. Gone the next.
“I don’t—” she gasped, “I don’t know how—”
Remmick stalked closer.
“You don’t need to know,” he spoke softly, hauntingly, “you just need to bleed.”
Remmick lunged again—
And the forest split. Not with sound. With light.
A clean, violent beam cut through the dark wilderness, cold and focused, nothing like Amelia’s wild glow. It struck Remmick from the side with surgical precision, blasting him backward into a tree so hard the trunk cracked.
The woods went eerily still. Even Amelia’s breath caught in her chest.
Remmick hit the ground hard, smoke rising from his skin, body twitching as something ancient and furious stirred beneath the burn.
Then, a voice followed. Calm. Measured. Unmoved. As if the forest itself was speaking.
“You hunt too loud, fanger.”
Amelia turned.
She hadn’t seen her arrive. One moment the trees were empty. Then the next, she was there.
Virelle stood just beyond the reach of the scattered light, her figure still and composed like she had stepped out of the night itself. No rush. No panic.
Her gaze flicked once to Amelia. Sharp. Assessing. Then, back to Remmick.
“Still clingin’ to scraps in foreign soil,” Virelle said, almost bored, “you grow desperate.”
Remmick rose slowly, head tilting, lips curling back into something feral.
“…Virelle,” he breathed, recognition slipping into his tone like a blade. “Didn’t think they still sent watchers this far south.”
“They don’t,” she replied. “I came on my own.”
Amelia’s pulse roared in her ears. She didn’t understand what was happening, who this woman was, but her fae knew. Something older than fear. Something that said she wasn’t an enemy, but not safe either.
Remmick wiped at the burn on his chest, his fingers coming away dark.
“And this one yours?” He asked, nodding toward Amelia. “Little halflin’ glowing in the woods like o’ dinner bell?”
Virelle didn’t answer. Her eyes shifted to Amelia again, taking in the trembling hands, the unstable light flickering beneath her skin, the grief still clinging to her like damp cloth.
“You flare too loud, little girl. You sure you Lysara’s offspring?” Virelle said simply.
The words landed like a bolder to her chest. Harder than any comfort could have.
Then—
Remmick moved again. Faster. Angrier.
Virelle remained still.
Her hand lifted, just slightly, and the light answered her like it had been waiting.
Controlled.
It shot forward in a narrow, blinding arc and struck Remmick mid-lunge, snapping his body sideways and driving him across the forest floor in a violent drag of dirt and bark. He roared this time, no laughter in it now. Virelle stepped forward once, that was all. But the ground shifted beneath her feet. The light collapsed in on itself and everything went dark. For a single breath, Ameila couldn’t see. Couldn’t feel the ground. Couldn’t hear the forest. Only the echo of her own pulse.
Then, they were somewhere else. Cooler. Thicker. Deeper into the woods where the trees grew taller and the moonlight barely touched the ground. No sign of Remmick. No broken bark. No scorched earth.
Amelia staggered, catching herself against a tree, long hair frizzy and wild, dress dirty, face covered in dry tear streaks and sweat. Eyes blurry. Fingers tingling after the light that burst out in flickers.
“Wha—” she choked. “What was that—where—”
Virelle stood a few paces away, untouched, unbothered, uninterested. She watched Amelia like a problem she hadn’t decided how to solve yet.
“That,” Virelle said. “Was what’s been sniffin’ at your heels since you crossed into this place.”
Ameila shook her head, trembling. “He—he said he was gon—”
“Yes,” Virelle cut in. “He was.”
Amelia’s light flickered again but weak. Exhausted. Virelle’s gaze dropped to her hands, then back up to her face.
“You don’t know how to use it.” She said.
Amelia swallowed hard. “I…I tried—”
“You panicked.”
“I was about to be killed!”
“And you nearly handed yourself over.”
Virelle’s words were cold. Clean. Unforgiving. No room for understanding. Ameila flinched like she’d been struck. Virelle stepped closer, enough now that Amelia could see her clearly. The stillness in her. The absence of fear. And her fae stirred.
“You don’t understand what you are.” Virelle said. “And because of that…everything around you suffers for it.”
Amelia’s chest tightened. “Who are you?”
A pause. Then…
“Someone who’s been watching you burn everything you touch.”
Amelia’s breath hitched.
Somewhere far off, deep in the trees they’d left behind, a low, furious howl echoed.
Remmick.
He was still alive. Ready to hunt again. Virelle didn’t bother acknowledging the sound of Remmick’s ferocity, but her eyes sharpened.
“He’ll come again,” she said.
Amelia’s lungs burned as she tried to steady her breathing.
It wasn’t working.
Her chest rose too fast. Her hands trembled. That light inside her that was usually a low hum felt raw now. Scraped open like it had been dragged out of her without warning and didn’t know how to settle back into place.
“You gon’ stand there staring at me like I ain’t almost just died?” Her voice cracked, sharp with fear and anger. “Or you gon’ tell me what the yell is goin’ on?”
Virelle stood with her weight balanced evenly, hands relaxed at her sides, eyes fixed on Amelia like she was studying something fragile and inconvenient at the same time.
It made Amelia’s skin crawl.
“Who are you?” Amelia pressed, stepping forward. “And how you just do that? Where we at? What was that thing—”
“A vampire.” Virelle said.
Amelia blinked. “A what?”
“A predator,” Virelle continued, as if Amelia hadn’t spoken. “Older than most things that walk this land. Drawn to power. To blood. To anything that burns bright enough to be worth the trouble.”
Virelle’s gaze shifted slightly, dragging over Amelia’s face, her trembling hands, the faint flicker still dancing beneath her skin.
“You’re unstable.”
Amelia flinched. “What?”
“You heard me.”
A sharp breath left her.
“I got chased through the woods by some—some thing tryin’ to eat me and that’s what you got to say?”
“What I have to say,” Virelle replied, voice even, “is that you are loud, untrained, and careless with a power you don’t understand. That makes you dangerous. Not just to yourself.”
Amelia stared at her, stunned.
“You don’t know me,” Amelia said.
“I know enough.”
“Then say it!” Amelia snapped, emotion breaking through. “Say what you think you know ‘bout me!”
Virelle took on step closer.
“You don’t know what you are, she said. “But you feel it. Every time your emotions spike. Every time someone gets too close. Every time you want something badly enough to bend the world around you.”
Amelia’s throat tightened. “That ain’t—”
“You killed a man.”
Ameila staggered back like she’d been struck.
“I didn’t mean to kill Nathaniel. It was an accident—”
“You still did it.”
Virelle’s voice didn’t rise or accuse. It just…stated.
Amelia’s eyes burned. “I lost control. I told you that. I didn’t know what was happenin’ to me.”
Virelle’s expression didn’t change.
“You led him into the water. You let your emotions climb. And your light answered. You wanted to kill him and your fae gave you the push you needed to do it.”
Amelia shook her head, tears spilling now.
“I…It just…it happened.”
“Keep selling that lie to yourself Amelia to make you feel better.” The quiet in Virelle’s tone was suffocating. “You don’t direct it. You don’t contain it. You react. And everything around you pays the price for that.”
Amelia’s chest heaved. “You talkin’ like I chose this.”
“No,” Virelle said. “I’m talking like you refused to learn it.”
Amelia’s hands curled into fists. “Learn from who?” She demanded. “My grandmother died before she could tell me everything. My mama ain’t never been there. I been tryin’ to figure this out on my own—”
“And in the process,” Virelle cut in, “you attached yourself to the first place that felt like safety.”
Amelia went still.
“You embedded yourself in a house already rooted in ancestral work,” Virelle continued. “A woman who practices. A man bound to her. Another drawn to power and pleasure. You placed yourself at the center of something already alive.”
Amelia shook her head slowly. “Stop. Annie was the one person I could feel safe with. I didn’t do that on purpose. I didn’t charm them on purpose.”
“No,” Virelle said. “But you did it anyway.” Her eyes flicked briefly, toward Amelia’s chest. “You made sweetening work.”
Amelia’s breath caught.
“I…” she hesitated. “It wasn’t for them. I made it for myself. To soften things. To keep peace—”
“And instead,” Virelle said, “you amplified what you already are.”
The realization crept in slow and sick.
“You think that jar worked on its own?” Virelle went on. “You think it didn’t respond to you? Your blood? Your nature?”
Amelia’s voice dropped. “I didn’t mean to trap nobody.”
“You didn’t have to mean it.” Virelle’s gaze sharpened like daggers. “You’re a conduit. Not just for desire. For attachment. Obsession. Longing. That jar didn’t create those feelings…it fed them. And you stood at the center of it while it did.”
Images flickered behind Amelia’s eyes.
Annie’s hands on her hips and her lips and tongue on her pussy.
Smoke’s stare and obsession with her smell, his nose pressed into her bloomers.
Stack’s voice telling her he loved her the look in his eyes when he mounted her and fucked her in the backseat of his car.
Her stomach turned.
“I didn’t force them,” she whispered.
“No. But you made it easier for them not to resist.”
Amelia’s shoulders caved in, her hands covering her face as she cried openly now. The kind of crying that came from being stripped down to truth you didn’t want to face.
“I—I just–just wanted somewhere to–to belong,” Amelia choked. “That’s all I wanted.”
Virelle watched her. Unmoved.
“That doesn’t make you harmless.”
Amelia dropped her hands, eyes blazing through tears. “Then what do you want from me?!”
Virelle paused, then…
“I’m here because you’ve become a problem.”
“A problem,” Amelia repeated, hollow.
“Yes.”
“For who?”
“For everything around you.”
Amelia laughed once. Bitter. Broken. “So what, you here to kill me then?”
Virelle’s gaze lingered. She didn’t answer right away.
“If that were the case,” she said finally, “you wouldn’t still be standing.”
Amelia wiped at her face, breathing uneven. “Then why reveal yourself now?”
Virelle looked past her for a moment. Into the trees. Listening to something Amelia couldn’t hear.
“Because something else has.” Virelle said.
Amelia followed her gaze instinctively.
“Remmick,” Virelle added. “He felt you.”
A chill crept through Amelia’s spine.
“And he won’t stop. Virelle said. “Not now that he knows what you are.”
Amelia swallowed hard. “Then teach me.”
It came out raw. Desperate.
“Teach me how to control it. How to stop this from happenin’ again. I can’t keep—” her voice broke, “—I can’t keep hurtin’ people.”
For the first time, Virelle’s expression changed. She didn’t appear as hard, although that was still simmering. She was more focused.
“You don’t get control because you ask for it,” Virelle said. “You get it when you stop pretending you’re not capable of destruction.”
Amelia’s chest tightened. “I know what I did.” She said quietly.
“Knowing isn’t enough.”
The silence between them was thick and waiting. Amelia lifted her chin, even with tears still on her face.
“Then don’t stand there talkin’ down to me like I’m some mistake,” she said. “Either help me…or leave me alone.”
Virelle studied her. Long enough that the forest seemed to hold still around them.
Then, a distant sound cut through. Another growl.
Remmick.
Closer than before.
Virelle’s eyes sharpened. “He found the trail.”
There was no more time to argue.
He had her scent now.
Amelia felt it before she heard it again. Her chest tightened, her breath turning shallow as that same wrongness crept back over her skin. Her light flickered in response, weak but restless, like it was trying to rise and didn’t have the strength.
“He’s comin’,” Amelia whispered.
“I know,” Virelle said.
No panic. No urgency in her tone.
Amelia turned in place, scanning the dark between the trees like she might see him any second. “We gotta go!!”
“We are going,” Virelle replied, stepping forward. “But I’m not dragging you blind through these woods again. You’ll leave a trail he can follow in his sleep.”
Another crack split the distance.
Closer.
Amelia panicked. “Then what do we do?!”
Virelle turned and looked fully at her now.
“Where can you go,” she asked, “where your scent is already known…where your presence won’t raise suspicion…where you can hide without feelin’ like you’re hidin’?”
Amelia’s mind scrambled. Images flickered too fast to hold—Annie’s—no…no. She’s not welcome there—Club Juke—how would she get inside?
Then…
Pearline.
A small house. Quiet. Tucked away. A place that didn’t ask too many questions.
“She got a place,” Amelia said quickly, voice shaking. “Pearline. She lives on the edge of town, near the low fields. Keeps to herself. Ain’t nobody gon’ be lookin’ for me there.”
Virelle held her gaze for a moment. Measuring.
“Think carefully,” she said. “You lead me somewhere unsafe, I will not stay to clean it up.”
“I ain’t lyin’,” Amelia snapped, fear sharpening her tone. “She’s safe. She don’t know nothin’ about this. She just…she minds her business.”
Another sound tore through the trees, accompanied by a wet inhale. A hiss.
Remmick was enjoying this.
Virelle reached for Amelia. Her hand closed around Amelia’s wrist firm and grounding.
“Picture it.” She said.
Amelia’s breath stuttered. “What?”
“The house. The road. The land around it. Don’t think—see it.”
Amelia squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the image to the front of her mind. The shape of Pearline’s porch. The lean of the roof. The narrow dirt path leading up to it. The way the land dipped slightly before the yard opened up.
“I got it.” Amelia said.
“Good.”
The air seemed to tighten. It felt like her body was being pulled away. Amelia barley had time to grasp before everything changed.
The ground vanished. The trees folded inward. Sound dropped out of the world. For a split second, there was nothing but a hollow silence and the echo of her own pulse.
And then, they were standing somewhere else. Amelia staggered forward, catching herself on the rough edge of a wooden post. Her breath came back in a rush. The smell of dry grass and old wood burned her nose.
Pearline’s place.
It sat peaceful beneath the night sky, tucked back from the road like it had learned not to draw attention to itself. The house was small, one story, its paint long since worn down to soft gray wood. The porch sagged slightly at one corner, but the steps were swept clean. A rocking chair rested near the door, its wood polished from years of use. A lantern hung from a hood casting a warm circle of light across the boards. Beyond the house, the land stretched out flat and open, low fields kissed by the last of the evening air. The grass whispered softly with each passing breeze.
Amelia’s chest rose and fell as she took it in, still trying to catch up to where she was.
“We here,” she said, almost In disbelief.
Virelle released Amelia’s wrist. Her gaze swept the property once with sharp and efficient eyes. The house. The land. The edge of the dark.
Evaluating.
“This will do.” She said.
Virelle’s attention shifted back toward the trees, listening. Amelia followed her gaze, her stomach tightening again.
“You think he—”
“He will come.” Virelle said. “Just not yet.”
Amelia swallowed hard, wrapping her arms around herself. The adrenaline was fading, leaving her cold. Shaken.
“What do we do?” Amelia asked.
Virelle finally looked at her again. For the first time since she appeared, there was something else in her expression.
Focus.
“We make sure,” she said, “that when he does…you’re not the same thing he chased into those woods.”
Moonlight filtered through the thin curtains of Pearline’s bedroom that was heavy with the scent of sweat and the river’s distant humidity. Sammie Moore had been there since dawn, slipped in after Stack dropped him off. Her husband was still gone, a letter came in saying his trip would be extended for at least another week. A full day tangled in sheets and each other, the world outside forgotten. Sammie couldn’t get enough of Pearline, especially not of her pussy—insatiable, drawn to it like a moth to flame. Loving the raw, musky taste that built through the hours, her scent deepening in the same drawers she’d worn since that morning.
Pearline lay back on the bed, her deep brown skin sheened with sweat, legs parted wide as she watched Sammie with those expressive eyes, a mix of command and surrender in her gaze. She was still in her lilac-colored robe, hiked up around her waist, the cotton drawers tugged aside just enough. She was in no rush to change; she let the day’s wear cling to her, knowing it drove him wild.
“Come here, boy,” Pearline said with a sultry tone, voice floating like she was singing to him.
She patted the mattress between her thighs. Her fingers trailed down her belly, parting the damp fabric, revealing dark curls matted with her arousal, her pussy lips swollen and slick from his earlier attentions.
Sammie crawled forward on his knees, his lean body buzzing with lust, eyes locked on her like she was salvation and sin wrapped in one. At twenty, he was all eagerness and learning, the Preacher’s son unraveling thread by thread. Guilt flickered in his chest—what would Pop say?—but it drowned under the pull of her, the way she opened for him, trusted him with this scared mess from her honey pot. Sammie settled between her knees, hands gripping her thighs, spreading them wider as he leaned in, the bridge of his nose brushing the damp crotch of her drawers first, inhaling deep. That taste…that smell—earthy, tangy, built up from her sitting through the Delta heat—it hit him hard, his dick twitching in his trousers, hard like locomotive steel.
Sammie hooked his fingers into the waistband, pulling the drawers down her legs slow, letting them bunch at her ankles before tossing them aside. Pearline’s pussy was right there, exposed, glistening folds parted slightly, clit peeking out swollen and begging. Sammie dove in without a word, mouth latching into her, tongue flat and broad as he licked from her creamy entrance up to her clit in one long, hungry stroke. She tasted like everything he craved—salty-sweet, her juices coating his tongue, the day’s essence making it richer, more forbidden. He imagined what she must taste like after working the fields. Or after a performance at Messenger’s.
Pearline’s hand found his hair, nails tugging on coarse hair, guiding him, “Right there,” she instructed, voice husky, hips lifting to press her pussy against his face. “Stay on that spot…my clit, baby. Don’t wander.”
Sammie obeyed, lips sealing around the nub, sucking gently like she was a pair of lips he was kissing tender. His tongue circled, then he flicked the tip against her clit before flattening to lap in lazy swipes. Pearline moaned softly, thighs trembling around his ears, the sound validating him, making his chest swell with pride even as attachment knotted deeper.
“Go slow with the tongue,” Pearline breathed, her free hand cupping her breast, pinching the nipple through the fabric of her ribe as she watched him work. “Like you savorin’ it. Yeah…just like that.”
Sammie was a good learner, always had been—earnest, attentive, hanging on her every word like his father’s sermons. He eased his pace, tongue dragging languid across her clit, then dipping lower to thrust inside her pussy, fucking her with it shallow before returning to suckle the sensitive peak. Her arousal flooded his mouth, dripping down his chin, and he groaned against her, the vibration making her buck.
Pearline was wetter now, pussy clenching around nothing as he ate her out, his hands kneading her ass, pulling her closer.
“Suck on it soft,” she directed, voice edging toward a gasp, “like kissing lips…gentle, but firm. Don’t stop.”
Sammie followed, mouth working with precision, alternating sucks and slow licks, his nose buried in her coils, breathing her in. The secrecy of it all added urgency, her husband’s shadow making every lap feel stolen; temporary. For her, this was breathing, being touched with intention, wanted as a woman alive. For him, it was manhood, unfolding, losing pieces of innocence to her taste, her instructions, willingly stepping into the danger.
Pearline’s breaths came quicker, her hips rolling against his face.
“Deeper now…put that tongue back inside, then back up.”
Sammie complied, plunging his tongue into her hole, tasting the depths, lapping at her walls before sliding up to circle her clit again. Pearline was close, body tensing, and he doubled down, sucking harder on the command in her eyes, fingers slipping to part her folds wider for better access. Her climax hit sudden—pussy pulsing, juices gushing as she cried out. Her thighs clamped his head, riding his mouth through the waves.
Sammie didn’t pull away, he licked her clean and savored the aftershocks. When she finally relaxed, hand stroking his cheek, she looked down at him with those beautiful eyes full of release and something deeper.
“Good boy,” she whispered, pulling him up for a kiss, tasting herself on his lips.
Sammie eased up from between Pearline’s thighs, his lips shiny with her juices, chin slick. He knelt there, lean frame taunt with arousal so intense he felt like he would explode just from the taste of her on his tongue. He stared down at her, his eyes wide and earnest, Preacher Boy turned devourer. Pearline lay sprawled on the rumpled bed, her lilac satin robe fallen open like a spilled petal, the smooth fabric clinging to her curves where sweat beaded on her deep brown skin. She’s dabbed on jasmine oil that morning, the sweet, heady floral scent blooming warm from her neck and wrists now mingling with the musk of her arousal.
Her wild curls fanned out on the pillow, dark and untamed, framing her face like a halo of midnight. Her eyes are glossy from her climax that still rippled through her, half-lidded and sated. She gazed up at Sammie with a lazy smile, chest rising steady, one hand idly tracing the edge of her robe where it gaped over her breast.
Sammie wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. That taste lingered on his tongue, tangy and addictive, pulling him back like a river current. He needed more of her pussy, more of that forbidden feast that Stack had talked vulgar about during drives to Club Juke, lessons passed like contraband.
“Stack…he told me ‘bout findin’ that button down there.” Sammie said, voice rough, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand but not quite breaking the stare. “Said to savor it like an ice cream cone. Slow licks, make it last. And keep givin’ the woman what she deserves. A good lickin’, and a happy endin.’”
Pearline let out a soft giggle, the sound bubbling up warm and surprised, her full lips curving as she propped on her elbows.
“Oh, that cousin of yours…Stack got a way wit’ words. Teachin’ you right, ain’t he?”
Her voice carried that southern lilt, smooth as molasses, eyes sparkling with amusement and the afterglow of a woman wielding pussy power. Validation that made her feel seen, wanted beyond the drudgery of her days.
Before she could say more, Sammie moved quick, surprising her with that surge. His hands gripped her knees, pinning them up to her chest, folding her open wide. Pearline’s, hairy pussy was exposed in full, lips pulled apart, clit peeking like a ripe berry, hole leaking. She gasped, a mix of shock and delight, her body surrendering under his touch.
“Sammie—”
He was diving back in, face burying between her thighs, but not with frantic laps, no, he started with just kisses—lips pressing tender to her wet curls that shielded her outer lips, then inner, like he was greeting a lover’s mouth. Peck after peck. Pearline moaned, almost as if she was serenading him. Her hands flew to his head, fingers tangled in his thick hair.
“Ooh, Sammie…mmm, baby…”
Each kiss sent sparks up her spine, her hips twitching despite the pinned position. Sammie kissed directly over her entrance next, lips sealing, tasting the fresh trickle of her arousal without a tongue in sight, just the pressure of his lips.
“Your cousin taught you well,” Pearline breathed, voice hitching as his lips brushed her clit in a feather-light kiss, making her arch. “You may be a young man, fresh as spring rain, but lawd, you sure know how to use them lips. Pleasin’ a woman like me…don’t stop, baby. Keep kissin’ it just like that.”
Pearline’s moans grew deeper, drawn-out sighs and low hums with vocal slides like she was making love with her mouth to a microphone. She called his name in that husky drawl—“Sammie, oh Sammie”—legs trembling against his hold.
He kept at it, kissing every inch, devoted, drawing out her whimpers until her body quivered again, on the brink. His lips mapped her pussy with a steady overflow of kisses that grew firmer, more insistent, each one pressing deeper. Her outer lips, that rich, deep mahogany hue blending into the warm brown of her thighs, began to swell under the attention, plumping pull and heavy. Her inner lips peeked out more like wings, flushed a deeper coral, slick and parting just enough to reveal the tender pinkish core beneath, all of it framed by the coarse, dark curls at the top that were matted now with her growing wetness. With those kisses alone, Pearline started leaking—clear strands of her arousal seeping from her entrance, coating his lips and chin.
Her clit throbbed into view, swelling to a firm pearl, hooded and begging without words as it pulsed under his gentle presses. Pearline’s breath came quicker, her wide eyes fluttering, that sated glow from before reigniting into something fiercer.
“Mmm, that’s it, baby…keep kissin’ me there,” she whispered, guiding him like a patient teacher in a one-room schoolhouse. “Right on them lips…feel how I’m openin’ for you? Lawd, your mouth’s got me all stirred up.”
Sammie patted his lips wider, drawing her inner lips and clit into his mouth, slick petals yielding to the pull, making her hips jerk once. Pearline gasped sharp, a whimper threading through it, her hand sliding from his curls to hook firm on the back of his neck, nails digging just enough to urge him on.
“Suck it like that, Sammie—oh, honey, yes. Get that clit, pull ‘em in your mouth. Ain’t nobody ever…mmmph.” Her words broke into a moan, low and rolling like thunder over the fields.
His energy poured out relentless, that Preacher Boy devotion twisted into something raw and worshipful—eyes closed tight, shoulders hunched as he worked her pussy with single-minded fire, like he was atoning for every forbidden thought in one endless act. No hesitation, just pure, astounding need to draw every sound from her, to make her body sing under his touch. Pearline’s instructions kept coming, husky and fragmented between gasps.
“Suck that wet part, make it pop. Yeah, kiss like…oh, lawd, you doin’ it right.”
Pearline’s levitated her hips then, lifting clean off the bed, her knees still pinned but her core thrusted up, shoving her pussy hard into his face—feeding him every swollen, creamy, gushy inch, grinding against his sucking mouth with a sensual Dan e born of pure want.
Sammie met her halfway, his large hands sliding under to cup her ass, firm cheeks filling his palms, the skin there smooth and sweat-slick. He squeezed, pulled her closer, pushing more pussy onto his lips, burying his face deeper until his nose brushed her curls. Sammie zeroed in, tongue joining the suck, lapping flat and broad over her clit before sealing his lips around it, sucking steady while his tongue swirled the tip. Then down to her inner lips, his tongue flicking between the petals, flattening at her entrance, lips puckering to suck whatever creamy goodness resided on her slick walls. The wet sound of his mouth was ridiculous, mingling with the distant call of a mockingbird outside.
Pearline twitched hard, her body a live wire, thighs quivering against his hold, belly tightening as waves built fierce. Moans spilled free, turning to whimpers that pitched higher, gasps ripping from her throat with every suck on her clit.
“Sammie…oh, baby, it feels so good—don’t you stop, keep suckin’ that…mmm, right there.”
Her hips bucked wilder, shoving pussy into him, the pressure of his hands on her ass only fueling the grind, jasmine-scented sweat beading fresh on her skin, robe twisted forgotten beneath her. The build was too much, too fast—her words tangled, unable to form the warning, just choked.
“I-OH!!!”
It crashed over her. Her climax hit like a Delta Storm, pussy cat clenching and flooding his mouth with a fresh gush, clit pulsing under his relentless sucks and licks. Pearline arched rigid, a long, keening moan tearing out—“PREACHER BOY!!”—body shaking as spasms rippled through her core, whole pussy contracting against his tongue. Sammie didn’t pull back right away, eating her through it all, sucking softer, licking that clit I’m slow circles to draw out every aftershock, swallowing her release with that same devoted hunger, hands kneading her ass to hold her in place. Pearline collapsed back, spent and trembling.
Sammie eased off her then, his lips trailing wet kisses down the inside of her thighs, those smooth, deep brown curves quivering from the aftershocks. He peppered them gentle, savoring the salty tang of her skin mixed with the perfume oil that clung to her like summer vine, working his way lower until her legs relaxed fully, splaying open on the rumpled sheets. Pearline floated in that orgasmic haze, chest rising and falling in lazy waves, her wild curls fanned out like a dark halo, eyes half-lidded with a bliss that softened her whole frame. She was glowing and loose.
Sammie rolled over onto his back, laying flat beside her, a content smile curving on his moist lips—wide and boyish, cheekbones prominent, the sheen of her pussy juice and cum smeared across his chin and mouth, glistening like dew on his skin. Pearline turned her head, gaze drifting down, and there it was: his dick straining hard against the front of his trousers, the fabric tented thick. A dark spot bloomed where pre-cum had leaked through. Pearline hadn’t touched it yet, hadn’t even glanced during their frenzy, but now it throbbed obvious, begging for attention.
Pearline pushed up on one elbow, her satin robe slipping further off her shoulder, and reached over, placing her palm flat against that rigid length. She stroked slow at first, graceful fingers tracing the outline through the rough wool, feeling the heat pulse under her touch, the way it jumped eager against her hand. Sammie looked up at her, those expressive eyes wide with a mix of awe and hesitation
His voice came out rough and tender. “You ain’t gotta do nothin’ you don’t want, Pearline. I can keep eatin’ your pussy all night if that’s what you need. I’d be satisfied with that—more than.”
Pearline laughed soft, a warm throaty sound that rolled like river mist, her hand keeping that steady stroke on his bulge, squeezing just enough to make him hiss.
“Well, what if u wanna know what Preacher Boy Sammie got tucked away in his pants? Been wonderin’ since you walked in here with that smile.”
Sammie swallowed hard, glancing down at her fingers working him, then back up to her face. “You sure? I mean…”
“I’m sure, baby,” Pearline purred, leaning closer, her seductive eyes locking on his with that confidence she carried like she was captivating an audience. “I want to. And you deserve it for bein’ such a good guest…eatin’ my pussy like no man ever has, drawin’ it outta me ‘til I couldn’t see straight.”
Sammie tilted his head, curiosity flickering through the haze. “Your husband never ate you up like that?”
Pearline scoffed, a sharp little sound, her strokes turning firmer, thumb circling the tip through the cloth where it wept for her. “No, honey. I married a man that can’t keep it up half the time and sure as hell can’t please a woman like myself. Leaves me high and dry, every night the same old nothin’.” She massaged his hardened dick then, palm pressing full along the length, feeling it throb thick and hot. She worked from base to head in unhurried pulls. “I wanna show you why they used to call me Pretty Mouth Pearline,” she added, voice dropping low and teasing, that southern lilt wrapped around the words like a bawdy blues tune.
Sammie’s breath caught, but he nodded, stunned silent as she sat up fully, her free hand moving to his belt buckle. She worked it open, with practiced ease, the metal clinking, then she tugged it free, looping it aside. Her fingers dipped to the button next, popping it with a flick, zipper rasping down, each tooth parting. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of his trousers and underwear both, peeling them down his lean hips, the fabric catching brief on his stiff dick, skin a warm brown flushed darker at the head, semi-thick shaft curved downward, the tip slick with pre-cum beading clear and ready. So much pre cum.
Pearline let her eyes roam it appreciative, her hand wrapping around the base, fingertips meeting, stroking once from root to crown, drawing a low groan from him. Then, she leaned in, cupping his jaw with her other hand, and kissed him deep, lips pressing firm against his, tongue slipping past to taste herself on him, and that tangy mess of her release smeared between them. Sammie froze for a beat, stunned that she’d kiss him like this with his pecker in her hand, messy and unashamed, her flavor sharp on his tongue as she licked into his mouth.
Sammie lay there rigid, his gaze locked on Pearline’s hand wrapped around his pecker, those slender fingers gliding with a twist of her wrist like she was churning butter. Speechless didn’t cover it, he cousins form a single word, throat tight as a drum. Jedadiah had run a tight ship back home, no room for anything but scripture and chores, and he’d never even lingered too long with the choir girls after service. Now here he was, stretched out on her bed with her fist working him steady, the heat of her palm sending parks straight up his spine. Sammie flicked his eyes from her face—those knowing eyes watching him close—to the sight of his dick, twitching in her grip, leaking so much pre-cum it stunned him.
Pearline’s thumb brushed over the slick tip each time she reached the crown. She leaned in without a word, her tongue flicking out to lap away the bead of pre-cum gathered there, tasting him clean in one slow drag. Sammie’s whole body jerked, a choked sound catching in his chest as he fought hard not to spill right then, muscles locking tight while pleasure roared up from his balls. The kiss from before still lingered on his lips, but this new touch had him shaking, every nerve lit up under her strokes.
Pearline eased her grip just enough to catch his eye. “Can I suck you, Sammie?”
His chest heaved, the answer bursting out desperate and shaky. “Yes…but I–I don’t wanna cum fast.”
Pearline gave a small nod, calm as ever. “It’s alright if you do. Just relax.”
She settled down between his legs while he watched, eyes wide with nerves. Her palms slid under his balls, cupping them firm to hold his dick straight as the floorboards under the bed. Then, her lips found him, pressing slow kisses all along the length, warm and unhurried. Sammie’s mouth fell open, fresh beat of slick welling up at the tip and trailing down as he leaked steady under her touch.
Pearline didn’t waste another second. She opened her mouth wide and swept her tongue upward, licking him from the base to the crown in one long, slow stroke, just like she was tasting a sweet popsicle on a July afternoon. The warmth of her mouth was a shock to his system, and as she repeated the motion, the tip of his dick leaked a heavy bead of pre-cum that she licked clean with a hungry flick.
She could feel him trembling, his balls tightening and pulling up close to his body as the pleasure spiked. Pearline paused for a heartbeat, looking up at him with those dark, knowing eyes, her voice a sultry drawl.
“You like that, Sammie? Feel good, baby?” She let out a soft, teasing hum, her tongue swirling around the head of his pecker. “Preacher Boy love this tongue on his dick? Love how I’m tastin’ you?”
Sammie’s head hit the mattress, his fingers digging into the sheets. He felt like he was floating and drowning all at once.
“God…you ain’t real…” he gasped, his voice breaking. “Holy shit, Pearline…”
Pearline stopped for a moment, a playful, wicked smile touching her lips. She reached down, her fingers gently massaging his tight balls, rolling them between her palms while her tongue gave the underside of his shaft a sharp, wet lick.
“Ain’t no God in here, baby.” She whispered, her breath hot against his skin. “Just you and me. Just this right here.”
Before he could even process the words, Pearline lunged forward. She opened her throat and took him in, sliding her mouth over him in one fluid motion. She didn’t stop at the head; she pushed deeper and deeper, swallowing him whole until the base of his dick was pressed hard against her lips.
Sammie let out a choked sound, his entire body stiffening. He was stuck, buried deep in the wet, right heat of her throat. The suction was intense, a vacuum that seemed to pull the very soul out of him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, just lay there pinned by her mouth, feeling the squeeze of her throat muscles gripping his pecker like a vice. He was completely at her mercy, wet, muffled sounds of her taking every inch of him filling the room.
Pearline glides her lips off of him with agonizing slowness, the wet suction making a soft popping sound as she finally released him. She kept her eyes locked on his the entire time—dark, hooded, and brimming with a playful sort of power.
Sammie was a complete wreck. He lay there panting, his chest having, his pecker throbbing and glistening with her spit. He felt stunned, his mind racing to comprehend how she had managed to take every single inch of him down her throat in one fluid motion without even gagging. You see, them Moore men are well endowed. Packing more meat than a butcher. Sammie always struggled with where to put it all, Stack cracking jokes about it.
“See, that’s why all the Moore men walk slow. Safety reasons.”
Sammie frowned. “That true?”
Stack grinned. “That’s what I tell the tailor every time he send me a bill.”
“How…how you do that?” Sammie rasped, his voice sounding thin and strained. He looked at her, genuine bewilderment in his eyes. “Pearline…I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that. You…you use one of Annie’s spells?”
Pearline quirked a brow, a small, amused smile playing on her lips. She let out a low melodic giggle that vibrated in the room. “Annie’s spells?” She asked, her voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm. “You think Annie got spells that help a woman suck some wood?”
Sammie’s mind flashed back to a few days prior. He remembered skipping rocks in the pond near Annie’s shack and overhead Stack talking in a low, gravelly tone to Amelia. He recalled Stack mentioning that Annie sold a special mix—some kind of root powder—that helped women provide their men with a “throat service” that would make a man forget his own name.
“I heard Stack,” Sammie admitted, his voice earnest. “He was talkin’ to Amelia over at the shack. He said Annie sells a mix…somethin’ to make the throat open up, to make it feel different.”
Pearline’s expression softened into something wicked. She reached up, her fingers grazing the head of his pecker, swirling the pre-cum around the tip. She looked up at him, her eyes flashing with a pride that was entirely carnal.
“No, baby,” she whispered, “I don’t need no conjure to suck some dick. This here is all natural. Just a woman who knows exactly how to handle a man.”
Before Sammie could utter another word, Pearline lunged. She didn’t tease him this time; she opened her mouth wide and drove forward, swallowing him whole once again. The sensation was instantaneous and overwhelming. He felt his shaft slide past her lips, past her tongue, and deep into the tight, wet heat of her throat.
She took him all the way back, burying him deep until her face was pressed against his pubic bone. Sammie let out a muffled cry, his hips jerking upward instinctively. He was trapped again, pinned by the incredible suction of her throat, feeling the pulsing squeeze of her muscles propping him tight. Sammie lay there paralyzed by pleasure, realizing that no spell in the Delta could compare to the raw, natural hunger of Pearline’s mouth.
Pearline didn’t give him a second to recover. She locked her eyes onto his once more, a predatory glint in her gaze, and then she dove back down. This time, she kept her hands pressed flat against the mattress on either side of his hips, refusing to use them to guide him. She wanted him to feel the raw, unassisted power of her mouth.
She clamped her lips tight around the head of his pecker and began to suck with a fierce pull. From the very top to base, Pearline was literally eating him, her cheeks hollowing out as she created a vacuum that felt like it was trying to pull the soul right out of his body. There was no hesitation, no tentative teasing, just passionate, hungry consumption.
Sammie was completely shook. He lay there, his lean frame twitching against the sheets, his toes curling as the sheer force of her suction scent electric shocks straight to his spine. He wasn’t just moaning; he was letting out low, guttural groans that sounded more like prayers than pleas.
He looked down at her, his expression one of total defeat. He stared at the top of her head, the wild curls of her hair bouncing with every deep, wet slide of her throat, and he felt a sense of awe that bordered on terror. To him, Pearline didn’t seem like a woman from the Delta anymore; she looked like some otherworldly creature, a siren who had lured him into a trap he had no desire to escape.
He watched, mesmerized and breathless, as his dick disappeared completely into her mouth over and over again. The sight of his own shaft vanishing into the dark, wet tightness of her throat, combined with the wet, slapping of her lips hitting his pubic bone, broke whatever was left of his resolve.
Pearline could feel him shaking, could hear the way his breath hitched in ragged gasps, and it only fueled her passion. She increased the pace, her tongue swirling around the rim of his head before she plunged back down, swallowing him whole with a greedy, desperate hunger. She was claiming him, marking him with every wet side, proving to the Preacher Boy that no sermon or scripture could ever compete with the visceral pleasure of her mouth.
Sammie’s body couldn’t take the passivity anymore. The sheer, overwhelming sensation of her throat clamping down on him triggered something primal, something that drowned out the voice of his father and the echoes of the pulpit. He stopped shaking and started moving. He gripped the sheets tight with one hand and reached down with the other to steady himself as he began to thrust. He started slow, pushing his pecker deep into her wet mouth, grinding his hips against her face. He wasn’t just receiving pleasure now, he was taking it, driving himself into her mouth, causing the mattress to creak beneath them.
Pearline’s eyes widened, looking up at him from under those wild curls. She hadn’t expected the Preacher Boy to find his rhythm so quickly, but she didn’t fight him, her tongue swirling around the head of his dick as he slid on and out. She let him set the pace, her cheeks sunkened as she sucked him past her uvula with every thrust, her eyes locked on his watching the transformation on his face. No.
Then, the sound came. A sound Pearline had never heard from the quiet, earnest boy who played his guitar in the shade.
“Yeah…just like that,” Sammie groaned, his voice dropping an octave, turning raw and gravelly. “Suck it, Pearline. Eat it all…you like that, don’t you? You like havin’ the Preacher’s boy deep in your throat?”
Pearline froze for a split second, a jolt of pure electricity shooting through her. The contrast was intoxicating—A boy who looked like an angel talking like a blues singer. Hearing him claim her, hearing that filth spill from his lips in that thick Delta drawl, sent a surge of heat straight to her pussy. It fueled a hunger in her that was almost violent.
Pearline didn’t just let him thrust, she started meeting him. She used her tongue to tease the underside of his pecker, sucking the head with a ferocious, intensity every time he bottomed out in her throat. She wanted him to feel exactly how much his words were affecting her. She wanted to drain him dry.
“That’s it, baby,” Pearline thought, though she couldn’t speak with his dick filling her mouth. She started to moan around him, the vibrations from her hums Sammie could feel deep in his balls. She increased the suction, her lips tight and wet, swirling and pulling, determined to brings him back to the edge.
Sammie was losing it. The combination of her expert mouth and the thrill of his own dirty talk had him seeing stars. He thrust harder, his hips snapping forward, breath coming out ragged.
“I’m gon’…I’m gon’ fill you up, Pearline,” Sammie hissed, his voice shaking with the effort of not clomaxing instantly. “I’m gon’ cum right down your throat—you take all of me. Every drop.”
The challenge in his voice was the final trigger. Pearline dove in with everything she had, her throat working like a pump, her tongue flicking frantically against his frenulum. She was eating him with a desperate, greedy passion, her eyes hungry and dazed, demanding that he give her everything he had. She wanted it right there in the back of her throat.
Sammie’s body snapped like a dry branch in a storm. He felt the surge start deep in his gut, a violent, electric blaze that rushed downward, bypassing every thought of sin or salvation. He let out a strangled, guttural cry, his back arching off the mattress as the first wave of climax hit him with a force that nearly blinded him.
Sammie didn’t just cum; he erupted.
It was the hardest he had ever experienced—a visceral, pulsing explosion that made his hand-jobs feel like a distant, pale memory. The tightness and skill of Pearline’s mouth, the way she clamped down on him and refused to let go, turned the pleasure into something almost agonizingly sharp. He felt his pecker throb violently inside her, shooting thick, hot ropes of cum deep into the back of her throat.
“Oh God…Pearline! Pearline!” He gasped, his voice breaking, his fingers digging into the sheets until the fabric groaned.
Pearline didn’t flinch or pull back to let him breathe or give him a moment of reprieve. She sounded down, gripping the base of his length with her hand, squeezing tight while her mouth became a seal, sucking with a hungry slurp of her lips to draw every single drop out of him. She swallowed hard, her throat working in powerful gulps, taking his hot seed as it flooded her mouth.
His entire frame trembled with the aftershocks. Sammie felt drained, hollowed out, and completely conquered. Every pulse of his pecker sent another spurt of cum into her, and Pearline met each one with a determined suction. Her eyes locked on his, watching him unravel. She wanted him to feel the full weight of his surrender; she wanted him to know that in this room, under her touch, the Preacher’s boy was nothing more than a man driven by raw, animal need.
As the final tremors subsided, Sammie collapsed back into the pillows, his chest heaving, his breath coming in ragged sons of relief. He was floating, his mind a blank slate of white noise and pleasure.
Pearline finally pulled away with a slow, wet pop. A thin string of saliva and cum connected her lip to the head of his glistening pecker. She didn’t wipe her mouth, instead she licked her lips, tasting the salt and heat of him, a triumphant, knowing smile playing on her face.
Pearline looked down at him—spent, utterly defeated—and let out a soft, humming laugh that vibrated in the humid air of the room.
“Now, tell me, Preacher Boy,” she licked her lips, her voice a sultry, velvet caress. “Does your daddy’s book got a chapter on a feeling like that?”
Sammie’s hands shot up and caught Pearline by the waist before she could finish that teasing question. With a sudden yank, he dragged her down onto the mattress, rolling so he was straddling her hips, his spent pecker twitching back to life against the soft satin of her robe.
“No,” he panted, voice still hoarse from the way she’d just wrung him dry, “the book don’t got a chapter for that feelin’.” He leaned in close, lips brushing her ear. “But if it did, I reckon it’d call it damnation…and I’d read it every night.”
Pearline let out a bright, surprised laugh that shook her whole body beneath him.
He kissed her hard, open-mouthed, tasting himself on her tongue as his hips rolled forward. His pecker, slick and semi-hard again, dragged along the warm seam of her pussy through thin fabric, grinding slow and heavy. Pearline moaned into his mouth, her thighs parting wider on instinct, and he pressed down firmer, letting her feel every inch of him sliding against her swollen lips. Sammie’s hands roamed under her robe, thumbs brushing her nipples, nudging his pecker insistently at her pussy lips.
Then came a knock.
Three firm raps against the front door.
They both froze. Sammie’s mouth hovered over hers, breath ragged. His mind raced starved straight to Stack—maybe his cousin had come early to drag him back to Jedadiah or help him finalize things at Club Juke or whatever trouble the twins cooked up. Pearline’sceyes flocked toward the bedroom door, wide and suddenly alert. Pearline sat up quick, sliding out from under him. She tugged her robe tight around her body, knotting the belt with shaky fingers. A flicker of panic crossed her face, the last thing she needed was some nosy fucking neighbor checking in while her husband was gone.
“Stay put,” she whispered, voice firm, “I ain’t finished with you yet, Preacher Boy.”
She gave him one last heated look, then slipped out of the bedroom, leaving Sammie alone on the rumpled sheets, pecker hard and aching, heart hammering as he listened for voices at the door.
Her feet padded across the worn hardwood as she made her way through the small house.
Something about the knock sat wrong with her.
By the time she reached the front door, concern had begun curling in her stomach. She unlocked it and pulled it open.
The sight before her made her heart sink.
“Lord have mercy!”
Amelia stood on the porch. Her curls were tangled and damp. Dirt streaked the hem of her dress. Her cheeks were blotchy from crying, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed. She looked exhausted. Like she’d been running. Like she’d been running for a long time.
“Amelia?”
Pearline immediately stepped forward.
“What happened, baby?”
Amelia opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
Pearline’s worry deepened. Then, she noticed the woman standing beside her. The stranger was unlike anyone she’d ever seen.
Tall.
Elegant.
Still.
Her skin held a pale gold-brown hue that seemed untouched by the world around her. Long dark hair fell in heavy waves down her back, nearly reaching her waist, catching the moonlight in subtle ribbons of silver. Her features were striking enough to make a person stare twice—high cheekbones, straight nose, full mouth.
But it was her eyes that unsettled Pearline.
They were Ancient. Sharp and watchful. The eyes of somebody who spent a very long time studying the world and found little left capable of surprising her. She wore dark clothing fitted close to her fame—a long coat draped over narrow shoulders despite the warmth of the Mississippi night. There wasn’t a speck of dirt on her. As if she hadn’t traveled at all but simply appeared.
Pearline felt the hairs on her arms rise.
The woman said nothing. Simply watched.
Waiting.
Amelia finally found her voice. It came out small and broken.
“P–Pearline…”
The sound alone was enough.
Pearline’s exhaled. “Oh, honey.”
Amelia lowered her head. Tears gathered again.
Pearline reached out instinctively, touching her shoulder.
“What the hell happened?”
Amelia swallowed, then looked over her shoulder toward the darkness beyond the porch, then back at Pearline.
“Can we come in?”
Pearline didn’t hesitate.
“Of course you can.”
She stepped aside immediately. The screen door creaked open wider.
Amelia entered first, and the strange woman followed after her, silent as a shadow.
Pearline closed the door behind them.
It started in a bayou. A bayou that extended wide beneath a pale afternoon sky, its dark water and cypress trunks rose from the earth like old sentinels. Spanish moss hung from the branches overhead, stirring lazily whenever a breeze managed to find its way through the trees. Dragonflies skimmed in the distance, frogs croaked from the reeds, and birds called to one another from hidden perches deep within the swamp.
Six-year-old Elias Moore sat alone on a flat stone near the water’s edge, his bare feet dusty from a day spent wandering farther than his father would have approved of. His overalls were stained at the knees. A thin stick rested on his hands as he scraped absent-minded patterns into the damp earth. Every few moments he glanced across the water, though he wasn’t looking at anything in particular. His thoughts had drifted elsewhere.
Somewhere ahead, Elijah was running through the trees. Stack could hear him now and again. A laugh. A shout. The crack of a branch underfoot. His twin sounded carefree. Untouched by the ache that had settled inside Elias’ chest.
Their mama had been gone a long time.
He never got to hear her voice. Never got to hug her. Eat her cooking. Sit in her lap under the stars after a hard day in the fields. That frightened him more than he liked to admit. And yet, his daddy blamed him for her passing. Beat him so bad with his belt it left him raw on the ass for days. And Elijah would comfort him. Elias feared that the beatings would get worse. And that Elijah would get darker.
Elias lowered his gaze to the muddy ground and swallowed against the lump forming in his throat. The loneliness came in waves. Sometimes it caught him by surprise. Sometimes it sat beside him all day. Today it had followed him all the way to the bayou.
A flash of movement across the water pulled his attention upward.
At first, he thought it was a bird.
Then, he thought it might be sunlight slipping between the trees.
But when he blinked, he realized it was a woman.
She stood beneath a cluster of cypress trees on the opposite bank. For a moment, Elias simply stared. He couldn’t have explained why. Nothing about her seemed frightening. Strange, maybe. Unexpected. Yet there was something about her presence that rooted him to the spot.
The woman moved through the trees with an easy grace. Her long, dark hair flowed down her back, catching bits of sunlight where it touched her. Her skin carried a warm, golden-brown glow that reminded him of river stones after a summer rain. She seemed completely at ease, as though the bayou belonged to her.
Elias frowned slightly.
He hadn’t heard anyone approach.
Hadn’t heard a horse.
One moment she wasn’t there. The next she was.
The woman turned slowly, and her eyes found him immediately.
A smile spread across her face.
The sadness in Elias’ chest eased without warning.
It wasn’t magic. At least, not in any way he understood. It simply felt like stepping into sunlight after standing in the shade too long. Warmth spread through him. The hurt he’d been carrying all afternoon loosened its grip.
She raised one hand and waved.
Elias looked behind himself instinctively, half expecting someone else to be there.
There wasn’t.
The wave was for him.
Tentatively, he waved back.
The woman’s smile widened.
She began moving closer to the water. Calm. Every step seemed measured, as though she already knew exactly where she was going. The closer she came, the more clearly Elias could see her face.
She was beautiful.
Not in the way church ladies described beauty.
Not in the way grown folks talked about pretty women.
She looked like something from an old story. Like she’d stepped out of one of the folktales whispered on front porches after dark.
When she reached the water’s edge, she stopped and looked at him for a long moment. There was kindness in her eyes. Kindness and something else he couldn’t name.
Then, she spoke.
“Everything’s gon’ be alright, baby boy.”
Her voice carried across the water with surprising ease.
Elias felt those words settle somewhere deep inside him.
He didn’t know why he believed her.
He just did.
The woman continued smiling, and for the first time, in a very long time, the ache of losing his mother didn’t feel quite so heavy.
He found himself smiling back.
The woman studied him quietly. There was affection in her gaze now. Pride, even. As though she were looking at someone she had known for years instead of a little boy she’d never met before.
Stack tilted his head. “How you know?”
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
The woman laughed softly. The sound reminded him of water moving over smooth stones.
“Know what, baby?”
“That everythin’ gon’ be alright.”
Her smile softened.
“Because it will.”
Stack considered that answer carefully and decided it wasn’t much of an answer at all. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but the woman was already looking beyond him, toward something far away.
Toward something he couldn’t see.
When her gaze returned to him, there was a sadness in it now. A tenderness that made his young heart ache for reasons he couldn’t understand.
For a moment, he thought she might say something else.
Thought she might tell him who she was.
Instead, she simply smiled once more.
Then, the sunlight shifted across the water.
A breeze stirred the moss overhead.
And when Elias blinked, the woman was gone.
For years, that was how Stack remembered it.
The woman appeared. She smiled. She told him everything would be alright.
Then, she vanished.
The memory had lived inside him untouched for so long that he questioned it. Never examined it too closely. It remained preserved exactly as he’d experienced it, tucked away in a quiet corner of his mind where grief and wonder shared the same space. Yet now, standing beside the bayou once more, something felt different.
The water no longer moved.
The dragonflies were gone.
Even the breeze had disappeared.
The world had become unnaturally still.
Young Stack frowned.
The woman remained at the water’s edge. Except she wasn’t fading this time. She wasn’t leaving.
Instead, she took a step forward.
Then another.
And another.
The distance between them began shrinking. A strange feeling settled in Stack’s stomach. And it wasn’t fear, it was recognition.
The closer she came, the more details emerged. The curve of her smile. The shape of her eyes. The softness of her cheeks. Features he should have recognized before but somehow never had.
The woman stopped directly in front of him. Close enough that another face began to appear beneath it. Not replacing hers. Blending with it. Like two reflections meeting on the surface of water. Dark eyes. Long hair. A familiar smile.
Amelia.
The realization drifted through the dream slowly.
The woman and Amelia.
Amelia and the woman.
Something connected them. Something important. Stack’s young brow furrowed in confusion.
The woman lowered herself to one knee before him. The sadness in her eyes seemed deeper now.
Older.
Like she carried knowledge too heavy for a child to understand.
“You got a good heart,” she told him softly.
Stack shifted on his feet where he stood. He wasn’t sure what to do with that.
The woman smiled.
Then, she reached out and rested her hand against his cheek.
Warm. Gentle. Real.
The touch filled him with the same peace he’d felt all those years ago.
Only now there was something else beneath it.
Urgency.
The feeling that she was trying to tell him something before time ran out.
The golden glow around her brightened. The trees blurred at the edges. The water shimmered. Everything around them seemed to bend and stretch.
Stack opened his mouth.
“Who are you?”
The woman looked at him for a long moment. Then, she smiled. A sad smile. The kind grown folks wore when they already knew how a story ended.
“You’ll know one day.”
The answer frustrated him.
Before he could ask another question, her hand squeezed his cheek gently.
Then she spoke again. This time her voice sounded far away. As though it was coming from years ahead instead of a bayou.
“Take care of my girl.”
Stack blinked.
The words didn’t make sense.
“My what?”
The woman only smiled.
The glow surrounding her intensified until it washed across the water, the trees, the sky itself. Everything became gold. Everything became light.
And then—
Pain.
A sharp ache exploded through his shoulder.
The bayou shattered.
The light vanished.
Stack jerked awake with a gasp lodged in his throat. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. The dream clung to him stubbornly. He could still see the woman’s face. Still feel her hand against his cheek. Still hear those impossible words echoing inside his head.
Take care of my girl.
His chest rose and fell rapidly as he stared at the ceiling above him. A familiar scent lingered in the room.
Lavender.
Rose water.
Amelia.
Memory crashed into him all at once.
The confrontation. The jars. Smoke shouting. Annie crying. Amelia glowing.
The force of her power slamming into him.
Stack sucked in a breath and immediately regretted it. Pain shot through his ribs and shoulder, forcing him to grit his teeth. He pushed himself upright anyway, one hand pressed against his side as he looked around.
Moonlight spilled through the curtains and stretched across the floorboards.
Amelia’s room.
Her dresser sat against the wall. A brush remained where she’d left it. One of her ribbons rested on the counter of the vanity. Her books were pilled in the corner. A dress hung from a peg near the door.
Small pieces of her.
Evidence that she’d been here. Evidence that she wasn’t now.
The realization settled heavily in his chest.
She was gone. The dream lingered. The woman’s voice lingered. And for the first time in twenty years, Stsck found himself wondering if that day by the bayou had ever been a memory at all.
When Stack finally stepped out of Amelia’s room, the floorboards creaked beneath his weight as he made his way down the hallway, one hand braced against the wall whenever the ache in his ribs threatened to steal his breath. Every part of him felt sore. His shoulder throbbed. The side of his head pulsed steadily. Even his jaw ached from where he’d hit the floor.
The smell reached him first.
Coffee.
Sage.
Burnt candle wax.
Home.
A warm glow spilled from the kitchen doorway ahead. Stack rounded the corner and found exactly what he’d expected.
Nobody had gone to bed.
Smoke sat at the table with his arms folded across his chest, a half-empty mug resting near his elbow. The hard set of his jaw told Stack he hadn’t moved much since Amelia ran. Annie stood near the counter sorting through bundles of herbs, carefully separating stems from leaves and placing them into small bowls. Broken pieces of glass sat piled nearby, gathered from the wreckage left behind in the shack.
The moment Annie saw him, she abandoned what she was doing.
“There you are.”
She crossed the room immediately.
Before Stack could protest, her hands were already on him. Turning his face. Checking his eyes. Pressing careful fingers against his ribs.
Stack endured it without complaint.
Annie clicked her tongue. “You hurt.”
“I noticed.”
“You lucky you ain’t crack nothin’.”
Smoke let out a grunt. “Hard-headed bastard probably cracked the shelf instead.”
Despite everything, the corner of Annie’s mouth twitched.
Stack managed a weak snort.
Then, the moment passed quickly. Reality settled back over the space.
Annie returned to the counter. Smoke stared into his coffee. Stack lowered himself carefully into a chair.
Silence lingered. Heavy. Uncomfortable.
Smoke finally broke it.
“You still gon’ defend her?”
Stack looked up.
Smoke was already watching him.
Waiting.
Stack rubbed a hand over his face.
“I ain’t defendin’ what happened.”
“Sound like it.”
“It ain’t.”
Smoke leaned back in his chair. “She damn near killed you.”
The words hung there. Sharp. Unavoidable.
Stack’s jaw tightened. “She ain’t mean it.”
“That don’t change what happened.”
“No.”
“Didn’t change what happened to Nathaniel either.”
Silence.
Annie stopped sorting herbs.
Stack looked down at the table.
For a moment, nobody spoke. Then Annie sighted softly.
“I keep thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’.”
Smoke looked toward her. “So say it, woman.”
Annie sat down across from them. Her hands folded together. “Everythin’ she done got one thing in common.”
Smoke frowned. “What?”
Annie’s gaze drifted toward the dark window above the wash basin. “She lose control.”
Stack lifted his head.
Annie continued. “She lost control with Nathaniel. Lost control tonight. Every story got the same end. Fear. Grief. Anger. Somethin’ pushes her too far and that light takes over.
Smoke’s expression remained hard. “Still got people hurt.”
“I know.” Annie’s voice softened. “I know.”
The sadness there settled over the room. Because they all knew. Nobody had escaped this untouched.
Smoke stared into his mug. Stack stared at the table. Annie stared at neither of them.
Then, Stack finally spoke. “I saw her again.”
Annie looked up first. “Who?”
“The woman.”
Neither Annie nor Smoke said anything.
“The one from the bayou.”
The words pulled their full attention. Stack leaned back carefully and stared at the ceiling for a moment, trying to organize the memory. Trying to make sense of the dream.
“When we was little,” he began, “I told Amelia about somebody I seen near the bayou. That woman.”
Annie nodded slowly.
“I dreamed ‘bout her.”
Smoke leaned in. “Dreamed?”
Stack nodded. “Only this time it wasn’t exactly the same.”
Annie’s brow furrowed. “How?”
Stack hesitated. Then told them. The bayou. The trees. The water. The woman approaching. Her face. Her voice. The way she’d touched his cheek. Every detail.
Annie listened without interrupting. Smoke stayed unusually quiet.
Then, Stack told them the part that had followed him into waking.
“Take care of my girl.”
Nobody moved. Nobody spoke.
Annie’s eyes narrowed slightly. Deep in thought.
“What?” Stack asked.
Annie looked at him. “You sure that’s what she said?”
“Yeah.”
“You ain’t never heard her say that before?”
“No.”
Annie leaned back slowly. The gears were turning behind her eyes now.
Stack recognized the look. It was the same look she got when Rootwork revealed something she wasn’t expecting.
“What you thinkin’?”
Annie didn’t answer immediately. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft spoken.
“You described that woman before.”
“So?”
“So I know somebody she sound an awful lot like.”
Stack sat forward. Smoke did too.
Annie looked between them.
“Amelia’s mama.”
Neither brother spoke. The words landed harder than either expected. Stack’s heartbeat picked up.
Smoke frowned. “You think that’s who he saw?”
“I don’t know.” Annie rubbed her hands together slowly. “But I know one thing.”
“What?”
Her gaze shifted to Stack. “The honey jar aint why you saw that woman.”
Smoke’s jaw tightened. “Annie—”
“No, Elijah.” She shook her head. “A sweetenin’ jar don’t make somethin’ from nothin’. It don’t put feelings where there ain’t none. It amplifies. Encourages. Feeds what’s already there.”
Stack held her gaze. Smoke looked away first.
The implications settled heavily between them.
Years before Amelia arrived. Years before the jars. Years before any of this. Stack had seen her mother. Or someone connected to her bloodline. And remembered.
All this time.
Stack exhaled slowly. “I don’t care what that damn jar did.”
Neither Annie nor Smoke interrupted.
“I don’t care what she is neither.” His voice was rough now. Honest. Painfully honest. “I love her anyway.”
The confession lingered in the room. Smoke closed his eyes briefly. Annie lowered her gaze. Neither argued. Neither mocked him. Because they both knew he meant it.
After a long while, Annie pushed her chair back and stood.
“What now?” Smoke asked, lighting a cigarette with a match.
Annie looked toward the dark window. Toward the night beyond it. Toward all the unanswered questions waiting somewhere out there.
“We find her.”
Smoke stared at her. Stack did too.
Whether from anger, grief, love, or some mixture of all three, neither man could tell.
“We find her,” she repeated softly. “And we get the truth.”
The decision settled over the house with a weight that none of them could ignore. The lantern on the table cast a warm glow across their faces, catching the exhaustion that had carved itself into each of them.
Then, Smoke stood.
The chair legs scraped against the floor.
That was all it took.
The room shifted from discussion to action.
Stack pushed himself to his feet more slowly. Pain immediately flared through his ribs, drawing a curse from beneath his breath. He pressed a hand against his side and waited for the worst of it to pass.
Smoke noticed. “You sure you can do this?”
Stack shot him a look. “You askin' or tellin'?”
“I'm serious.”
“So am I.”
Smoke held his gaze for a moment before nodding.
That was the end of it.
The brothers disappeared into different parts of the house.
Annie remained in the kitchen long enough to gather the things she’d already begun setting aside. Her hands moved automatically through years of habit and practice. Small cloth bundles filled with protective herbs. Bottles of oil. Salt wrapped in muslin. Iron nails. Twine. A carved bone charm her grandmother had once carried. Each item found its place inside the leather utility belt resting across the table.
By the time Smoke returned, she was fastening the belt around her waist. A white tank top stretched across his broad chest. Dark trousers sat low on his hips. The leather shoulder holster he wore crossed over his back and chest, hugging muscle and scar alike as he adjusted the straps. His pistol rested securely beneath one arm. A second firearm disappeared into the back of his waistband.
Years of dangerous living had made the process second nature.
He checked each weapon carefully. Then checked them again.
Annie barely looked up.
She knew that ritual.
Smoke had always prepared for trouble the same way.
Quietly. Thoroughly. Without complaint.
Stack emerged from the hallway moments later.
He still looked rough.
The bruise darkening along the side of his face had deepened since waking. Every movement carried a faint stiffness that told Annie he was hurting far more than he admitted. Yet there wasn't a trace of hesitation in him.
He pulled a pistol from the top drawer of a cabinet near the door and tucked it securely into the waistband of his slacks. The motion drew another wince from his ribs.
Smoke noticed that too.
He didn't comment.
No point.
Stack wasn't staying behind. They all knew it.
Annie secured the final pouch on her belt and reached for a lantern resting near the kitchen wall.
That finally got Smoke's attention.
“What you doin'?”
Annie lifted the lantern. “What it look like?”
His expression immediately hardened.
“No.”
She rolled her eyes. “No?”
“No.”
The single word landed firm.
Annie turned toward him fully.
Smoke crossed his arms. “You ain’t comin’.”
A short laugh escaped her. The sound carried absolutely no amusement.
“The hell I’m not.”
“I’m dark.”
“So?”
“We don’t know where she is.”
"We gon’ find out."
Smoke’s jaw tightened. "We don’t know who else out there."
Annie’s expression didn't change. “We never do.”
“Annie.” His voice lowered. More serious now. “The Klan been active these last few weeks. You know that.”
Stack shifted against the wall. He hated agreeing with Smoke, especially lately. But this time he did.
“He right.”
Annie looked at him.
Stack met her gaze. “If she made it far enough out, we ain’t just lookin’ for Amelia.”
Annie remained silent.
Stack continued. We could run into anybody.”
“Then it’s a good thing I know how to handle myself.”
Smoke exhaled sharply. “That ain’t the point.”
“It is the point.”
Annie set the lantern down harder than necessary.
The glass rattled.
“You think I’m sittin’ in this house while that girl out there alone?”
Neither man answered. Because they knew exactly what she meant.
Annie looked between them, emotion glimmered in her eyes.
Raw. Painful.
“I let her in my home.” Her voice softened. “I taught her. Fed her. Loved her.”
Smoke's expression eased slightly.
Annie swallowed. “And whether she lied or not, whether she wrong or not, she ran outta here hurt and scared.”
The words hung heavily between them.
“I already shoulda seen more than I did.” She looked down briefly. Then back up. “If somethin' happen to her tonight and I stayed home knowin’ I could’ve helped…” She shook her head. “I wouldn't forgive myself.”
Smoke rubbed a hand over his face. Stack looked away.
Neither liked it. Neither wanted it. But neither could argue with it either.
Eventually Smoke sighed. Long. Defeated.
“Stubborn woman.”
Annie smiled faintly. “That's why you married me.”
Smoke muttered something under his breath that made Stack snort despite himself. The tension eased for the first time all evening.
Only slightly.
Smoke stepped closer to Annie and pulled one of his pistols from the holster at his back. The weapon rested in his palm for a second.
Then, he offered it to her.
Annie's gaze dropped to it.
Slowly she accepted.
The familiar weight settled comfortably in her hand. Smoke held her eyes as she checked the cylinder.
“Don’t make me regret this.”
“I won’t.”
“You better not.”
Annie slid the pistol into her belt. The lantern returned to her grip. Around her waist hung enough rootwork supplies to stock a small altar. Around them waited the Mississippi night.
The night waited just beyond the threshold.
Smoke stood nearest the door, one hand resting against the frame while the other adjusted the pistol secured beneath his shoulder holster. Stack had already started toward the door, favoring one side despite his efforts to hide it. None of them wanted to waste another minute.
Every second Amelia remained out there alone tightened the knot in their chests.
Then, came the knock. The sound echoed through the house.
Three sharp raps.
Everyone froze. The silence that followed seemed to swallow the room whole.
Stack was the first to move. His head snapped toward the door. Hope flashed across his face so quickly it almost hurt to witness.
“Amelia.”
Smoke was already reaching for his weapon. “Hold up.”
The brothers exchanged a look.
Another knock followed. More forceful.
Stack took a step forward. “It could be her”
Smoke’s hand settled around the grip of his pistol. “It could be anybody.”
“It could be Amelia, Smoke.”
The desperation in his voice made Annie close her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, her gaze remained fixed on the door.
“No.”
Both brothers looked at her.
Annie tightened her grip on the lantern. “Amelia ain't gonna knock.”
The words settled heavily in the room.
Because she was right.
If Amelia had returned, she wouldn't be standing politely on the porch. She would've come straight inside. The realization drained some of the hope from Stack's face.
Together they approached the door. Smoke positioned himself on one side. Stack took the other. Both men drew their weapons.
The atmosphere inside the house tightened. Annie remained a few feet back, lantern in one hand, pistol resting at her hip.
Smoke lifted three fingers.
Stack nodded once.
Three.
Two.
One.
The door swung open.
The woman standing on the porch looked ready to kill somebody. Rain clouds rolled overhead behind her, turning the night sky nearly black. The lantern light illuminated sharp cheekbones, furious eyes, and a posture so rigid it looked painful.
Celine Broussard–DuPont.
Celine's gaze landed on Stack first.
Recognition flashed immediately. Then confusion.
Her eyes narrowed.
She looked at him. Then looked at Smoke. Then back to Stack. A small crease formed between her brows. The fury didn't leave her face. If anything, it deepened.
Slowly, her eyes traveled between the brothers.
One.
Then the other.
Two identical faces.
Two identical men.
Understanding dawned.
A cold realization settled over her features.
"So…that's what this is."
Her voice was low. Dangerously controlled.
Smoke didn't lower his weapon.
Neither did Stack.
"What you want?" Smoke asked.
Celine barely acknowledged him.
Her attention shifted beyond the brothers. Toward the interior of the house.
Toward Annie.
The moment their eyes met, something changed. The anger sharpened. Became personal.
Ancient.
The kind of resentment that had survived years.
"Cordelia James's granddaughter."
Annie went still.
Celine stepped forward onto the porch. She didn’t cross the threshold, but it was enough to make her intentions clear. The lantern light caught the fury burning in her eyes and for the first time since arriving, she smiled.
It wasn't a pleasant smile.
It was the smile of someone who had finally found exactly who she'd been looking for.
“Been a while since I seen you, Antoinette. Wish this reunion could have been under better circumstances but…I’m here to collect a floozy that fucked my husband. The one you’re keepin’ hidden in this house. The one workin’ in your shop? Yes…the town talks.”
Stack and Smoke didn’t flinch. They remained at the ready, Smoke with one arm extended and his finger on the trigger, Stack with a two–handed grip that didn’t waver. Annie remained still, chin elevated, never blinking as she locked eyes with Celine.
Celine looks between Stack and Smoke, a jaded look on her face.
“I’m not here to tussle wit’ you folks. I just need the girl. Tell me where she is if she ain’t here or bring her to me. Then, I’ll be out your hair.”
Stack narrowed his eyes and flashed a cunning smirk, “She ain’t here. And we ain’t telling you shit, wench.”
Celine rolled her eyes, “Oh, please, nigga. I’m done foolin’ ‘round wit’ ya’ll and this fuckin’ town and your lies and your games. Now if I gotta come in here—”
“You step foot past that do’ I’m a light you up like fireworks on Juneteenth.” Smoke barked.
Celine pursed her lips, light skin turning beet red. She balled her fists and glared between all three of them, refusing to back down.
“She killed my husband! I know it! She skipped town, he was the last person to see here I KNOW!” Celine shouted with a shrill voice. “I’m not leaving ‘til she come out!—”
“And what do you plan to do? Huh?” Annie fired back. “You plan to turn her in to the law? Kill her?”
Celine’s eyelids fluttered and then a slow, creeping, devious smirk spread across her lips.
“I wish I coulda killed her the day she showed up on our doorstep wrapped in cloth while her worthless mama ran off. Ever since she came in our lives it’s been nothin’ but trouble. She ain’t like us. Best to eradicate her now before she cause more harm.”
Stack was seeing red. Annie’s fingers settled tighter around the pistol on her hip. Smoke continued staring at Celine like she was an annoyance that needed to be put down.
Celine looked between them, eyes seemingly looking past them like she could sense that there was an altercation. One twin looks beat up. The other got his hand wrapped in cloth with blood stains. Annie look like she done lost her entire world. And they look like they were ready to leave.
“…She did it again, huh? Came and created a storm before runnin’ off like a broken doe. She ain’t human. I don’t know exactly what she is, my mama knew and didn’t tell me. My brother—” Celine paused, swallowing a knot in her throat. “My brother would still be here if it wasn’t for that strange girl. I wish she ain’t never showed up.”
Silence. Then, Annie stepped forward.
Celine locked eyes with her, cautious. Annie was eye to eye with her,
Then—
SLAP!
A sharp, stinging slap that sent Celine back on her heels, arms bracing the doorway. The side of her face swelled up quickly, and the corner of her lip began to bleed. She looked startled. Like she’d been slapped into a new dimension. Smoke and Stack’s eyes landed on Annie wide. They lowered their guns immediately.
“WHA—YOU BIT—”
“You keep talkin’ ‘bout killin’ that girl like it’s some righteous thing. Let me tell you somethin’, Celine. Every rootworker know there a difference between justice and spite. One got ancestors behind it. The other got consequences.”
She took one slow step forward.
“You come after Amelia with hate in your heart, and I promise you this. Every candle you light gon’ drown in wax. Every prayer you send up gon’ come back unanswered. Every road you walk gon’ lead you right back to the misery you carry inside you.”
Her expression never changed.
“And if that ain’t enough, I got a shovel, a graveyard full of restless company, and more patience than you got years left. So tread careful.”
Celine stood with one hand cupping her cheek and her eyes swimming with unshed tears.
Annie folded her hands in front of her.
“You knew my mama. Which means you know my people ain’t never been in the habit of makin’ empty threats.”
The way Annie spoke was never with a scream. She spoke soft. Careful. And that made it worse.
“If you lay a hand on that girl, I won’t chase you. I won’t argue with you. I won’t beg.”
A pause.
“I’ll simply sit down at my altar and introduce your name to people who ain’t breathed in a very long time.”
Her gaze sharpened. “And unlike me, they ain’t interested in forgiveness.” Annie tilted her head. “Let me save you some trouble, Celine. If you got murder in your heart, carry it somewhere else.” Her eyes were steady. “Because if you bring it to my doorstep, I’ll bury it right alongside you.” She let that sit. Then added quietly. “And the earth around here know my name better than it know yours.”
Smoke clenched his jaw, staring at Annie with a flicker of adoration behind his steadfast eyes. Stack didn’t pull his eyes away from Celine. Because even though he didn’t speak it, he mirrored exactly what Annie said.
“Now, if you don’t mind, we have some place to be. To go look for your niece that ran scared. A niece you were supposed to protect from your nasty, fuckin’ husband. He was preyin’ on her, waitin’ for the moment to strike. How dare you stand here in your t-straps and perfect press with them pearls around your neck talkin’ ‘bout your blood like that? You think August woulda wanted that?”
For the first time, the fury on Celine’s face cracked. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, anger and grief tangled together so tightly they were impossible to separate. Her jaw flexed. Her nostrils flared. She looked like a woman standing on the edge of a cliff, held upright by pride alone. Annie’s words had landed exactly where they were meant to. Celine didn’t fear many people, but she knew enough about the James women to understand that Annie wasn’t bluffing.
Celine stepped aside. Annie, Smoke, and Stack exited the house, shutting the door behind them. Smoke’s eyes trailed Celine walking with a hunch in her back and a shake on her shoulders back to the car she’d picked up while in Clarksdale. Then, she stopped. That caused the three of them to pause. She turned, sadness in her eyes.
“I hate to be wrong. But I feel a heaviness.” She touched her chest. “Like a crushing feelin’. Like…like—”
“Like someone tellin’ you to stop? To be still?”
Celine’s lower lip trembled. She looked toward the night sky. “mama…?”
“We gotta go,” Stack whispered sternly.
Celine exhaled a shaky breath. “Listen…anger makes you say some terrible things. I know my mama wouldn’t want harm comin’ to her.”
“Funny how a slap across the face change the heart, huh?” Stack quipped.
“You can either come or leave. But when we find her, you don’t touch her. You apologize to her, and you leave.”
“I wanna know why she killed him—”
Annie was getting fed the fuck up.
Celine’s composure finally splintered. The anger she'd been holding so tightly gave way to something rawer, something closer to grief. Her eyes shone as she looked from Annie to Smoke and then to Stack.
“Then tell me why.” The question came out rough. “Tell me why she killed him.”
Nobody answered immediately.
Celine swallowed hard. “He wasn't perfect,” she said. “Lord knows he wasn’t. But he didn't deserve to disappear like that. He went lookin’ for her and never came home.”
Her gaze landed on Annie.
“You know somethin’. I can see it all over your face.”
Annie’s stepped forward, lantern light catching the hard set of her features.
“For the last time, Celine, she ain’t kill that man on purpose.”
Celine laughed bitterly. “You expect me to believe that?”
“Believe whatever you want.”
“I want the truth.”
Annie folded her arms. “The truth is she loved him once. The truth is things got complicated. The truth is somethin’ happened that day she never intended to happen.”
Celine’s eyes narrowed. “What happened?”
Annie shook her head. “That ain't my story to tell.”
“You protectin’ her—”
“I'm tellin’ you what I know.”
Celine stepped closer. “Then tell me why she ran.”
The question lingered between them. Annie’s expression softened for the briefest moment. Not toward Celine. Toward Amelia. Toward the frightened young woman who had arrived on her doorstep carrying more pain than sense.
“Because she was scared.”
Celine scoffed. “Scared of what?”
“Guilt.”
The single word landed heavily.
Annie held her gaze. “She been carryin’ it ever since.”
For the first time, uncertainty flickered across Celine's face. Only for a moment. Then, the anger returned.
“That don’t bring Nathaniel back.”
“No,” Annie agreed quietly. “It don't.”
Smoke remained still. Even Stack.
Annie looked directly at Celine. “You came here wantin’ a monster.” Her voice stayed calm. “What you gon’ find is a scared girl who made a terrible mistake and ain’t forgiven herself for it a single day since.”
Celine’s eyes glistened again. But whether those tears came from grief, rage, or heartbreak, nobody could tell.
Stack glanced toward the darkness beyond the front yard then back toward the adults still standing beneath the lantern glow.
“We gotta go.”
His voice cut through the argument cleanly. Nobody immediately disappeared because he was right. Every minute they spent standing around talking was another minute Amelia remained alone somewhere out there.
Smoke shifted his grip on his pistol and nodded once.
“He right.”
Annie looked toward the tree line. “We losin’ time.”
Celine’s expression tightened. The grief returned to her face. The anger remained too. Both emotions seemed to be fighting for space behind her eyes. Then, she surprised them.
“I’m comin’.”
Annie blinked. Stack looked openly irritated.
Annie folded her arms. “Why?”
Celine’s gaze slid toward the woods. For a moment, she looked older than she had all evening. More tired.
“I wanna find her.”
The answer came quickly. Too quickly. Annie wasn’t convinced.
“You wanna find her for what?”
Celine didn’t answer right away.
Her jaw tightened. “I deserve answers.”
Smoke made a skeptical sound. Stack looked away. None of them fully trusted her. Not after everything she’d said.
Eventually, Annie sighed. “Fine.”
Smoke looked at her. Annie shrugged.
“We keep our eyes on her.”
“I’m a keep more than my eyes on her,” Stack displayed his pistol. “Or I’ll get Annie to slap her ass ‘round if she try anything. That seemed to do the trick.”
The group set off down the path. Past Annie’s shack. Into the woods. Nobody called Amelia’s name. That had been Annie’s decision. Draws too much attention. Instead, they searched.
Watching. Listening. Hoping.
Pearline returned from the kitchen carrying three steaming mugs balanced carefully on a tray. The scent of chamomile and mint drifted through the room ahead of her. She set the try down on the coffee table and offered Amelia a small smile.
“Drink somethin’, baby. You look like you done cried every year God gave you.”
Amelia managed a weak laugh. “Feel like it.”
Pearline settled into a nearby chair and tucked her lilac robe more securely around herself.
Sammie stepped in from the hallway, shirt buttoned and tucked, wiping his mouth off. He stopped short when he saw Amelia.
“You alright? What's goin’ on?”
His eyes flicked to Virelle next, standing rigid by the window, one hand resting on the frame as she stared into the blackness beyond the glass. The stranger’s presence filled the room in a way that made both Pearline and Sammie exchange a quick glance. Who was this woman? How did she know Amelia?
"What happened?" Sammie asked.
Nobody spoke right away. Amelia’s shoulders shook once, a small, exhausted motion. Her eyes stayed fixed on the floorboards, glowing faint with the storm inside her. Virelle didn’t turn from the window.
Sammie leaned forward on the couch, voice low and careful. “Where Stack at? He know you here? Annie? Smoke?”
Still silence. Pearline waited, hands folded in her lap. The question hung there, heavy, until Virelle finally spoke without looking away from the dark.
"Remmick wasn’t hunting you because you’re Amelia,” she said, voice cool and even. “He was hunting you because you’re fae.”
Amelia’s head lifted slow. The glow in her eyes sharpened. “What?”
Virelle turned then, facing the room fully. “Creatures like him know exactly what you are. They’ve known for longer than any of us been alive. This ain’t just about Nathaniel or Celine or Clarksdale. It’s older. Bigger. And they want you for it.”
The words landed like stones in still water. Pearline’s breath caught. Sammie stood frozen, eyes darting between Amelia and the stranger. Amelia’s hands tightened on the cup until her knuckles showed pale against her warm brown skin, the truth cracking open everything she’d tried to hold shut.
Sammie and Pearline sat stiff on the worn couch.
Who is Remmick?
Celine?
Nathaniel?
Fae?
The steam from their untouched tea curled between them.
The words hung heavy in the warm room.
Pearline’s hands tightened around her cup until the porcelain creaked.
Sammie’s mouth opened, then shut again, his eyes wide and fixed on Amelia’s shaking shoulders.
“Amelia, what’s going on? Talk to us. Tell us something.” Pearline said with a pleading voice.
Sammie nodded.
Amelia drew a shaky breath. She could feel her light flickering faint in her fingertips.
“I killed a man,” she said, voice low and raw. “Nathaniel. He was my aunt’s husband. A prominent figure in the community back in New Orleans. Then he became my lover. He was the first man I’d ever been with.”
Tears slid down her cheeks, catching the faint glow.
Pearline’s breath hitched. Sammie leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“My aunt found out,” Amelia went on, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. “I left to go back home. Nathaniel showed up. “She paused, throat working. “I don’t know how I did it…it was an accident…he just walked into the bayou and never came back up.”
The only sound was the faint tick of the clock on the mantel. Pearline’s lips parted, but no words came. Sammie’s fingers dug into his own thighs. Both of them stared at Amelia like the floor had moved under their feet, the truth settling between the four of them.
Amelia’s shoulders slumped further, the faint gold glow around her eyes dimming to a tired shimmer. “I’m fae,” she said quietly. “I’m not fully human. My powers cause harm more than good. I–I hurt people…Stack…Annie… Smoke… I ain’t tell them what I was. I ran. And ended up staring death in the face.”
Pearline set her cup down with a soft clink. “Is that who Remmick is? The devil?”
Amelia shook her head. “He’s a vampire.”
Sammie blinked hard, brow creasing. “Vampire?”
“I know this all sounds crazy,” Amelia went on, voice cracking, “but it’s real. I’m sorry for bringing this to your doorstep, Pearline. We can leave.”
Pearline reached across the space between them and laid a steady hand on Amelia’s wrist. “No. You stay for as long as you need to. Both of you.”
Sammie rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting toward the window. “My cousins…they might be out lookin’ for you right now. Maybe I oughta head home, see what’s what.”
Pearline turned to him, voice low but firm. “Maybe that ain’t a good idea, given everything we just heard.”
“Going out in the dark while a blood sucker roams around looking to feed…it’s best you wait ‘til morning.” Virelle spoke.
Pearline stands. “We have a guest room. I’ll get it situated. Then you can take a bath and settle. Miss?…”
“Virelle.”
“Virelle…the couch is pretty cozy. If that’s okay?”
Virelle’s gaze remained fixed on Pearline. Studying.
Pearline shifted uncomfortably beneath it.
“What?” She finally asked.
Virelle tilted her head slightly. “Who was your grandmother?”
The confusion on Pearline’s face deepened. “What kinda question is that?”
Amelia glanced between them. She looked lost. Virelle said nothing for several seconds. Then, she spoke again.
“You got old water in your blood.”
Pearline stared. “I beg your pardon?”
A faint smile touched Virelle’s mouth. It wasn’t amusement, it was recognition.
“The blood’s thin. Barely there.” Her eyes remained on Pearline. “But I can still feel it.”
Pearline laughed nervously. “Lady, I don’t know what you talkin’ ‘bout.”
Virelle ignored the comment.
“You ever know things before they happen?”
The laughter disappeared. Pearline’s expression softened. “Sometimes.”
“You ever dream somethin’ and then watch it happen a few days later?”
Pearline looked away. “Maybe.”
Virelle nodded once. “Animals like you?”
Pearline’s eyes snapped back toward her. Now Amelia was staring too.
“What exactly are you sayin’?”
Virelle folded her hands together. “One of ours wandered too close to humans a long time ago.”
Pearline frowned. “Ours?”
The ancient fae looked toward Amelia, then back to Pearline.
“The blood almost disappeared. Almost.”
Pearline swallowed.
Sammie grabbed a piece of cornbread, more so for something to do. He chewed, his eyes landing on Amelia.
“Melia, I’m sure Annie, Smoke, and Stack ain’t mad at ya.”
“You ain’t seen their faces, Sammie.” Amelia exhaled a shaky breath, a single tear falling. “They probably glad I’m gone.”
“I doubt that,” Sammie smirked, trying to make light of the situation. “Soon as morning come, we can go there.”
Pearline returns, a few blankets in her hand, placing them on the couch. Virelle looks at them then a small ‘thank you’ escapes her mouth.
“Any friend of Amelia’s is a friend of ours. Night. Make sure you eat somethin’, Amelia. If you need anything, my room is down the hall.”
“Thank you, Pearline.”
Sammie stands, walking up to Amelia.
He gives her a kiss on the cheek before following Pearline down the hall.
The woods stretched endlessly around them. Crickets sang from the grass. Frogs called from hidden pools of water. The occasional towel cried somewhere overhead. Fireflies glowed like tiny lanterns. But this glow seemed different. Like they were keeping watch.
Smoke and Stack naturally drifted toward the front of the group. Old habits. Old instincts.
Neither brother had spoken about the war much since coming home years ago. Most days they pretended it hadn’t happened. Most days it worked.
Tonight wasn’t one of those days. The darkness between the trees looked too familiar. Every snapped twig made Smoke’s shoulders tense. Every rustle in the bush pulled Stack’s attention immediately.
The woods became France again.
The memory sat beneath the surface.
Mud.
Gunfire.
The feeling of enemies appearing from nowhere.
The certainty that death could be hiding behind any tree.
Stack hated it. Hated how easily his mind returned there. Hated that some part of him never truly left. No matter how many times he tried to hide it behind a smile.
He adjusted the pistol tucked into his waistband and continued forward. Smoke moved silently beside him, the same tension lived on his brother’s posture. Neither acknowledged or needed to.
Then…something moved.
Everyone stopped.
The sound had come from somewhere ahead. A disturbance in the brush.
Annie raised the lantern slightly. The flame trembled behind the glass. Smoke lifted his weapon. Stack did the same.
Nobody spoke.
The woods seemed to hold its breath.
Then, a figure stepped from the trees.
A woman. Young. Barefoot. Thin.
The sight of her made Annie freeze. The lantern nearly slipped from her hand.
The woman looked terrible. Her dress hung loose from her frame. Dirt streaked her clothing. Long braids clung to her shoulders. Her eyes looked hollow.
Lost.
Like she’d been wandering for days. Maybe longer.
Annie knew that face. She knew it immediately. She had stared at it countless times in Shelby. Seen it in photographs. Seen it in the desperate eyes of family members begging for help.
The missing girl.
“Oh my God.”
The words escaped before Annie could stop them. Everyone looked at her. Annie took a step forward. Disbelief flooded her features. The girl stared back at them. Unblinking. Silent. Like she wasn’t entirely sure they were real.
Annie’s heart began pounding. Because she knew exactly who she was…
Lavinia Bell.
The missing girl from Shelby. The one who was supposed to be miles away. The one nobody had been able to find. The one everyone thought was dead.
Annie, an 18-year-old from New Orleans, moves to Clarksdale with dreams of building a life all her own. There she meets Smoke, a 21-year-old war veteran with a dangerous reputation. What grows between them is sweet, sticky, and Southern— a smoldering love set against a world of bootlegging, Hoodoo, and blues.
Chapter 8
He didn’t need to know what was said.
Didn’t even need to know who said it.
Smoke drove with both hands on the wheel, grip steady on the leather. The door of the Colored schoolhouse swung open in its hinges before fitting into its frame, and he walked through the threshold with a quiet determination. He wasn’t there to argue. He was there to be clear; to shut an old door he never meant to leave cracked open in the first place.
The kids were long gone. All that remained was the ghost of their feet shuffling against the floorboards and the echo of high-pitched laughter. And her. She sat at the desk at the front of the classroom with a stack of papers and a thick red pencil, making straight lines across words with clean, even strokes, and just the right amount of pressure.
Sunlight cut across the empty desks, catching the chalk dust that still hovered in the air. The classroom was quiet, but it wasn’t empty. History, resentment, and two different versions of the truth hung between the two of them like a physical weight that made the room feel smaller. It pressed against the walls and the lone window on the side of the building like it could feel the tension brewing and wanted out.
Smoke cleared his throat.
She scoffed. A quiet, annoyed expulsion of breath. Then she looked up, and when her eyes met his they held his gaze, then went up and down his form slowly. Canvassing, maybe. Taking in the seriousness in his posture. Taking notice of the cold calm he carried.
“Demetria.” Smoke’s voice was cold too, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. It usually was. But this kind of cold was more resolve than anything.
“Smoke,” she said back.
“We need to talk.”
“Well, hello to you too,” she said sharply.
“Hey,” he said. “We need to talk,” he repeated, tone flat.
She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “About?” she asked with a challenge in her tone.
“Us.”
The word made her lean forward on her elbows.
“I just came to say we’re done. For good this time,” he said firmly. He opened his mouth, then closed it, like he had something more to say but decided against it.
“That’s it?” The look on her face went from amusement to surprise to something else in the span of a few seconds. “That’s all you have to say to me?”
“I’m sorry it took so long for me to say out loud. I should have said it sooner. That’s on me. But we been done a while. You know that.”
“You always did think silence was kinder than the truth,” she fired back.
Smoke hung his head. Because she wasn’t wrong. Her anger, he could take on the chest. He at least owed her that.
“Look, I don’t know what’s been said or who you been sayin’ it to,” he started. “But whatever’s been said, I’m here to put it to rest.”
Something flashed across her face and left just as quickly. Recognition. And the sinking feeling of dread. “You must got somebody you care about a whole lot, to come all the way over here just so you could say it plain,” she said. “She know about me?”
“I’m sayin’ it now,” he said, voice low.
“Does she know about me?” She asked again. A little louder this time.
Smoke’s jaw ticked.
“So there is somebody else,” she said carefully.
Smoke didn’t answer.
She studied his face for anything— regret, sadness, anything. She closed her eyes to keep her composure and shook her head like it would somehow make the sting go away. It didn’t. But she put her dignity back on anyway.
“Well,” she said, almost breathless. “There it is.”
Smoke nodded once. Demetria looked at him like she couldn’t recognize the shape of the man standing in front of her anymore, then she went back to her papers with the same measured carefulness she always used. The force of her pen made the paper crackle on the desk. Her corrections felt more personal now. Like she was trying to cross him out of her life one red line at a time.
“You take care.”
“Or not,” she snapped.
Smoke nodded like he accepted the ire, then he turned towards the entrance. He walked into the cool Mississippi air outside and away from the tension that sat between them, ready to snap like a rubber band pulled taut. And when he closed the door to the schoolhouse behind him, he made sure it shut all the way.
“Mwen kontan.”
She said it in such a sultry, whispery tone. Not on purpose, that’s just how Annie’s voice sounded to Smoke. Alluring and fragrant, like the scent of the magnolia blossoms scattered around them on the ground.
It was an early Sunday evening in November. The magnolia tree that stood tall on the side of the boarding house was changing. Its delicate, white petals drifted loose from the branches overhead and fell soft into the yard like the last bit of summer was shedding itself, piece by piece.
They sat on her patchwork quilt under the remaining shade of the tree. Annie had her knees tucked beneath her, her new sketchbook open on her lap. Smoke was across from her, one knee up, forearm casually resting over it. His eyes were anything but casual, narrowed with a fierce concentration. A lantern sat close by the edge of the quilt. Its flame burned low and steady, painting gold shadows over the pages of Annie’s sketchbook and the tips of her fingers.
“Hold on,” Smoke fussed. “You gotta say it slower.”
Annie chuckled. “Mweh con-tan,” she sounded out slowly.
Smoke was staring at her lips, trying to mimic the way she formed the words when she spoke. She was amused by his focus. Impressed. He had it in everything he did. That bitter resolve.
“What that mean?”
“It means I’m happy.”
“Mwen-kun-tin,” he tried.
Annie winced. “Close, but…just try it again,” she urged.
“No,” Smoke said flatly.
“Why not?”
“I said it just how you said it.”
“No,” Annie shook her head. “You didn’t.”
Smoke’s mouth twitched. He looked away before it could fully turn into a smile. “Sounded close enough to me,” he grumbled.
“Mweh con-tan,” she said slower.
“Mwen kun-tan,” he repeated.
Annie bit the inside of her cheek. He was doing it on purpose, with his stubborn self.
“You laughin’ at me?” Smoke asked bitterly.
“No.”
“Yeah…you are.”
“Am not.”
A magnolia petal landed on the page. Smoke picked it up without thinking, turned it once in his hand, then placed it on the quilt like he was afraid to hold it too long for fear he’d crush it in his hands.
“Say it again.”
“You’re enjoyin’ this too much,” he huffed.
“And you bein’ difficult on purpose.”
“Mm.”
“Mm,” she said louder. She laughed softly and shaded something with her pencil near the corner of the page. It was a sketch of the shape of his mouth. Just the corner and how it curved around the sound he kept getting wrong. How he’d pushed a nasal sound outward instead of dropping it down.
Smoke shifted closer by a fraction, looking down to the sketchbook curiously. “Can I see?”
Her fingers tightened around it out of instinct.
“You ain’t got to.”
The gentleness in his words made her look up. Made her grip loosen. She turned the sketchbook towards him, setting it between them. On the page wasn’t just one drawing. There were several spread across the paper. The curve of a leaf. The twist of a root. The slope of a hand pouring tea. Felix curled up on the porch. Halfway tucked in the pages was a loose leaf drawing of the inside of a small house. Smoke stared at that one the longest. He knew instantly what it was. He’d seen her sketch of the outside of her shop before. But this one was different. She pulled it out from where it was wedged and placed it in her lap.
Bundles hanging from the ceiling on one side.
A long counter in front.
A curtain that led to other rooms.
Small jars lined up neatly on shelves.
He took in every section, every detail.
“Your shop,” he said finally.
“One day,” Annie replied shyly.
“One day, when?”
Annie looked up. “When I got enough saved. When I know enough,” she listed off. “When Aunt Della thinks I’m ready. When…” she huffed out a breath softly. “When the world lets me, I guess.”
Smoke’s jaw worked.
“It wouldn’t just be remedies,” she said, rushing to fill the quiet before it got too loud. “I’d sell teas, salves, tonics, food, too. It wouldn’t just be a shop,” she continued, searching for words that would land. “It’d be somewhere people can come when they got things they ain’t ready to say out loud, but they ready to stop lettin’ it hurt them.”
Smoke kept quiet beside her.
Annie took a deep breath. “My grandma had an apothecary. Nothin’ fancy,” she said softly. “Just a place where people came in whisperin’ and left breathin’ easier.”
Smoke watched her. Her eyes, the way they softened around certain words. Her hands, and how they fidgeted on the edge of the paper. He looked at the page again while she ran her finger lightly over the built-in shelves she drew.
“I want that. Somethin’ with my name on it. Somethin’ I know how to keep.”
He looked at her again. “You will,” he said firmly.
The certainty in his voice made her go still. “You sound sure.”
“I am.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you.”
Annie tucked the drawing away and closed her sketchbook halfway, her hand smoothing over its cover. “You know some of me.”
Smoke nodded once. “I know enough.”
Silence settled between them again. Easy. Annie watched him for a moment, trying to read what had changed in his face. He looked the same mostly. Quiet. Steady. Shoulders still carrying that heaviness. But his eyes looked different.
He sat up straight and faced her. “Annie.” He said her name and she felt her heart thump hard in her chest. She couldn’t figure out why. He’d said her name a million times, but he’d never said it quite like this.
“Yes?” she replied.
“I talked to your aunt.”
“About what?”
“You.”
The night moved around them. Crickets chirping in the trees, distant voices from a house down the street. Dogs barking, chickens roosting. It all seemed to quiet around this very moment.
“I told her I wanna court you. Proper.”
“You did?”
“I did.”
“And now?” she asked quietly.
“Now I’m comin’ to you.”
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes piercing. “I ain’t askin’ you for nothin’ you don’t wanna give,” he said. “And I ain’t askin’ you to stop what you been showin’ me.”
Annie’s throat tightened. “That matter to you?”
Smoke’s eyes moved to the sketchbook, then back to her. “It matters to you,” he said plainly. “It matters to me.”
“I thought you ain’t believe in all that stuff,” she said. “Hoodoo.”
“I don’t.” He shrugged. “I believe in you.”
Annie drew in a small breath, tilting her chin up a little. “What does courtin’ mean to you?”
Smoke took his time to answer.
“It means I come correct. I don’t sneak around corners with you. Don’t have folks guessin’ what you mean to me. It means if I spend time with you, it’s cause I’m serious about you.”
“You are?”
“I am.”
She looked at him— a silent urge to keep talking, like he wasn’t already undoing her under this magnolia tree.
“I ain’t sayin’ I got everything figured out. I don’t. I got work that ain’t clean. I got Stack.” His mouth tightened faintly. “And I got things I still need to make right before I can ask for more than this.”
He sighed. “But I know what I mean,” he said. “And I don’t mean to waste your time.”
Annie looked down at the sketchbook in her lap. This man, whose words always held weight, had looked closely at her dreams sketched in graphite and smudged lines and simply said —he wanted to be part of them.
She looked back at him. “If I say yes,” she said slowly. “I want my shop. I want my work. I want…I wanna be somebody outside of who I’m with.”
“You already are,” he said, voice low.
Annie blinked.
His voice stayed low. “I ain’t askin’ to make you smaller.”
Annie’s breath caught. “Then what you askin’?”
He paused for a moment, then— “To walk beside you while you grow.”
The silence that sat between them wasn’t empty. It was so full that Annie had to look away just so she could breathe.
That’s when she felt it.
A nervous laugh.
It rose up in her throat— not because anything was funny, but because the weight of this moment was so heavy, she had to lighten it somehow before it swallowed her whole. She tried to suppress it, but the corners of her mouth had already turned up.
“You laughin’ at me?”
He noticed. Of course he did.
“No!”
Smoke’s mouth twitched. “Yes you are.”
“No I’m not!”
“You a bad liar.”
“I'm not lyin'...you just...makin’ me nervous right now,” she admitted softly.
His eyes softened. “You can take your time to think about it.”
Annie shook her head immediately. “No,” she said. “I don’t need time,” she assured him.
His eyes got serious again.
“I’ll let you court me.”
Something moved across his face. Not quite a smile. Something much more dangerous to her composure. “Yeah?”
Annie’s lips curved into a fully encompassing smile that spread gently across her face. “Yeah.”
He held out his hand for her. A question. She put her hand in his and they laced their fingers together carefully, palms warm and steady against each other. The answer.
The tree shed another petal. It drifted down between them and landed on their intertwined hands. They didn’t move it. The lantern burned low. They sat like that beneath the magnolia tree as the last of summer continued to fall around them.
The next morning was a blur. Between the demands of empty stomachs and the nervous tremor of her own hands, a nagging anxiety sat on her shoulders and butterflies fluttered violently in the pit of her belly. A sigh of relief left her lips as the last lodger headed out the door, leaving her and Aunt Della to at least be able to clean up the kitchen and dining room in a tempered silence.
The wind chimes on the porch fluttered in the breeze, whistling a throaty, breathless jingle that did nothing to calm her nerves. Aunt Della glanced her way a few times, but said nothing. Even Felix tried to soothe her, his purrs doing little to bring her any real solace.
Annie shoved a biscuit in her mouth to give herself something to do. The warm fluffiness filled her mouth and the butter satisfied her tastebuds with its rich, melty goodness. She sighed then took another bite, closing her eyes as the sustenance moved through her body.
Maybe she was just hungry. And maybe her anxiousness had nothing to do with him.
She moved quicker, stacking, sweeping, wiping, scraping until the house smelled like eucalyptus, lavender, and bleach.
Annie collapsed on the couch in the front room, but not from exhaustion. From adrenaline that had nowhere else to go. Her heart beat rapidly and she fingered her ileke beads like that could somehow calm it. Morning light cut warm and light through the front windows like a balm on her skin. She tilted her head back and let her eyes close, basking in the quiet after the chaos of breakfast.
The scent of tobacco, peppermint, and bay rum floated through the screen door. Slowly—like the rich, layered smells that arrive in a kitchen when meat, butter and herbs fold into each other on the stove.
Then the screen door cracked open and Smoke stepped through.
Annie’s mouth went dry.
The first thing she noticed was the way he darkened the doorway once he stepped past the threshold. He was tall, well over six feet. Large and imposing frame, and even though she was a tall woman herself, it felt like he towered over her. The muscles on his arms and shoulders filled out every inch of his white collared shirt, pressing against the starched fabric with a powerful, restrained strength. His suspenders held up trousers that sat comfortably around his hips. His boots were heavy on his feet even though his steps were light. It was a subtle contradiction that made her tongue feel like cotton in her mouth.
The second thing she noticed were the flowers in his hand. Two separate arrangements— one a mixture of white, cream, and greenery. The other was a mixture of vivid colors that looked like a rainbow painted the petals. Each was wrapped in brown paper and tied gently with twine.
Smoke removed his hat and turned to see Annie spread lazily across the couch. Apron halfway untied, scarf to the side, legs hanging off the edge, dress tracing the curve of her hips. She looked beautiful with her feet dangling in the air, bent nickel hanging loosely off a string around her left ankle, shoulders relaxed like she didn’t have a care in the world. He liked that look. Wanted to see more of it.
He was doing that staring thing again, Annie thought to herself. The way his eyes slowly swept up and down her body gave her goosebumps, and she suddenly became very aware of how she was presenting. Worn dress, apron smudged with stains, hair fuzzy in her cornrows, barefoot and lounging on the couch. But the heat in his eyes turned a casual glance-over into a smoldering glare that pinned her in place. The paper around the bouquets crinkled under his grasp as he adjusted them in his hand. When his voice finally broke the loaded silence that had overtaken the front room of the boarding house, it was rough with something that made her spine snap straight. Her legs followed, then her hands, dragging her upwards until she was sitting up completely.
“Good mornin’.”
Annie smiled up at him, a sight that beamed brighter than the morning sun. “Good mornin’.”
Smoke took a step closer, then two, and with one hand grabbed the white bouquet out of his other and extended them towards Annie. “For you.”
“Thank you,” she said, inhaling their scent.
Smoke nodded once, then looked around the room. “Where’s your aunt?”
“Somewhere out back,” she said breathily, taking another sniff of the flowers.
“These for her.”
“Awww, ain’t you sweet?”
“Don’t tell nobody,” he said in that low register that made her skin tingle, with a timbre that told her he wasn’t joking even though the corner of his mouth lifted when he said it.
He proceeded into the kitchen then out the back door, leaving Annie with her own thoughts and the absence of…him. His presence stayed in the room even though he was gone, and it wasn’t just because the smell of his cologne lingered behind. Her head tilted when she realized what day it was. Monday. What was he doing here?
“What we doin’ today?” He asked as he stepped back into her space.
Annie’s breath stuttered.
Aunt Della listened in from the kitchen, looking entirely pleased with herself.
Annie cleared her throat and shut her mouth that had opened at Smoke’s words. Not because she wasn’t used to him being forward. But because the look in his eye told her he was dead serious when he asked her that question.
“I gotta stop by Chow’s,” she started, to which he acknowledged with a nod. “Then the drugstore,” she continued. She listed things off until she stopped to look down at what she needed to do before anything else. “I gotta wash up first. Change.”
“I’ma be right here,” he assured her, sinking deep into the couch, putting his head back, and spreading his legs.
Annie took one more look at him and darted up the stairs.
Thirty minutes later she was in front of the mirror, blouse tucked into a halfway-fastened skirt. Her hair was taken down from her cornrows, oiled, greased, parted down the middle, and pulled back.
Except one piece that just wouldn’t lay flat.
She brushed it once, then brushed it again. It refused to lay right, refused to stay right. Her hairbrush clattered on the dresser where she dropped it.
“What am I doing?” she asked like the walls could talk back.
She gripped the edge of the dresser, then touched the open edge of her blouse still unbuttoned at the throat. Her fingers rested there a moment before she remembered to button it.
Her fingers weren’t steady. She cursed under her breath, buttoning it with trembling hands. She smoothed the front down, turning to the side to make sure it was tucked all the way in.
Then she picked up her hairbrush again. Went over the same spot. Got the same result.
She threw her hairbrush down with frustration, flustered.
All of a sudden she felt very alone. More alone than she’d felt since she got to Clarksdale. She tried to blink away the tears but one escaped her eye. It rolled down her cheek, dropping onto her dresser.
She missed her friends from home.
She missed her family.
She didn't expect this. Didn’t expect him.
And now she was standing in the middle of something new surrounded by people who barely knew her. No mama who always knew what to say. No brothers teasing. No daddy who would pretend it wasn’t making him emotional seeing his little girl stepping into her role as a woman.
Maybe it was a sign.
She didn’t know what she was doing. She couldn’t even get her hair right without falling apart.
What did she know about being courted?
The word felt strange in her throat. New. Like a dress made out of fine fabric that she hadn’t yet learned how to move in. Like something she wanted to be careful with, to not wrinkle. Something she wanted to spin in front of the mirror just to see how it caught the light.
And maybe, just maybe….if it fit just right, she could keep it.
Her stomach fluttered.
She didn’t know what came after she said yes.
She’d heard stories from her friends back home, but she was never in the thick of it to look around and see how it felt.
She didn’t know how close she was supposed to stand beside him, what folks would hear if he said her name too soft. Didn’t know if holding his hand would feel natural or if she’d overthink every step. She didn’t know what part of herself was meant to stay guarded and what part was allowed to lean.
But between the frustration, and the fear, and the homesickness that had a vice grip on her nerves…she still wanted to try.
That was the part that kept resurfacing.
She wanted it. Wanted him beside her. Wanted to be beside him. And she wanted folks to see.
The truth of it rose up so plainly, it didn’t leave room for her to argue with herself about it.
She wanted to know what Smoke looked like when he didn’t hold himself back so much. Wanted to learn what his quiet felt like when it belonged to her. Wanted to see if walking beside him in the daylight felt like sitting beside him under the magnolia tree in the backyard.
She rubbed her ileke beads and let the touch ground her. Then she put some oil on her fingers, the special blend her mama made that halfway leaked out in her trunk, and brushed the worrisome part of her hair the way her mama always did when she got too frustrated to do it herself. Rub, smooth, brush, set.
She looked in the small, age-spotted mirror again, and her mouth curved up into a small, winsome smile.
Maybe she didn't know what she was doing.
But maybe the only thing she needed to do today was walk downstairs, meet his eyes, and take it one step at a time.
The floorboards upstairs groaned and Smoke’s head snapped towards the sound. He rose slowly from his spot on the couch, keeping his eyes trained on Annie as she walked down the stairs with a hand on the banister.
His gaze moved over her.
She wore a deep mustard-colored blouse tucked into a navy blue ankle-length skirt and high button leather boots. Her purse was slung over her shoulder and her skin still looked warm from her bath.
“You look nice.”
“Thank you.”
“Real nice.”
Annie’s cheeks warmed.
“Ready?” he asked.
Annie smiled once she got to the bottom of the staircase. “I’m ready.”
Aunt Della stood in the threshold between the kitchen and the front room, arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes went from Smoke to Annie and back. “Y’all don’t have too much fun out there,” she smirked. “And watch my baby,” she said to Smoke.
“I will,” Smoke said as he put his hat back. He opened the door for Annie and stepped back to turn to Aunt Della. “Always.”
Aunt Della shook her head playfully and turned back to the kitchen, arms still folded but a grin on her lips.
The ride over to Fourth Street was quick—just two short blocks. People in front of Chow’s Grocery were few and far between, but the sidewalk was far from empty. Outside, business moved as usual. A vendor restocked produce while a worker inspected their freshness. A few customers left the store with items wrapped tightly in brown paper while their children skipped alongside them with peppermint sticks and molasses chews in hand. Wagons trekked by slowly with mounds of cotton in the back, and the constant hammering of picks chipping ice blocks apart echoed in the street.
Smoke rounded the front of his truck to open the door for Annie. He held up a hand for her to balance herself on and took care to make sure she was steady once she stepped out. He followed behind her as they walked to the entrance, his hand on the small of her back as he held the door for her.
The inside held the sweet pungency of chicory in burlap sacks being hauled from the back and piled high by the windows. Charles and Bo Chow stood behind the front counter, Charles weighing something on the scale while Bo wrote an entry in the ledger. A smirk spread across Bo’s face when he saw Smoke and Annie at the door and clocked their closeness. He nodded at Smoke, then slid his eyes over to Annie and waved at her, drawn by the warmth that always seemed to radiate off her.
“Baby,” Smoke started, exchanging a look with Bo. “I need to go holler at Bo real quick.”
“Okay,” Annie responded in that sweet, syrupy Louisiana drawl of hers.
She drifted across the store looking at her list, then made her way down one of the aisles in search of something else entirely. Smoke watched her go, watched her disappear, replayed it in his head. Then he turned to Bo. He was wiping down a display as Charles rang up a customer at the till.
“How you been, man?” Bo asked.
“Good, good,” Smoke said. He greeted him with a firm handshake, then pulled back to get a good look at him. “Damn, fatherhood huh?”
“I look that bad?”
“You look like shit.”
Bo laughed, the corner of his eyes crinkling with it. He looked tired, but content in a way that made his eyes twinkle. Like he was at peace despite it all. “Tired as hell. But I’m happy,” he nodded. “We happy.”
“I’m happy for you, Bo.”
“Thanks man,” Bo replied, shaking Smoke’s shoulder. His eyes flicked over the store. “Della’s girl…that’s you?”
“You mean Annie,” Smoke corrected.
Surprise overtook Bo’s face and he raised an eyebrow. A question. “Yeah, I mean Annie.”
“Yeah,” he answered. Firm. “She mine.”
Bo clapped Smoke on the shoulder, looking at him with a sense of shock and awe. “Oh shit,” he exclaimed, putting a fist in front of his mouth. “Look at you, fixin’ to be in my shoes soon, Smoke.”
Smoke shot him a look as he walked away, but something in him got quiet when the thought crossed his mind. Then it got warm.
Annie, a mother.
Him.
A father.
He shook the thought away just as quickly when they became poisoned by thoughts of his own father.
That felt like a metaphor for his own life— innocence being corrupted by its own blood.
The thought of being a father after putting his own in the ground felt devastatingly ironic, but hope flickered somewhere that maybe it could rewrite whatever went wrong with his own.
He shook his head and kept walking through the store, his legs carrying him past the aisles in slow, measured steps. He didn’t rush. He knew exactly where Annie was.
Annie was still reeling.
From him calling her baby. From the way he said it with that deep Mississippi drawl. Her cheeks were warm, skin flushed, and all of a sudden, everything felt hot despite the store being cool.
She stood in the aisle, humming under her breath, half bent over as she flipped through a wire basket on a shelf filled with seed packets.
“Why she want this when we got it in the backyard?” She fussed.
She shook her head, plucked the seed packet from the stack, and stood up. They dropped into her shopping basket as she walked further down the aisle. She picked up the small bag of feed and saw a shadow out of the corner of her eye. She ignored it and went about her business crossing items off her list when she heard it.
“Hey stranger.”
She turned around.
Reverend Carter stepped around the corner.
Red button up, brown tweed waistcoat, gold pocket watch hanging. And that silver signet ring that he rubbed with the pad of his thumb. She looked down in his shopping basket and her brows knit at the contents inside.
Her lips tightened into a line, that same odd sense of familiarity crept up on her again and made her insides tumble with unease.
“Hey.” She adjusted the strap of her purse around her shoulder.
A grin spread across his face. “How you been?”
“Good,” she nodded. “You?”
Carter nodded like he was choosing his words carefully. “I’ve been doin’ just fine,” he said slowly.
Annie shifted her weight. “So you’re back?”
“For a little.”
She blinked. “Where you speakin’ at this time?”
“Church off Yazoo,” he said quickly.
She frowned for a second, then relaxed her face.
Carter chuckled under his breath. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“You stayin’ at the house?”
He smirked to the side then looked back. “I’m stayin’ with the pastor.”
“Makes sense.”
“Yeah…makes perfect sense.”
His eyes dropped to her ileke beads, then back up. The glance was quick, barely even noticeable. But she did. The hand that wasn’t holding her basket rose to touch her beads protectively.
Smoke noticed it too.
He was at the top of the aisle, watching.
He saw Carter’s eyes dip to her chest. It was just a brief second, but the flicker made his chest tighten.
He crossed the aisle in three long strides. He kept his eyes forward, locked on Carter who had sensed him looming and had since looked up from Annie.
Smoke stepped behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist, the motion tucking her into his side. The gesture was smooth, natural, like her body had no business not being there all along.
Annie let out a quiet exhale. It was a short, controlled breath that made her shoulders relax.
Then she moved—but she didn’t move so much as melt. She relaxed back into Smoke’s touch, folding easily into him. His fingers curled around her hip, but his eyes didn’t leave Carter’s.
“Afternoon,” Carter said politely to Smoke.
Smoke just stared at him, his dark hooded eyes like black orbs piercing into the depths of whatever lay behind Carter’s. No nod. No acknowledgement. Just a cold, tactical assessment.
Carter blinked. “Y’all goin’ to the Harvest Party next month?”
“Yeah,” Annie replied quickly. She felt Smoke’s grip tighten on her hip.“We—”
“What business a preacher got at a juke joint?” Smoke asked, voice flat.
“I ain’t goin’,” Carter said, rubbing his signet ring. He looked down at it, then looked back up at them. “Just tryna make conversation.”
Smoke and Annie glanced at each other out of the corner of their eyes.
“Well,” he said, tipping his hat. “Y’all have a good rest of your day.”
Then he walked away.
The bustle of Chow’s went on around them but they didn’t hear it— like they only existed now in their own little bubble. Then Smoke dipped his head to her ear and pressed his lips there.
Three short kisses. Soft despite the intensity of the feeling behind them. Warm, from the closeness and something else entirely. They felt less like a kiss and more like a claim.
One right behind the ear, one lower on the skin right above the neck, and one right on the shell. His nose nuzzled there for a second before he opened his mouth and hummed right into her ear. Low, deep, right into the part of her ear that made his voice vibrate right down her spine.
“You good?”
“Mhmm,” she hummed.
She looked over her shoulder at him and his eyes were closed at the sound of her voice. She stroked his beard and his eyes opened to find hers darker. Her fingers grazed the shell of his ear. A gentle touch that made him fight off a shiver.
“Behave,” he said, squeezing her hip gently.
Annie grinned. She turned away from his grasp and slinked out of the aisle like nothing happened. Then she glanced over her shoulder at him once more to bat her eyes at him before slipping completely out of his sight. Smoke stood there watching her walk away, his body still warm from where she rested against it. He flexed his hands at his sides to subdue the fire she stoked in him, then followed behind her.
Outside, the air smelled like spice and the bite of the chilly November air. Annie adjusted the paper-wrapped bundle from Chow’s against her hip and slipped it into her purse. Smoke stepped out behind her with the chicken feed sack tucked under his arm and the rest of Aunt Della’s order in his other hand like it weighed nothing. He watched a shiver run down Annie’s spine that she tried to hide.
“Cold?”
“A little.”
“Here.”
Smoke shrugged off his jacket and laid it over Annie’s shoulders as they walked towards his truck. The smell wafting from King’s Tamales Stand next door stopped Annie in her tracks as a man working the booth shouted his prices to folks passing by and wrapped hot tamales in paper. Warm masa, spice, meat steamed softly inside of corn husks. Steam curled up from a heavy pot blackened by use and hit the inside of the tin roof of the stand that had a crooked hand-painted sign attached to the front.
Smoke glanced at Annie. “Hungry?”
Annie looked at him with those wide brown eyes of hers. Then her stomach answered before she got the chance. She scoffed, looking down at it like it betrayed her thoughts, then back up at Smoke.
Smoke’s mouth twitched. “Come on.” He shifted the sack higher beneath his arm and stepped towards the stand. “How many you want?”
“One.”
“Just one?”
Smoke looked towards the tamale man. “We’ll take four.”
Annie blinked. “Four?”
Smoke looked back at Annie. “I’m hungry, too.”
The man behind the stand grinned like he’d seen this before. “Two for the gentleman, one for the lady now, and one for when she gets hungry later.”
“Exactly,” Smoke agreed.
Annie scoffed, looking away before a smile broke out on her face.
“Hot?” the man asked.
Smoke looked back at Annie again. She lifted her chin, offended despite herself. “Hot.”
Smoke looked back to the grinning man and nodded once. “Hot.”
“You think I wouldn’t like hot?”
“I didn’t know that’s why I asked.”
“You forget where I’m from?”
“I remember.”
The tamales came wrapped in paper, steam rising as the man passed them over to Smoke. He paid, coins dropping clean in the man’s palm. “Enjoy,” he said as they turned down the sidewalk.
They walked a little ways down the side of the building, stopping by a patch of shade where the street noise softened around them. Smoke set Aunt Della’s things carefully by his feet, then handed Annie her tamales. He unwrapped his own with easy hands. Annie watched him without meaning to. The way he carefully peeled back the husk. The way the steam curled around his fingers. The way he took the first bite and let it sit in his mouth before he started chewing. He chewed once, twice, then nodded faintly to himself.
“That good?”
“Mhmm.” He took another bite.
Annie unwrapped hers, holding it carefully between her fingers as the heat bled through the paper. The first bite was soft and smoky. The cornmeal was tender, but not enough to fall through her fingers. The meat was rich with salt, pepper, and something earthy underneath. She chewed thoughtfully, her mouth analyzing every flavor. Smoke was already on his second tamale, but was chewing slower now, watching her.
“What?” she asked.
“You makin’ a face.”
“I’m thinkin’.”
Smoke’s brows knit together. “About a tamale?”
“Mhmm.”
His mouth curved. “That so?”
“Absolutely.”
She took another bite, slower this time. “It’s good.”
Smoke nodded but kept his eyes trained on her for the—
“But.”
“I knew it.”
Annie smiled faintly. “It could use a lil’ more depth.”
“Depth?”
She nodded. “Depth.”
Smoke looked down at his half-eaten tamale then back up at Annie. “It’s a tamale.”
“And?”
Smoke looked amused now. He tilted his head. “What would you do to it?”
Annie shifted her weight. “I’d give it somethin’ to round out the pepper,” she said. “So it don’t just sit on top.”
Smoke just looked at her. “You always this particular?”
“With food? Yes.”
“And everything else?”
Annie opened her mouth, then closed it. She looked down at her tamale, then back at him. And when she spoke, her words came out softer than she expected them. “I know what I like.”
Smoke’s gaze hadn’t left her. “Good.” He took another bite, slowly. The cornmeal broke apart clean between his teeth. A long chunk of saucy meat landed on his tongue and he slurped it down his mouth without breaking eye contact.
“You starin’.”
Annie blinked. “Am not.”
“What you lookin’ at then?”
“You got somethin’ on your face.”
He ran a hand through his beard. “For real?”
“It’s gone now.”
He couldn’t ignore the mirth in her eyes. She looked away, unwrapping the last tamale with more attention than it needed. The corner of Smoke’s mouth lifted.
“Where I’m from, folks put more life into they food,” she said, turning back to him.
“More life?”
“Yep.”
“What that mean?”
“It means…” she said, looking towards the street like she could find the words there. “Food should taste like somebody remembered where they came from when they made it.”
“You sayin’ the people who made this…forgot where they came from?”
“No.” She smiled into her food. “They just knew wherever they was goin’ didn’t like it hot!”
Smoke huffed a laugh. Fourth Street moved around them, unconcerned. And the tension from inside of Chow’s softened into something easier. Something with steam, spice, and a little more kick.
“I’ll make sure to let King know.”
Annie swatted his chest. “Smoke, don’t you dare!”
When they were done eating, Smoke gathered Aunt Della’s order again and Annie threw the empty wrappers into a nearby waste barrel. She wiped her fingers against her handkerchief, the taste of pepper and cornmeal still heavy on her tongue.
They left their items from Chow’s locked in Smoke’s truck, which he left in front of the grocery store at Annie’s insistence. Annie enjoyed the scenery as they walked leisurely towards the next stop on her list of errands. Smoke enjoyed the scenery too— her. Her hair, tucked into a thick bun, had tendrils hanging down the sides of her face that blew with the wind. One kept sticking to the shell of her ear, tickling her when it hit just right. The beads tucked under the neckline of her dress rattled if she moved a certain way. And she still had his jacket on to shield her from the wind. The sight of her walking around with his suit jacket draped over her shoulders did something to him that he couldn’t explain and didn’t want to.
They neared the crossroad where Fourth Street met Issaquena, the street lined with shops for personal and grooming services. Luella’s Dressing Room & Alterations, Ritzy’s Beauty Salon, Brown’s Barbershop, and others sat along a row of close-knit brick and wooden storefronts with mended awnings and handmade signs.
The noise of the street got louder as they approached the block where Luella’s and Ritzy’s stood across from the barbershop. Or maybe it was just the noise in Annie’s head. She walked closest to the sidewalk with Smoke right beside her, watching her closely. His hand would find her lower back if he saw her steps falter or slow. They dodged some kids roughhousing, a stand or a low hanging sign, a crack in the sidewalk.
The area in front of the barbershop was full of men standing on lampposts smoking cigarettes, people watching, and chatting each other up. Suspenders loose or off, hats sitting low, legs bent, feet on the brick barbershop building while they waited their turn. The striped pole outside spun slowly with the wind. The smell of shaving soap, pomade, and hot comb smoke drifted upwards from the barbershop and the beauty salon across the street. The men outside let their eyes wander when Annie approached them on the sidewalk— and froze when they saw Smoke right next to her. Conversations paused, necks craned slowly. Smoke guided her through the crowd that parted for them with his hand at her back. The men acknowledged him, some giving him daps, others giving a firm nod. Some said a few polite words, tipping their hats and greeting them both as they walked by. But Smoke kept his hands on Annie. Always on her.
Sunflower Music was painted in gold lettering on a black wooden sign that hung perpendicular to the sidewalk. The awning was a muted red, the color faded by the sun and wear, and stuck out of a narrow brick storefront with tall display windows in the front. Folks walking by would just stop and stare at what was inside— sheet music, instruments, phonographs, a lone Columbia Graphophone. Stacks of records displayed like treasure. Once the shop bell guided them through the door, the smell of paper, varnished wood, and cigars turned the crisp winter air to something with more bite. The space was long and spread out. Wooden floors. Pressed-tin ceiling. Ceiling fans turning slowly overhead. Most of the displays were spread out across the walls except a few items that were secured behind glass cases and oak cabinets shined to a mirror finish.
A musician tested out strings by the wall where the instruments were displayed. A few church mothers Annie recognized from First Baptist Missionary were flipping carefully through church hymn sheet music displayed in stands on the other side of the shop.
The owner stood by one of many phonographs with a record in his hands. He placed it in one, cranked the machine, and dropped the needle, all in one smooth, practiced motion. The customer standing next to him waited for the beat to drop. The record spun, the sound cracked slightly, then the smooth sound of a brass band spread throughout the room. Annie paused. The customer bopped his head to the fast-paced, soulful music coming from the phonograph speakers.
Then the cornet solo hit.
Annie stilled entirely.
The sound of conversation faded away, even the pointed looks of the church mothers who recognized her walking hand-in-hand with Smoke, she paid no mind. The familiarity of the music made her chest twist painfully. It sounded like home. Felt like it too. Like street musicians, second line parades, and rain hitting tin roofs during summer storms.
“Annie?” he asked, voice low. He touched the small of her back.
Once she caught her breath, she whispered, “Yeah.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” she replied, blinking back the tear that threatened to drop from her left eye. “Just reminds me of home.” She blinked and she could see it clearly. A rickety old shack. The fierce, stubborn, woman who lived inside who felt more like a spirit than a memory. “My great-grandmama,” she said a little softer. “Before she passed…she loved listening to the cornet. I don’t know why but that was the only instrument that made her face light up no matter how out of it she was.”
Smoke rubbed her lower back and they moved deeper in the store but Annie felt like she was walking through water. They ended up by the stack of records which stood close to the instruments along the wall.
“That’s the thing about music,” he said. “It has a way of bringin’ you back to somebody, even after they long gone.”
Annie exhaled sharply. She went through the Vaudeville records but she wasn’t really looking. Smoke stood by her side, facing her, waiting.
“We lost her to the hurricane. Back in ‘15.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She wouldn’t leave.” Her voice cracked.
“What you mean?”
Annie took a deep breath.
“She lived deep in the bayou. Water filled with gators,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “She knew the storm was comin’ before it did. Said if the water’s fixin’ to take her she ain’t gon’ run.”
Annie looked towards the window like the memory called her there for some reason. “She said she had somebody on the other side waitin’ on her.”
Smoke nodded once, eyes patient. “You know who?”
“No,” she said. “She was sold downriver ‘fo she could remember anyone.”
“Damn,” Smoke whispered.
She smiled. It was faint, like it was pushing through the grief. “She was alone her whole life…’til she started having babies.”
“How many?”
“Fourteen.”
Smoke whistled low.
Annie hummed. “She was somethin’ else.”
The memory of her great-grandmother flashed quickly through her mind like a blur. Eyes that looked different…older than her age, and much younger at the same time. Her frail hands dragging a stick through swamp mud, leaving marks that looked less drawn than remembered.
“What was her name?”
Annie blinked and it was gone. Her hand rose to her ileke beads again, then she looked up at Smoke with the softest, widest, brown eyes, and the tenderness in them made him sigh.
“Antoinette,” she said finally. Like the name pulled something out of her that made her hesitate to say it out loud.
Smoke rubbed her shoulder, pulled her close and kissed the top of her head.
Annie put a hand on his chest, leaning into his touch.
They let the silence sit between them for a few moments. Let the quiet ache until it dulled into something easier to move on from.
“Anyway,” she said finally, pulling herself together. “Let’s get what I came here for.” Her fingers walked the records in search of the ragtime one Aunt Della wanted.
“What kinda music they listen to, over there in France?”
“They liked a lot of the stuff we brought over.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Our regiment had a band and everything.”
“Were you in it?” She teased.
His mouth twitched. “Nah.”
The musician testing out guitars hit a chord with a slider that made Smoke’s hand tap once against the record box before he caught himself. He looked at Annie and she was already looking at him.
“What?” he asked.
Annie arched her brow. “You like that?”
“It’s nice.”
“Why?”
Smoke exhaled. “It’s slow. Got a little ache to it.”
Annie chuckled low.
The guitar player took his slider off and played something a little louder, a little faster, a deep Blues riff.
“You like this one, too?”
“This more Stack’s style.”
“Mmmhmmm.”
“What?”
“It’s more Stack’s style but your hand been tappin’ away since he started playin’.”
Smoke looked down at his hand then back to Annie. “Don’t mean I can’t enjoy it.”
“You right,” she smirked. “But you tappin’ along like you know this song by heart.”
“I do.”
Annie frowned. “From where?”
“My daddy.” He paused. Looked down. Sighed. “He played the guitar.”
“Oh,” she mouthed. She heard something in his words even though his voice was steady. Pain. Shame. Guilt. Loss. Whatever it was, it weighed heavy.
His jaw tightened. “Back then…” he drifted off. “The music felt kinder than the man.” His eyes found her again.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
Annie rubbed his arm, then pulled it around her. The gesture made his shoulders relax, and she wrapped her arms around his chest. “Elijah,” she whispered up to him.
His name on her lips felt as warm as her hand on his chest.
“Hmm,” he answered, looking off into the distance.
She rubbed his back. “You alright?” she asked quietly.
He looked down at her, then wrapped his arms around her tighter.
“Yeah,” he said into her hair. He inhaled her scent—jasmine, rosewater, and vanilla.
Annie didn't push. Just let him stay in the moment a little longer, with her to hold onto.
Across the room, one of the church mothers cleared her throat entirely too loud, and just like that the tenderness snapped. Smoke and Annie both frowned, then looked over with expectant gazes. One cold, one more curious but still annoyed. The church mother’s mouth snapped shut and she scoffed, turning back around. Smoke and Annie both laughed as they walked towards the register, his arm around her shoulder.
“I’ma get an earful on Sunday ‘cause of you,” Annie joked, lacing her fingers with the ones hanging over her shoulder.
“They need to mind they own business,” Smoke said. Loudly. Right towards where they were congregating off to the side by the sheet music.
Their heads snapped over immediately.
Annie swatted his chest.
“What?”
“Lord,” she mumbled. “You was just tellin’ me to behave and you out here talkin’ crazy.”
“Tell the truth, shame the devil. Ain’t that what they say?”
“Smoke!” She tried swatting at him again. This time he caught her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. Annie rolled her eyes but she couldn’t stop a grin from spreading on her face.
“Nuh-uh,” his voice dropped low, right by her ear again. “You know my name.”
Her breath hitched.
“Mhmm,” he drawled.
They stepped to the register.
“Find everything you were lookin’ for?” The clerk asked.
The words sat between them. Smoke looked at Annie.
“Yeah,” Annie said. “Just this.”
“This a good record,” he remarked. “Classic.” He set the W.C. Handy record in its sleeve, then wrapped it twice in newspaper.
Annie listened.
“His band still play around town, in Tutwiler, and down in Mound Bayou.”
Smoke’s jaw clenched, then unclenched. Annie saw it. Saved it for later.
“Bayou?” she asked.
“Mound Bayou. All black town, just a little ways south of here,” the clerk remarked.
Annie nodded curiously.
The clerk slipped the record in a brown paper bag. “That’ll be 75 cent.”
Smoke had it in the man’s hand before Annie could pull out her pocketbook. He watched her hesitate and shot her a look that dared her to pull her own money out. That’s all she needed to see to keep her hand right where it was— wrapped tightly in his.
Smoke kissed her hand again before grabbing the bag.
“Y’all have a nice day,” the clerk said.
They turned to leave a few minutes later, bags between them as they fell in step beside each other. They didn’t talk much, but their hands stayed laced, like they both needed to touch the piece of themselves they just shared. When they stepped out of the building and the noise of the street came back, the moment didn’t disappear. It just followed them out into the cold. The chilly air whipped wildly across their faces, but it did nothing to cool the heat rising between them, or the thrum that sat underneath all the tension.
A month went by, but not quietly.
The air got colder. November flew by like a gust of wind off the gulf where Annie used to catch crabs with her brothers when she was a little girl. The house got louder. Out of towners, people trying to get up North before the snow up there delayed the trains. Blackbird got busier. Annie kept storing her money in the tea tin that fit perfectly under the floorboard in her room. Soon she’d have to get a bigger one, she thought to herself. And find another hiding place.
Annie’s lessons with Aunt Della continued behind padlocked doors.
Dress fittings at Luella’s became less frequent as her Harvest Party look came together.
Smoke got busy, too. Quiet meetings on the outskirts of town. Trips to Memphis and business at Moon Lake. He came around the boarding house even more. This time he didn’t need to feign usefulness.
Meetings under the magnolia tree became their ritual. Every Sunday when the afternoon stretched its arms out into evening he’d come around back. Like clockwork, he’d show up, the side fence creaking open before he stepped through. They’d sit outside and talk until the mosquitos got too bad.
It became a place where they shared pieces of themselves.
A place where ordinary conversation became sacred.
Nellie, Pearline and Gigi squealed when she finally told them about Smoke. And time with them became more frequent too — nights, afternoons, or mornings in town before the roads got too crowded.
As long as it didn’t touch Sunday night.
Those belonged to Smoke.
“Louisiana,” Gigi started. Casual, like she was just asking about the weather. “You ain’t mounted that horse yet?”
The words cut through the laughter, the sound of peas dropping in a bowl, even the phonograph that played soft jazz from the corner. Somebody choked mid-chuckle. Everybody turned to look at Annie, then froze. Three sets of eyes stared at her with a glittering curiosity that made her palms feel clammy in that moment. Gigi tapped her foot on the floor impatiently. Pearline fiddled with her hands. Nellie looked at Annie like she could read the answer in her face. But Annie wasn’t bothered. In fact, she was a little amused. This wasn’t a new question.
The four of them were sitting around the kitchen table after congregating at Nellie's house following their weekday bible study. Nellie’s mother took one long look at the four of them lounging around the front room and put them to work. She set a bowl and some peas on the kitchen table and walked out the room without another word. A pot of greens soaked on the counter. Pepper and onion sat chopped in a cast iron for later. Flour still sat in the cracks of the table from breakfast.
She sighed softly. “No.”
“Why not?”
“She said she ain’t ready, y’all,” Pearline chimed in for her. “She say this every time y’all ask this question.” Then quieter. “It ain’t always like what them singers be goin’ on about.”
“Maybe not for you,” Gigi rebutted. “But you ain’t mountin’ a stallion.”
“More like a donkey,” Nellie joked.
Annie snorted. Even Pearline laughed under her breath.
“So y’all just been kissin’?” Gigi probed.
“Mhmm.”
“You let him…touch you?” The question came from Nellie.
Her body flushed warm at the thought. Annie looked over to Nellie. “No.”
“Shame,” she sighed. “He look like he know what to do with his hands.”
“Mhmm,” Gigi agreed.
“He should know,” Pearline said matter-of-factly. “Him and his brother done ran through half the town.”
“More than half,” Nellie muttered.
Annie sighed. Rolled her eyes.
“Stack more than Smoke,” Nellie confirmed.
“Don’t I know it,” Annie replied.
“I heard Stack got a mean appetite,” Gigi said slyly.
That made Pearline gasp. “Gigi!”
“What?” Gigi asked incredulously.
“Please,” Pearline insisted in a hushed tone.
Annie shook her head. “Oh my God,” she protested. “I don’t need to hear this about my man’s brother.”
“I heard Smoke manhood so big, it touches your soul,” Nellie said.
Annie’s head turned towards Nellie. “Who told you that?”
Nellie shrugged. “Is it true?”
Annie shrugged.
“Every woman in town want a piece of them twins, I’m just surprised you ain’t took a bite yet.”
“Not even a nibble?” Gigi asked. She looked shocked.
Annie chuckled low. “Not even a nibble.”
“But you seen it, though? Felt it? Backed up on him and let it poke you a little?”
“No,” she said. “I ain’t seen it.”
“But you felt it.” Gigi’s eyes grew wide. “It’s big ain’t it?”
“He walk around like it’s big,” Nellie said plainly.
The room exploded with laughter, squeals, and giggles. Annie fumbled with a pea.
“What’s big?” A voice rang out from the other room.
Nellie froze, then groaned and rolled her eyes when she realized who was talking.
“Awww don’t sound too happy to see me lil’ sis,” she continued. She stepped into the kitchen, t-strap heels clacking against the floorboards. Nice dress, nicer stockings, hair styled differently than Annie had seen in Clarksdale or New Orleans. Baby on her hip and another child at her waist, vice grip on his shirt like she was trying to keep him from running off or touching something he wasn’t supposed to.
Nellie rolled her eyes again and kept on shelling peas. “Hey Verity,” she said flatly. She looked up and her eyes softened when she saw her niece and nephew. “Look at how big you are!” she exclaimed.
“Aunt Nellie!”
Verity released the little boy and he ran over to give his aunt a hug. She adjusted her grip on her daughter, bouncing the babbling toddler on her hip.
“Baby,” Verity said calmly with that mom warning underneath, “gon’ and help your daddy outside.”
The little boy rushed out the front door, leaving just the girls in an awkward silence before they quickly changed the subject.
“Hey Verity,” Gigi and Pearline said together. Verity greeted them back, staring curiously at the stranger sitting at her mother’s kitchen table.
“Verity,” Nellie started. “This is Annie, she’s new, from Louisiana. Annie, this is my sister Verity. She’s in town from Chicago.”
Annie wiped off her hands on her apron and held out her hand to shake. “Nice to meet you, Verity.”
“Nice to meet you too, Verity. My goodness, you’re so pretty.”
“Thank you,” Annie beamed.
Verity looked around the room. At each woman’s face individually. “What was y’all in here talkin’ about?” She asked like she’d already heard too much.
“Nothing,” Nellie said firmly.
Verity’s eyes narrowed.
“Men,” Gigi admitted bluntly.
Nellie shot her a look, to which she just shrugged and kept shelling her peas.
“What about ‘em?” Verity asked as her baby grabbed the collar of her dress. She untangled her fingers carefully while waiting for someone to say something.
“Annie here got herself a suitor already,” Nellie called out. “Smoke Moore.”
The look on Verity’s face said that she was busy putting a name to a face before it finally clicked. “Oh, one of the twins!” She wiped drool off her baby’s lips before it dripped on her clothes. “So they both came back from the war,” she remarked. “That’s good.”
Nellie rolled her eyes. “She done forgot about everybody she grew up with.”
“Did not! They’re both so much younger than me.”
“You’re only 27.”
“And I been in Chicago for the past seven years,” she quipped. “How old are they now?”
“21,” Gigi answered.
“Babies,” she whispered, pinching her daughter’s cheek.
“Anyway, do you mind? Us babies,” Nellie said sarcastically, “tryna talk here. About somethin’ you don’t need to know nothin’ about.”
Verity sighed. She was older, but still young enough to remember being where they were. Young and unmarried. Always being in a position to be told or met with judgment. Mostly from the women closest to her.
She’d moved to Chicago and was met with a different type of perspective. The social scene was different, much different, probably something that’d make her mother clutch her pearls if she heard the lasciviousness that was considered normal, and that she had a taste of it before she met her husband.
So, she knew all about flirtation and temptation. About men who only knew how to talk pretty, men who knew how to be tender, and men who confused possession with care. And behind the venom in her words, she could hear something more vulnerable in her little sister’s tone. So, she pulled up a chair at the table, put her baby between her legs, and went to work shelling peas. They worked together in silence for a while. Nothing except the occasional sigh, the sound of the baby hitting the table with her palms, and the house creaking and settling around them.
“Anyone else seein’ anybody new?” Verity asked.
Nobody replied. The air in the tiny kitchen held an uncomfortable type of tension. But it wasn’t anything unique. It was generational. A hesitance that usually exists in the gap between women just becoming and women who’d already been in their shoes.
“How’s your husband, Pea?”
Pearline cleared her throat. “He good,” she responded. She kept her head down while Verity looked at her knowingly.
The front door practically flew open with all the energy of a hyper five-year-old boy. He took his shoes off by the door then ran down the hallway.
Another person stepped in. His steps were much slower, but his energy was just as powerful in a measured, grown man kind of way. All six heads in the kitchen turned at once. Skin the color of chestnuts, bulky shoulders, broad chest, piercing light brown eyes that could stop a woman mid-sentence. He took off his hat to reveal a head full of low-cut slicked down hair. His three-piece suit matched the sharpness of Verity’s dress like a lid to a pot. He flashed a smile and damn near every woman at the table gulped hard.
He waved his hand to greet everyone. “Hey y’all.” His voice was deep and gruff. A hint of southern twang in it, like the South had somehow rubbed off on him but he wasn’t born and bred here.
“Hey,” everybody said back.
Verity smiled, clearly unshaken by his presence because this was her husband.
“Can you take the baby? She gettin’ fussy and I’m tryna help the girls with supper.”
“Sure.” He crossed the room to the kitchen and planted a kiss on her waiting forehead, then grabbed his daughter from her lap.
“Thank you.”
“Hey sugar plum,” he cooed. He spoke softly to his daughter. She giggled and rested her head in the crook of his neck as he took her down the hallway.
Once they heard the click of a door shutting in the distance, the kitchen could finally exhale.
“That’s your husband?” Gigi asked breathlessly, looking towards the hallway like she needed him to reappear out of thin air. “Girl he is too fine!”
Verity grinned. “That’s my man,” she said proudly.
“Where you find him at?” Gigi continued. “And do he have any brothers?”
Annie kept her thoughts to herself as she snapped a pea under her thumb. While they sized him up her thoughts drifted over to Smoke. How his smile was easy when he showed it. How he didn’t show it to anybody but her. The way he’d walk in and suck the air out the room. The way his muscles filled out his clothing. Her breath sped up at the thought. She felt flushed. Hot all of a sudden, all over again.
Verity laughed at Gigi’s remarks and shook her head. “He do, but he’s the only good apple in the bunch.”
“Lord,” Annie chuckled.
Verity looked over at her expectantly.
“I got nothin’ but brothers,” she explained. “Got one, maybe two of them decent. The rest ain’t got the sense God gave a goose.”
Everyone at the table laughed, the tension easing into something more relaxed.
“It would take God and all his disciples to drill some decency into ‘em,” Pearline let slip out.
“Pearlie!” Nellie gasped at the revelation. Sweet little Pearline with her lace gloves, quiet eyes and her perfect posture like she was afraid that if she didn’t stand up perfectly straight someone would come behind her with a ruler to put her back in line.
She shrugged casually, clearly pleased with herself.
“Gigi,” Annie kept on shelling peas. “You ever see Will again?”
Gigi made a sound like she was vomiting and Annie broke out in laughter.
“Verity,” she looked at her. “This man had the worst smelling feet I’ve ever smelled in my life!”
“Not smelly feet.”
“A horse’s hoof smells better than that man’s feet,” she grimaced. “Besides,” she smirked like her face held a secret she’d been dying to tell. Her voice got low. “I’ve been keepin’ company with Rodney again.”
“Not surprised,” Nellie mumbled.
“Who’s Rodney?” Annie asked.
Nellie answered for her. “Just the man she been stuck on since we was kids.”
“Ohh….”
“I ain’t stuck. He’s just familiar.”
“More like that hmmhmm” she gave the table a knowing look, “is familiar.”
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with goin’ back to an ol’ reliable.” Annie whipped her head around. The voice came from Verity.
“That’s right,” Gigi agreed smugly.
“Annie ain’t even done nothin’ with that twin of hers yet.”
Annie rolled her eyes. “Here we go.”
“Why not?” Verity asked.
She huffed a small breath out her nose. “Just waitin’ for the right time.”
“You waitin’ til the party huh?” Gigi asked with a grin. “All that liquor runnin’ through you will loosen you right on up,” she teased.
Annie shook her head, laughing.
Pearline spoke up quietly. “Don’t let the liquor make you do anything you don’t wanna do.”
“I ain’t,” Annie said.
“You keep it for yourself until you good and ready to give it away.”
“Exactly,” Pearline said. “And if he really cares, he won’t mind. Not one bit.”
“My husband waited a whole year for me to let him in. Didn’t pressure me. Didn’t make me feel bad. Didn’t make it ‘bout his needs,” Verity recalled. “What matters is what he does when wantin’ you, means he gotta take it slow.”
Her words landed.
“Do he know?” Her voice was small. Pearline’s. “That you a virgin?”
Annie exhaled sharply. “I ain’t told him,” she confessed.
“We ain’t been alone like that,” she said softly while fumbling with the hem of her apron. “And I ain’t found the right time to tell him yet.”
“He gon’ wear you out once he get his hands on you,” Gigi said dramatically. “You know that right?”
“I believe it.” And she did.
“Whew, chile,” Nellie drawled. “I’ma say a prayer for you. And for your—”
“Eleanor!” Verity snapped.
Annie snorted.
Verity looked over at Annie, eyes warm. “You’ll find the right time,” she assured.
The kitchen was a little quieter after that. Just the sound of knuckles cracking, shells snapping open, peas hitting the bottom of the bowl, throaty jazz still coming from the corner. And a glaring question that hummed underneath the noise.
“Do you want to…you know, with him?” Pearline asked.
Annie stopped shelling for a moment and looked to the side to collect the whirlwind of thoughts that spun around in her head.
Her and Smoke had been having outings. Not running into each other by chance, not catching a glimpse across the sidewalk. Together. In public. On purpose. It was mostly whatever it was she wanted to do. Smoke liked it that way.
They tucked into their own little routine as what was blossoming between them slowly became familiar. Since her conversation with Aunt Della she hadn’t taken the time to sit down and think about what exactly it was or where it was going to go. All she knew is that in this new rhythm with him…it felt right.
He’d touch her gently. Carefully. Like he was holding onto something fragile. But even the slightest contact sent shivers down her spine.
A hand at the small of her back.
He’d lean in close when he needed to say something to her. Always did.
But sometimes he’d drop his mouth right by her ear just to hear her gasp under her breath.
He’d wrap his hands around her waist and she swore she forgot how to breathe.
But she didn’t move away.
His desire for her was palpable.
He was hungry.
She could see it in his eyes and feel it in his restraint.
But he was tender with her, like he was dousing his own desire until she was ready to cross that bridge, and that ignited her curiosity for more like a spark lit in a dry room.
She knew she was in trouble when she started to notice the absence of certain things. His closeness. His touch. The feeling that came from it.
She thought about his mouth a lot. What it felt like pressed against hers. The way his tongue would trace the seam of her lips like a man standing at a threshold, waiting to be invited in.
Her thoughts usually stopped there because they were too overwhelming.
Kissing wasn’t new to her. Desire wasn’t either. Not entirely.
She’d heard things. Sensed them. She wasn’t naive in an ignorant way.
But as the baby of the family, and the only girl, she’d been crowded. She was always loved and protected. But love and protection always felt like being watched and managed by people who assumed they knew what was best for her.
Then Smoke came along. He unsettled her because he didn’t hover. He waited. With his quiet attention and something deeper that sat underneath the surface.
He listened.
He chose her.
He made space for her to choose herself.
And for a girl who spent her whole life being guarded, space felt dangerous.
It felt like freedom.
Freedom to be held but not held back.
She wanted to step into it, the new version of herself that was emerging from sheltered beginnings.
Craved it.
Craved him.
Badly.
Even though she didn't fully know what that meant, she wanted to be close. Wanted to experience everything that came along with that closeness.
And it wasn’t just a physical thing. It was a primal, desperate ache that rose from the depths and swept through her body, hitting every single nerve ending along the way.
She even started dreaming about him. It was always the same one. She’d wake up in a mess of her own making—nightgown clinging to her curves, sheets damp. Then she’d spend the rest of the day feeling a dizzying pulse between her legs, like her heart had found a new home there.
It was like his soul had floated to hers while she was sleeping, and wanted to make sure she was ready for the day she finally just...let go.
THIS!!! Especially the way some of y'all get online, claim to be Black women, then turn around and stalk the tags for Annie from Sinners just so you can foam at the mouth, call her a mammy, and denigrate her character in the comments/reblogs.
Summary: Elijah and Annie’s oldest daughter, Arielle, is able to convince him to let her go to a party with her friends one Friday night. When what started as a fun night out with her closest friends takes a turn, Arielle finds herself locked in a bathroom, making a hesitant phone call to her father.
Content & Warnings: Modern AU, family dynamics, sprinkles of fluff, implied underage drinking, teeny tiny mentions of blood, written and implied physical violence, harassment, coercion, shitty friends, use of the n-word.
Sneak peek…
“I don’t know. Somethin’ ain’t right,” he mutters, refreshing the screen one more time.
Annie’s free hand comes up to his forearm as she tightens her grip on his hand.
“It never feels right when one of them ain’t here. She could’ve just lost track of time, it ain’t often we let her go out without one of us dropping her off and picking her up.”
Elijah’s grip tightens on his phone. Everything she was telling him made sense, but the knot forming in his stomach was telling him otherwise.
He’d been sitting around stiffly since she left, and it eased slightly when she texted to let them know they made it. However, as more time passed, he found himself even more tense than he was before.
Annie leans closer to him, making him unclench his jaw when she leaves a few kisses on it.
“If she needs you she’ll call, Papa. You reminded her of the safe word, right?” she asks, and he nods.
Elijah’s eyes meet hers, and she can see the worry pooling in his irises. The thought of Arielle needing to use it made the feeling in his gut intensify. The word was only to be used if she was in a situation she couldn’t get herself out of, and the idea of that made his chest tighten.
“I should’ve taken her. This is why I always take her to wherever she’s going. Annie, I swear, if she has to-”
“She’s not gonna need to use it, Elijah,” Annie cuts him off as he rises out of the bed, his phone forgotten on his pillow.
“She can handle herself. You and Stack made sure of that.”
“I know she can handle herself,” he starts, beginning to pace back and forth. “I know how them lil niggas can be. Her knowing how to defend herself ain’t gon’ stop one from trying something.”
Annie sighs softly. She stands and steps into his path, making him stop in front of her. There was a deep frown on his face, and his brows were furrowed so deeply that Annie could tell he was panicked more than anything else.
“You are working yourself up,” she says firmly, her hands finding his forearms.
“You just want her to be okay. Me too, but she don’t need us makin’ all the decisions for her anymore, and it’s time for you to start getting used to that.”
He exhales deeply, his hands finding Annie’s waist as he closes his eyes and tries to ground himself.
After a few moments, he opens them and is met with Annie’s soft gaze. Her hands move up to his biceps, rubbing soothing circles in them.
“She hasn’t even texted, Annie. She normally texts if she’s gonna be late.”
“It won’t be the first time she does something she don’t normally do. It ain’t the last time it’s gon’ happen either.”
Elijah raises an eyebrow as he listens to Annie’s tone. He looks at her, not missing the way her eyebrows twitched when she finished speaking.
“It’s something you ain’t telling me?” he questions, making Annie shake her head.
“No. I just have a feeling,” she replies. He looks at her, waiting for her to explain.
“I heard her talking to Marley on the phone earlier. Something about meeting some boys,” Annie tells him, her grip on him tightening slightly when she sees the deep frown reclaiming its place on his face at the mention of the one friend of Arielle’s that he wasn’t too fond of.
“I didn’t think she’d stay out so long past her curfew, so I didn’t say anything.”
“You should have, because I would’ve told her she couldn’t go. She lied to me, Annie.”
“She didn’t lie, Elijah. She said she was going to a party with her friends. Even gave you the address like you told her she had to, and that’s where she’s at. Don’t look or sound like a lie to me, plus she's 17. Think about what you and Stack were doin’ at 17 and be glad that ain’t her,” she shoots back, raising an eyebrow.
He smacks his teeth and looks away from her.
“If she needs you, she’ll call, and if she doesn’t, you’ll get to practice your disciplinary skills when she gets home.”
“I discipline my kids just fine,” he rebuts halfheartedly, making Annie laugh.
“Even you don’t believe that,” she says, her fingers intertwining with his. “Remember when she cheated on that test?”
“I talked to her about that.”
“Yeah. You talk to her every time, and she knows that’s all you’re gonna do. She makes you think she hears you, then she moves on to the next thing as soon as you let her go. That’s Elias with a bow, and each time she plays you with those sad eyes and that pout.”
Elijah looks away for a moment before finding Annie’s eyes again, the hint of a smile on his lips.
“She got your eyes, though.”
“That’s how I know what she doin’,” Annie replies with a smile, leaning up to peck his lips.
“If she’s just out late and nothing’s wrong, then 3 weeks of early curfew,” he says.
“Good job. Now make sure you stick to it,” Annie says with a knowing look.
“Yes, Ma’am,” Elijah replies, leaning down for a kiss.
Just as Annie’s hands find his face to pull him in for another, his phone rings.
Elijah’s eyes shoot open and lock on Annie’s. They look toward his phone at the same time, Elijah pulling away to grab it after a moment.
“It’s Ari,” he mumbles, the tension in his body seeping into his voice again.
He answers it after a second, Annie’s hand finding his arm as he puts the phone on speaker.
“Arielle.”
“Papa,” she answers, and her parents clock the unease in her tone.
“I need you to come get me.”
A/N: omggggg I’m so excited about this🤣 I was standing at work one day and this idea popped into my head. I’ve been trying to get back into the groove of writing and this one shot def did it. The warnings are more precautionary than anything, nothing too intense will happen. I’ll be posting it soon!
lol i’ve just seriously gone down a sinners rabbit hole and came across your lovely fics! apparently wunmi calls michael bro/her brother? but he never says it back lmfaooo. i was wondering if you could do a fic about this? cause i’m tickled by this
okay anon idk if this is what you meant, but i managed to do something light while I work on these next few updates.
sidenote, also, anyone can send requests and i'll try my best to see if I can get to them. it might take some time but i'll get there.
Wunmi had always tried to be careful. Especially after that day in his trailer.
She tried not to think about it anymore. But it seemed that moment lived inside of her.
And now there was someone else in the picture.
He was a steady, consistent man who always made time for her. He preferred to show up rather than to supply her with hopes and dreams. He was uncomplicated in the ways Michael had never been.
So when flowers arrived, she immediately knew who they were from.
They were white lilies and deep green stems, graceful and beautiful without being too showy. Which was exactly Michael’s taste.
The note attached was simple: Congratulations on the nominations. So proud of you.
A smile graced her face before she could stop it. Not thinking much about it, she pulled out her phone and snapped a quick picture for her Instagram story.
Thank you brother for the flowers! @/michaelbjordan
And just after she posted it, her phone vibrated. She looked at it and her stomach dropped.
Don’t ever call me that again.
Suddenly, the distance she had been maintaining felt like a joke she was the only one taking seriously.
Across the room, her boyfriend was talking about dinner plans, scrolling through something on his phone, completely unaware of what was happening right under his nose.
Wunmi kept her face neutral and voice steady.
She didn’t reply to Michael because replying meant acknowledging that he still had access to her attention in a way no one else did. And he knew it.
The next morning’s interview was supposed to be simple.
Michael arrived first looking so relaxed with an easy smile. He turned his charm up to the max. The room easily fitting around him.
Wunmi arrived five minutes later and if anyone was truly paying attention they noticed the shift between them.
The interviewer started with simple questions about their characters and on screen chemistry. Nothing that they weren't used to at this point.
Michael answered steadily, and Wunmi followed, just as composed. But every time their answers overlapped, it felt like the real words between them were being held back.
At one point, the interviewer stated, “You two have such an interesting dynamic off-screen too. You seem very comfortable with each other.”
It should’ve been harmless, but it felt like the first domino to fall.
Michael looked at Wunmi long enough to not be obvious to everyone else but her.
“I think we just understand each other well,” he said smoothly.
Wunmi gave a small smile. But her fingers tightened in her lap.
“Yeah, we do,” she agreed.
Because understanding, in their case, was the danger zone.
And Michael was very aware that the line she kept drawing wasn’t disappearing. He just didn't care.
The interview ended and the cameras stopped rolling, but neither of them left the room right away. The crew filtered out until it was just the two of them.
Michael stood near the edge of the set, loosening his cuffs. Wunmi stayed seated for a little longer, face calm and collected, showing no signs of disturbance. Except her eyes wouldn’t stop tracking him.
Finally, she stood up.
“You did that on purpose,” she said.
Michael didn’t look surprised. “Did what?”
“The way you looked at me. Don't pretend like you didn't know what you were doing,” she gestured vaguely, voice tight.
He fully turned toward her.
“I only answered a question.”
“Oh please. You tried to control everything with that one response.”
A small, humorless smile flickered at his mouth. “And you didn’t?”
Wunmi exhaled through her nose, stepping closer without meaning to. But she stopped herself from going further, knowing how things could get if they got too close.
“No, I didn't. I've always been very clear with you Michael,” she said carefully. "I have a boyfriend. I am not doing whatever this is with you. So I set some simple boundaries.”
“Simple boundaries huh?” Michael tilted his head. "None of this is simple and you know it. You're just avoiding it."
“That’s not fair.”
“The truth hurts, don't it?”
Wunmi laughed once, short and sharp. “So what am I supposed to say to you then?”
Michael’s gaze held hers without blinking.
“Start with calling me by my name,” he said. "Because I think you're not really ready to deal with what, who, I truly am to you. You try to slap a label on me as if that will change what you feel for me…and it won't."
Wunmi shook her head immediately. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”
“You love me.”
“Don’t,” she warned.
Yet Michael didn’t stop.
“And I love you,” he added.
Wunmi’s voice came out rougher than intended. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“I was never your 'brother' and you know it,” he said.
“And what do you want me to do with that, Michael?”
His jaw tightened, frustration bleeding through the restraint he’d been holding.
“I want you to stop running from me. From us, baby.”
Wunmi looked away just for a second. When she looked back, her voice was quiet, but firm. She was intent on keeping as much control as she could.
“I'm not going to lose control of my life because of feelings,” she said. “Not again.”
“Wunmi, baby, I'm not asking you to give up control you already don't have,” he said. "We know what we are, and it's clear, but you just don't like what it is."
Wunmi was laying against her pillow, phone tilted just low enough that the glow didn’t fill the whole room. Her boyfriend was beside her, one arm tucked behind his head, scrolling on his own phone.
She was scrolling through Instagram when Michael’s post popped up. It was a picture of him during the press day. Her fingers moved to type before she fully thought anything out.
Looking good brother 🔥🔥
Even with their conversation earlier, her comment was simple and yet said everything. She scrolled on trying not to think too much about it.
Ten minutes passed of aimless scrolling and tapping. Then she got a message.
Keep playing with me and see what happens.
Her eyebrows pulled together immediately.
She turned her head slightly, as she texted back.
What are you talking about?
Within seconds a screenshot in their messages appeared. It was her own comment that she had just made.
We just talked about this.
Wunmi exhaled through her nose. She was more annoyed now than anything else. She shifted slightly under the covers.
Boundaries. Remember?
Yeah okay
That was what Wunmi thought was the end of it.
Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then reappeared again.
Her grip tightened on the phone as she could tell he was trying to hold back fromsaying something else, but she didn't know what.
Her boyfriend shifted slightly beside her, “You okay?”
“Yeah, just work stuff,” she said too fast.
Just then another message came through. But it wasn't a text. It was a picture. A picture that made every bone in her body freeze up.
Michael was there, legs spread, shorts pulled down as he held himself. The thickness and how hard he was, was displayed boldly. And she could feel every bit of confidence radiating through the phone. He didn't care who she was around or who her attention was on because he knew she would stop just for him.
Her breath caught as she immediately angled her phone away, turning the brightness down.
“Babe, you good?”
She didn’t look up.
“I'm fine. It was nothing,” she said, softer now.
But her attention was locked to the screen.
Let me know when you’re done running and you can have it whenever you want.
Before Annie knows it, she’s already tying on her apron and clocking in.
Tonight, Michelle has something different planned for her.
Instead of shadowing a server, she pairs Annie with one of the hosts.
“I want all my servers cross-trained,” Michelle explains. “You never know when somebody gon call in or when we get slammed. Everybody needs to know how to do a little bit of everything.”
Annie nods.
“Okay.”
For most of the night, she stays up front learning the host stand.
The host shows her how to read the floor chart and keep track of which servers have tables and which sections are full.
At first the chart looks confusing.
Circles. Squares. Numbers.
Server names scribbled everywhere.
But after a while it starts making sense.
“See?” the host says. “You don’t wanna keep seating the same section over and over. You gotta spread the tables out.”
Annie nods.
“Okay, I get it.”
She learns how to estimate wait times, answer the phone, greet guests, and organize the rotation.
The work is steady enough to keep her busy but not nearly as chaotic as serving.
Every now and then she catches herself looking toward the kitchen.
Listening to the familiar sounds.
The cooks yelling across the line.
The fryers hissing.
Plates clattering through the galley.
A small part of her wishes she was back there.
Not because she liked the heat.
Or the noise.
But because she liked watching everything move.
Liked the energy of it.
And if she was being completely honest…
She liked seeing Smoke.
Though she’d never admit that out loud.
Still, the change of pace is nice.
After spending all afternoon helping with her younger siblings, it feels good to be somewhere that doesn’t require her to break up arguments, check homework, or answer a hundred questions every five minutes.
For a few hours she gets to just be Annie.
Not a babysitter.
Not a stand-in parent.
Just Annie.
And she realizes how much she needed that.
By the end of the shift, her feet ache, but she’s smiling.
Work is quickly becoming her favorite part of the day.
🌆🌆🌆🌆🌆🌆🌆🌆🌆🌆🌆🌆🌆🌆🌆🌆
Smoke pulls up to his twin brother Stack’s house in the 50’s.
The neighborhood is alive.
Music spills from open windows.
Kids ride bikes up and down the block even though the streetlights are already on.
A dog barks somewhere in the distance.
The smell of barbecue smoke and freshly cut grass hangs in the humid Kansas City air.
Everybody is outside.
Just like always.
When Smoke pulls up, there’s a whole bunch of niggas crowded across Stack’s porch.
Some sitting on the railing.
Some standing.
Some leaning against the columns.
Talking loud.
Laughing louder.
Passing around ideas that usually ended with somebody in handcuffs.
Smoke shuts his truck door and heads toward the house.
As soon as he steps onto the porch, everybody starts greeting him.
“What’s up, Smoke?”
“Sup, bro?”
“What it do?”
Smoke nods at everybody.
Stack stands up from the porch railing.
“Sup nigga?”
“Sup. What y’all niggas doin?”
“Nothin, bro. Tryna hit a lick.”
Smoke immediately shakes his head.
Of course.
“What y’all tryna do now?”
“There a big ass house out in Belton we saw. We tryna hit that muthafucka.”
Smoke sucks his teeth.
“Belton?”
“Yeah nigga. Belton.”
“That’s hot. Y’all gon stick the fuck out.”
Stack shakes his head confidently.
“Nah. We already been in Raymore and was successful.”
Smoke just stares.
No point.
Ain’t no use trying to talk sense into Stack.
There never was.
Stack listened to exactly one person.
Himself.
And even then it was questionable.
One of Stack’s friends, Ramon, cuts in.
“Bro, we gon be good.”
Smoke cuts his eyes at him.
“You always encouraging the stupid shit he plan out.”
Ramon immediately goes quiet.
Stack laughs.
“We doin that shit. I don’t give a fuck what nobody says.”
That was Stack.
Always had been.
Fearless.
Or maybe just reckless.
Smoke still wasn’t sure.
The two brothers couldn’t have been more different.
They shared the same face.
Same height. Same smile.
But that was where the similarities ended.
Smoke moved with purpose.
Every move he made had a reason behind it.
He worked. Saved money.
Made plans.
Thought ahead.
Stack lived for the moment.
If attention was in the room, he wanted all of it.
Good attention. Bad attention.
Didn’t matter.
He dressed better than everybody.
Talked louder than everybody.
Wanted everybody looking at him at all times.
Women especially.
And women loved him.
Hell, Smoke couldn’t even deny it.
Stack was a charmer.
Always flashing those deep dimples.
Always smiling. Always talking.
Always selling a dream.
He could walk into a room full of strangers and leave with everybody laughing.
The problem was…
He didn’t have much direction.
No real goals.
No ambitions beyond making money and having fun.
As long as the streets kept paying, Stack was content.
Meanwhile Smoke was already thinking about life beyond this.
About being a chef.
About school
About ownership.
About getting out.
A car full of niggas suddenly rides past slow.
Everybody on the porch notices.
The energy shifts immediately.
Conversations stop.
Heads turn.
The car creeps by.
The men inside stare.
The men on the porch stare right back.
Nobody says anything.
The tension hangs there.
Heavy.
Then the car keeps moving.
Stack shakes his head.
“Man, it’s fonk season. These niggas better act like they got some sense.”
A few of the homies laugh.
Stack looks back toward the house.
“Monica in there.”
Smoke glances at him.
“Yeah?”
“She off today.”
“Cool.”
Smoke walks inside.
Monica was Stack’s baby mama’s sister.
The twins met both sisters one afternoon at Swope Park.
One conversation turned into another.
And eventually everybody started messing with everybody.
Smoke and Monica never made anything official.
Never even discussed it.
They had an understanding.
They enjoyed each other’s company.
Spent time together.
Looked out for one another.
And fulfilled needs when they felt like it.
That was it.
At least that’s what Monica told herself.
Stack’s situation was completely different.
He got Korrie pregnant.
Now they lived together.
And they were toxic as hell.
Stack couldn’t stop cheating if he wanted to.
And Korrie couldn’t stop retaliating.
Every argument started the same way.
Another woman.
Another accusation.
Another explosion.
Then somehow they always ended up right back together.
Monica was different. Calmer.
Thank God.
Because Smoke couldn’t deal with all that loud shit.
He dealt with enough of it through Stack.
Even though Monica was different from her sister, she was still from the same hood. With no ambition, no goals.
Only thing she wanted to do was hang out on the block or go out with her friends every other day.
Truthfully, Smoke wasn’t looking to settle down with anybody.
Not Monica. Not nobody.
He had too much shit he was trying to accomplish.
Too many goals. Too many plans.
And every woman he met seemed more interested in what he had than where he was headed.
An hour later…
Smoke and Monica are stretched out across the bed.
The television hums quietly in the background.
A box fan rattles in the corner.
Outside, somebody’s music vibrates through the neighborhood.
Monica lays beside him staring at the ceiling.
“Man, Stack and Korrie been getting on my fuckin nerves.”
Smoke doesn’t say anything.
“The poor baby just be in the middle of them arguing. You need to tell yo brother to chill.”
Smoke finally nods.
“I have.”
A few seconds pass.
“I don’t know what you want me to say. He don’t listen and Korrie ain’t no saint either.”
Monica clicks her tongue.
“I ain’t say she was. But Stack always in some hoe face. Then when my sister do it, he blow his top.”
“Stack a grown ass man.”
Smoke shrugs.
“I’m done tryna tell him what to do. He just do the opposite. And all that arguing they do is pointless. They gon turn around and still be together.”
Monica rolls her eyes.
Because she knows he’s right.
“Anyway…”
She turns toward him.
“I called you the other night. You ain’t call me back.”
Smoke stays quiet.
Monica already knows what that means.
“Hello?” she says. “I’m talkin to you.”
Smoke finally looks over.
“Don’t start that shit, Monica.”
Monica sighs.
And lets it go.
Because this is what Smoke does.
He disappears.
Shows up when he wants.
Leaves when he wants.
Never makes promises.
Never explains himself.
The frustrating part was…
She actually liked him.
Way more than she would ever admit.
But she hides it well.
Too well.
Because admitting it would only make her look foolish.
Smoke wasn’t the type to be tied down.
Everybody knew that.
“So can I get fifty dollars to get my nails and toes done?”
Smoke closes his eyes.
Here we go.
“We goin’ to the Starlight to see Ludacris.”
Smoke grows annoyed.
Not because of the fifty dollars.
Because she always asked.
Every single time.
If he offered, cool.
But Monica had gotten comfortable asking.
A little too comfortable.
“I guess.”
He reaches into his pocket.
“You always want something.”
Monica smirks.
“So? You got it. Stop acting like it’s a problem.”
Smoke pulls a roll of money from his jeans.
Hands her forty.
She snatches it.
Smoke gives her a look.
Monica laughs.
“So mean.”
She stuffs the money away.
Then grins.
“Me and my girls wanna come up to yo job. Can you hook us up?”
Immediately Smoke thinks about Annie.
The way she stole glances across the line.
The way they stared at each other the other night.
And just like that his answer is made.
“No.”
Monica blinks.
“No?”
“No. That’s where I draw the line.”
Smoke shakes his head.
“I ain’t hooking up nobody.”
“Damn. It’s like that?”
“Hell yeah it’s like that.”
His tone leaves no room for discussion.
“That’s my fuckin job. Don’t come up to my job at all. I keep that separate. You know that shit.”
Monica grows quiet.
She knows he means it.
Before she can respond, yelling erupts from the living room.
Both of them pause.
Then Monica groans.
“Here they fuckin go.”
They get up and head toward the front room.
Sure enough.
Korrie is standing nose-to-nose with Stack.
Furious.
“Some bitch calling the house phone playing and shit, Stack!”
Stack throws his hands up.
“You giving these hoes the house phone number now?!”
Stack sucks his teeth.
“I ain’t giving out shit!”
Stack points at her.
“I don’t know what you talking about! It’s probably one of them bitch ass niggas you be fuckin wit!”
Korrie lunges.
Tries to swing.
Stack blocks it.
“Bitch, you always tryna hit somebody!”
He steps back.
“Now when I knock yo ass out don’t say shit!”
Smoke immediately steps in.
Grabs Stack.
Pulls him toward the front door.
Monica grabs Korrie.
Trying to calm her down.
Outside, Smoke and Stack’s friends gather around him.
Talking him down.
Keeping him from going back inside.
Smoke rubs his face.
Sick of it.
All of it.
The drama.
The chaos.
The constant stupidity.
As the yelling continues inside the house, Smoke looks out toward the city lights in the distance.
And for the first time that night, he finds himself thinking about somewhere else.
Something bigger.
A different life.
A different future.
Something beyond these porches, these arguments, and these blocks.
Something more.
🦞🦀🦞🦀🦞🦀🦞🦀🦞🦀🦞🦀🦞🦀🦞🦀
One week later…
It’s a Friday night.
The dinner rush is finally over.
The restaurant smells like seafood, grease, dishwater, and biscuits.
Servers are cashing out.
The kitchen is quieter now.
Annie and Meagan sit in a booth rolling silverware.
Meagan’s phone rings.
She immediately answers.
“Hello… Yeah I’m coming Saul… No don’t leave… Here I come.”
Annie already knows that tone.
Meagan huffs dramatically.
“I gotta go. You can finish these right?”
Annie’s mouth drops open.
They’ve barely started.
There’s still two entire tubs sitting on the table.
She wants to say absolutely not.
But instead she nods.
“Yeah. I got it.”
“Thanks.”
Meagan throws a ten-dollar bill onto the table and disappears.
Annie sighs.
“Lord.”
She starts rolling alone.
A few minutes later she hears Michelle and Smoke coming from the kitchen.
“Man, I need you to get on Brandon’s ass,” Smoke says. “He been late every day. You want me to help out everywhere, which is cool, but I can’t do that if I’m the only one runnin’ the grill when the dinner rush start.”
Annie keeps her eyes down.
Listening.
“Done told his ass myself to be on time. He ain’t listenin.”
Smoke’s eyes drift toward Annie.
Like they always do.
Looking straight past Michelle and half listening.
“You’re right Elijah. I’ll pull him first thing tomorrow.”
“It’s Smoke,” he corrects. “And yeah. Cause if that was me you’d be on my ass.”
At the table, Annie checks her watch again.
Her stomach sinks.
There’s no way she’s gonna get done before her dad gets there.
Not with two tubs left.
She glances toward the front windows, already imagining his car pulling into the parking lot and having to explain why she’s still in there and not outside waiting.
Across the dining room, Smoke already knows exactly what happened.
He’s seen Meagan do this shit too many times.
The second Saul called, she was gone.
Running off and leaving her responsibilities behind to chase after a nigga who only seemed interested in seeing her when it was dark outside.
Smoke’s jaw tightens slightly.
He never understood it.
Especially when it meant dumping your work on somebody else.
She tries to keep rolling silverware, he notices her checking her watch every few minutes.
Fidgeting. Sighing. Shifting.
Looking toward the front door.
She ain’t saying nothing, but he can tell she’s in a hurry.
Ride probably already on the way.
Meanwhile Michelle is still talking.
“I got you. Don’t worry. I’ll let him know if he can’t get it together, he will be replaced.”
Smoke nods.
“Good.”
“Have a good night,” Michelle says before turning to leave.
Smoke gives another nod.
“Mm-hmm. You too.”
Annie keeps her eyes on the silverware in front of her.
She hears Michelle’s heels clicking away across the dining room.
The restaurant is mostly empty now.
A few servers are finishing side work.
Someone is vacuuming near the bar.
The kitchen crew is laughing about something in the back.
As Michelle walks away, his eyes find Annie again.
Still sitting there by herself.
Still trying to work through a pile of silverware that shouldn’t have been hers to finish in the first place.
For a moment, Smoke just stands there watching her.
Then he looks at the mountain of silverware.
Back at Annie.
And makes up his mind.
She doesn’t notice Smoke moving until the booth cushion shifts.
Her stomach tightens.
He slides into the seat across from her.
Quiet. Confident.
Like he belongs there.
Annie’s breath catches.
Slowly she raises her eyes.
“Hello.”
Her voice comes out smaller than she intended.
Smoke nods once.
“Hey.”
The deepness of his voice surprises her.
It was the first time she’d actually heard him speak directly to her.
Not across the kitchen.
Not during introductions.
To her.
Annie drops her eyes again.
Smoke reaches toward the center of the table.
Grabs a stack of napkins.
Then a handful of silverware.
And starts rolling.
Annie blinks.
Looks at his hands.
Looks at the silverware.
Then back at him.
“You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you’re tired and ready to go.”
No response.
He just keeps rolling.
Annie swallows and drops her head.
They fall into a rhythm.
The restaurant suddenly feels smaller.
Quieter.
Like everybody else has disappeared.
Smoke watches her while she works.
She can feel it.
Feel his eyes.
It makes her nervous.
Her hands shake slightly.
Her lashes flutter.
Every time she reaches for another napkin she becomes hyper aware of him sitting there.
Smoke can’t stop looking at her.
Not even if he wanted to.
Up close she’s even prettier.
Her skin glows beneath the restaurant lights.
Her French tips stand out against her chocolate skin.
Her lips stay glossy no matter what she’s doing.
And every time she sucks her cheeks in while concentrating…
Smoke has to force himself to look away.
Then she licks her thumb to separate another napkin. And he looks back.
They continue to sit in silence.
Rolling.
The man was clearly not much of a talker, Annie thinks to herself.
The soft crinkle of napkins fills the space between them.
Every few seconds Annie finds herself shifting. Trying to stay still.
Nervous because she really can’t believe he’s this close.
Close enough that she can smell his cologne.
It smells expensive.
Clean.
A little spicy.
Nothing like the Axe body spray boys at school wear.
Every time he reaches for silverware she notices his hands.
Big hands. Long fingers.
Small scars across his knuckles.
The hands of somebody who worked.
Really worked.
Not somebody pretending to.
Annie steals a glance upward.
Smoke catches her immediately.
Their eyes lock.
Annie jerks hers away.
Heat floods her cheeks.
Why did he keep catching her?
Across from her, Smoke hides a smirk.
She’d been doing that all week.
Looking.
Then immediately pretending she wasn’t.
The thing was…She wasn’t slick.
Not at all.
Smoke reaches for another napkin.
His arm brushes the table.
The scent of Love Spell reaches him.
He’d smelled it before.
Girls wore it all the time.
But on Annie it smelled different.
Maybe because it matched her.
Sweet. Soft. Pretty.
Everything about her seemed soft.
Her voice. Her eyes. The way she smiled.
Smoke keeps watching her while she concentrates on rolling.
She studies each piece like she’s taking a test.
Trying to make sure every roll looks right.
“You take this serious.” He murmurs
Annie looks up and laughs softly.
“It’s because I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You do.”
“No I don’t.”
“You ain’t dropped not one.”
That makes Annie smile.
A real smile.
Not the polite customer service smile she uses on tables.
This one reaches her eyes.
And for a second Smoke forgets what she was saying.
Because damn.
She’s beautiful.
The smile fades when Annie realizes he’s staring.
Again.
The tension settles back over the table.
Not uncomfortable.
Just…Heavy.
Like something neither one knows what to do with.
Smoke’s Nokia rings.
The sudden sound makes Annie jump slightly.
Smoke answers.
“Sup fool?”
Annie finally gets a chance to look at him without getting caught.
The open faced golds on his front teeth flashes when he talks.
His jaw is sharp.
His eyelashes are longer than they should be.
His beard trimmed nicely.
“Yeah… I’m gettin ready to leave in a minute….How much you need?”
Smoke glances at her.
Catches her looking.
Again.
Annie immediately looks down at the silverware.
Her stomach flips.
“…Yeah, I’m finna head to the city. Meet me at Jubilee’s. Bet. One.”
He hangs up.
The silence returns.
Neither says anything.
Neither really needs to.
Eventually they reach the final pile.
Smoke grabs the last fork.
Annie grabs the last napkin.
At the exact same time.
Their fingers brush.
Both freeze.
Just for a second.
The contact is small.
Barely anything.
Yet Annie feels it all the way up her arm.
Smoke pauses too.
His eyes lifting to hers.
Neither pulls away immediately.
Then Annie finally clears her throat.
And the moment breaks.
They finish the last roll.
Smoke stands.
Annie looks up at him.
He notices the ten dollar bill Meagan left.
His jaw tightens.
That shit wasn’t right.
Not after leaving her with all that work.
Without saying anything, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a roll of
Money, he pulls out two hundred dollar bills.
Drops them onto the table.
Annie’s eyes get huge.
“Oh no—”
Smoke raises a finger to his lips.
Shhh.
The gesture makes Annie smile.
A nervous smile.
A grateful one.
And Smoke swears his stomach drops.
He ain’t never seen a smile like that.
Annie slides out of the booth.
Before she can fully stand, Smoke reaches out. Instinct.
His hand wraps around hers.
Warm. Soft. Small.
For a second neither one moves.
Annie looks down at their hands.
Then back up at him.
Smoke looks right back.
No grin. No slick comment.
Just staring.
Like he’s trying to memorize her face.
Then finally Annie stands.
And Smoke lets go.
Neither one says what they’re thinking.
Neither one knows how.
So he simply nods.
And she nods back.
The look lasts a second longer than it should.
Maybe two.
His eyes stay on hers as he backs away.
Then Smoke turns and starts walking toward the door.
“Thank you.” She calls out to his back.
Annie’s voice stops him halfway to the door.
He doesn’t turn around.
Because if he does, he might stay.
Instead he lifts one hand over his shoulder.
Acknowledging her.
Then keeps walking.
Leaving Annie staring after him long after the door closes behind him.
Melissa and Lindsey emerge from the kitchen seconds later.
Their eyes immediately land on Annie.
Then the front door.
Then the two hundred dollar bills.
Then back to Annie.
“What was that about?” Melissa asks. “He talked to you?”
Annie shakes her head.
“Actually no.”
“What?”
“So what was he doing over here?” Lindsey asks.
Annie clears her throat.
“He helped me roll silverware since Meagan kinda left me hanging.”
Melissa’s eyes nearly bug out of her head.
“Oh wow.”
There is definitely jealousy in her tone now.
“So not only is he fine but he’s sweet too.”
Lindsey folds her arms.
“Annie, how did you get him to do that? You asked?”
Annie shakes her head.
“No. I didn’t do or say anything. He just sat down and started helpin me.”
“But he didn’t say anything?” Lindsey asks.
“Nah. Just looked at me. That’s all.”
Melissa and Lindsey exchange a look.
Both of them had spent the entire week trying to get Smoke’s attention.
And neither had gotten much more than a hello.
Yet somehow Annie—the quiet girl who wasn’t even trying—had him sitting down helping her.
Neither one liked that.
Not one bit.
“I’ve been trying to talk to him and he won’t talk,” Lindsey says.
“Me too,” Melissa adds. “He might say hi back but that’s all. He only talks to the other cooks.”
“He seems like he might be mean,” Lindsey says.
Annie shrugs.
“I don’t get that vibe. But who knows.”
Melissa laughs.
“Well I’m gonna keep trying.”
“Of course you are,” Lindsey says.
Annie laughs.
Her phone rings.
Dad.
“I gotta go.”
“See y’all later.”
They wave.
Annie grabs the money off the table and stuffs it into her apron.
Outside, her dad is already waiting.
Exactly where he said he’d be.
Just like always.
Annie climbs into the car.
The familiar smell of motor oil, coffee, and his work boots fills the vehicle.
“Busy tonight?” he asks.
“Yes. Very.”
“You getting the hang of it yet?”
“I think so.”
“Good.”
His voice softens.
“You made any new friends?”
Annie’s mind immediately drifts to Smoke.
To his eyes. His hands. His silence.
The way he helped her without asking for anything in return.
She shrugs.
“Maybe.”
Her dad raises a brow.
“Maybe?”
Annie giggles.
“Mhmm. It hasn’t been long enough yet.”
“If you say so.”
The conversation fades.
Comfortable. Easy.
That’s how things usually are between them.
Despite how strict he can be.
Despite all the rules.
Annie knows her father loves her.
Knows he’d do anything to protect her.
Which is exactly why she’d never mention Smoke.
Not yet.
Because she already knows.
Her dad would take one look at him and decide he wasn’t good enough.
He’s older
He’s Too street.
He’s Too city.
Exactly the kind of man her father spent years trying to keep away from her.
But sitting there staring out the window, Annie can’t stop thinking about him.
Because the man she’d seen tonight wasn’t what she’d expected.
He was patient. Gentle. Thoughtful.
The complete opposite of what people would assume.
And for the first time in a long time…
Annie wants to know more.
A lot more.
Outside the window, the lights of Kansas City blur past.
And Annie rests her head against the glass.
Thinking about Smoke.
Thinking about his demeanor.
Thinking about his eyes.
Thinking about what might happen next.
And for once…
She finds herself wanting to chase waterfalls.
Fuck what TLC or anybody else says…
🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃
Smoke’s sitting alone at his kitchen table, the house quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator.
A half finished drink rests beside him, blunt in hand.
The television plays in the background, but he isn’t paying attention.
His mind keeps drifting somewhere else.
To Annie.
He leans back in his chair and rubs a hand across his jaw.
He hits the blunt and holds the smoke in.
It had been hours since he’d left the restaurant, yet he can still picture her sitting there rolling silverware.
Head down.
Trying to finish work that wasn’t hers.
Checking her watch every few minutes.
Trying not to look stressed even though it was written all over her face.
Smoke exhales slowly.
Most people would’ve complained.
Would’ve made a scene.
Would’ve found somebody to blame.
Annie hadn’t done none of that.
She’d just kept working.
Doing what needed to be done.
That was what stuck with him.
Not just tonight.
In general.
She carried herself different.
Quiet.
Respectful.
Never in nobody’s business.
Never causing problems.
Just came in, did her job, and went home.
A rare thing these days, especially for her to be young.
His gaze drifts toward the dark window above the sink.
He thinks about the way she smiled at him earlier.
Small. Shy. Real.
Not the fake customer service smile everybody wore at work.
The memory pulls at something in his chest he wasn’t interested in examining too closely.
Smoke shakes his head.
He’s too old to be sitting around thinking about a woman like this.
Especially one who’s younger than him.
Yet here he was.
Thinking about whether she made it home okay.
Wondering if her ride had been upset she got out late.
Wondering what she was doing right now.
Probably asleep.
Probably not thinking about him at all.
The thought makes him huff out a quiet laugh.
“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself.
“Probably not.”
Still, he can’t stop thinking about her.
About the way she looked at him.
The way she smelled.
The way her skin glowed.
About how, for the first time in a long time, somebody had managed to stay on his mind after he walked away.
Smoke stares down at his drink for a moment before taking a slow sip.
Then he leans back again.
Trying and failing to think about anything else.
He can’t lie, she’s got him intrigued, and he wants to know more about her than just her name…
A/N: OMG, don't fight me! I've been working on this since before New Year's and I'm just now finishing it because it was turning me every way but loose! My friend gave me this idea so I had to see it through. Hope somebody likes it though! I'm picking my abandoned stories back up and will post more through the week.
CW: Smut, explicit language, a bear???????, group trip, meddling friends, recreational drinking/drug use, Smoke is pussy drunk, 18+ only
WC: 10.4K
The cacophony of voices yelling and accusations being flung in the small cabin could would frighten any soul that decided to take a simple stroll through the woods that evening. As it was, no one could seem to understand how their New Year’s trip had gone off the rails so quickly and everyone was looking to assign blame though it would do little to fix what had been messed up so far.
“OKAY!” Delta Slim held his hands up to silence the loud group. He had been gracious enough to let six people join him since they had been effectively banished from the larger cabin that Smoke and Stack Moore owned—the former was not present and the latter sat off from the rest of the group smoking a cigarette like it was his lifeline. Who was responsible for the predicament they were in now was anyone’s guess. “Now, y’all know I don’t mind you bein’ here but we can’t do all this yellin’ and fussin’ ‘round here. Why don’t y’all go one by one and explain what happened?”
“Well, we can start with Grace and Bo,” Mary pointed at the couple. “How did that stuff even get to a spot where Smoke and Annie could get it? I heard her tell y’all to put it away.”
Grace stood up scandalized by the accusation. “Excuse me? You seriously think we dosed our friends with somethin like that? You of all people, Mary!”
Mary crossed her arms and stared the smaller woman down. “Yes, me of all people, Grace. How did it get out of your possession?”
Grace’s face crumpled trying to remember the details. “I don’t know! I took it to our room and put it in our—” She paused, the memory of that night coming back to her.
2 Nights before NYE
The bulk of the group had arrived at the SmokeStack cabin in the Smoky Mountains. When Grace and Bo arrived Stack, Mary, Smoke, Annie, Pearline, and Sammie were already there.
Annie put together a charcuterie board and finger foods for everyone to snack on after they took their luggage to their rooms and freshened up. It was truly a spread fit for a magazine or one of those food blogs that obviously took a lot of work and everyone quickly partook.
Except Smoke—he sat away from the group scowling like he’d rather be any place but where he was. He had spent a considerable amount of time warning everyone that, even though it was winter, bears could still be roaming looking for food in the woods nearby so they should be cautious. As usual, they teased him about going into “Papa Smoke” mode and went on about their day.
“Aww. He’s grumpy,” Annie joked. “You’d think his heart would’ve grown three sizes during Christmas.” Her smile was wide but it was obvious that she was tired from the previous day’s travels plus everything she did to prepare for the rest of the group to arrive.
“Annie, I can hear you callin’ me a grinch,” Smoke called to her, his expression turning neutral.
“Good, I didn’t think I was speaking loud enough,” Annie shot back. “Come on over here, Smoke. We don’t bite.”
“I ain’t got proof that you don’t bite,” Smoke grumbled before joining them at the dining table and taking in all of Annie’s hard work. He shot her a disapproving look before taking a grape and popping it in his mouth.
“Slim said he rented out a cabin nearby so we can invite him over on New Year’s Eve,” Stack told the group.
“Imma have to make sure all the liquor locked up then,” Smoke sighed.
“Ooh! Annie, I forgot to show you what we picked up on the way in!” Grace pulled a small satin pouch from her pocket.
Annie groaned already knowing what was in the pouch. “I told you not to waste your money like that, Grace. That ain’t nothin’ but a few dried herbs and some mint oil. It doesn’t even have any natural aphrodisiacs in it.”
Grace waved her friend off. “The girlies on TikTok swear this is the real deal. A love spell in a bag, they say. Said a little pinch of it keep you and your man goin’ all night.” She winked at Annie.
“Don’t be pinchin’ nothin’ around here this week and put that stuff away before somebody confuse it with some seasonin’.” Her phone dinged with a text message. Looking at it, she shook her head and put her phone away.
Sliding the bag back in her pocket, Grace giggled. “Once we find you a man, Annie, I’ll give you a little bit of this.”
“And we will find you a man,” Mary flashed her the ring on her left hand. Her engagement to Stack on Christmas Day only strengthened her resolve to make sure Annie was partnered in the new year.
“I don’t remember losin’ a man so you don’t have find one for me,” Annie countered. No matter how much she insisted that she didn’t want her friends involved in her dating life, they never missed an opportunity to insert themselves anyway. Especially during the holidays when they felt sorry that she was alone.
Smoke scoffed catching everyone’s attention. He cleared his throat and looked away. “Can’t believe I’m agreein’ with Annie. Shit sound like a waste of money.”
“And Scrooge McDuck here ain’t one to waste a nickel,” Annie cracked as she gave him a pat on his head. The two walked a fine line between playful banter and all-out arguments. On separate occasions before this trip started, they had been warned against getting too heated and spoiling the fun for everyone else.
“Annie,” Mary warned looking pointedly at her best friend. She was a major proponent of the “keep Annie and Smoke from killing each other” mission. She could not handle another situation like the one they had on a trip to New Orleans the previous year.
Rolling her eyes, Annie removed her hand from Smoke’s head and went to walk away from him before feeling the sting of a slap on her ass. “Fuck!” She rubbed the spot where it stung turning to get back at him but was dragged away by Mary.
“Nope, nope, nope! Go put some ice on it or somethin’. Y’all ain’t doin’ this shit this week.” Mary shoved her towards the kitchen and turned back to Smoke. “Now why you do that?”
Smoke shrugged. “Seemed like she needed it.” He bit into a cube of cheese and sat back like it wasn’t a big deal.
“You better sleep with one eye open, Smoke,” Bo laughed. “Annie ain’t lettin that one go.”
“She better,” Stack pointed at Smoke, “or both of y’all gone be sleepin’ outside with them damn bears for all I care. I ain’t havin’ a repeat of New Orleans.” It was evident that Stack was beyond fed up with Smoke and Annie’s antics.
The evening was peaceful for the most part with very little interaction between Annie and Smoke as the group spent time playing drinking games. Not a huge fan of alcohol, Annie stepped out to smoke a blunt she rolled earlier and make a quick phone call. She returned to her friends laughing uncontrollably and slurring their words.
“Annie! Annie!” Bo yelled her name when she closed the door behind her. “Do you think Smoke is a boob man or an ass man?”
She shrugged, her eyes low and a little red. “I know he can be an ass, man.”
This set off another round of laughter from everyone except Smoke who was staring Annie down like he was planning his revenge.
“Who was you talkin’ to on the phone?” Smoke asked casually sidestepping her joke about him.
“Yeah, you been on your phone a lot,” Mary pointed out. “You hidin’ a man from us or somethin?”
Annie grabbed her head obviously tired of this topic. “If I was hidin a man, Mary, you’d be the first to know where I buried his body.”
“So who was on the phone?” Smoke pressed again.
“Ya mama, Smoke! Damn!” She removed her coat to hang on the coat rack before sitting down on the floor beside Mary.
Mary cleared her throat, her brows furrowed and her face red from the few shots she had downed during their game.
Annie looked down knowing the topic of Sharon Moore was a sore spot for Mary. She stayed silent the rest of her time with the group, expertly dodging personal questions with jokes and witty quips.
Around 8pm, she called it a night and went upstairs to bed. Smoke retired to his room about thirty minutes later, not wanting to deal with any more obnoxious laughter or comments about his sex life. It wasn’t until 10pm when everyone else started to feel the toll the day took on their bodies and they ended the night as well.
Grace went to get ready for bed, her head swimming from the amount of liquor she consumed. In her room, she emptied her pockets pulling out the bag from earlier. As she went to put it in her luggage she heard clapping coming from Annie’s room. “What the hell is she celebrating this late at night?”
She went to the wall shared between the rooms and pressed her ear against it. There were a few muffled grunts before the clapping started again. Just then, Bo walked into their room making electric guitar noises, startling her. “Bo, you’re being too loud. Folks are tryna sleep.”
“Baby, ain’t nobody but Smoke and Annie sleepin’ right now.” He closed the door and put on a wicked grin and stalked closer to his wife. “You definitely won’t be for a few more hours.” He lunged at her and gathered her in his arms.
All thoughts of the sounds from Annie’s room forgotten, Grace squealed as her husband dropped her on the bed and covered her mouth with his.
*****************
“So I don’t think I put the bag in our luggage but it was definitely in our room somewhere,” Grace insisted. “Somebody had to go in and take it.”
“Yeah, that’s possible,” Mary agreed. “Or you did what you said you were gonna do and put that stuff in her drink?”
“Fuck off, Mary! I said I’d give her some once we found her a man! And what about you? The first one to point the finger is usually the guiltiest. The way you and Stack just left them at the overlook without telling them where we were goin’. You wanted this to happen so you could have your ‘no drama, no stress’ trip. That was more important to you.” Grace threw her hands up and walked over to Bo and took a seat in his lap.
“Don’t you try to spin this around on me, Grace Chow! Me and Stack were the only ones keepin them from rippin each other’s heads off so everyone could have a good time. Besides, why would I want them two together? It’s obvious they hate each other.”
“It would be cute though, right? You and Stack and Annie and Smoke. Maybe you put it in a spot where they could put in their coffee or somethin,” Pearline chimed in.
“Ugh!” Mary groaned running her hands through her hair. “Not you too, Pearline. Why would I do something like that? How would I do something like that? Annie doesn’t drink coffee anyway.”
“Nah, baby, you ain’t gotta explain nothin to them,” Stack spoke up, the scowl on his face matching one that Smoke would normally wear. “So they six hours into a sex marathon. They’ll come out of it and either they won’t do all that bitchin’ they like to do or they’ll be even worse than before.” He put his hands up in prayer. “I PRAY this fix all the shit they be causin on these trips.”
“So Stack did it,” Sammie said matter-of-factly after observing quietly the entire time.
“Hell naw, nigga,” Stack went to slap his cousin upside the head. “You think I wanted to hear my brother beggin’ Annie to sit on his face at 10 o’clock in the damn mornin?! Maybe it was you.”
Sammie put his hands on his chest astonished at the accusation. “Me?!”
Pearline considered this for a second. “To be fair, it kinda makes sense, Sammie.”
“Well, I’m glad we agree that it wasn’t me,” Mary held up her hands and went to have a seat on the floor.
“How does that make sense, Pearline? Annie and Smoke? I wouldn’t do that.” Sammie crossed his arms wondering how he got dragged into it.
Stack chuckled. “Is it Annie and Smoke, Sammie? Or is it mommy and daddy to you?” He stood in front of his cousin and crouched down like he was about to explain something simple to a child. “This whole trip, you stayed close to at least one of them. Asking Annie to cook for you, sew up somethin you ripped, layin your head in her lap while we watched a movie. The only thing she didn’t do was tuck you in at night! And if Pearline wasn’t here with you, you probably would’ve asked Annie to read you a bedtime story.”
“I can’t help that she’s a comfortin’ person, Stack! That don’t mean I gave her any of that stuff y’all talkin about.” Sammie looked over to Pearline who was deep in thought.
“And with Smoke?” Stack continued. “Oh, that’s Papa right there, ain’t it Sammie? Followin him around, askin’ him for advice or how do make somethin’, even dressin’ like him sometimes.” He flicked Sammie’s chain which was similar to the one Smoke wore often. “These trips make you miss Uncle Jed and Aunt Ruth so you had to have somebody to fill in, huh? Smoke and Annie naturally filled that void but they argued too much and Lil Sammie don’t like when mama and daddy argue so he made a plan to fix it.”
Sammie just shook his head furiously. “I ain’t do that.”
“But Sammie, you did—” Pearline was cut off by Sammie’s hand over her mouth. Instead of fighting against him, she bit his hand.
This had everyone’s attention. Delta Slim took a swig from his flask watching in fascination. “Nah, let her speak now, boy. If it done caused y’all to end up in my cabin, we need to hear it.”
“Fuck, Pearline!” Sammie clutched his hand and looked at his girlfriend in fear.
Pearline cleared her throat and folded her hands over her knee. “Sammie did want Smoke and Annie together. It didn’t go the way he expected it to yesterday though.”
*****************
1 Day before NYE
Things were tense in the cabin after the group left Smoke and Annie arguing at a scenic outlook and spent the day without them.
Annie was cordial to everyone but not warm like she usually was. She cooked the meal Sammie wanted with her earbuds in and avoided conversation. Smoke was in the woods nearby taking pictures of the sunset through the trees.
Sammie sat at the kitchen island waiting for Annie to acknowledge him. He wasn’t used to the silent treatment from her and he felt a little guilty that he listened to Stack and didn’t tell her where the group went. He honestly thought some extended time together would help them and he’d been thinking of something he could do to maybe bring them closer.
He walked over and tapped Annie on her shoulder. His heart warmed the way her face softened for him. She really couldn’t stay mad at Sammie. “Smoke need your help outside. Said somethin’ about the exposure on his camera and you could help.” The lie rolled off his tongue so easily, he impressed himself.
“Why Smoke just can’t look it up on YouTube then?” Annie rolled her eyes and went back to cooking. “He know more about cameras than I do anyway.” Her phone dinged in that moment she pulled it out, her eyes widened before she rubbed her temples in distress.
“You know how Smoke is. Plus, I think he left his phone upstairs.”
Annie looked at him skeptically but finally nodded. “Turn that pot off in about ten minutes.” With that, she left to go see what Smoke needed.
Pearline walked in as Annie left. She knew Sammie was up to something. “What you up to now, Sammie?” She had gone along with his plan to get Smoke and Annie together but after a few attempts, she was ready to give up. Nothing was working.
“Sunsets are romantic, Smoke and Annie are alone in the woods, easy peasy,” Sammie said simply as if that explained anything.
Pearline pulled some grapes out of the fridge and rinsed them off rolling her eyes at her boyfriend. “That don’t make sense, Preacher Boy. You think Annie just gone fall into Smoke’s arms because there’s a sunset?” Pearline felt sorry for Annie after only knowing her for a few months.
It was obvious to her that\ everyone had their own idea of what Annie should do and what would make her happy. The work she put in to make everyone’s time at the cabin easier was obviously being taken for granted.
“Maybe, just gotta wait and see.” He tossed a grape in the air and caught it in his mouth. It didn’t take long for Sammie to get his answer when he heard a scream from outside.
“OPEN THE DOOR!” Smoke yelled from outside the cabin, his voice panicked.
Stack rushed from the living room to open the door. “What the hell happened?” He moved back as Smoke ran in carrying an unconscious Annie.
Smoke took her in the living room and laid her down on the couch. “Annie, open your eyes for me.” Panic seeped into his usually steady voice. “Go get a cold wet towel or something!” He yelled at everyone that had gathered around worried. He took her hand in his. “Please, baby, open your eyes for me.” He tapped lightly on her face.
Grace returned with a wet towel and dabbed at Annie’s forehead. “Did she hit her head or something?”
“It was a fuckin bear! She smelled like food and it charged at her.” He felt her hand grip his and squeezed back. “We back in the cabin now, Annie. It’s okay, just open your eyes.”
Sammie stomach was in knots. The only reason Annie was out there in the first place was because he lied.
Blinking her eyes open, Annie groaned and tried to sit up but was stopped by Smoke and Grace. “I’m fine, y’all. There was—that bear it was taller than me—I think my grandmama spoke to me. Said I should’ve had my Black ass in Clarksdale instead of in the woods. Elijah, your camera is still out there!” She tried again to get up but was unsuccessful.
Everyone looked at her in confusion not sure how to take her rambling. Smoke kept her hand in his rubbing soft circles with his thumb. “You come face to face with a bear, get away without a scratch, and now you tryna go back out there for a damn camera? Maybe you did hit your head.” He rubbed the back of her head checking for any bumps.
The group was too concerned about Annie’s well-being to notice the way Smoke cradled her in his arms and whispered things they couldn’t hear.
“Should we report this as a sighting or an attack?” Mary asked pulling out her phone.
“I don’t want to talk to no police tonight. Just say it was a sighting.” The adrenaline of the encounter began to wane leaving Annie feeling tired.
“Okay, but what if the officer is single?” Mary tapped her head like she made a good point. “Be nice to have a strong man of the law come to your rescue, huh?”
If looks could kill, Mary would be six feet under with the way Annie and Smoke glared at her. “Girl, what the fuck? Stack, get your fiancée before she become bear food.” Annie gripped her head like she was in pain.
Stack took Mary’s phone and tapped on it a few times before handing it back. “We don’t want pigs snoopin around here and we sho don’t want Annie to end up with one of em.”
“Why did you even come out there Annie? I told everybody bears can still be roaming the woods.” Smoke scolded still concerned that she had been hurt in some way.
Shrugging, Annie avoided glancing over to Sammie. “I wanted to see the sunset too. Unless that’s against the rules, Smoke.”
“Hell yeah, it is when you smell like a bear’s favorite meal! You could’ve sat on the patio and saw the sunset just fine.” He still hadn’t let Annie go. In fact he pulled her closer to him as if something might take her away.
Groans erupted from around the room with Smoke and Annie getting back to their original selves.
“Okay, Papa,” Annie words dripped sarcasm. “Can I finish dinner now—wait something is burning. Sammie did you forget to turn the stove off?”
Sammie’s eyes widened as he realized he was supposed to turn the pot off ten minutes ago. “Shit! I’ll get it!” He ran to the kitchen and saw smoke billowing from the silver pot. Turning off the stove, Sammie waved a towel around hoping to thin out the thick smoke filling up his lungs.
Pearline joined him and turned on the fan above the stove and opened the kitchen window. “I hope you ain’t ruin Annie’s good pot or she gone put you outside with that bear.”
Annie walked in surveying the scene. Her favorite pot sat smoking and maybe it was the near-death experience that she had or maybe it was the sheer disaster this trip had become but she burst into tears at that moment and left out of the kitchen with Smoke following closely behind her.
Sammie stayed up late that night trying to get all of the burnt stuff out of the bottom to no avail. It wasn’t until Smoke came down and pulled out a strong cleanser that he was able to make progress.
************************
“I did try to get them together,” Sammie admitted. “But I absolutely had nothing to do with what’s goin’ on with them now.” He tried not to think of it because Stack was right, he did kind of think of them as parents what they did in the bedroom was not his business.
“Okay, so we still don’t know who was responsible,” Bo sighed. “Did somebody maybe see the bag and assumed it belonged in the kitchen?”
Everyone in the room shook their head.
“Do y’all think that maybe they are just together and didn’t take any of that stuff at all?” Pearline asked. “I know y’all said they don’t like each other but, they have been pretty isolated from the group.”
The tension turned to humor as everyone but Sammie laughed at Pearline’s suggestion.
“Smoke would’ve told me if somethin was happenin between him and Annie,” Stack said with surety. “I ain’t noticed him being weird around her or nothin’.”
Mary shook her head and wiped the tears that had slipped out from laughing so hard. “The only way Annie would even kiss Smoke is if she was under some spell or it was life or death.”
Grace snapped her fingers. “What if that’s it? What if that’s all this is? They’re both single in a group of couples and they both came face-to-face with a bear so maybe they needed some kind of release.”
“Okay, but you found the bag half empty in the kitchen,” Bo reasoned turning Grace slightly so he could see her face. “You think they just used some of it to get in the mood?”
“Maybe,” Grace shrugged. “They’ve never even flirted with each other before and now they’re…you know.” It was difficult for her to even say Smoke and Annie were having sex. “Like Mary said, it would take something powerful as hell to get them together like that.”
Stack’s phone dinged. “Okay, Smoke just texted me and said we can come back. I guess we can figure out what happened when we get there.”
Delta Slim’s shoulders shook as he laughed at the group in front of him. “Wait! I’m comin’ wit y’all. I bet I know how this all will turn out.”
*******************
Annie didn’t want to come to Gatlinburg for the holiday. She didn’t even want to leave her house, but she had Grace and Mary tag teaming her in their group chat so she decided to come along. Immediately informing Smoke that she didn’t want to be there in the first place.
Smoke supported her choice and promised that they could still spend some time together in the cabin. They weren’t quite ready to make their relationship public especially with all the trouble they caused back in New Orleans that led to them acknowledging their feelings for each other. It took many more months for them to act on those feelings and everything still felt new.
His request to Annie was to not do too much. No making sure everyone was taken care of before taking care of herself, no cooking full meals just because somebody asked, and no spending hours on an itinerary that no one would follow anyway. It surprised him very little when she did exactly the opposite of what he asked.
After seeing the meal she prepared for everyone ruined, she couldn’t hold back the tears. She wasn’t trying to ruin this trip and she wasn’t picking arguments with Smoke like their friends assumed.
********
1 day before NYE
“I didn’t even want to be here, Elijah,” she cried into the crook of Smoke’s neck. “They keep treating me like I’m the problem to be fixed and it’s just making everything worse.” She knew what Sammie was trying to do and it was the same thing Mary tried to do earlier that day after she shut down all of Annie’s suggestions for group activities.
He rubbed her back. “We can pack up and leave tonight if you want, baby. Let them do this shit without you.” He knew that this would be the case, but he didn’t have it in him to tell Annie that right now, especially when it wouldn’t do any good.
For months, Grace and Mary have been on her about “finding a man” so they could do couple things. For this trip, Annie spent a lot of time finding group activities for them just for Mary to opt for more couple centered activities.
“And then they’ll say I’m overreactin’ and if I had a man, I wouldn’t be doin’ all this,” she sniffled, her head feeling heavy from crying.
“You do have a man though,” Smoke pointed out. “And I don’t think you should let them put you in a box like this. Even with me, I want you to be your own person.” He kissed her forehead. “You don’t listen to me half the time anyway so I don’t know what they think is gonna change with a man around.”
Smacking his shoulder, she couldn’t help but laugh at him. She ran her fingers across his face, her nail tracing his features. “You were right this time. I just have to accept I can’t do everything to please them. And your mama, Elijah. I love her so much but she’s been textin’ and callin’ me everyday because she had a dream about a baby and she swear it’s ours. She sent me a picture of an outfit she already bought! I love her but I’m not ready for kids yet.”
Though they were keeping their relationship secret from their friends, Sharon Moore had picked up on what was going on between them almost immediately. They swore her to secrecy but that didn’t stop her from bombarding them with questions about when they’d marry or give her some grandbabies.
“I’ll take care of my mama. I love that she love you but she gotta know when to step back.” He kissed her forehead. “I damn sure ain’t gon’ let her scare you away from me. In the meantime, you need to start treatin’ Sammie like he’s a grown ass man. He know how to order food. He don’t need you cookin’ him breakfast, lunch, and dinner everyday.”
Her heart softened thinking about Sammie. “But he’s still a baby to me!”
“He ain’t no damn baby. He’s 21-years-old and he know better. And you gotta draw some boundaries with Grace and Mary. If you say no the first time, let that be it. Don’t let them make you feel bad because you ain’t where they think you should be.” He lifted her chin up with his finger. “I’m fallin’ in love with you more everyday, Annie, and that’s because you got so much good in you that it get on everybody around you. I don’t want you doubtin’ that for a second. If they can’t see that, fuck ‘em.”
“But I don’t even wanna deal with them tomorrow. You wanna stay in the cabin with me and let them do their own thing?”
“And what you wanna do in the cabin?” Smoke asked pulling her into his lap so that she was straddling him. His face immediately went into her cleavage. It was definitely his favorite place to be.
“Mmm,” she moaned feeling his tongue run across her chest before sucking lightly. “I wanted to watch some movies but I’m open to suggestions.”
“As long as you open.” He gave her a few more gentle nips. “I need you to get some sleep tonight though because tomorrow, Imma keep you busy.”
“Whatever you say. I can’t promise that I’ll be quiet like I been these last few days.”
“That’s what I’m countin’ on.”
**********
NYE
Once Mary woke and did her morning routine, she went to Annie’s room to check on her. For the rest of her life she would question why she didn’t think to knock. It was the most courteous thing to do. It was the smartest thing to do. It was the safest thing to do. Instead she was greeted with the vision of her friend’s legs in the air while a male figure rested between them obviously enjoying his first meal of the day.
The horror wasn’t in the what, it was the who. She knew the male figure because she had the same make and model. Before they knew she had barged in, she quickly shut the door and ran back to her room to wake Stack.
Shaking her fiancé with an urgency reserved for a house fire, Mary tried to wake Stack. “Elias, get up! Smoke and Annie—Stack get up!” She shook him harder until his eyes cracked opened.
Alert and alarmed, Stack sat up quickly and looked around for any sign of danger. “What? What happened?” His voice was thick with sleep. He rubbed his eyes to clear his vision. “Somethin’ happen?”
Mary bit her lip trying to think of the words to explain what she saw. “I think Smoke and Annie are—
“Fuck, Elijah! Like that! Like that! Don’t fuckin’ stop!” Annie’s words were surely loud enough to wake the entire cabin.
“Aye, yo!” Stack threw the covers back and stood up to put on a shirt. “I know they ain’t—” He opened their bedroom door and saw Bo and Grace in the hall with the same confused expressions at the sounds coming from Annie’s room.
“Sit on my face, baby. I wanna drink it all!” Smoke’s pleading filtered through the door.
Without a word, they all filed down the stairs and into the living room where Sammie and Pearline were sitting watching a t.v. show.
“Is Annie up yet?” Sammie asked pausing the show. “I got her pot clean and I wanted to show her.” He was oblivious to the stunned faces of everyone who had just come downstairs.
Grace nodded, her mind far away like her brain was trying to solve a complex problem with no discernible variables. “She’s definitely up.”
“Okay, I’ll go up—” Sammie started to get up but was stopped by Pearline. It was then that he noticed everyone had weird looks on their faces. “What’s wrong?”
“Your cousin decided to grab him a bite to eat at Café Annie,” Stack said humorlessly. “Did y’all know about this?” He looked around to see if anyone would confess.
“Maybe Annie did hit her head gettin’ away from that bear last night,” Bo suggested. “Maybe both of ‘em did.” It was hard to fathom that either of them were of sound mind.
“I mean, it was a scary situation. Maybe Annie hasn’t snapped out of it yet,” Mary posited. “That’s it right?” Because what else could it be?
It took Sammie a moment before he understood what was going on. “Oh. Oooooooh! Smoke and Annie? Fa’real?”
“I’m surprised you can’t hear ‘em all the way down here,” Stack said before a loud moan traveled down to the first floor of the cabin. “Aw, HELL naw! This gotta be a joke. They just fuckin’ with us, huh?” He rubbed at his temples trying to make any sense of the situation.
Mary put her hand on his shoulder. “I promise you, they fuckin’ but not with us. I accidentally walked in on them. That would be one hell of a joke to make.”
Rubbing at her eyes, Grace yawned. “I’m not even awake enough for this shit. I need some coffee.” She made a beeline for the kitchen while everyone else stood thoroughly confused about the turn of events.
“So we agree, they both hit their heads last night runnin’ from that bear? Or maybe they smoked some bad weed?” Bo asked. “That’s the only explanation I can think of right now.”
“I think I might have another explanation.” Grace returned holding up a small black statin bag—the love spell pouch. “This was in the kitchen and it’s been used.”
“Goddamn it!” Stack cursed and started pacing. “That shit work forreal? How long it take to wear off? How the hell did they even get it?”
“I don’t know, it depends on how much they had.” Examining the bag, she sighed. “It looks like half of it is gone. Fuck! They ain’t stoppin no time soon.”
“Well, I’m not stayin’ in here listenin to them all day,” Mary said. “We gotta get out of here. Maybe they’ll have it out of their system before midnight.”
The group prepared themselves for another day outside of the cabin. In the meantime, Smoke and Annie were off in their own world.
While Annie was recovering from her second orgasm of the morning, Smoke had latched on to her nipple. “Ahh! Elijah, I need another one, baby.”
He released her nipple with a POP and smirked at the way she squirmed underneath him. “You bein’ greedy now, Annie. I just gave you two.”
“And if you keep suckin my titties like that, it might be three.” She spread her legs and wrapped them around him. “I coulda gotten eaten by a bear last night. You really gon’ make me beg for it, Elijah?”
He refocused his attention her nipple and hummed. “Mhmm. That’s for calling me the Grinch and Scrooge McDuck.” He thrusted his hips making contact with her center but offering no relief.
“Ugh! I’m sorry, baby! Please just put it in! You feel how wet you made me? You ain’t gone do nothin’ about it?” She pulled his face from her chest so he could see the pout she wore.
Having already decided that he would give this woman anything she asked for, he crumbled immediately. Smoke reached between their bodies and slid his finger between Annie’s wet folds. “Imma take care of you, Ma, don’t worry.” He moved his finger until it was on her hardened nub. He drew circles eliciting quiet whimpers from the woman beneath him. His mouth watered at the thought of tasting her again but he also needed to feel her clenching around him.
Rolling back on to the bed, he pulled Annie on top of him, her massive breasts nearly eclipsing his entire face. “Ride it, baby. I wanna see you bounce on that shit.”
Not needing to be told twice, Annie grabbed his thick length in her hand and lined it up with her dripping hole. She eased down on it her toes curling at the way she stretched to fit around it. “Damn, Papa, it’s so thick.” She bit her bottom lip to keep from squealing at the sensation of their connection.
Bracing herself, with her hands flat on his chest, she dropped her hips down burying him deep inside her. Egged on by Smoke’s grunts of pleasure, she rose up and slammed her hips back down. She continued developing a rhythm that had them both moaning each other’s names. “You like the way this pussy grippin you, Elijah?”
“Fuck yeah, baby.” His eyes were closed tight as he focused on not finishing too soon. Smoke already knew that he’d give everything she asked him for but now he was thinking about stuff to give her that she’d never need. “Pussy feel like heaven. Keep ridin’ it, Ma.”
The sounds of their skin slapping together filled Annie’s ears and made her gush even more. Knowing the power she now held over Smoke, she leaned forward to grip his throat. “Don’t fuckin’ cum until I tell you to.” She switched from bouncing and rolled her hips at a tantalizing pace.
The hand on his throat sent a jolt straight to his dick. “Annie, please, baby!”
“Please, baby!” Annie mocked still teasing him with a slow roll of her hips. “That’s what yo ass get for makin’ me beg for this dick. You know who it belong to.” Gripping his throat tighter, she leaned forward. “Who this dick belong to, Elijah?”
“You, Annie. It’s yours! This dick belong to you!” He attempted to thrust his hips but was stopped by Annie putting her full weight on him.
“Try that again, Elijah, and Imma finish without you,” she threatened using her lower muscles to clench around him. “If it’s mine, let me do what I want with it.”
Smoke groaned and nodded. “Do what you need to, baby.”
Speeding up, she rode him like it her life depended on it. “Fuck! I’m close, Papa.” She threw her head back and let out a cry loud enough to scare all the wildlife nearby. Pleasure pulsed through her as her core spasmed uncontrollably. “Cum with me, Elijah!”
Smoke’s release was instant feeling the way Annie’s soft center massaged him. It was his turn to yell out, screaming Annie’s name like the highest praise he knew. He pumped all he had into her wet cunt his mind turning to mush. “You want a spaceship?”
Her mind still foggy from her orgasm, she flopped down next to him in bed sure she misheard what he said. “What?”
“I said do you want a spaceship? I think Imma buy you one.” Smoke’s words were slurred as if he’d had too much to drink. “I’ll buy you the moon too.”
Annie would laugh about it later but at that moment she just kissed him with every bit of her. “I love it when you get pussy drunk and start promisin’ me stupid shit, Elijah.” They spent time wrapped up in each other until the mood struck again and led them down paths of pleasure.
They stopped to give their bodies a break and hydrate but couldn’t stop themselves from falling right back into each other. One moment, Annie was preparing them a quick snack and the next moment, she was pressed into the countertop as Smoke plowed her from behind.
“Yo pretty ass owe me for what you did upstairs.” He pounded into her, his pace brutal and unforgiving. “Who this pussy belong to?”
“Please, Smoke! I need to—AH!” A hard swat to her thigh made her remember who she was dealing with. “It’s yours! This pussy is yours!”
“I know it is,” Smoke chuckled darkly. “You better not forget it either, okay?”
“Okay, Elijah,” Annie whimpered losing all will to fight back.
When they were finally able to separate, they cleaned up and ordered food. Smoke sent a message to Stack telling him the coast was clear.
“They gon’ be mad,” Annie said as they sat down to watch a movie. “Stack especially. Y’all tell each other everything.”
“He’ll be all right. He get mad over little stuff sometimes but he’ll be good after I talk to him.”
Side-eying Smoke, Annie smacked her lips. “This ain’t little though. I know why we kept this between us but they might feel like we don’t trust them.”
“We don’t. You see how they been actin all week. They asses will get over it.” He wrapped his arm around Annie and pulled her to him saying no more on the subject.
************
Stack pulled up to the cabin and parked. “The next trip, we will be leavin they asses in the Delta. It’s always somethin with them.” He huffed, got out the car, and stomped toward the front door leaving Mary, Sammie, and Pearline to follow as Bo had pulled up beside them with Grace and Slim.
As Pearline exited the vehicle, something shiny under the seat caught her attention. She picked it up to see it was a silver hoop earring. “Mary, I think you dropped your earring. It was under the seat.” She held it up not expecting it to be snatched from her hand so quickly.
“This ain’t mine.” Mary clutched the earring in her hand. This is Smoke’s car, not Stack’s.” She promptly turned and rushed past Stack practically kicking the door open.
Inside, Smoke and Annie were cuddled on the couch watching a movie like they didn’t upend everyone’s day.
Mary stomped in, her face red and her eyes narrowed taking in the couple before her while pieces of a puzzle she didn’t even know existed fell into place. “Hey, Annie. Smoke.”
“Hey, Mary,” Annie responded not looking away from the tv. “Y’all have fun today?”
“Obviously not as much fun as you did, Annie. And I guess you had as much fun in the back of Smoke’s car three weeks ago.” She held up the earring. “You told me you lost the other one at work.”
Stack stepped beside his fiancée confused. “What’s goin on?” He looked at his brother and Annie with their arms wrapped around each other. “So y’all a thing now?”
“Nah,” Mary shook her head as the rest of the group walked into the living room and sat down where they could. “This ain’t just happen now. They been hiding this from us for at least three weeks. Ain’t that right, Annie?”
“At least that long.” Annie confirmed and held out her hand for the earring. “I knew it would turn up somewhere.” She slid it in Smoke’s shirt pocket. “Keep that safe for me, baby.”
“What is she talkin’ about, Annie?” Grace was seriously confused. “You and Smoke?” She pointed to the two of them.
“Smoke, that ain’t true is it?” Under the anger that was bubbling in Stack’s chest was a twinge of hurt.
Smoke just looked at Stack and shrugged. “We were gonna tell y’all soon and things kinda went crazy this week so now y’all know.”
“Wait so y’all didn’t take any of the love potion stuff?” Sammie asked, the excitement visible on his face.
“What?” This time Annie did look at the rest of them. “Hell no we didn’t take that shit. It was on the floor by the stairs this morning. Half of it spilled out when I picked it up and when I went to clean it, somebody distracted me.” She nudged Smoke playfully. “I guess I left it on the kitchen counter.”
“Wait,” Stack held up his hand not caring about the love spell. “Smoke, you been hidin’ this from me? Your own brother? Why? I tell you everything! You was the first person I told when I wanted to propose to Mary. You think I was gon’ try to stop you?”
The liquid in Delta Slim’s flask was louder than the movie still playing as he took a swig. “Goddamit, I knew it! They been tryna shake y’all this whole week and y’all ain’t notice nothin. Bet not ever become detectives.”
Ignoring Slim, Smoke sat up and looked at his brother. “It wasn’t like that, Elias. We just wanted some time with each other for the last three months without anybody’s questions or pressurin’ us about what we should be doin’.”
“Three months?!” Stack, Mary, and Grace said together. Suddenly Smoke and Annie were hit with a barrage of questions. “Why not tell us?” “Don’t you trust us?” “How did you hide this from us?” “How did this even happen?”
“Stop! Be quiet, please!” Annie stood up, her head starting to throb. Silence fell across the room. The tv was muted. “This is why we kept it to ourselves. I’m tired of having to justify my choices to this group. Tired of every single time we’re together, it turns into the “let’s fix Annie” committee. So yeah, we kept this one from y’all until we were sure that it wouldn’t waiver under y’all’s judgment and questions.”
“But I don’t have a problem with you and my brother bein’ together, Annie.” Stack stepped forward. “It’s the fact that we don’t keep things like this from each other.” He glared at Smoke. “You ain’t tell me because you thought I’d break y’all up or somethin?”
“We ain’t tell nobody, Stack,” Smoke responded weakly. “It wasn’t just that we thought y’all would break us up. We didn’t want anybody chiming in on what we had goin on. Good or bad. Already bad enough Mama been doin’ it.”
Annie’s head whipped around when she heard a squeak from Mary. “Mary, it’s not—”
“That’s why she’s been callin’ you? Because she knew already?” Tears filled Mary’s eyes. “I bet she been plannin’ y’all’s weddin’ and she don’t even care about mine. I guess she will get the daughter-in-law she actually wants.” She turned and left, her footsteps thudding up the stairs.
Stack shot a look of disappointment to Annie and Smoke before following behind her.
No one said anything until Sammie cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together. “I’m happy for y’all. I always thought y’all would make a good couple.”
“Shut up, fool.” Smoke threw a pillow at him. “We know what you been tryna do. We ain’t dumb. Leave my woman alone and stop askin her to cook for you.” He motioned for Annie to come sit next to him. “You a grown ass man.”
“What? But Annie don’t mind! Ouch, Pearline!” Sammie clutched the back of his head.
Pearline smirked. “You a grown ass man, Preacher Boy. You’ll figure it out.”
Grace observed Annie and Smoke from across the room and the two of them together made so much sense. “They’re kinda perfect for each other,” she whispered to Bo who had been a quiet onlooker most of the day.
“Mhmm,” Bo agreed. “What the hell were y’all arguin about at the overlook?”
“Nothin,” Smoke said simply. “We just knew y’all would leave us alone if it looked like we was arguin. It worked. It was bullshit that nobody backed Annie up though. So we gon’ take our own trip somewhere and do whatever she want.” He kissed the side of Annie’s neck causing her to giggle.
“I knew once y’all said ‘bout that bear,” Slim slurred, “I knew then what these two was doin. They done had this big ole cabin to do whatever they want to do without y’all.” He stomped his foot and slapped his leg as his shoulders shook. “And look at ‘em done wore each other out. They ain’t gon’ make it til midnight.”
Annie stood and gestured toward the kitchen. “Well, we still ordered food for everybody to eat. Just a bunch of party food really and Smoke brought a nice bottle of champagne. Make sure Slim gets some food but don’t give him no champagne.” She looked down at her watch. “We got about two hours til the New Year but y’all can play some games or somethin’ ’til then.”
“You not stayin’ down here with us?” Sammie asked ready to run to the kitchen.
Shaking her head, Annie headed towards the stairs. “I’m tired, lil Sammie. Your cousin—” Her mouth was covered by Smoke’s strong hand.
“Oh, so it runs in the family,” Pearline joked pushing her boyfriend towards the kitchen. “Happy New Year, Annie and Smoke. See you in the mornin.”
“Happy New Year, Pearly,” Annie sang once Smoke removed his hand. “Happy New Year Grace and Bo.”
“Yeah, Happy New Year, y’all,” Smoke threw behind him as he moved them both quickly up the stairs. “Don’t be down here destroyin’ shit.”
Annie moved towards her door but was dragged towards Smoke’s instead. “Smoke, please, Miss Kitty needs to recover from the day she had.”
“And she will.” He opened the door and pulled her inside. “My bed is ready for you to sleep in though. Ain’t gotta change the sheets and I already moved your stuff.” His lips traced her jawline while his hands gripped her ass.
“You promised me sleep, Papa.” Even as she said it, she pushed herself closer to him. “You think Stack and Mary okay?”
“They’ll be fine. We can talk to ‘em tomorrow. Let’s get you to bed though.”
**************************
The next morning, Annie woke to her phone vibrating repeatedly on the nightstand. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she picked it up and saw that it was Sharon Moore. She turned over to hand the phone to Smoke because she could not deal with his mama this early in the morning only to find his side of the bed empty. Sighing, she steeled herself and answered the phone.
“Good morning, Ms. Sharon! Happy New Year!” She masked the sleepiness in her voice.
“It would be much happier if you called me Mama like I told you to, Annie but Happy New Year to you too, baby. Y’all have fun last night? I texted those sons of mine but they ain’t respond.”
“Oh yeah! We had a lot of fun,” Annie lied smoothly. “The town had a fireworks show that was visible from the cabin. What did you get up to last night?”
“Me and the girls stayed in and made drinks and watched that lil gay man—Andy or somethin—we watched his countdown on tv for a little bit. Willie Mae got drunk as a skunk. She passed out in the guest room right now. Cathy up though, cookin’ breakfast but she don’t make the biscuits like you do.”
There was yelling from the background that Annie couldn’t make out. “I’m talking to Annie!” A pause. “Cuz you don’t make biscuits like her, Cathy! Yo dough is too loose or somethin’. Chile, now she in her feelins. Anyway, I didn’t want nothin’ just checkin to see how y’all doin. You and Smoke gon tell everybody soon, right? I’ll keep ya secret a lil bit longer but I almost let it slip after a two margaritas.”
Annie was close to ripping her hair out hearing Sharon ramble this early in the morning. “We let them know yesterday. Most of ‘em took it well.” She rubbed her face not ready to talk to Mary just yet.
“I bet Elias and Mary had somethin’ to say, huh? He ain’t never liked when his brother kept stuff from him. Got mad at him a whole week when he found out Elijah was savin’ up the lil money that they got from me to buy me somethin for my birthday. They’ll be okay though. What about you and Mary?”
“I don’t know. I guess. I think she is feelin’ kinda alone with the engagement and wantin’ to plan the weddin’ since her mama is…you know. I think maybe she want you to help her.” Annie bit her lip hoping for the best but truly not knowing where Sharon stood when it came with Mary.
She seemed to be happy that Stack and Mary were engaged but she didn’t bring it up much and she certainly wasn’t calling Mary on the daily to ask how she was doing or tell her random things.
“Really? She want me to help?” Sharon sounded genuinely surprised. “I didn’t think she wanted my help so that’s why I hadn’t said anything about it. Did she tell you she wanted my help?”
“You know the way you been callin and textin’ me all week? It kinda looks like you have a favorite especially to Mary.”
“I do!” She said without hesitation. “And Elijah better be putting a ring on your finger soon. That don’t mean I don’t like Mary though. She can be…a lot but hell, so can I. She just never seemed that interested in me and I ain’t one to push.” At this Annie had to roll her eyes. “If she want me to help her with the weddin’, I will. You know I like stuff like that.”
“I think that would make her feel a lot better.” Annie looked up to see that Smoke had come back into the room with a steaming mug. “And maybe the baby you’ve been dreaming about is actually hers and Stack’s.”
“No, I’m sure it was yours and Elijah’s. It was a girl with your pretty brown eyes. Elias and Mary’s first will be a boy. I know that for sure.”
Annie groaned. “Well, she won’t be around for a long time so I guess you’ll have a grandson first.”
“No—”
“Elijah just walked in,” Annie interrupted her before she could say anything else. “I think he want to talk to you.” She handed Smoke the phone and took the mug of hot tea from his hand. Sharon was right, she was a lot and definitely too much for Annie this early in the morning.
After getting off the phone with Sharon, Smoke sat on the bed stared at Annie as she drank her tea.
“What you lookin at, Elijah?”
“What you think I’m lookin at, woman?”
Looking down, Annie checked to see if she had anything exposed. “Well my titties ain’t out and we both know that’s the real reason you with me.”
“I mean, if I die with my face buried in ‘em, I wouldn’t be mad.”
“I would be. Planned on smotherin’ you between my thighs once I got a good life insurance policy on you. You talk to Stack?”
Smoke nodded. “Yeah, we cool. He still don’t like that I did it but he’ll get over it. He said Mary is mostly sad that Mama ain’t said much about their engagement.”
“Yeah and I talked to Sharon about that. I wanna leave that between them as much as possible though. I won’t answer for their relationship with each other and I don’t want to be their buffer. Everything else, Mary needs to get over though.”
“Well, she up if you wanna go talk to her. It’ll be a long drive back to Mississippi if y’all ain’t speakin’ to each other.”
“Uuuuugh, I guess. Let me get myself together before I do anything.” She rolled out of bed, her muscles aching from the previous day. “Shit! Maybe we overdid it yesterday.”
“I feel okay.” Smoke shrugged.
“Because your legs weren’t up in the air, and your face wasn’t pressed against the mattress, and you weren’t bent over the counter, or laying down on the stairs.”
“I’ll give you a massage later on.” He walked up behind her and pressed himself into her back.
“I don’t think me or my birth control is strong enough to handle one of your massages, Elijah, so I’ll have to decline.”
When Annie found Mary, she was outside on the patio wearing a coat over her pajamas. “You ain’t cold out here?” Annie was fully dressed with her coat on and still felt the chill in the air.
Mary shook her head. “I have my coat on. It’s supposed to warm up today a little. I need to apologize for last night. It wasn’t right to put my issues with Sharon on you like that.”
Sitting beside her friend, Annie nodded. “You know I’m not competin' to be her favorite.”
“But you are and I know that. I don’t even know if you’ll want to be my friend after I tell you this.” She looked off. “You and Smoke made more sense than I ever wanted to admit. I noticed it back in New Orleans Even when y’all would fight, you couldn’t be apart.” She laughed at the memory.
“I just didn’t want y’all together because then you’d have the calm twin who wouldn’t second guess a lifetime with you and the attentive mother-in-law who would love to have you around. She always liked you but to have you as a daughter? I’m sure she was over the moon when she found out.” She sniffled and wiped away a tear. “That’s why I pushed so hard to find you somebody else—anybody but Smoke.”
Annie was stunned to hear this. “Mary, Stack loves you. He was nervous as hell that he’d mess something up when he was plannin to propose.”
“I know he loves me, Annie, but you weren’t around when we first got together. We fought harder than you and Smoke. He didn’t really take us seriously until I left him. I’m glad we were able to move past that but it would’ve been nice if it was easy. Knowin’ Smoke, he probably picked out a ring after your first kiss.”
“Well, he better hold on to it for as long as possible. I’m not gettin married any time soon.” Annie hugged herself willing the weather to warm up. “And we knew back in New Orleans too, just didn’t do nothin’ about it until recently. But this ain’t about me and Elijah. Lots of women ain’t close to their husband’s mamas. What’s really the issue with Sharon?”
“I know it’s not her job to be my mama but it’d be nice if someone wanted to. My own mama blocked me on everything when she saw I got engaged to Stack, which is fine because she’s a crazy bitch. I just want some guidance through this and I have nobody. Sharon’s the only one.”
“Have you ever just sat down and talked with her?”
Mary shook her head. “No, she probably wouldn’t want to though.”
“Okay, I gotta be honest, Mary. It don’t sound like you tryin’ much with her and I’m blamin’ Stack too because he should’ve addressed this a long time ago.”Annie huffed not liking the fact that she had to explain to grown adults that they should just talk to each other. “Sharon supports y’all’s engagement one hundred percent. She made Stack practice his proposal so it would be perfect for you. She likes you but you gotta show her you want her involved. Go have lunch with her sometimes or buy her some scratch offs. She’s easy to get along with.”
“You forreal?”
“Yes! You don’t get blessed with frequent calls from Sharon Moore unless you’ve put a little effort in. Hell, at this point, I need a break before she starts planning the baby shower.”
Mary looked at her questionably. “Are you—”
“Don’t even fuckin’ finish that question. Absolutely not, but that ain’t stopped Sharon from insisting that I will be soon. Elijah may have to wrap it up for the foreseeable future.”
“That’s what she’s been callin about?” Mary doubled over in laughter.
“It’s not funny,” Annie grumbled sitting back in her seat. “I’ll let you take the honor of givin’ her her first grandchild. According to her it’ll be a boy.”
Mary looked like she saw a ghost. “You not serious. That’s just how older people talk sometimes, right?”
“Yeah, my grandmama used to say stuff like that. She was never wrong though. That’s why I’ve been freakin’ out every time Sharon call me. The fuck Imma do with a baby?”
“I sure don’t need one now. Gotta make sure me and Elias bein’ careful from now on.” The wind picked up slightly causing Mary to fold her arms together and hunch over for warmth. “We spent almost the whole day at Slim’s accusin’ each other of dosin’ y’all with that love spell stuff. Now it’s makin’ me realize why y’all didn’t tell us. I’m sorry for doin all that and pressurin’ you to come here.”
“Yeah, you gotta leave me alone for a week when we get back.”
“A week?! Why that long?”
“Because, I wanted to be at my house gettin my feet rubbed by Elijah but instead, I let you talk me into comin’ here and ended up gettin chased by a damn bear.” Annie sucked her teeth.
“But he rubbed more than your feet yesterday. You tellin’ me you gon’ ignore me for a week when you got multiple days of Smoke foldin’ you like pressed laundry?”
“Yep! Don’t forget I got chased by a bear.” Annie stood up. “If I stay out here any longer, I might turn into a block of ice. Come on.” The two walked in to see Grace standing near the door.
“Y’all kiss and make up?” She asked jokingly but her eyes were serious.
“Annie said I can’t talk to her for a week when we get back home so yeah, we made up.” Mary pulled Annie over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “And there’s the kiss.”
Grace looked at Annie in confusion. “Why won’t you speak to Mary for a week?”
“I ain’t speakin’ to yo ass either, Grace. Y’all got me up in these damn mountains with bears and shit. Got love potions or spells or whatever the hell y’all was tryna give me.”
Mary leaned over to Grace with a faux-whisper. “She ain’t gon’ be able to talk no way if she screamin’ Smoke name the whole time.”
“I didn’t wanna say nothin’,” Grace whispered back. “But she barely able to walk today. After a week, she might be on crutches.”
Annie rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling at her friends. “While y’all standin’ here laughin’ I’m about to cash in on a spaceship I was promised yesterday. See y’all whenever.” She turned, trying to walk away as normal as possible but heard the laughter behind her.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Tag list: @brownskincheyenne @thefutureemmywinner @irefusetobeacasualty @saralance03 @margepimpson @shereeluvssinners @lizbehave @storiesbyasl
Ohhhhhhh baby Gimmie that !!! Right neooooowww frennnnn!! Annie was in her hometown tryna catch a body and here come smoke tryna big daddy and cock block !!! I’m kicking my feet up !! I’m so excited for this !!
Summary: It's been seven years since Smoke left. A departure he never wanted to take as Annie was a love he never wanted to leave but grief and fear put him in a place he never thought he would be. Promises to return sooner than later and weekly letters and phone calls from community phone lines started consistently and after a year became nearly nonexistent. Now he's back. As irrational as it is for someone whose life (and the way he moves through it) has been dictated by logic, he believes what he and Annie have is eternal and fated so he's sure they will find their way back to love that sustained them and the home they created in each other. Then, he hears whispers of her moving on with someone new in the last year. Even if it's wrong, selfish, and unfair to what she is attempting to create...he'll show her that he loves her STILL.
It’s not something they can pray away, avoid, or convince themselves has died never to be resurrected—a funeral can’t take place for something alive and well. If that would’ve worked, they wouldn’t be in the situation they were currently in.
It is something inevitable—like the Delta heat that walked hand in hand with them since the first day they felt it beat down on their skin, both comforting and overwhelming. Something unyielding like the way sweating bodies grinded close together, prohibited drinks flowed, the smell of Southern delicacies fried in oil, and music woven into the inner fabric of their soul every Saturday at The Juke was the only time their people ever truly felt free.
Neither of them had ever been known for being deceitful in any way, fashion, or form. It was one of the things that bonded them in the first place. Being honest when it was comforting and it felt like a radiating light enveloping them in a warm embrace and when it was hard and felt heavy on the tongue and the truth was the last thing they wanted to hear.
Always being honest was a promise that bound them as well as bonded them, which led to them doing something they never had—choosing to be vulnerable enough to lay their entire selves bare to the other as lasting as ink permanently etched on bare skin.
The versions of them who made the initial promise would balk at the way the current version of them discarded the very promise that was the foundation of their union. They found out that even certain values could be sacrificed if it meant avoiding a life lived without the one they called home.
What good were morals if it led to a fate that would kill you…for what good was a life without the one who made living itself not a penance but a privilege? They barely survived separation the first time as they walked around like haints occupying a body whose true soul had passed on.
EIGHT YEARS AGO…
Annie tried her hardest to start over. Even with them maintaining contact those first two years, she never let herself be lulled into Smoke's promise of returning. The third year when he had gone radio silent was when she had completely lost her whole world all at once. An experience that shook her faith to the core, which led to a deep disconnection in her root work only compounded by the loss of Luna.
From a young age, Annie had always had a strong connection to the Earth, her ancestors, and the sacred practice passed down for generations. The trauma resulting from the loss of her little moon, who was a manifestation of the purest, strongest, and most everlasting love she had ever known was enough to have her question everything starting with why this healing, life affirming practice had not worked the one time she needed it most.
She mourned in a way that would both shake the ground beneath her feet in one moment while she felt so empty she questioned if she could ever feel again in another. Whatever force in this world that thrives off pure devastation decided they weren’t through with her yet as they took her love from her too.
While he was not gone from this world, he was gone from her orbit. The gravitational pull that would keep her connected to the Earth despite the betrayal of such as the loss of a child was gone when he was never needed more.
The most difficult part was that he did not do something foul in a way that she could discard their love or curse his name from the moment she woke till the second sleep overtook her at night. If Elijah had truly betrayed her— the love would have gone sour. Annie was raised by strong women who hammered into her the importance of having her own and not allowing mistreatment or betrayal from a man and those lessons were ingrained so deep that it became a non-negotiable. It was commonplace for men to cheat and have multiple families being loyal to nothing but the urge to keep their dicks wet.
That wasn’t her man though loyalty and fidelity was a huge part of their love and no one could even catch his eye after they met. His love, yearning, passion, and desire for her was a fire that had only burned brighter and had never waned. He had regularly told her that he would live inside of her if he could to which she always playfully rolled her eyes and smirked. Something else led to the exodus he would have never embarked on if it was based on what he actually wanted.
Stack. His selfish, ill-timed, fly-by-the-seat of his pants ass brother determined to go on a dangerous mission (as he called it) to Chicago and expected Smoke to be as he had always been, by his side. Annie felt at times that Stack was a test to push the very limits of her patience by being an ever present thorn in her side when he was around.
This was by far the worst time to be the most selfish he ever had been with such a request or what Stack himself had seen as a guarantee. He could not conceptualize nor fully grasp (or respect) the love they had and what it meant. So, he struggled understanding why Smoke was heavily hesitant where he would have been on board with strict ground rules in the past, but that was before Annie. Before an insurmountable loss they still could not measure. Elijah was not a love that strayed or left; he was a love that planted roots, built something eternal, one you felt in your bones, and was enveloped by a peace that could not be disturbed. Smoke was a love that surrounded, watched, interceded on the behalf of, and above all protected—not being able to do that for his daughter did damage to his self concept and identity that he was not even fully aware of the extent of the damage. ‘Protector’ had become the role he held the longest and the most consistently. Yet, when it was needed most there was nothing he could do in his power to save who mattered most— it was as if he had a mortal wound yet still remained alive.
They grieved differently. Elijah felt grief as deep as the ocean where he would weep or become so lost in thought Annie would have to shake him to the point of his whole body moving to snap out of the frozen state. He had only ever been in trances like that following flashbacks from the War. Meanwhile, Smoke distracted himself and avoided the deep hurt by practicing control—to an even greater extent than before. His leaving being a manifestation of trying to prevent his greatest fear happening again when he felt he could possibly control it was something Annie simultaneously understood but also resented.
Smoke was not blind to his brother’s selfishness. He felt partially responsible for maybe being too indulgent to make up for what their dad had put them through—with Stack being the target who faced the much crueler punishment than he had. While Smoke had no choice but to fall for Annie, he had chosen to build a life with her and it was the first thing he did in his entire life just for him. It was his treasure, his freedom, his joy, and his foundation. That very decision led to a pattern of tug of war that happened with Stack struggling to accept that Smoke’s dream did not mirror his.
Elias desired freedom through his dream of creating worlds and safe spaces for their people while also being able to make a profit. Elijah desired freedom in the creation of a home, a groundedness and a peace that couldn’t be destroyed and was his without question, which he found in Annie through love. The love that he found with Annie was one he thought someone like him who carried a pain, a hardness, a wall 100 feet wide and 50 feet deep would never feel the reprieve of experiencing. She was his salve and his salvation. His kryptonite and strength. His desire and his joy. Stack refused to accept that Annie got access to the innermost part of Smoke and who he was at his core, his most vulnerable, his most free—Elijah. Smoke continued to reject Stack’s plan as he just could not imagine a life where he and Annie were not side by side on the daily. That was before.
Grief was not unfamiliar to Smoke. It was something that walked with him side by side, almost like a companion. The grief of losing his mother and only getting to know her through pictures and the memories of others. The grief of never knowing parental love because of the abusive piece of shit he had for a dad. The grief of not getting to really be a kid as he had to step into a parental role for Stack. The grief of what the trauma from the War took from him with scars and flashbacks he still deals with. None of his prior grief could prepare him for the loss of Luna.
His whole life he felt abandoned by God. Falling in love with Annie and then Luna being a physical representation of how deep that love is— sparked the mustard seed sized hope that maybe God hadn’t completely forsaken him. Being someone who only believed in what he could see he wasn’t one for religion or spirituality but Annie finding, loving, and choosing someone like him had to be due to a force he couldn’t see. The way they lost Luna when she was just over a year extinguished the minuscule hope as if it never existed. The man known for running shit, being immovable, unshakable, had become a shell of himself in the only place he felt safe—at home.
Smoke could count on one hand how often he had cried in his life. Of all the times he had, he never weeped or bellowed in such a guttural way that he felt he could wake the dead with the intensity of the pain alone. A mourning so deep that those who had passed on could feel it. The only way he held on at all was due to Annie and the way they supported each other but it was a grief neither had experienced. Sometimes their days looked like complete silence outside of affirmative grunts. Others looked like shouting until their throats were raw. At their most vulnerable they would spend the whole day crying and holding each other. Throughout it all they vacillated between hard fucking and love making—just to feel something and to remind themselves that they were still here. Somehow.
It had been six months since they lost her and they were surviving solely due to having each other. That is when Smoke had to make a decision that he still regrets to this very day while knowing he was just trying to prevent another loss that would be sure to finish the job of destroying him. Stack decided that he could not wait any longer and was leaving for Chicago next week. Smoke tried his best to reason with the fool but he just wasn’t hearing shit. Smoke was torn in two making this decision—his head and heart in a tumultuous war where either choice would leave catastrophic damage in its wake. Stack’s recklessness and tendency to not watch his back created a serious deficit in his survival instinct, which was the only reason he was even considering leaving. There is no single thing or person that could get Smoke to leave Annie—especially now but he just knew without a shadow of a doubt that his twin would find a way to get himself killed out there which is just a loss that he could not even conceptualize.
Even then his mind wasn’t made up. It couldn’t be when it would mean leaving his heart behind in Clarksdale. He hoped to return within a year but he knew Stack and his often hare-brained schemes lacked planning and discipline. Another failure on his part for being too lenient so Stack over-relied on him. He felt torn in two even breaking the news to Annie that he was considering this.
The next day he reluctantly brought it to Annie. It was still hypothetical as he had still felt stuck between a rock and the hardest place. She responded the way anyone who had lost their precious daughter not even a year ago would only to find now that the love of her life was considering leaving for an indefinite amount of time to watch out for his brother who thought so little of what they were navigating.
Even eight years later he still remembers the look on Annie’s face and how it shook him to his core. How could someone look so despondent as if it was the end of the world as they knew it while simultaneously radiating an anger that could burn down the rest of the world in retribution for their pain? For four days, they had yelled, cried, constantly talked through how he could even consider this, and then didn’t talk at all in a cycle he saw as his own personal hell. Even with his tendency to feel moments instead of filling them with words, their communication had been relatively healthy. So, this departure only served to further break him down.
On the fifth day, he made the decision that would change the trajectory of his life in a way he still felt to this day. Annie had barely reacted once he told her what he decided. Being as bonded as they were, there were times when they knew what the other was going to say or in this case before the words left their mouth. This wasn’t news. She knew from the moment he brought it up what his decision would be. She knew the loss of their daughter had wounded them in similar but different ways which for him showed up in his inability to protect her.
For better or worse, due to their upbringing he was put in a difficult spot of not only being a brother but he was also a father figure. The loss of Stack would not just be the soul crushing loss of a twin, but another child he could not protect. So, on the fifth day she was quiet. Shuffling across the floorboards, pouring liquid from glass bottles for protection charms, and warming water for baths were the only sounds to fill the room after Smoke broke the news.
The sixth day was different. It has settled in Annie's spirit that he was leaving and she felt the weight of it. She had to make a decision about the kind of last day she wanted with him. She tried to remind herself that he wasn’t leaving forever and that he told her as soon as they were done he would be coming back. That was not something she found comforting considering the timing was not up to him. None of this was. If his wants or needs mattered, he wouldn’t be leaving in the first place. She wanted this day to be a memory that could wrap her in warmth when the bitter cold of loneliness and grief threatened her very survival.
“Okay. This is the last full day until—”Annie said to break her silent pact from the day before.
“I know. I’m sor—”Elijah replied before she could finish the thought as if that would make it less real. The relief that comes after waking up from a nightmare that never came true would not find him this time. He made a conscious decision to approach this day as Elijah as this wasn’t the time for Smoke to be at the forefront. At his most vulnerable, his most open, his most free—all emotions he felt due to Annie, the one who brought him back to life through her eyes, her smile, her ease, her centeredness, her love—Elijah.
“Save the words. I already know them.” Annie interrupted as she already knew. She didn’t want the little time they had left littered with genuine yet ultimately meaningless platitudes. Apologies wouldn’t make him stay. They wouldn’t have him change his mind. They wouldn’t save her the heartache of the strongest love she had ever known having to do the very thing he had proven from the very beginning he would never do.
“We’ve talked this through in circles the first four days. Let’s feel today.” She stated clearly as if it was the first thing she could control since the death of their daughter. “Who knows the next time we’ll get to.”
“You’re right. I’ll follow your lead. Take the reins.” Elijah acknowledged as he stared straight into her eyes showing just how much he had meant it. The day was spent doing things they knew made the other feel whole and bonded. They had not separated the whole day acting as shadows for each other. They started with visiting Luna’s grave together and replacing the flowers and fresh bottle of milk as they did everyday. Elijah walked alongside Annie as they went around their land collecting the different roots, herbs, and stones. It reminded him how even the mundane felt special with her.
Every moment of every day felt like a gift, one way too good for someone like him. Hands on projects had always made Elijah feel grounded and got him out of a cycle of debilitating over thinking. He fixed up some walls, floors, and fortified the porch while Annie watched as she cooked their favorites. Cooking reminded Annie of her rootwork practice. Creating something from individual, distinct ingredients that not only filled bellies but touched souls in the same way her ancestors had.
They shared their meal in the way they always did—starting with prayers, Eliajh’s exclamations about how good her food was, Annie smiling because he had done this every day without fail since the very first time she cooked for him, talking about anything and everything under the sun. She talked more while he listened more. In their natural rhythm she moved to her rootwork table preparing ingredients, saying prayers, and combining items while he sat in his chair smoking from his pipe that hung directly above where his chair sat. Elijah’s brows furrowed as he tried to figure out what she was doing as the shop was closed for the day so she could not have been completing an order for a client. In the midst of his line of thinking, Annie called him over.
Elijah moved to stand directly in front of Annie’s work table as she slowly circled around. “You said I take the reins today so I have one thing I need from you before you leave tomorrow.”
Elijah nodded his full attention on Annie.
“Wear this for me and never take it off.” Annie had been making a mojo bag for Elijah as he sat and tried to decipher what she was working on. She knew that he was a person who only trusted what he could see with his very own eyes so his belief in her hoodoo had always been an uphill battle. She knew a secret he would not name. As much as he challenged her on it, the utmost trust and belief he had in her also extended itself to her practice so she knew he would honor request. After all, their love for each other was not something he could see or measure like dollars and cents yet it couldn’t be more real.
“Okay, for you.” Elijah offered without contesting. Normally he would give her pushback but he could not find that in him today. He knew this was a symbol of just how deep and wide her love went for him. She poured everything she had into this mojo bag even with him having to leave. He could never reject an item that was a symbol of her love for him. Not now. Not ever.
In the silence of the moment, not even an inch of space existed between them in this moment. The heaviness of the moment lingered following the expression of their love for each other in its purest form. Annie expressing it through pouring her all into a mojo bag she believed would keep him safe until he returned. As it was what she wanted most. She knew that she would not wait forever and didn't know and couldn’t feel when he would return. When he did, it would be in one piece, limbs in tact, heart beating, brain working the same way it did today. Elijah expressed it through the promise he kept despite his skepticism of hoodoo. He’d seen it protect and he’d seen it not deliver when it was needed most. Still, his love, trust, respect, and belief in Annie had him making space for what he wouldn’t have believed in any other circumstance.
Love was not the only thing felt. Desire made an appearance as it always had. It was always looming even before the very first time they ever touched. It never took much for them. Sometimes the smallest thing would ignite the heat that always wafted right beneath the surface. Annie adorning Elijah with the mojo bag around his neck acted almost like an aphrodisiac.
As they stood face to face, so close they could feel the warmth of their breath, their lips crashed into each other in sync. Elijah’s lips chasing Annie’s with her returning the favor as they moved about without separating. The contrast of feeling of soft, plush lips delivering hard kisses only intensified the lust they were both feeling that demanded to be satisfied. They knew what followed when they got like this. Tongues dancing, titties caressed, dick grabbed, taking turns on their knees, mouths open to pray at the altar of their love; while moans, grunts, nasty words, and squeaking legs of the bedframe served as the soundtrack.
There was a different weight tonight though. They couldn’t stop tomorrow from coming and all the day would bring, but they could spend the whole night feeling. The feel of skin to skin so close they could hear the other’s heartbeat. The feel of being impossibly filled to the point of overflow. The feel of limbs stretched in ways that tested the concept of flexibility. The feel of nails against his back. The feel of sheets caressing them as they tumbled through them.
Exhaustion came second to lust that demanded to be satiated the whole night. The hard and frantic rounds that made them feel like fiends chasing the euphoric feeling of their next hit alternated with rounds that were soft, slow, and deep--where each caress, kiss, stare, thrust, honey laced whisper, and whiskey soaked command was made a memory that could hold them when they were beyond each other’s reach.
The seventh and last day was much more somber. Even with knowing what was coming at the end of the day they still tried to maintain a sense of normalcy until they couldn’t. The same patterns didn’t feel the same when the weight of his departure turned the vivid colors of the life they lived together pitch black. Their meals didn’t fill their bodies and feed their souls the way they always had. The arrangement of the rooms and their accompanying furniture and decor that felt like expressions of their tastes and personalities began to feel drab and mundane. The place they built that housed memories, milestones, and livelihoods had always felt like a perfect fit until now--where the walls closed in tighter with each hour that passed.
Elijah waited to the last possible hour to leave as they were traveling by train. Bo Chow, their childhood friend, had agreed to meet them at the station to keep their car for safe keeping. Stack was already waiting outside but had enough sense to stay in the car because if Annie had a chance he wouldn’t be making it to Chicago. They slowly made their way to the door with each step becoming more hesitant. Once they reached their porch, they knew it was time for the goodbye they had been holding off.
“Elijah, I hope that you find peace in making this decision. My understanding of why you feel like you have to do this does not snuff out the hurt and anger. All three coexist at once. The hope of saving one while abandoning the other,” Annie stated matter-of-factly.
“Annie, I’m not—” Elijah interrupted.
“Let me finish without contesting.” Annie replied frustrated that he even tried to fight what she was saying. She was tired of pain, anger, grief, and fighting. After deciding that he had to go, Elijah had repeatedly told Annie he would keep in contact and then this wouldn’t be a long exodus. Annie knew better though. She knew how shit tended to go with Stack. This was the first time she could not trust his words which wounded her in a way that she couldn’t adequately name. Of all the promises he made, she only had faith that one would be kept--Elijah keeping on his mojo bag. He would not let his only tether to Annie and the strength of the love they shared be something else he sacrificed.
“Elijah, you have only been honest from the first day I ever looked into those eyes that said everything you couldn’t allow yourself to say, before we ever were anything to each other. What was the very first promise we ever made as a way to honor our love? We said we would never lie. That promise is the very foundation of that love. Don’t do me the disservice of lying now.” Annie noted calmly before continuing. “Telling the truth don’t make it pretty--just makes it real. You don’t know if you can keep up with the promise you made. You don’t know even if you can consistently write or call. You can’t even tell me how long.” Annie pauses before she says what’s next as it sounds like a threat but it’s just her honoring her promise to always be true. “Love, even one like ours that feels fated in a way that I’d only heard about from those who came before us, won’t wait or coast on the hope that you may come back someday. By the time you return, the bones of the home you forsook may be the only thing here to welcome you back.”
Elijah was silent. Not in a way that was reflective of the silent nature he was known for. This silence wasn’t a self-imposed decision. It was recognition—the realization in that very moment that he could be coming home to a self-appointed séance of the only love he ever got to freely choose.
He couldn’t walk away using his less is more approach. Not after what Annie had just expressed. Not in this situation.
He had spent his last full day with Annie “feeling” instead of offering platitudes that provided no comfort. Now, it was time for him to speak. This could likely be the most important set of words he ever uttered when the stakes are a life with Annie or barely existing with his memories of what they had being the only thing keeping him in this world.
“Annie, I love you. You know that. Deep. Strong. Without ceasing. I’ve given you parts of me freely that no one else has ever seen.” Elijah said as his hands shook, a trauma response from his time in the war that was elicited whenever he was anxious or panicked. He was not one for impassioned speeches but if there was ever a time to lay it all out there, it was now. “I know my decision feels like I’m breaking us and I’ll hold that. I’m not asking for you to forgive me and I know understanding my motives won’t change how you feel but I’m asking you to believe in what you’ve always known. You’ve never doubted my love, listen to your heart, your intuition, the words your ancestors who guided you told you when you sought guidance and confirmation about our love being destined.” Elijah pleaded with desperation as the floodgates he had used every ounce of strength he had to hold at bay began to break. “I have never lied to you and I won’t now so I can’t promise when but I AM returning. To my heart, my foundation, my reason why, my everything…I love you still and I always will.”
The weight of the moment mixed with Elijah laying his feelings out bare without silencing or pushing them down immediately brought tears to Annie’s eyes.
Now, they both stood in front of the physical home that was reminiscent of the home they found in each other years ago in a place they never thought they would be. Completely broken down. Faces wet with tears, eyes rimmed red, staring into the depths they had always found comfort in. The only sound passing between them is the wind as it shakes the bottles that hang from the Magnolia trees spread out on the property. Elijah pulled Annie into the tightest hug they may have ever shared. An embrace that embodied every feeling they expressed and the ones they were afraid to say out loud.
As they looked into each other’s eyes, nose to nose they leaned into a searing kiss not unlike the kind of kisses they had shared thousands of times. Elijah’s lips creating a seal over Annie’s as his hands framed both of her cheeks so that each part of him had a point of contact with her. Their eyes instinctively shut as if to burn every second into their memory. There was a melancholy beneath this one though as if it wasn’t a promise for a reunion but an acceptance of a reluctant goodbye neither of them ever wanted to have.
Eventually, they separated and he watched her as he walked backwards toward the truck until he was out of her vision on the driver’s side.
Elijah swung the door open prepared to get in, but paused because there was one thing he had to do before he departed. He leaned down to Luna’s resting place and asked something selfish as the man who was leaving.
“Can you do one thing for your fool of a father, baby girl?” Smoked asked aloud. “Please watch over your mama—you and your ancestors together. Protect every hair on her head, organ in her body, don’t let a single injury touch her.” Smoke pressed a kiss to the stone in front of her altar. “You’re the only one I can trust with this.”
That was eight years ago now. Smoke returned the seventh year with the only promise kept being his mojo bag not moving one centimeter since Annie placed it around his neck.
How do you go from years of no communication to a full blown affair that could obliterate the very foundation of their lives as they know it within a year of Smoke returning?
The seeds were sown the day the twins made their way back into the life they left behind...
A/N: Thanks for reading. We are definitely in for a ride! I actually pretty much have the next two chapters written so those chapters should be out pretty soon! If I somehow missed you and you wannabe tagged you can either comment or reply to my taglist h e r e ♡
A very very unserious 4.8k word drabble following Smoke and Stack tryna get this money by tomorrow (w/ a dash of Smoke X Annie).
A/n ~ This was really just me practicing writing for the twin that give me problems (iykyk 🙄) while I watch Friday y’all lol. Also, I got some inspo from @thebumblebeesworld Silly of Me fic, cause I likeeeee that enemies to lovers energy and wanted to play w/ it a little bit lmao
C/w : Language, a lil enemies to lovers tease (but we don’t really get to the loving part 🌚), lightly edited for now (I really need a beta reader atp omg 😭😭)
“Look Daedae, we only security guards, okay? Ghetto security guards at that. We ain’t Cops, we ain’t America’s Most Wanted, NYPD Blue, none of that shit you watch.”
“We somethin’ like them.” - Friday After Next
—
“—usually calm. Make sure ain’t nobody fighting, stealing, or parking where they not supposed to be. That’s it and that’s all.”
“Why you look at me when you say that??”
“Because,” Delilah placed a hand on her hip. Pointed one long red fingernail across the counter at the 23 year old that was basically her nephew. “You act like God ain’t gave you no sense most days.”
“Awe it’s like that auntie?” Stack pulled his toothpick from his mouth, glint in his brown eyes playful, as a grin stretched across his face. One that was too damn big for Delilah’s liking.
“I’m not playing with you, boy.” Her eyes jumped from the right to the left. “Either of y’all.”
Smoke hadn’t been paying them any attention. The older Moore’s mind was elsewhere, focus split between the rent him and his brother were always short on and the french toast with blueberry compote Delilah placed in front of him 10 minutes prior. On another day, there wouldn’t be anything but crumbs left, but it was hard to have an appetite when money wasn’t right.
At her words, his fork paused, head coming up and eyes squinting in the corners like, ‘what she say fuck me for?’
“You heard me,” Delilah raised her brows pointedly. “None of that Smoke and Stack nonsense today. Y’all are Elias and Elijah. Security guards. Secure my plaza, get paid, and go home. That’s all y’all gotta do.”
That was all Smoke planned to do. It was easy money. Not the most money, but it’d add up all the same eventually.
“You know we got you auntie,” Stack was seated on the stool next to his twin, plate clean, hand moving in the air like he was waving Delilah off. “We gon’ have this bit- this place locked down. Ain’t nun’ movin’ witout us knowing about it. Ain’t that right, Smoke?”
Smoke glanced at him, “We gon’ sit in that booth and watch the parking lot, like we getting paid to.”
Stack waved him off next. “Auntie D —” He placed his hand over his heart. “We ready to die behind this shi– stuff.”
She couldn’t laugh at Elias, because all that did was encourage him, so Delilah shook her head instead, “You heard what I said Elias. Don’t be playin’ in my plaza, cause I will fire y’all, family or not. It’s bad enough I lost my last security guards.”
“You ain’t ever tell us what happened to them.” Smoke pushed his plate to the side, deciding he was done with breakfast. Then he checked the clock on the wall, like he wanted to make sure they were out of here before people started piling in.
Delilah paused her wiping down of the already clean counter. And then she continued. It happened so fast, anybody else would have missed the break in motion.
Smoke wasn’t anybody though.
“You ain’t ever ask,” Delilah glanced up at him and then back down. “And it don’t matter anyways. Like I said, watch the plaza, make the money, and go home.”
Smoke’s eyes narrowed, “Nah, what happened to the last —”
“Nigga come on,” Stack was sliding off his stool. “I ain’t get up at 9 in the morning to play 20 questions.”
“You didn’t get up at all,” Smoke frowned. “I had to drag you outta bed.”
“That ain’t the point,” Stack was already walking towards the door, only stopped to turn around after he’d reached it. “We got ‘dis auntie. Watch.” He saluted Delilah as if that was supposed to be reassuring and then used his back to push the glass open. “Chop chop nigga,” He clapped at his brother. “World ain’t gon’ save itself.”
A ding went off as the door closed behind him and Smoke frowned harder.
This was gon’ be a long ass day.
“Stop lookin’ like that,” Delilah brought him out of his thoughts, leaning forward over the counter and hitting his arm playfully. “It’s gon’ be fine. If anything it’ll be boring. Just…watch yo’ brother.”
He was gon’ do that anyways. Had been, since he could hold his head up damn near.
Smoke wiped his mouth, dropped the napkin on the plate, and stood up from the counter.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And Elijah…” Delilah hesitated. Knew he wouldn’t like what she had to say, but tried anyways. “You know I don’t mind just giving y’all –”
“Nah, D —” Smoke’s words were sharp and he fixed his tone immediately, fingers twitching at his sides like he was irritated. With himself. Her. The situation. “Me and Stack ain’t lazy. We don’t mind workin’. And I’m gon’ make sure things run smooth today. You ain’t gotta worry.”
Delilah didn’t push. Never pushed. She just nodded her head and smiled softly. “I know you will, baby. I ain’t worried at all.”
Outside, Stack was busy ‘fixing’ his clothes. He’d already untucked the grey uniform shirt from his black pants and had seemingly pulled a sharpie out of his ass to cross out ‘Elias’ on his name tag and write ‘Stack’.
He’d moved on to undoing the first couple buttons of the shirt when Smoke stepped out of the diner.
“‘Bout time,” Stack started towards his brother. “Come here.” His hands reached for Smoke’s shirt then and the older Moore promptly stepped back, slapping the hell out of Stack’s hands in the process.
“Nigga, stop touching me.”
Stack screwed his face up, looking at his brother like Smoke was the one tripping. “I’m tryna help yo’ ass. She got us walking around in these stiff ass uniforms. You frowning like the world coming to an end. We gotta’ come better than that, we top flight security of the world now Smoke.”
“Only thing we securing is this months rent. Don’t nothing in this plaza require you to have all that energy.” Smoke was already walking past Stack, moving from in front of his aunties diner and across the parking lot.
Clarkdale’s “plaza” wasn’t anything more than 5 odd businesses with the same location. There were two clothing boutiques, Delilah’s diner, Slim’s music store, and a random ass gift shop that Smoke didn’t expect to stay open long because who was really stopping here for souvenirs?
As he headed for the security booth that looked more like a phone booth, the sun beat down on his back, that Mississippi heat unrelenting as always.
“‘Dat’s yo’ problem,” Stack followed behind his brother, easy swagger nothing like Smoke’s steady gait. “You ain’t got no vision. You need to be thinking big nigga.”
“And you jus’ need to think,” Smoke cut his eyes to the right. “We short on rent and you playin’.”
Stack shrugged, “Cause it’s gon’ work itself out. It always do.”
That was true. Odd jobs, a missed meal here and there, a little scheming on the side — whatever paid the bills, is what they did.
Hence the ‘stiff ass uniforms’ their late mothers best friend had them wearing. Smoke didn’t feel no particular way about the job — it was just another way to make ends meet. The only thing wearing on him, bothering him, was that his constant grind never quite produced enough.
“Besides,” Stack continued as they maneuvered around cars. “I already told you what we could be doing to make some real mo—”
“And I told you we wasn’t doing it.” Smoke stopped dead in the middle of the parking lot. “Stop bringing it up.”
Stack didn’t blink at the edge in his brothers tone. “I only brought it up, cause you stomping around, ‘bout to pop that damn vein that’s in the middle of yo’ forehead. I’m coo’ with being top flight.” Stack spread his arms wide. “Shit — this plaza need a nigga like me. Ima fuck around and get a key to the city the way ima have this bitch running.”
And he was so serious.
Smoke looked at his twin smirking and felt it — that same vein in the middle of his forehead throbbing again.
“Stack, we ain’t here to play no fuckin’ cops and robbers. We gon’ stay out the way and make this easy money.”
It was the only easy money Smoke would allow himself to entertain, because that shit Stack kept talking about? They wasn’t doing that. Was gon’ be better than that.
Stack shrugged, “If a nigga jump stupid in my aunties plaza, Ima have to show him somethin’ Smoke. I ‘ont care nothing ‘bout it getting out of hand. We run this shit now.”
Smoke squinted, “You hear yoself? You get a whistle around yo’ neck and go on a power trip.”
Stack blinked like he was saying ‘so’ and Smoke decided he was done with the conversation.
“You heard what I said Stack,” He gave his brother a look and then started walking again, “Come on.”
“Man I swear, niggas be born a few minutes early and think they the boss of errybody —” as Stack talked his shit, he made sure he was moving though, loud voice carrying through the air.
“– and we ain’t little no more! You ‘ont intimidate me, nigga! I’m top flight of the world, Smoke!”
“This boring. Ain’t nun top flight about this shit.”
Stack tugged at the collar of his shirt, shifting for what had to be the tenth time in the last ten minutes.
Next to him, Smoke snorted quietly, never taking his eyes off the legal pad he was currently scribbling on. It had been in the booth, along with a #2 pencil, and was probably intended for note taking. There were no ‘notes’ to take though, so Smoke was working on a budget instead.
“That’s how it’s gon’ stay.” The older Moore crossed out one number and replaced it with another as he spoke. “What chu’ think gon’ pop off at the gift shop, nigga? Just sit back.”
The plaza had woken up. Closed signs flipped to open, cars pulling in and out, the hum of conversation gradually getting louder and creeping through the booths window.
It had Stack restless and they’d only been ‘on duty’ for about an hour.
In the younger Moore’s defense, it wasn’t in his dna to sit still. To watch the world move around him and not be at the center of it. To stand by, waiting for something to happen. And that’s all this job was — a whole bunch of waiting. In a hot ass, cramped ass booth, that was barely big enough to fit the two metal chairs they were seated in.
Stack shifted again, “Man, if I knew all I was gon’ be doing was sitting here in silence wit’ yo’ ass —”
“It ain’t sitting in silence if you keep talking.” Smoke crossed out another number, brows furrowing in the middle.
Stack sucked his teeth, mumbled something that sounded like, “Yeah ight,” and then graced Smoke with three blissful beats of silence before —
Yeahhh, we finna set it off in this mufucka’ ya heard me?
Boosie’s voice came out of nowhere.
Correction. It came from Stack’s phone. The same phone that currently had Apple Music on display and it’s volume turned all the way up.
You wonna talk shit? You wonna run yo’ mouth? You want some gangsta’s front yo- motherfuckin’ hou–
Stack was bobbing his head, the whistle around his neck slapping against his chest as his arm bumped Smoke’s every other second. He had three blissful seconds of chaos before —
“Turn that shit off,” Smoke snapped, head turning in his direction. “Got that loud ass music all in my ear.”
Stack just grinned at first, shoulders jumping with the beat, southern drawl thick as he rapped.
“We’ll set this bitch off, yeah, set this bitch off!”
And then Smoke sat up.
And Stack stopped the music.
“Ight nigga, calm down.” Stack laughed as he held his hands up in surrender. “You need to lighten up damn. You don’t want me talk. Don’t wonna vibe out wit’ a nigga. What I’m ‘sposed to do?”
Smoke…Smoke had to take a deep, deep breath before he spoke again, lids closing and opening slowly, like he was gathering patience. “All you gotta do Stack, is Watch. The. Parking lot.”
So, Stack watched. Gaze focused on cars backing in and out and people moving from store to store for five whole minutes.
And then he spotted two specific people, two strangers in one car that made him sit up straight. That made that bored expression on his face completely transform.
“Awe shit,” Stack was already half way out his seat. “We got action!”
“What??” Smoke looked up from his budget in confusion. Was met with nothing but the sight of Stack’s back as his twin damn near speed walked out of the booth.
If Smoke was the type, he would have thrown his whole damn head back.
Instead, he let out a breath that sounded like it took every ounce of patience he had with it, mumbled “This nigga,” as he threw the legal pad down in front of him, and got up to follow behind his brother
“Aye, y’all can’t park right here.”
Annie was already parked. Had just pulled into the spot actually, when a loud voice coming from her left made her and Pearline look over.
Both girls blinked, Annie’s brow furrowing in the middle while Pearline’s whole head cocked.
It looked like…a security guard approaching them? One with a whistle around his neck, pants hanging low on his hips and a smirk on his face that screamed unserious.
“Excuse me?” Annie’s doors were off of her jeep today, so her voice and that incredulous tone reached Stack’s ears clearly.
“Y’all can’t park here,” He repeated himself as he stepped up to the side of the jeep.
“And who are you supposed to be exactly?”Pearline jumped in and Stack’s eyes darted over to her. Smirk on his face growing before his head jerked back, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Now I know you see ‘dis,” He patted his chest, right over the crest in his shirt that was shaped like a badge. “I’m security, baby.”
Annie rolled her eyes. Could already tell he wasn’t securing a damn thing.
“Stack —” Another voice joined the conversation then. It was deep. Low. Sounded irritated. And it caught Annie’s attention immediately.
Her eyes left the fake ass rent-a-cop, to look over his shoulder instead. There was another ‘security guard’ approaching them and his uniform was fitted to his body. Shirt tucked in, buttons done up, pants sitting correctly on his frame.
He had brown skin, stiff shoulders, and thick brows that were pulled together in the middle. For a second, Annie felt like she wanted to take her thumb and smooth them out.
“Awe now you wonna patrol wit’ me??” Security guard one had glanced over his shoulder when he heard the voice. “Nigga I got this covered, I already let ‘em know they can’t park here.”
“What chu’ talking about?” Security guard 2 reached them, still looking disgruntled, and not even sparing Annie and Pearline a glance. “This spot ain’t reserved. Nigga come on.” His eyes flicked to the jeep then, gaze jumping from Annie to Pearline and back again. “I’m sorry ‘bout him. Y’all can park here.”
His voice was completely flat. He truthfully didn’t sound apologetic and all.
And for whatever reason, Annie was intrigued.
Both girls spoke at once.
“Y’all brothers? Twins?” That was Pearline, leaning up in her seat, eyes jumping from one Moore to the next.
“How you work with the public, when you can’t manage to even sound sorry?” That was Annie. Lips quirked playfully, eyes focused on one Moore and one Moore alone.
Both brothers blinked, before Stack grinned wider, while that scowl on Smoke’s face? Deepened. While his eyes really focused in on Annie for the first time.
“Nah, baby,” Stack winked at Pearline. Watched her damn near melt into the seat. “We cousins.”
Smoke wasn’t saying shit. He was just looking. At dark skin and big curls and full lips. Looking at a solid build, that was sitting up high in that jeep. Looking at big eyes that felt like they could see through him.
He felt…hot. Like he wanted to fidget. And Elijah didn’t fidget.
“I’m Stack,” The younger Moore was still talking, because one glance at his brother had told him Smoke wasn’t gon’ be no help. “And this Smoke.” Stack moved a step closer to the car. “We keep eerbody safe around here and as fine as y’all is, I know y’all gon’ cause a commotion when y’all get out this jeep. I can’t allow no disruption like that beautiful’s. It’s dangerous. That’s why y’all gotta go.”
Pearline’s ass started giggling.
Smoke didn’t give Annie anything to laugh at though. He still hadn’t even responded to her question actually.
That smile that’d been on her lips lessened, one brow raising when she asked, “I got something on my face?”
Smoke frowned deeper and for a reason he couldn’t explain, that irritation Stack had been causing all morning grew. His fingers twitched at his sides, arms came up as he crossed them. Like he needed to ground himself or something.
“Nah.”
Annie’s brow rose higher at the word. At the one dry word and sharp glare being aimed her way.
Okay then.
She’d been intrigued, for like a minute, but she wasn’t in the habit of forcing conversation — nor did she appreciate him mugging her, like he was offended she’d even spoken to him at all.
Her lips pursed as she broke their stare, gaze drifting back to security guard number one.
Can’t get ‘em all girl. Shake it off. Finer niggas exist.
Stack was talking as Annie tuned back into the world around her.
“How ‘bout ‘dis,” Stack pulled his phone out. “We let y’all park here, but y’all give us y’all numbers, so if sumn happen, you can reach us.”
He was saying y’all, but really was just looking at Pearline.
“Promise we’ll come runnin’ to y’all rescue.”
Annie didn’t know if Pearline would hand her number over or not. Half of the time, her friend flirted just to flirt — not because she was actually interested in getting to know anybody.
What Annie did know was that she wouldn’t be handing over a damn thing. Not that Smoke wanted a number from her anyways.
When Annie’s lips pursed harder, it wasn’t due to the sting of rejection. It was because even though she’d looked away, his glare was still boring into the side of her head. She could feel it and it was starting to get on her nerves because the fuck was his problem?
As if he heard her thoughts, his voice suddenly rang out.
“You don’t gotta give him nothin’.”
All eyes went to Smoke. Stack frowning and opening his mouth, getting ready to rebuttal. Pearline blinking, like she’d just remembered there was another twin standing there. Annie’s head turning, stare locking with his for a long millisecond before he looked away and directed his gaze to Pearline.
Annie found it funny how that glare suddenly lessened. How his mouth opened and magically created more than one word now that he wasn’t looking at her.
Clearly I did something to him in the past life. Fuck it. Not my problem.
That’s what Annie told herself as irritation thrummed in her chest.
Meanwhile, Smoke was reaching for his brother as he spoke, keeping his eyes on the girl in the passenger seat.
Forcing his eyes to stay on the girl in the passenger seat. Because the one in the drivers seat? He ain’t like her.
Ain’t like how she talked to him all casual and soft when he walked up. How she pressed him, when he didn’t respond. ‘Cause strangers didn’t do that with Smoke; joke, press, hell — make conversation at all really. Most people gave him a wide berth and reserved the talking for Stack.
He ain’t like how she looked at him either; like she was curious. Like she already knew some shit about him he’d never revealed.
And he definitely ain’t like when she looked away from him — like she was writing him off. How most people did.
Smoke decided right then and there, that he ain’t like nothing ‘bout her. She, whoeva’ she was, made him feel too fuckin’ big for his skin and he was ready to get back to the booth.
Where he would have been in the first place, if not for Stack.
When Smoke continued speaking it was abrupt and short. Voice still flat as he looked at Pearline —
“He sorry ‘bout holdin’ you up. Enjoy ‘da plaza.”
And then he turned. Hand wrapped firmly around Stack’s shoulder to pull his brother with him and gaze pointedly not looking back at that baby blue jeep in the process.
Even if some part of him, deep deep down, felt like he wanted to.
“Damn Smoke, let me go! She like me! Aye — I’m tryna do my job and secure some shit and you fuckin’ it up! Ima write yo’ ass up for insubordination!”
Stack’s voice travelled across the parking lot as Annie and Pearline watched the brothers retreat.
The older Moore had Stack gripped up tight, long gait bringing both of them towards a small booth Annie had never paid much attention to.
He wasn’t rushing away, but he didn’t slow down. Nor did he bother responding to Stack.
Annie’s lips twisted, the annoyance she’d felt in her chest curling up and settling in as she watched them.
He hadn’t looked over his shoulder once. Hadn’t spared her them a glance after he cut into the conversation and then retreated.
He was…rude. Annie didn’t like that. Ain’t like him.
Ain’t like how he’d managed to capture her attention without trying.
Ain’t like that he didn’t do anything with it when he had it. That he hadn’t bothered to throw more than one word in her direction, like he was to good to talk to her or something. Too good to be polite.
And she definitely ain’t like how he looked at her. Face frowned up. Eyes unreadable, like she’d committed some offense against him she knew nothing about.
Yeah. She ain’t like nothing about him actually.
“They were coo’.”
Pearline’s words had Annie pulling her eyes away from the security guards to look over at her best friend incredulously.
“Uh no. They weren’t.”
Pearline had pulled the visor down to touch up her gloss. Was currently popping her lips together as her gaze darted towards Annie and then back to the small mirror. “Well my twin was. He was cute too — in a goofy fuckboy kinda way.”
She said it like that made sense, popping her lips once more before shutting the visor and giving Annie her full attention. “Yours a little rude though. How he gon’ pull my man away before he could get my number?”
“Pearline —” Annie said it like ‘please stop playing’ “—you were not about to give that boy yo’ number.”
“And was.” Pearline crossed her arms, charms from the bracelet wrapped around her wrist jingling in time with the movement. “Security guards need love too, Annie. Besides — he look like he can eat the fuck outta some pus-”
“Alright.” Annie stopped her before she got started. “Give that man yo’ number if you want to.”
“And you need to give his brother yours. Then we can double date.” Her friends eyes lit up before Annie snuffed that light right on out.
“It ain’t gon’ ever happen.” She shook her head. Nose wrinkling. Eyes almost drifting back across the lot before she caught herself. “Like you said, he’s rude. Can’t speak, but was lookin’ at me like he wanted to fight or something —”
“Or like he wanted to fuck.”
“That literally wouldn’t be any better Pearline,” Annie’s voice was dry. Skin a little hot. “You do whateva’ you want with the rent-a-cop, but don’t include me.”
“Mmhm,” Pearline watched as Annie gathered her purse, like she was ready to get out of the car and end this conversation. “You ain’t gotta front. I saw you looking at him, friend.”
“Lapse in judgment,” Annie’s response was quick. A little too quick, maybe. “I don’t like nothing that’s mean and you already know that.”
It was true. She didn’t do rude. Nonchalant. Or disrespectful. And she’d decided Smoke was all of that.
“Now let’s go, before ain’t nothing good left in here.”
Just like that, Pearline switched gears, remembering the reason they’d come out in the first place. The summer sale at D Lady’s Boutique. The name could use some work but the clothes? All sizes, all styles, and the prices hit every time.
“Awe shit, you right.” Pearline damn near jumped down from the jeep. “Let’s go, because I need them shoes I saw on their site, and I will sling a hoe for ‘em.”
Annie was only too glad that they were finally directing their attention away from any and everything security related.
“So, what if that was my future wife? How you gon’ sleep at night, knowing you fucked that up?”
“She wasn’t yo’ future nothin’ Stack.”
Smoke was back in the booth, arms crossed, lips pinched, stare directed straight out at the parking lot.
He was doing his job. Watching. And if a lot of that watching was directed towards D Lady’s boutique, so the fuck what?
“You ‘ont know that, though,” Stack insisted, leaning in like he was really proving a point.
“I do know that.” Smoke cut his eyes sharply to the side. “Didn’t you meet yo’ future wife already last week? Wasn’t one of yo’ future wives tryna’ key our car yesterday?”
Stack frowned, “You always wonna bring up old shit.”
Smoke didn’t respond. Just directed his gaze back across the parking lot.
He’d seen her hop out the jeep and go into the shop 15 minutes ago and Smoke thought it was stupid — how she left her car open and unattended like that. If it came with doors, fuck was the point of taking them off?
He added it to the list of shit he didn’t like about her — the one he’d been silently compiling in his head.
“You know what I think?”
“Don’t care.”
“I think you jus’ hatin’ nigga,” Stack continued anyways. “My smooth ass was ‘bout to get ‘dat number, while you was fumblin’.”
Smoke blinked at his brother. And then turned forward again.
“You ain’t gotta lie, Smoke.” Stack was grinning now. “I think she was fuckin’ wit’ you, actually.”
Smoke grunted, eyes narrowing just barely in the corners.
He didn’t care who was or wasn’t ‘fuckin’ wit’ him’. Wasn’t concerned with most of the trivial shit other 23 year olds were. Since he’d been a teen, the older Moore had only three priorities: staying alive, keeping his brother alive, and making enough money so him and Stack didn’t end up somewhere out on their asses.
His twin hustled with him, always. Understood the grind to a certain extent, but Stack wasn’t the oldest. Ain’t feel the weight of responsibility like Smoke did. Ain’t understand how nothing could derail Elijah from his mission.
He was focused.
How you work with the public, when you can’t manage to even sound sorry?
Smoke’s jaw clenched. Not hard. Just enough.
I got something on my face?
He shifted his weight. Blamed the movement on the hard ass chair he was sitting in.
“So you ‘ont like her? The thick one?”
The older Moore’s face didn’t change. That didn’t mean he couldn’t feel the irritation crawling under his skin at Stack’s words.
“I don’t know her. Don’t wonna know her. Seem like she got a attitude problem anyways.” Smoke felt like he was talking too much, so he shut up.
“Man that girl ain’t have no attitude,” Stack smacked his lips. “She was tryna flirt wit’ yo’ uptight ass. But whateva’, stay sleep if you want to, ima get her friend regardless. That’s wifey nigga, I’m telling you.”
Smoke just shook his head, stare still on that jeep, mind flashing back to when she’d looked away from him. Like she was dismissing him. Like she couldn’t be bothered.
She probably stuck up as fuck.
Smoke added it to his list of dislikes, right along with her eyes, her mouth, her clear lack of awareness when it came to safety, and the way she’d made him feel.
Slow. Awkward.
His jaw clenched again.
“On a serious note though,” Smoke looked over as Stack started speaking. Was almost grateful for the distraction, until Stack kept speaking. “Listen to ‘dis and tell me if this shit hot or not. I been working on it for like…the past three minutes.”
The younger Moore sat up in his seat, shoulder hitting Smoke’s in the process. And then he started banging on the ‘desk’ in front of them, whistle slapping against his chest, head nodding along with the beat he was creating as his mouth opened.
“Me and my brotha’ bitch,
We top flight for sho’ —”
It was loud. The sigh Smoke let out through his nose.
“— but he gotta get some game
Cause he, scarin’ the hoesss, ”
Smoke’s eyes closed, the same vein from earlier throbbing on que.
Stack just grinned at his brother’s reaction, nodding his head harder and rapping louder to his beat.
“I just met my future wife and we gon’ be couple goalsss,
Smoke can’t relate, cause my brotha’ a lil slowwww…”
*picture the scene fading to black*
A/n ~ If you made it to the end, I hope you enjoyeddd! I think this is the first thing I’ve written where I actually really like my execution of Smoke lmao so yay for me ☺️ Anywaysss, Happy Thursdayyyyy 🫶🏾 my results on the poll will determine what I drop next 👀
