Untitled

[shereeluvssinners]

[hopefulandromantic]

HopefulandRomantic's Masterlist!

Hi! If you're reading this, thank you for being interested. I write when I get the urge, or whenever something or someone has interested me so much that I have to get it off my chest. I am in no way a professional. I learn as I go, so I appreciate both patience and constructive criticism!

No -ists, -isms, or -phobias allowed. Please. I don't have the patience, and never will.

Sinners:

Elijah "Smoke" Moore

Good Neighbor (smut): 1 & 2

Elias "Stack" Moore

Another Night (smut): 1 & 2

Every single like, comment, reblog, and silent read is heavily appreciated! 🥰

[hopefulandromantic]

Good Neighbor (2)

Featuring: Elijah “Smoke” Moore

Warnings: Smut + Age Gap (Smoke is 35 and Divine is 23)! Rm: Don't read if that makes you uncomfortable! 🫶🏾

Lawd, I didn't expect y'all to be so interested in these two! 😭 I hope this ending lives up to the hype...*posts and scurries back to my lair*

Between the soothing sounds of the rain pattering against the wall to wall windows of his bedroom and the moans of the gorgeous woman on top of him, this is the most relaxed Smoke’s been in a while. 

He just returned to Chicago from a week long business trip to New Orleans, and in his desperation to shed the stress of his and his brother's affairs, he called one of his "girlfriends", Malia, to be waiting at his door as soon as he got back.

The back of Smoke’s head sunk further into his pillows, and his eyes fluttered closed. His chest heaved along with his heavy breaths, the feeling of Malia, wet and warm around his length, sending his teeth sinking into his plump, bottom lip. 

When she picked up the pace, pulling herself closer and closer to her peak with her head thrown back in ecstasy, Smoke's hands flew to her toned waist, gripping tight.

"Mm, Fuck, Di." Smoke groaned out without thinking.

The room went completely silent and still. 

"Shit!" Was all Smoke's brain could come up with. It's been well over five months since he slept with Divine. Their relationship literally went right  back to normal, after. Why the fuck is he slipping up and saying her name, right now, of all times?

"You just called me “Di”." Malia said softly, trying to catch her breath. Smoke remained neutral, attempting to gaslight himself out of the hole he just dug for himself.

"No, I didn't."

"Smoke, don't fucking play with me. I'm not stupid!" Malia spat, her angry eyes flicking over his calm and collected features. Smoke gave up the act, releasing a deep sigh while rubbing his hand over his face. "Di? Divine across the hall?You told me you wasn't fucking that girl!"

"I'm not."

"Oh, so you’re just thinking 'bout fucking her?" Malia both asked and implied at the same time.

"Not at the moment." Smoke honestly spoke, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “C’mere. Let’s just—.” He started, grabbing her arms softly and pulling her closer.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Malia spat, snatching away from him and scrambling out of the bed, fuming. "Do you hear yourself?!" Malia yelled, the rise in her tone instantly making him cringe and close his eyes in attempt to combat the rising irritation in his spirit. "You're making zero fucking sense! I'm already overlooking the two other bitches, then here you go fucking one you wanna keep under wraps for some reason!"

"I fucked her one time, Malia." Smoke attempted to tiredly explain. "I ain't touch her since."

"You expect me to believe you, Smoke?!"

"What I gotta lie to you fa?" Smoke asked, face twisting up to show his confusion. "I promise, if I was still fuckin' her, you'd know 'cause I don't care 'bout you knowin', Malia.”

"You know what?" Malia scoffed, shaking her head as she jumped into her sweats. "I should've been done with your sneaky, conniving bullshit. You're just like Stack's trifling ass, and I'm a fucking dumbass for convincing myself that you any different."

 "Is dissin' my brudda really necessary?" Smoke grumbled in response, watching her finish getting dressed in silence with an attitude so potent that he can practically feel it radiating off of her. "My bad." He spoke once she was done, testing the waters to see just how pissed she is.

"Fuck you!" Malia sneered, snatching her purse from his nightstand. "Fuck your lil girlfriend, too!" She barked out behind her, storming out of his room.

"Aye, watch yo’ mouth! She ain’t my girlfriend, either!" Smoke loudly snapped, staring in the direction she went in, irritated.

The sound of his door slamming shut made his jaw tighten, and his eyes squeeze shut. After taking in a deep breath and releasing it, in attempt to calm his nerves, he shook his head and rolled out of the bed.

After trudging to his bathroom in defeat, Smoke snatched the barely used condom off of his softening dick and tossed it into the trash before looking at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t help but to laugh humorlessly at his luck before deciding to prepare for a long, hot shower.

Smoke scrubbed off Malia and the disappointment from him missing his opportunity to catch a nut, did the rest of his usual nighttime routine, slipped on a pair of black sweat-shorts and black Nike slides, and slinked across the hall with a shirt he got in New Orleans for Divine tight in his grip.

It didn't take Divine long to open the door after hearing his signature knock, the younger beaming uncontrollably at his presence.

Smoke's eyes raked her body that's clad in a pink cropped tube top and blue cotton panties, signaling that she's either getting ready for bed, or was already in bed.

"Hey, Elijah!" Divine greeted, pulling him in as he smiled at her excitement. "You just got back?" She asked, closing and locking the door.

"Like an hour ago." Smoke muttered, stepping closer and trapping her against the wall of the short hallway leading up to the door. "What you doing up, pretty?"

"Nigga, it's not that late." Divine chuckled, "Who slammed the fuck out your door earlier?"

"Man, you heard that bullshit?” Smoke scoffed. “Don't worry 'bout that." He grumbled, shaking his head as he recalled the verbal tussle between him and Malia. "Here go the shirt you asked fa." He held it up to show her the design.

"Oooh!" Divine grinned, snatching it and holding it against her body. After comparing it to her body, she checked the size and smacked her lips. "Smoke, you know damn well I don't wear a fucking large ." She gritted, hitting him in the face with it.

"Damn, girl!" Smoke laughed, "My bad.”

"Whatever." Divine rolled her eyes, smiling softly. "I can work with it." She shrugged, tossing the purple shirt over her shoulder. "You need to be putting this bitch on your damn self." She fussed, pushing him back with a firm nudge to his bare chest and sashaying off.

"You just wanted to cop a feel." Smoke teased, smirking at the natural switch of her hips as he followed her.

"Oh, get over yourself, Elijah Moore." Divine muttered, face heating up. "You're really not gonna tell me who slammed your door?"

"If I tell you, you'll drop it?" Smoke asked, leaning against the doorframe of her dimly lit room that's illuminated by her soft, warm floor lamp in the corner of her room. 

"Probably not." Divine mumbled, glancing at him and shrugging as she brought a few of her anime plushies from her bed to her closet in attempt to make more room for Smoke.

"You know what? I admire yo' honesty." Smoke chuckled, walking over to her bed and making himself comfortable on the unoccupied side of it—propping himself up against the headboard with one leg hanging off the side of the mattress. "C'mere." 

Divine closed the door of her closet, before rushing over to her designated side of the bed, cozying up beside Smoke.

"Tell me." Divine urged, excited to know what she's been wondering for the past hour.

"Malia."

"Why?" Divine pried, leaning closer. "Wait, don't tell me, yet. We're talking about the one with the short red hair, right?"

"Yes, Divine. That's her." Smoke chuckled, pulling her leg on his lap and rubbing her ankle.

"I called her over, we started fuckin', and while she was ridin' me, I called her “Di”."

"Oh my God." Divine grimaced, horrified. "Why in the hell would you do that?"

"I have no idea." Smoke muttered, the back of his head hitting the headboard. "I guess that's what happens when you got somebody in yo' face every damn day."

"Nigga, you was gone for a whole week with no contact." Divine sassed, "You had seven fucking days to reboot your mind and get rid of me, while you tryna get smart. What Stack had you doing down there at them ports, any-damn-way? Don't even try to lie, 'cause I still got your location from when I was making sure you was at the right place to pick up my food, a few weeks ago."

"Thank you for remindin' me that you still got my location, so I cut that bullshit off, nosey ass lil girl." Smoke pointed, slitting his eyes as she smirked proudly. "Stack ain't have me doin' shit." He couldn't help but to chuckle at his brother catching his second stray of the night. "I went down there to handle shit for the both of us."

"Drugs." Divine simply implied, rolling her eyes and making Smoke quirk a brow in amusement. "Anyways, you got that woman thinking I'm hopping on your dick every other night!"

"What's wrong wit’ that?" Smoke asked, biting back a smile while him and Divine held a brief stare-off. "I'm just askin'." He held his hand up in surrender when he saw she wasn't backing down.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you." Divine accused, tilting her head.

"Who wouldn't?" Smoke asked, laughing incredulously. 

"You know what..." Divine trailed off, making a spectacle of turning on her side and fluffing her pillow with an uncontrollable smile on her face. "I'm going to bed." She turned her lamp down two more levels with the remote that was on her nightstand. "I suggest you do the same." She grumbled, making sure her scarf is secure around the sides and edges of her high, voluminous puff.

"I knew you liked our lil sleepovers."

"I just know when you bring your ass over here this late, it ain’t no getting rid of you." Divine bit back, giggling as she made herself comfortable under her covers. "Get under here and go to bed. You get irritating as fuck when you sleepy. Childish, too."

"I’m nowhere near sleepy." Smoke lied.

Sure enough, Smoke was knocked out within three minutes, and Divine quickly followed. Around the 3:22 mark in the night, Smoke continued to sleep soundly, but the thunder from a storm that stirred up while they slumbered startled Divine awake.

"Shit!" Divine gasped, clutching her chest and sitting up to look out her window at the heavy rain that's picking up by the second. As she settled down her heart rate, she noticed that Smoke's soft snoring ceased.

"You good?" Smoke rasped, not even bothering to open his eyes.

"Yeah, I just—." Divine started, chuckling nervously, "That scared the shit outta me. I don't like sleeping when the weather gets bad like this." She confessed, trembling softly.

"C'mere."

Divine wasted no time moving closer, allowing Smoke to hold her against him with a secure hold around her waist. She began playing with his chain and listening to his breathing to distract herself.

"When it stormed coming up, Stack used to do the same shit." Smoke muttered, chuckling at the thought. "I used to be dead asleep, and wake up to him climbing in my bed talkin' bout he scared. I never made him feel bad for doing it, but shit, it pissed me off most nights."

"How long he did that for?" Divine asked softly, giggling at the thought of her big, charismatic boss looking to his brother for comfort. Not to tease, but to show how adorable she found the confession.

"I think 'til he was like sixteen." Smoke replied, smiling softly as Divine pressed her forehead against his lips. "One night, he just slept through it. Another came, and he did it again. I eventually asked him 'bout it and he cussed me out, so I guess he just grew out of it."

"I hope I grow out of it, too." Divine expressed under her breath, pressing a kiss onto Smoke's cheek. "Thank you for making me feel better."

"That wasn't exactly the goal, but I guess you welcome." Smoke joked, chuckling when she kicked at one of his legs that's tangled in hers. 

"I'm surprised you ain't run him out, knowing you."

"I'm not as mean as you make me out to be."

"Oh, yes you are, nigga!" Divine countered, giggling when he barked out a laugh. "Ok, I'm lying. You have your rare sweet moments."

"Exactly." Smoke chuckled. "Stop tryna downplay 'em. Especially since one of them rare ass moments was lettin' you talk me into fuckin' you."

"Oh, please. You were being overly dramatic, anyway." Divine sassed, lightheartedly rolling her eyes. "Guess what, we did it and left it alone. You were so convinced that I was gon' get attached, and I ended up playing it cordial with your ass for damn near six fucking months!" She got loud and in Smoke's face towards the end of her statement, making the man smack his lips and turn his head while trying to hide the smile that's fighting to make an appearance on his face. 

"Whatever, man."

"Just loud and wrong." Divine teased, tilting her head and smirking. "You didn't expect me to "get down to business, then go 'bout my day", huh?"

"I know damn well you didn’t just quote me."

"I did." Divine calmly retorted. "Just as much as I loved you fuckin' the shit outta me, I loved proving you wrong even more."

"Hm." Smoke hummed, smirking softly. Oddly, he's impressed. "Well played."

"I know." Divine cockily remarked. "Now that we established that I won, can you please eat my pussy?" She pleaded, dropping the "tough guy" act and softening her eyes in attempt to convince him.

Fortunately for Divine, Smoke didn't need much convincing. Hell, he actually didn't need any.

Divine's ragged breathing filled the air as Smoke pinned her down by her inner thighs—her legs spread so wide that the position is giving his insatiable mouth plenty of access to every single inch of her pussy.

Divine's chest heaved and she cupped her fleshy breasts that she freed from the top that's now bunched around her waist and completely disregarded. 

The feeling of Smoke's tongue whipping against her clit in tandem with his ring and middle fingers sinking in and out of her slick slit pulled a loud gasp from her entire being, her hips jerking harshly. 

The pleasurable frown on her face intensified when she felt the thick digits twist inside of her and the pads of them start to massage the spongy upper wall of her pussy while sucking at her soaked, swollen clit sloppily.

"Oh my God, Smoke." Divine moaned out in awe, stars bursting behind her eyelids. 

Smoke hummed in response, his free hand moving up her body and gripping her breast roughly. The roughness of his warm hand added extra stimulation to her aching nipple and before she knew it, she was gripping his wrist and bucking her hips against the rhythm of his tongue and fingers.

The sloshing between her legs intensified along with the maddening pace of Smoke's fingers. That paired with his skilled tongue roughly swirling against her clit had her writhing like crazy.

"Just like that, Elijaaah!" Divine cried, toes curling and muscles tightening as an abrupt orgasm threatened to crash down on her with sheer force. "Oh my G—!" She breathed, shuddering hard and biting her bottom lip for dear life when it finally made impact.

When Smoke didn't let up, still pressing his fingers against the soft surface and sucking her clit tenderly, Divine choked on a sob, clamping her legs shut around his fingers and twisting her body with her hands gripping her pillows above her head.

Smoke chuckled at her current state, placing open mouth kisses on her soft, plump ass cheek and upper thigh with his fingers still buried inside of her.

Smoke opened her legs back up after she finally regained all her senses, and nestled himself between them. He cupped her face, staring into her dilated eyes as he removed his soiled fingers from her pulsing center and brought them up to her lips. Divine wasted no time opening her mouth to clean them—her tongue outstretched and ready.

"Good fuckin' girl." Smoke grunted, dick twitching at the sight of her sucking his fingers into her mouth and swirling her tongue around them as if they were his dick. "You want som' else in this pretty ass mouth, huh?"

"Mmhm." Divine hummed, looking at him from under her lashes.

Divine practically wrestled him onto the bed, the two eagerly swapping places. She excitedly tugged off his shorts and pulled the bunched up material from around her waist before settling between his legs and taking his dick into her hand.

Divine smiled with excitement and determination, her mouth already watering at the hot and heavy length of him in her grip. She bit down on her bottom lip as she got into a comfortable position on her stomach.

"Wait." Smoke muttered, brows furrowing. "You know what you doing?"

"Well, I never had any complaints, so...I think so." Divine uttered under breath, shrugging. 

She’s engaged with oral sex with both of her “boyfriends”, but they weren't as big as Smoke. Even the dildo that she practiced on in the past wasn't as big as Smoke. With that being said, Divine don't know how in the hell this is going to turn out, but she’s somewhat confident in her abilities.

"Nah, you sound too unsure for me." Smoke remarked, looking down at her skeptically. "Don't bite my fucking dick off, Divine, or I—."

"Hush!" Divine whined. "You're making me nervous, and if I get nervous—! I don’t fucking know what I’ll do!" She stammered.

Smoke closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to resist the urge to laugh at her being overwhelmed in this very serious, but unserious situation.

“Just relax, and take yo’ time.” Smoke encouraged, attempting to calm her down. “Don’t rush, and…watch yo’ teeth, please.”

"I’m not stupid. All I need you to do is just tell me when or if something feels off or unpleasant." Divine told him, eyes flicking up to meet his after observing every inch of him. "I think I can take care of you, though, Smoke." She muttered, more so to herself as she tightened the grip on his shaft. 

Divine dragged her warm, wet tongue along the underside of his dick, even pivoting it a little to trace a vein she encountered on her path. Smoke watched her intensely as she traced his tip that's slick with his pre-cum, her eyes fixed on him and surveying his facial expressions.

From analyzing the way Smoke gave her head during her first time, she concocted a routine by relating what was pleasurable to her to what she’s researched on blowjobs in general: focus on the tip, suck as much as you can, make it sloppy (but not too sloppy), stroke what you can't, and if you're feeling bold—try to deep throat him. 

When she acted out the routine on her two "boyfriends", they seemed to love it. The only thing that she had to tweak was giving the balls attention. The first one told her to during the act, and when she tested it on the second without him having to, he had zero additional notes. Divine felt like she cracked the code!

Unfortunately, it didn't dawn on her at the time that there's some men with ridiculous sized dicks, Smoke being one of them. For some reason, she definitely didn’t anticipate having to suck Smoke’s down the line, anyway (despite literally fantasizing about doing so).

When Divine sucked him into her mouth, she lowered her head, drooled, and focused on relaxing and adjusting her jaws to his size. When she brought her head back up, hollowing her cheeks for gentle suction, her tongue dragged against the velvety skin, making Smoke release a heavy breath that definitely went straight to her head.

The friction grew almost nonexistent, Smoke's dick glistening with saliva, and Divine's head bobbing up and down his shaft with ease despite her jaws already starting to ache. It probably would’ve bothered her if Smoke didn’t sound so sexy moaning and groaning in her ear. While gripping the base firmly with one hand and twisting in short turns, she fondled his balls tenderly with the other.

"Gahdamn, Divine." Smoke moaned deeply, the sound sending a jolt right to her clit and prompting her to press her thighs together tighter to relieve the pressure between them. When her eyes fluttered closed, Smoke gripped her hair—gentle, but firm. "Nah, look at me." He breathed, chest heaving with his eyes locked on hers. “You so fuckin’ sexy, Di. What the Fuck?”

The sight of his gorgeous, dazed face led Divine to feel bold, therefore, she stuffed as much of his dick into her mouth that she could handle. When his tip hit the back of Divine's throat, his eyes rolled back into his skull.

"Fu—uuck." Smoke brokenly moaned, his stomach caving in as Divine gagged lightly. She retracted her head and spat on his dick before slurping it up from all sides of his length breathlessly. 

When she began stroking the soppy tip while licking and sucking on his drenched balls with a soft, teasing moan, his hips began to rise from the bed. 

"Uh uh. Bring yo’ ass here." He growled, practically yanking her up his body.

Divine giggled at his urgency, straddling him as he smashed his lips onto hers in pure desperation. She moaned into his mouth, raising her hips and reaching beneath her to grab his dick. She guided it along her slit, pressing the tip against her drooling center. Divine lowered her body and the second it breached her slit, she whimpered and Smoke's teeth sunk into her bottom lip gently.

Smoke held her close, grumbling a groan into her cheek. His hands roughly kneaded the flesh of her ass as his tongue traced her jawline and settled on the skin just beneath it. 

When he began sucking the area, Divine shakily gasped at the descending warmth down her spine colliding with the stretch and fullness that's currently being inflicted on her pussy the more she struggled to fully seat him inside of her. 

Once she was so stuffed with him that she felt she could barely breathe, she rolled her hips in a futile attempt to adjust. Her head and upper body fell back as she tried to focus on loosening her body completely while also trying not to cum from the intense heat sitting inside of her fluttering walls. 

Smoke lapped at one of her sensitive peaks before sucking it softly, causing Divine to release a shaky gasp and dig her fingers into his pillowy coils. She panted pathetically, her hands moving to Smoke’s shoulders when he began to slowly guide her hips towards a slow, sinful rhythm while giving her other nipple the same treatment. The dull ache mixed with that all too familiar itch being relieved made her shiver and claw at his skin, moaning helplessly.

“There you go.” Smoke drawled, relaxing his upper body against the headboard when Divine picked up where he left off, all on her own. “Just like that, pretty. My good fuckin’ girl.” He whispered, licking his lips and admiring the sight of her on top of him from beneath his lowered eyelids. 

Divine’s richly toned skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, and her voluptuous breasts appears to be making an effort of putting on a show just for him—bouncing beautifully to her messy, yet efficient rhythm.

“Y-You feel s’good inside of me, ‘Lijah.” Divine shakily whined, gripping his forearms for dear life as tears streamed down her face.

When the tip of his dick began to feel too damn good against her sensitive cervix, she reached back and placed her hands on his knees with her mouth parted, opening her legs and bouncing harder.

“Yeah.” Smoke breathed, gripping under her thighs and humming in approval at the sight of her painting, and slicking his dick with her milky arousal. “Ride the fuck out yo’ dick, Di.” He encouraged, biting back a moan as his eyes flicked back up to her blissed out face.

Divine moaned pathetically in response, sucking her shaky bottom lip between her teeth when it dawned on her that she’s really fucking close. Smoke feels it. The tightening of her thigh muscles paired with the pulses of her greedy walls around his stiff length.

“E-Elijah, I—.” Divine stuttered, not even knowing what she was about to say, legs shaking harshly. 

Smoke shushed her and pulled her soft body against him while scooting down and bending his knees. He began to hungrily thrust up into her from below, releasing a deep moan into her neck as she clawed at his arms with a muffled sob. 

“Yes! God, yes!” She cried into his neck, tears and drool hitting his shoulder as her toes curled.

“You cummin’ fa me, pretty?”

“Yes, baby!” Divine mewled, lifting her head and nodding feverishly with her eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck me, daddy! Please, make my pussy cum!”

Smoke grunted roughly at her plea, grabbing the nape of her neck and kissing her passionately. Divine’s muffled moans grew louder and more high pitched as she struggled to keep up with the wild, messy lip lock. 

Before she knew it, an intense wave of euphoric pleasure washed over her, prompting her to disconnect her swollen lips from Smoke’s. Divine  shuddered hard against Smoke’s solid frame, her forehead rolling against his with a guttural moan. Her pussy pulsed and leaked pathetically, the feeling making Smoke’s brows bunch and a soft, breathy “fuck” leave his lips.

“Keep going, baby. Don’t fucking stop.” Divine breathlessly pleaded, locking her leg around Smoke’s waist when he flipped them both on their side. Smoke hummed deeply, driving his dick in and out of her blissfully sore cavern without abandon, gripping the back of her hair. “Mmm, cum all in my fucking pussy, Elijah.” She slurred, damn near delirious.

“Shit, Di.” Smoke moaned deeply, pressing his head against hers. He used his free hand to lift her leg from his waist and hold it up for better access, tightly gripping her ankle. “You want it?” He grunted, his control slipping by the second as his his dick throbbed readily.

“So fucking bad, daddy. I dream about it. I need it.” Divine panted, her breathing intensifying and eyes rolling back into her skull with each rough, sloppy rut. “Uhh! Elijah!” She squealed, her leg flexing in Smoke’s strong hold. She reached back and gripped hard, tugging the sheet of her bed from the corner while bucking through another body shattering orgasm. “Elijah!” She sobbed, issuing the final blow to Smoke’s composure.

Smoke released an animalistic grunt into her neck, bringing his hand down on her ass and pulling her lower half flush to him. He moaned in euphoric relief, teeth sinking into the flushed skin as Divine purred at the feeling of the hot spurts of cum filling her to the brim.

“Damn, that feels—.” Divine breathed out, a lazy grin spreading across her face as she began grinding down on his dick that’s still twitching angrily inside of her along with his muscles. “Fuck, Elijah.” She cooed, gripping her breast roughly and slithering her tongue into his mouth when he placed his on hers, gripping the back of her neck.

“You goin’ to sleep in here?” Smoke asked lowly when he noticed the silence that filled the room, leaning up to get a view of Divine’s face from where she’s sitting between his legs, just to see her looking right back at him.

The water in the expansive tub that was once boiling hot (per Divine’s request) has since reached a barely enjoyable warmth as an indicator of the amount of time that’s passed with them in it.

“Nah, I just noticed the heartbeat you left in my pussy’s almost nonexistent.” Divine muttered, smiling softly when Smoke snickered at her realization.

“You be takin’ this muhfucka.” Smoke gave her props, smirking proudly. “It’s just the aftermath that do yo’ ass in. Shit, you asked for it, though. Remember that?” He asked in her ear, laughing when she swatted at his face.

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Divine blushed, shaking her head and giggling. “I don’t even wanna think about it, right now.”

“You need to be thinkin’ ‘bout how we never use a condom ‘fore God make an example outta us.” Smoke lightheartedly fussed, making Divine roll her head against his chest with a loud groan. “This the second time, Di.”

“I didn’t expect to get fucked, tonight!” Divine defended. “I promise, I’m usually prepared. I don’t get down and dirty without one.” She assured him, making Smoke hum. “Where’s your accountability? You usually wear ‘em, right?”

“Oh course.” Smoke said in a “duh” tone, chuckling. “You thought I was fuckin’ three different women raw, all this time?”

“Well….”

“Divine, yo’ concept of me is so fucked up.” Smoke grumbled, shaking his head. Divine laughed at the disappointment in his tone. “I ain’t even laughin’.”

“I was just playing, Elijah.” Divine groaned, looking back at him and cupping his face with a smile. “I wouldn’t even be fucking you if I actually thought you were sexually irresponsible.”

“Don’t play wit’ me like that.”

“Man, shut up, crybaby.” Divine smacked her lips, giggling when he wrapped his hand around the front of her throat. Smoke smiled softly when her hands flew to his wrist, pinching at it. 

A comfortable silence engulfed the room after their playful banter died down. Divine gazed straight ahead, loss in thought as Smoke’s hands caressed her thighs mindlessly under the water.

“You think we’re gonna end up doing this again, Smoke?” Divine asked softly, reaching under the water and finding his hand—pleasantly surprised when he wasted no time locking their fingers.

“Yep.”

“Wanna make a deal?”

“Depends on the terms.” Smoke teased, smirking and tapping his forehead against the back of her head. “Talk to me.”

“We use protection with everyone, except for each other.” Divine offered. “Like, it can be our little secret, you know?” She went on, looking up at him and smiling softly. “You’re gonna have to stop being selfish and pull out though ‘cause I’m not fucking messing with any form of birth control.”

“Hol on, you was begging me to nut in you.” Smoke laughed at her trying to rewrite the script. 

“Yeah, and you were too damn ready to do it.” Divine sassed, chuckling. “Ok, we can indulge like two times a month.”

“Hell no.” Smoke scoffed. “Four.”

“Three.”

“Three, then.” Smoke grumbled, smirking softly at his next suggestion. “Shit, If we going down that road, we might as well cut out our third parties altogether.”

“You don’t do attachments, remember.” Divine reminded him, looking up at him with a quirked brow. “That sounds pretty damn close to an attachment, Elijah. Just me and you? No one else?” She went on, grinning when he smacked his lips and narrowed his eyes at her. "You attached, Elijah?"

“Look, I agree to the deal, but only wit’ my negotiations.” Smoke stated, dodging her question and shrugging to indicate finality. “We doin’ this, or not?”

“You know what? Fuck it.” Divine blurted, throwing her hands up in surrender after giving it minimal thought. “I’ll do it for the plot. Let’s lock it in.” She held her hand over her shoulder for him to shake.

“Yeah, let’s do that.” Smoke muttered, disregarding her hand and tilting her face up to meet his. 

The pair shared a slow, tantalizing kiss that sent chills down both of their spines. Once their tongues became intertwined, and Smoke’s touch grew to be outright pornographic, Divine moaned and quickly broke the kiss, shaking her head with a beaming smile. 

“What?” Smoke asked, grinning innocently as if he wasn’t trying to get Divine stirred back up. 

“Elijah, I’m fucking tired.” Divine stressed, giggling as she attempted to stand up on her wobbly legs. Meanwhile, Smoke’s eyes are dragging down her frame, admiring the way the soapy water is cascading down her luscious curves while biting back a smile. “Come help me with this shower, so we can take both our horny asses to bed.”

Smoke laughed and followed her out a few feet to the glass shower. After grabbing two washcloths from her shelf and making sure the water was to her liking, he walked her in with a tight grip around her waist, her arms around his neck, and their legs tangled together.

After Smoke slid the glass door closed behind them, Divine collapsed against him again, her face pressed to his damp chest.

“You’re a good neighbor, Smoke.” Divine murmured, hugging his waist tightly. “A good ass friend, too.”

Smoke cracked a soft smile at the praise, wrapping his arm around her neck and kissing her head to show his own usual, wordless appreciation in return.

A Good Neighbor, indeed…

And they live Happily Ever After (as FWB)! Yay! 🥰😭

If you're reading this, thank you so much for being here! ❤️

[waitingtobreatheagain]

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 2 ٠࣪⭑

Summary: Smoke has had it. It's time to go home where he last left his beating heart, even if he has to do it alone. He begins to reflect on how he even made it this long in Chicago as an empty husk with his heart back in Clarksdale. We also see what life looked like for Annie while he was gone.

C/W: flashbacks, cussing, dual pov, canon compliant, grief, healing

A/N: Thank you for the comments, likes, and reblogs for Chapter 1. Also, I don't have a beta reader so there may be a typo here or a grammatical error there.

Word Count: 5K

Divider credit: MDNI @cafekitsune ; gradient divider @cursed-carmine

ONE YEAR AGO

Smoke had IT.

They had already been here 5 years too long. The plan had been to be here for 2 years at the longest. It was now the seventh year. He had been in a near perpetual state of agitation since their arrival in Chicago considering that he never wanted to leave Annie or their baby in the first place.

On that train ride up to Chicago, Smoke had been silent in a way that expressed the exact meaning behind it. The long train ride had held the weight of what Stack's manipulation had meant for their relationship. The comfort, even in silence, they had experienced being side by side the entirety of their lives was now marred. What surrounded the silence was as thick as the suffocating ash and smoke that only escalated the devastation of a fire. Smoke had breached the silence once throughout the ride that took nearly a day,

"As soon as this mission is done, so am I."

By the end of the fifth year, as the sixth year signified another year of misery for what he left behind. They had already made their last move and waited it out long enough to return home, as the suspicion towards them robbing their respective gangs had already passed. Smoke couldn’t risk being discovered so he and Stack had also planted evidence for someone else to unknowingly take the fall. He knew it was cutthroat to sign an innocent person up for a death sentence, but living here—walking around without his heart in his chest made him ruthless in a way he hadn’t been since meeting Annie. 

He couldn’t remember exactly when Elijah was lost as an unwilling, yet necessary sacrifice in order to guarantee his survival in a world hellbent on his destruction. What he did remember was that the creation of Smoke is what followed the loss of his innocence, vulnerability, and softness. Smoke was not a split personality. Not in a way like he heard about in mental asylums where people had lost their mind or multiple identities lived in one body somehow. Smoke was how he survived, how despite trauma taking root in his body and metastasizing to the point where it manifested itself as physical pain he persisted. Proof of his existence and that once he had the strength, the rage, and mental fortitude he would destroy any person, system, or thing that stood in his way or was sent to take him out. His drive to survive was not even from a want to live but out of spite combined with feeling responsible for Stack’s survival. Until that Spring day when he met her, where he discovered that he had never killed Elijah all the way. Instead Elijah bided his time, lying in wait, until he came across the person who would resuscitate what was long thought to be dead—his heart. 

The introduction of Annie into his life and the way she invaded his thoughts, senses, his day-to-day and ultimately his heart had become a welcome takeover. Smoke had always been powered by a need for control, yet he found himself freely giving it up. Through loving Annie, he discovered that consequences did not have to be inherently negative. The consequence of not depriving himself of the emotions his feelings for Annie elicited was not only loving, but being able to be loved. Within those four walls, while holding her in his arms, expressing emotions he thought he no longer felt, revealing truths that had been buried so deep he never hoped to recover them he had a realization—there was one place in the world where he knew that he was free.

He had suddenly begun to differentiate between the varying shades of blue that lined the sky, noticed the sounds of children laughing, heard cars stalling, and listened to feet shuffling against hardwood which had once been cast off as extraneous information. His ability to filter out what he thought was unnecessary hadn’t changed, what had changed was his ability to feel. 

Each second, minute, hour, and day spent with Annie had begun to slowly, but surely erode the boundary that distinguished Smoke and Elijah from each other. Smoke had begun to be more vulnerable and express emotions that he normally would’ve hid, which were characteristics of Elijah. In turn, Elijah had become fiercely protective and possessive. Not in a way rooted in control of Annie, but in a way where he felt completely responsible for her safety and comfortability, and anyone who threatened that faced a punishment of his choosing that fit the crime. The fact that the two sides of his personality, who could not be more different from each other, would build their world around the same woman and love her in a way that was both paradigm shifting; in the way it permeated his previously indestructible defenses to the point he had never seen loving her as a loss, but instead as his biggest gain. While also being world shattering, as the thought of losing her would have been catastrophic in a way that would leave scars so deep he could never hope to possibly recover from.

That was years ago, though. As he drove away from the person who had been the only home he had ever known, his heart was not the only thing he had left behind. He left Elijah back in Clarksdale too. Elijah was not going to guarantee his survival. He needed Smoke, the one with a nature so chilling he could rival the bitter winter storms Chicago had been known for. Smoke had practiced precision and valued logic above all else in decision making, which was the only way he would wrap up this shit up as fast as possible. In order to get back to the life he freely chose, not the one he was manipulated into living.

Stack had continuously found ways, or made excuses, for a couple years to talk him into staying longer. Whether it was taking the time to plan their business venture upon returning or it was insisting everything had to be settled before they could leave. Smoke could not do this shit no more. He already sacrificed the very thing that meant more to him than any gang, loot, money, or notoriety. He sat up in his bed in his  room cloaked in darkness as the light of day slowly filtered in. He wasn’t giving Stack any more time or a choice—the same way Stack hadn’t given him one all those years ago. 

He walked down the hall to bang on Stack’s door in the apartment they both shared. Not caring if the nigga was asleep or laid up with one of his flavors of the night he had on a rotation like a well oiled assembly line. 

“Stack, wake the fuck up!!” He yelled as he pounded on his door. After not hearing any movement he barged through the door. He immediately grimaced looking around the room remembering just how gaudy and loud Stack had decorated his room. Bright red walls with burgundy and black velvet bedding to match with random posters and canvases all with the same theme—gold. Despite his entrance into the room with as much grace as a bull in a china shop, somehow Stack remained asleep. 

Amidst his frustration, Smoke forgot that since childhood it had often been a bitch to try to get Stack to wake up as he slept like the dead. There was one trick that always worked without fail. Stack would be pissed about the method but Smoke simply didn’t give a shit currently. 

‘Rise and motherfucking shine, nigga.” Smoke offered with an annoyed snarl as he splashed a cup of ice cold water at Stack in his bed. 

“The fuck is yo problem???” Stack yelled at Smoke at the method he took to attempt to wake him up. 

“Be mad at yourself, nigga. You refused to wake up and this couldn’t wait,” Smoke announced in the straight forward manner Stack had come to expect from him.

“Okay...what you got to say?” Stack asked, confused as his brother was not often withholding.

“We’re going home. You got a week to tie up any loose ends.”

“WOAH.” Stack exclaimed loudly to express how taken back he was at the announcement. 

“I don’t even know why you’re tripping.” Smoke replied incredulously as this shouldn't have come as a surprise to Stack considering how often they had discussed returning home. The only difference was Smoke putting his foot down this time. “We did everything we set out to do. Even more to be honest.” 

Stack silently nodded as he was slowly taking in what Smoke had to say. 

“That’s why we been having Bo and Cornbread get things together for your juke opening.” Smoke reminded him.

Stack had decided he wanted to open a juke joint. Originally, Smoke thought this was another one of his get rich quick schemes until Stack gave him the whole pitch. He had never seen his brother so impassioned about an idea he had. It seemed like even with money being the original motivation, Stack had also grown to want this to be one of the few places that existed where their people could just enjoy themselves for one night a week. They had already used Bo as a proxy to purchase the juke from a respected black businessman, who had somehow been able to keep the mill and land in his family. They heard stories of properties purchased from white men serving as set ups to straight up murder niggas, so they wanted to avoid that altogether.

Bo and Cornbread had also been helping in hiring a trusted crew, while also safekeeping items sent from Chicago to prepare for their return in this last year. Whenever Smoke would call them to discuss the next drop or to do-item on the list, he would have to bite his tongue to not ask every question he had about Annie. He would remind himself that they would be home soon where he would be in a situation where the talking would be on him.

Smoke wasn’t a fool though. He knew that he would have a hell of a lot to make up for. Hell, there was a good chance that Annie wouldn’t even be willing to talk to him at first. Annie being headstrong, independent, and grounded were traits he loved that she possessed but knowing her means knowing she would not fall into his arms or lap just because he returned. Their communication was consistent that first year. A few letters exchanged each month. A couple of phone calls monthly too. Communication became more sparse that second year. Nearly nonexistent the third year.

That last phone call between them still gave him nightmares. He had been short and matter of fact in a way he never was with her. He felt his hands begin to shake as he held the payphone. Small beads of sweat slowly cascaded down his face. The drum of his heart so ferocious his ears began to ring. His throat had suddenly become dry as if every part of his body worked together to prevent him from forcing out words that reflected the last thing he ever wanted to do—cutting contact.

His performance may have convinced anyone else. Not her though. She knew him to his core. She knew his love up close for years, having it wake up with her everyday and surround her as she went to sleep. Immediately clocking that something was wrong, she implored him to tell her what was going on, that all he had to do is be forthcoming. Hearing how this was breaking her, broke him too. Smoke chewed on his inner cheek to the point of sharp, shooting pain in an attempt to prevent himself from breaking and spilling it all. It took all he had to end the call but not before leaving her with two truths; albeit not the truth she wanted to hear,

"I'm so sorry, and I love you, STILL."

He couldn't expect that him telling her the truth almost four years later would absolve him of the pain he caused her due to years of radio silence. All he could hope for was for a chance to explain how the decision he made then was him prioritizing what he always had—her protection.

“SMOKE!!” Stack yelled as he had been waiting for Smoke to continue. He had not realized he had become so preoccupied with his thoughts about Annie to the point of silence mid-thought with his eyes fixed on the center of Stack's wall above his bed. 

“Right.” Smoke continued. “We’re in the clear to leave no suspicion about the money. We got enough Irish and Italian liquor for the first six months. Minus some small details we gotta handle once we get there we good.” 

“So like I said. You got a week, nigga.” Smoke said sternly with his stiff body language showing he was not willing to budge on it. 

“You dropping on this me, now. I need more than a week to tie shit up here.” Stack disputed.

Smoke’s jaw tightened at Stack’s audacity. He couldn’t believe that this nigga was being serious right now.

“What you got to do, nigga?” Smoke started. “Tell the women who don’t know about each other that you in fact never had any intentions of being serious with them and all that slick mouth was good for was empty promises and late night pull-ups?” 

Stack grimaced as Smoke continued. 

“You lucky I even gave you that long.” Smoke laughed bitterly. “You don’t remember? That’s how long you gave me. Not to leave some women I don’t care about but to leave the love of my life. My child.” Smoke tried his best to keep the anger in his chest at bay. “You KNEW that having to leave Annie destroyed me. You KNEW how the loss of Luna tore me up. You also knew that I couldn’t survive losing you too. So you forced my hand.”

The resentment suddenly made the room feel suffocating. 

“Now, I'm forcing mine. A week or I’m leaving without you.”

“This ultimatum should be familiar...it’s the same one you gave me.” Smoke said coldly .

“You wanna chase tail. You can do that shit at home too.” Smoke said as he left the room.

As he said, seven days later they were on the road in the Ford Truck they purchased shortly before they left Chicago. They had some items such as liquor and guns they needed to take with them so they had to take the drive that was about 18 hours back to Clarksdale. Luckily, they could split the driving.

Things had gotten tense when Smoke made an ultimatum of his own but with a lifetime of being twins Smoke and Stack knew it would subside. This was always a sore subject with them and seven years hadn’t changed that fact. Smoke knew he still held some resentment toward Stack he probably always would. Although Smoke ultimately made the decision himself which he would always regret even if it ended up increasing Stack’s odds of surviving, Stack used his fear and grief to force him to make an impossible choice. 

It had taken them years to even get back to this place in their relationship. During the first year, Smoke only spoke to Stack when absolutely necessary. When he did, it was either to confirm their plan in their respective gangs or going the fuck off because Stack never acknowledged the weight of what he had Smoke sacrifice.

The near year of silence, as well as witnessing how his brother was not the same man he’d known as if something was missing, helped Stack see what his immaturity and selfishness had cost Smoke. Maybe six months in, Stack had come home earlier than he originally told Smoke he would be in which wasn't planned. Stack witnessed something he never thought he’d ever see. As he walked past Smoke's cracked door he saw him crumpled in front of his bed—in tears. Not a single tear, that slipped past his defenses. The kind of tears that flowed without permission and only stopped when there was nothing left but drought. He heard the muffled grief-filled screams bellowed into a pillow to muffle the sound. It was as if even in the privacy of his own room Smoke tried to physically silent his pain as if it would make it easier to carry.

Throughout their whole lives they had gone through things most people did not survive. Whether it was the abuse their father put them through; the horrors of war that stuck with them; living in a time where it wasn’t uncommon to see black men lynched simply for existing—none of that elicited tears, but having to leave Annie and still grieving the loss of their daughter had brought a man Stack had seen as invincible to his knees. He didn’t know what it said about him that it took this much for him to realize just how selfish he had been and that Annie had literally become Smoke’s world, but he knew he couldn't charm himself out of this. Stack had to be something he often wasn’t when it came to his emotions--100% genuine. He not only apologized but actually held himself accountable for his action for once but words had never been enough for Smoke. So, Stack proved it. He actually started changing which opened the door for them to work through their issues. Even if he couldn’t go back and they may never be exactly as they were, maybe that was a good thing. They could be better. 

Somehow the 18 hours went by much quicker than they expected. Night surrounded them as they started their journey back. They left in the dead of night on Friday so that they would get in town around 6pm Saturday as they wanted to check in with Bo and Cornbread first knowing they would be dead tired once they made it to Stack's place. Between musing about what it will be like to be back, what may have changed, and taking turns napping while the other drove time flew. They were about an hour away at this point and Smoke began to feel the weight of what may or may not be waiting for him. 

The last words Annie said to him still haunted him,

“By the time you return, the bones of the home you forsook may be the only thing here to welcome you back.”

His panic started to set in which was evident by the way his hands began to shake. Over the last seven years, Stack had learned the signs of when Smoke’s anxiety was taking hold of him. 

“Smoke, you good?” Stack asked as he was genuinely concerned but he could guess what brought this episode on.

“I’m fine.” Smoke knew he wasn’t but he hoped he could trick himself into it being true.

“No, you ain’t. Holding it in ain’t helping and it don’t prepare you to see her.” Stack offered. He knew by the time they got into town Smoke probably wouldn’t have time to go see Annie, but he would the next day. So, he needed to be prepared to see something he might not be ready for. 

“Since when do you care? You wanting to help me out with Annie, now?” Smoke replied incredulously. 

“You seen how I started changing in regards to that. I’m a big part of the reason you in this position with her. You ain’t never wanted to leave. This the least I can do and it still lacking.” Stack said earnestly in a manner unlike himself. 

“I can’t focus on my fears and worries. I don’t have a right to when she was the one alone.” Smoke said plainly. “All I can focus on is what I’m gonna do and that’s whatever it takes to get back to us no matter what obstacle I have to remove from the situation.” 

Stack waited a beat. He decided to ask a question that came to his mind as soon as he knew Smoke’s sole motivation for going home—Annie. He hesitated as he was sure what sat at the tip of his tongue would get him cussed out. 

“I got something to ask that you not gon’ like. I do think it is something you gotta consider.”

Smoke sat silent to give Stack the space to ask without shutting him down which was uncharacteristic of him.

“What you gon’ do if she moved on and she got another nigga?” Stack asked hesitantly, ready for however Smoke chose to apply. 

Smoke didn’t know what to expect coming out of Stack’s mouth but it wasn’t something that hadn’t crossed his mind. Her last words before he left combined with the fact it had been four years since they spoke definitely meant it was a possibility but he didn’t know. He could only focus on what he did know which was this--that he was still Smoke and she was still Annie. There was not a single soul dead or alive that could ever replace the other. What they had, felt, and created could not be replicated by another person attempting to take a spot that was already filled. His belief in the supernatural was shaky at best. The love they found in each other was the singular proof that the cosmic, fate, and destiny had to exist in at least one instance. 

So, while the thought of another nigga getting to hold her, kiss her, and getting to be in her presence made him feel, in a word—murderous. He also just saw the potential who-the-fuck-ever as a roadblock to be removed. He would do that no matter the method he would have to take. 

“That don’t change shit. I’m still gon’ do what I just said. Remove any obstacle—whether that’s the pain my absence created or some nigga who might find himself no longer of this world.” Smoke replied in a manner so straight forward that made it clear there was nothing else for him to add.

Stack knew whatever was about to happen once they returned was about to be some—

“Shit.” Stack mumbled knowing Smoke was serious about removing any obstacle even if his methods were in a word, final. 

MEANWHILE IN CLARKSDALE,

Annie was moving around the house tidying up and preparing for a much needed girl’s night. When schedules permitted, she, Pearline, Therise, and Grace would get together and just talk about life, eat some good food, and unwind from their regular day-to-day. She had been feeling unsteady recently and she could not put her finger as to why but she trusted her instinct.

One of the first things she learned from her grandmother and aunt who had guided her in her practice of hoodoo, including the rootwork that was central to said practice, was to trust her gut and she carried that with her even now. It felt like a return was coming that she was not ready for but would be faced with regardless.

Trusting her gut meant being honest with herself at the very least. She could pretend with others that she didn’t know why she felt unsteady. 

She knew what...or who was currently unnerving her.

Smoke. For some reason, she could feel he was coming back and soon. She could feel it in her bones and she felt a lot of different things about his impending return. Anger was the first emotion that him returning now elicited. Hurt, frustration, betrayal, and intrigue were the next emotions demanding to be felt. Their contact falling off four years ago really did a number on her emotionally and physically. It was already hard enough with him being so far but when their communication was consistent she at least had some hope that they could make it through the distance. Silly as it is, the consistency even made her feel like he really might not be gone for that long. 

Everything fell apart that third year. The letters and phone calls just stopped abruptly, without any explanation. At first, she feared the very worst. She wasn’t naive; she knew the kind of “work” he did. That was part of why she was so insistent on him keeping his mojo bag on him.

Then, came that final phone call.

She still remembers everything from that day. The new recipe that simmered on the stove as it's warming aroma filled the room. The warm weather accompanied by cool breezes that signaled the transition from one season into the next. The clients who visited her shop that day and what they purchased. The feel of his uneasiness on the phone which he never had before. His refusal to relent and reveal what was going on almost as if he hoped she would be able to see he was doing this for a reason he could not communicate. His last words ensuring that this would be another day that marked her losing another part of her,

"I am so sorry and I love you STILL."

Four months had passed since the phone call and she struggled to keep food down. Their last conversation played on a loop in her mind because she could feel something was off he had been curt and clearly withholding. While that is not unheard of behavior of his, he had never been that way with her. She spent months trying to decipher what he was trying to tell her that he couldn’t say. She would have a fleeting thought where she even questioned if there was a message or was she trying to find a way to justify his behavior. Not being able to accept that as reality, she went back to desperately trying to figure out the message beneath his behavior.

She had become a shell of her former self. Her friends had become deeply worried for her mental wellbeing and decided to make an unplanned drop in. Therise, Pearline, and Grace had firmly and kindly suggested that maybe there wasn’t an underlining message. The way their brows furrowed and eyes pleaded showed her this was out of concern but she wasn’t able to fully accept it. The down side to knowing someone as deeply as she knew Elijah was that when something was even a little off she just couldn’t make peace with the situation until she knew why. 

Her reality check came when she realized just how much she was suffering in the name of “love”. She had been loved so thoroughly by him that she could never question if he loved her. In fact, it is one of the very things she still believed. However, she got to the very point that she warned him of the day he drove away. Love isn’t always enough. If it had been, he would have stayed. His sense of duty won out. Even if she was able to contact him, why should she be the one to try to pry information out of him. Food had lost its taste. She had unintended weight loss at a frightening rate due to being in a constant state of distress. She spent more time crying than anything else. And worst of all, her connection to her center suffered. She was struggling with her rootwork which was a lonely devastation. The one thing that she had felt deeply connected since she was a young girl in Louisiana learning from her grandmother and aunt. Shit, had to change. It was time for her to take a page from his book and put herself first, while she still could. 

That fourth year was when she found herself again. Food had flavor and warmed her soul again. She no longer was losing weight from being in a perpetual distressed state and had found her figure and glow again. Her connection to her ancestors and rootwork had not only been reaffirmed but was somehow even stronger than it had been. Her relationship with her friends had been reforged and she was able to thank them for loving her when it was hard to accept it in the midst of her pain. She smiled genuinely again. That’s also when the unexpected happened.

Her shack needed repairs so she reached out to Grace to find out who she and Bo used for their businesses. That led to her meeting Jeremiah. He was kind, friendly, a hard worker, and thoughtful, which led to a friendship after the repairs had finished with strict boundaries. It didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes. His cinnamon toned skin, black hair that was parted to the left and slicked neatly with pomade, deep brown eyes, dimple on his left cheek, all paired with a height of 6”0. His broad shoulders, well-defined biceps, and big hands showed why he chose a hands-on profession. 

Not being familiar with hoodoo or rootwork he asked all about what she practiced and what it meant to her. She could tell that he had wanted more but was patient and she was nowhere near ready. It didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes. They had gotten to know each other on a deeper level as time went by. He talked about his past as she slowly opened up about hers. When she told him about Luna, he expressed condolences in a way that she had never experienced. Even with her closest friends, she felt an undertone of pity, which she knew wasn’t intentional. He had not only been genuine, but showed that he still saw her exactly the way he had before she shared that with him. Not in a way where she felt like her grief from Luna’s loss was not acknowledged but in a way where her whole being had been seen. 

It was not surprising that he had already known that she was with Smoke. Smoke had that way about him and his reputation had preceded him. The SmokeStack twins had become legend in Clarksdale. It was more intriguing to her that Jeremiah knowing that did not deter his romantic interest in her. Smoke was the type to shoot a nigga over stealing from him. One could imagine how far he would go for someone trying to push up on Annie. But he's gone.

Whether it was a purposeful or an accidental slip of the tongue, she referred to him as her ex-husband. While it felt heavy and unfamiliar on her tongue, it didn’t feel wrong. He wasn’t here and she doubted he would ever return so she did not correct herself and had no plans to. 

Slowly but surely, Jeremiah became a fixture in her life. It had been two years since they met and overtime they had found themselves spending more time together. He would accompany her as she would seek out seasonal herbs and roots for her practice. She would join him on inventory runs for work when she had no clients and didn't expect visitors. They would even attend community events together.

Last month, they had even gone to a nearby juke joint together. Their bodies close, staring deeply into each other's eyes, moving together in a single rhythm was the closest she had been to giving in to feelings she had tried to talk herself out of for months now. A part of her still felt guilty for even having feelings for another man but she had accepted that their relationship had been laid to rest that day that marked four years to the day of his absence. 

Over time, she noticed her body language change. Almost as if, her body knew that her feelings for Jeremiah had changed, or evolved, before her head would allow her to accept the truth. She’d catch him staring at her while she was in her element and she had begun to do the same. She would feel a shiver up her spine in response to their hands grazing each other It all came to a head one night while he was waiting out a storm at her place. The turbulent storm outside was the perfect contrast to the soft glow from candles, sitting close enough to feel each other’s body heat for warmth, and staring deeply into each other’s eyes after both reaching for a glass that fell to the floor. Confessions were made and passion bore fruit starting with a kiss that unleashed all the desire that she held under lock and key. That was a year ago. 

A year of discovering what she was like in a romantic relationship again. A year of being cared for, desired, considered, and valued. Sometimes her brain led her to play the comparison game which she knew was unfair. What she had with Jeremiah was healthy and happy, but it wasn't them. Nothing else ever would be and she had to accept that and was learning to. The love, passion, and connection she had with Elijah—the home they created in each other—could never be replicated and that’s a part of what made it so once-in-a-lifetime. 

She had seen Jeremiah this morning for breakfast before sending him away as he knew she was having a girl’s night. They usually alternated between staying at each other’s places. Annie still wasn’t ready for another man to be living in her house. If she and Smoke had just bought this home, she may have been able to, but they built this home. Chose the wood that would become the floorboards together, fussed over why the house had to be painted haint blue. Came up with the layout for the kitchen, her work area, their bedroom. They didn’t just make their house a home. It was theirs.

On his way out the door, Jeremiah added, “Try not to miss me!” in a cheeky way Annie had become accustomed to.

“How will I ever manage when I will see you in what—less than 24 hours from now?” she responded with a smile on her face.

Pretending to walk to the door, he turned around and scooped her up for a kiss as he could never leave without some sugar to send him on his way. Annie instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist as she leaned into a lengthy heated goodbye kiss.

As their tongues, then lips separated and Jeremiah let Annie down, he lifted her chin with his index and thumb finger before acknowledging something he had noticed over the last week.

“You know you can come to me with anything right?” Jeremiah expressed genuinely.

“I can tell that you’ve been feeling off this last week and I’m not pressing you. I just want my lady to know she can always depend on me.”

“Yeah, I know.” Annie remarked with a smile as he winked and walked out the door. She couldn’t help but feel like he might not be so ecstatic if he knew what or who was making her antsy. If her intuition had been right, she would be in deep shit. 

How do you explain that your shoot first ask questions later “ex- husband” is still very much still your husband?

A/N: Thanks for reading. Please let me know your thoughts! We are picking up at girls' night next chapter! If I somehow missed you and you wannabe tagged you can either comment or reply to my taglist h e r e ♡

Taglist: @lizbehave @myheartsaysyes @brownskincheyenne @merrymaryfebruary @mmbee675 @kkbeauty86 @shamansha @thedutifulone @xeebop @hdfen2474 @miss-spiders-sunny-patch @sintizc @nobsbytch @pastelprintessa @margepimpson @saralance03 @thegreatlibraryofalex @shereeluvssinners @bananajoeclone @lestatthelioncourt @jaeflair @blackgirlsrock444 @zunibugsiren

[chrinx]

Chapter 2: Dead Man Walking

Motherhood, Annie had long ago decided, was essentially an unpaid, highly volatile internship in hostage negotiation.

Ten minutes ago, she had successfully talked seven-year-old Maya out of flushing a decapitated Barbie down the toilet to "give her a sea burial," while simultaneously preventing eight-year-old Leo from feeding the dog a fistful of glitter. Baby Sam had aggressively rejected his pacifier, opting instead to spit up on Annie’s favorite cashmere cardigan.

it was absolute, unmitigated chaos. And as Annie poured herself a desperately earned glass of Cabernet at the kitchen island, she wouldn't have traded a single second of it.

She took a sip of the dark wine, leaning back against the cool marble counter. The house was finally quiet, the dishwasher humming a low, steady lullaby. She pulled up her laptop, scrolling through the excursion options for their Cabo trip next week.

Sunset catamaran cruise? Yes.

Couples massage? Absolutely.

Tequila tasting? A mathematical necessity.

They needed this trip.

Smoke had been working so hard lately, taking on extra contracting jobs, coming home exhausted with dark circles under his eyes. Even this morning, he had seemed miles away, distracted and tense. But a long weekend in the Mexican sun, with endless margaritas and a king-sized bed, was exactly the prescription they needed to reset.

The heavy front door clicked open, followed by the familiar, heavy thud of Smoke’s work boots hitting the entryway rug.

"In the kitchen!" Annie called out, a bright smile automatically taking over her face. She smoothed down her leggings and walked around the island to greet him. "Please tell me you brought tacos, because if not, your gorgeous wife is going to have to eat a sleeve of stale saltines for dinner."

Smoke stepped into the arched doorway of the kitchen.

He didn't laugh.

He didn't even smile.

He just stood there, his massive frame rigid, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked violently near his ear. He looked exhausted, yes, but there was something else. A profound, hollow emptiness in his eyes that made Annie’s teasing smile falter.

"Hey," she said softly, setting her wine glass down. The playful energy instantly drained from the room, replaced by a sudden, heavy static. "Baby, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost. Did something happen at the site?"

He didn't move toward her.

He stayed perfectly still, keeping his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "Nothing happened at the site, Annie."

His voice was dead. Flat. It sent a cold, warning prickle down the back of her neck.

"Okay..." She took a slow step toward him, her brow furrowing in concern. "How was the urgent care? Did they give you muscle relaxers for your neck?"

"My neck is fine."

Annie closed the distance between them, reaching out to rest her hand against his chest. His heart was beating frantically a wild, panicked rhythm that completely betrayed his cold exterior. She looked up into his eyes, searching for the man who had loved her into a puddle of absolute bliss just twenty-four hours ago.

And then, she smelled it.

Annie froze. She blinked, her brain misfiring as it tried to process the sensory input. It was sharp, synthetic, and overwhelmingly sweet. It smelled like cheap gardenias and vanilla alcohol. It was a scent that didn't belong in her house, on her husband, or in her life.

Her hand slowly dropped from his chest. "Elijah... what is that smell?"

He didn't flinch. He looked down at her with a blank, unreadable mask that terrified her more than if he had started screaming.

"It's over, Annie," he said.

The words hung in the air, heavy and absurd. Annie let out a short, breathless laugh—a pure, unfiltered reflex of disbelief. "What? What are you talking about? What's over?"

"Us."

Smoke pulled his left hand out of his pocket. It was trembling slightly, but his grip was firm as he pulled out a folded piece of paper and dropped it onto the pristine marble of the kitchen island.

Annie stared at the paper. She didn't want to look at it. Her stomach free-fell into a dark, bottomless pit, the Cabernet suddenly turning to acid in her throat. She slowly reached out with a shaking hand and unfolded the receipt.

The Grand Orchid Hotel. Downtown Miami.

One King Suite.

Date: Three weeks ago.

The weekend he told her he was at a fishing cabin in the mountains with the crew.

"No," Annie whispered, stepping back, shaking her head. "No, this is a joke. Is this a joke? Because it isn't funny, Smoke."

"It's not a joke," he said, his voice dropping to a harsh, quiet whisper. "Her name is Elena. I've been seeing her for six months."

"You're lying."

Annie’s voice cracked, tears springing to her eyes with absolute, violent force. "You are lying to me! You love me! We literally made love last night! You held me and told me you loved me more than life!"

"I lied," Smoke said.

The two words hit her like a physical blow to the sternum. Annie gasped, wrapping her arms around her own stomach as if he had literally gutted her with a hunting knife.

The room spun.

The hum of the dishwasher suddenly sounded like a roaring train.

"Why?" she sobbed, the tears spilling over her cheeks, destroying her makeup, destroying her dignity, destroying her entire world. "Why, Elijah? What did I do? Am I not enough? After fifteen years... after three kids... you just... threw us away for some cheap perfume?"

Smoke’s jaw tightened. He looked away from her, fixing his gaze on the dark window above the sink. If he looked at her weeping, broken form, he knew he would shatter. He knew he would fall to his knees and confess everything.

I'm dying. I'm saving you. Please forgive me.

"I'm suffocating here, Annie," Smoke forced out, injecting every ounce of venom he could muster into his tone. "I'm tired of the kids screaming. I'm tired of the mortgage. I'm tired of... you. I just want out."

Annie let out a guttural, wounded sound. She lunged forward, hitting his chest with her open palms, pushing him backward toward the door. "Get out!" she screamed, her voice tearing through her throat, loud enough to wake the dead. "If you want out, then get out! Get the hell out of my house!"

Smoke stumbled back, letting her hit him. He deserved it. He deserved so much worse.

"I'll have a lawyer send the papers," he muttered, turning his back on his sobbing wife.

He turned his back, every instinct in his body screaming in active, violent revolt, and forced his heavy legs to carry him out the front door.

The heavy oak clicked shut behind him, the deadbolt snapping into place with the finality of a gunshot. But the wood wasn't thick enough to muffle the sound of the aftermath.

He heard her hit the floor.

It wasn't just a cry. It was a breathless, guttural wallow the agonizing sound of a soul being ripped violently in half. The sound bled through the door and sank directly into his bones, stopping Smoke dead in his tracks.

His hand instinctively flew back to the brass doorknob. Go back, his mind screamed, panic and love suffocating him.

Go back in there. Pick her up off that floor. Tell her the truth. Tell her you’re terrified and you’re dying and you need her.

His fingers gripped the cool metal, trembling so violently the latch began to rattle. He squeezed his eyes shut, his chest heaving as tears finally burned hot tracks down his face. He was one simple twist of the wrist away from undoing it all. One twist of the wrist to have his wife back.

But the glioblastoma made the choice for him.

A blinding, white-hot spike of agony suddenly detonated behind his left eye—a brutal, sickening reminder of the rotting clock inside his head. Smoke choked on a gasp, his knees instantly buckling under the sheer force of the pain.

He let go of the doorknob.

He stumbled backward, retreating from the door as if it were made of fire, until his broad shoulders hit the siding of his beautiful, perfectly manicured house. He pressed the heel of his hand hard against his eye, fighting through the physical torture of the tumor while Annie’s muffled, broken sobs continued to tear through the night air.

Annie woke up with her cheek pressed against the cold hardwood floor of the living room. Her body was stiff, her throat raw and coated in the metallic taste of grief. For three blissful, hazy seconds of semiconsciousness, she forgot. She thought she had just fallen asleep on the rug watching TV after folding laundry. She thought Smoke was upstairs, sprawled diagonally across their king-sized bed, waiting for her to crawl under his arm.

Then, she opened her eyes and saw the crumpled hotel receipt lying like a discarded weapon near the baseboard.

The memory of the night before crashed over her like a freezing tidal wave. Her name is Elena. I've been seeing her for six months. I don't love you anymore.

Annie squeezed her eyes shut, a fresh, agonizing sob tearing its way up her throat. She pulled her knees to her chest, curling into a tight ball on the floor. The physical pain in her chest was so acute it felt like she was actively having a heart attack. Her mind obsessively replayed the last six months, desperately hunting for the cracks she had missed.

Every late night at the construction site. Every time he had been distracted at dinner. Every time he had pulled away from her touch, blaming it on exhaustion. He hadn't been building their future. He had been dismantling it. He had been with her.

"Mommy?"

Annie flinched. The small, sleepy voice drifted from the top of the stairs.

he forced her eyes open. Seven-year-old Maya was standing on the landing, rubbing her eyes with the sleeve of her oversized pajamas, her dark curls sleep-mussed and tangled.

"Is it time to wake up?" Maya mumbled. "Is Daddy making pancakes again?"

The name was a jagged knife twisting in Annie’s ribs.

Daddy is gone. Daddy left us for someone else.

Annie’s breath hitched in panic.

She couldn't do this. S

he couldn't look into her daughter’s innocent eyes and tell her that the man who hung the moon and the stars in their sky had just burned their universe to the ground. She was entirely empty, entirely broken.

But as Maya took a step down the stairs, looking so incredibly small and vulnerable, a different instinct flared in the back of Annie's mind. It was fierce, primal, and deeply protective. Smoke might have abandoned them, but she would die before she let his betrayal destroy her children.

"Hey, baby bug," Annie rasped. She cleared her throat, forcing herself to sit up, swiping the heels of her hands violently under her swollen eyes. "Come here."

She pushed herself off the floor, every muscle aching, and met Maya at the bottom of the stairs. She pulled her daughter into her chest, burying her face in those warm curls, drawing strength from the little girl's steady heartbeat.

"Daddy had to go to work super early today," Annie lied, the words tasting like ash. "So it's just you, me, the boys, and Eggos this morning. How does that sound?"

Maya frowned, disappointed but easily bribed. "Can I have extra syrup?"

"You can have all the syrup you want," Annie whispered, kissing the top of her head.

The next hour was a masterclass in compartmentalization. Annie moved through the morning routine like a ghost possessing her own body. She packed lunches, broke up a fight over a missing sneaker between Leo and the dog, and fed baby Sam his bottle—all while her heart bled out quietly onto the kitchen floor.

She purposefully avoided looking at the island. She avoided looking at the spot where Smoke had stood just twelve hours ago and murdered their marriage.

By 7:45 AM, the older kids were ushered out the front door toward the bus stop. Annie stood on the porch, holding Sam on her hip, waving until the yellow bus disappeared around the corner.

The forced, bright smile held on her face until the exact moment the bus was out of sight.

As the quiet of the neighborhood settled around her, Annie’s eyes dropped to the porch floorboards. Right where Smoke had been standing the night before, there was a faint, dark smear on the white painted wood.

She slowly knelt down, shifting Sam’s weight on her hip, and touched it.

It was a tiny speck of dried blood.

Annie frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion. It hadn't been there yesterday.

Had Smoke hurt his hand at the site?

Why hadn't he said anything?

The memory of his hands suddenly flashed in her mind

The way he had kept his left hand shoved deep into his pocket during the entire brutal fight.

The way he had seemed so rigid, so intensely tightly coiled, as if he were holding himself together by sheer force of will.

A cold, strange unease rippled through her veins, temporarily breaking through the suffocating fog of her grief.

She stood up slowly, her thumb rubbing the dried flake of blood. It didn't make sense. None of it made sense. The man who had looked at her with such dead, empty eyes last night was not the man who had loved her with such desperate, consuming passion the night before.

I lied, he had said.

Annie looked down the empty street, her jaw tightening.

She was shattered, yes.

She was devastated.

But as she walked back inside and locked the heavy oak door, the tears finally stopped falling. Annie had spent fifteen years studying every square inch of Smoke Moore's soul.

She knew his tells.

She knew his shadows.

And something in the dark didn't add up.

Room 114 of the Sunburst Motel smelled like stale cigarettes, mildew, and despair.

It was a violent downgrade from the sprawling, coastal luxury of the home Elijah and Annie had designed. The wallpaper was peeling, the AC unit rattled like a dying engine, and the mattress felt like it was stuffed with cinderblocks.

Smoke sat at the wobbly laminate desk in the corner, staring at the paperwork spread out before him.

Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.

His lawyer, a sharp, no-nonsense guy named Miller, had emailed them over at 8:00 AM. Miller had been utterly baffled on the phone.

“Smoke, you’re admitting to infidelity on paper? California is a no-fault state. If you put this in writing, she is going to take you to the cleaners. She’ll get the house, full custody, and maximum alimony. You won't have a dime.”

“That’s the point,” Smoke had replied, his voice dead. “Give her everything.”

He picked up the cheap black pen the motel had provided. He needed to sign the bottom line. He needed to make it official so he could file it by tomorrow.

He pressed the pen to the paper.

Twitch.

His left hand violently seized.

The pen violently scratched a harsh, jagged black line across the pristine legal document before snapping out of his grip and rolling onto the floor.

Smoke stared at his empty hand.

The fingers were curled inward, stiff and trembling, entirely refusing to obey his brain’s frantic commands to straighten.

A wave of pure, white-hot fury crashed over him. He grabbed his left wrist with his right hand, gritting his teeth, and forcefully tried to pry his own fingers open.

"Stop it," he hissed to the empty room, his chest heaving. "Just stop it. Not yet."

But the glioblastoma wasn't taking orders.

As he fought his own body, the familiar, blinding spike of pain detonated directly behind his left eye.

It was worse today.

It felt like a physical drill boring into his skull. The peeling wallpaper swam in and out of focus, a loud, high-pitched ringing drowning out the hum of the AC.

Smoke dropped his hand, letting out a raw, agonizing groan. He blindly reached for the orange pill bottle on the desk—the high-dose steroids Dr. Aris had prescribed to manage the brain swelling. He fumbled with the child-proof cap, his uncooperative fingers failing twice before he finally popped it open. He dry-swallowed two pills, his throat burning, and slumped forward until his forehead hit the cool laminate of the desk.

He closed his eyes, waiting for the medication to dull the absolute torture in his head.

Through the pain, his phone vibrated on the desk.

Smoke slowly turned his head, opening one bloodshot eye to look at the screen.

[Incoming Call: Annie]

His heart violently slammed against his ribs. For a fraction of a second, the urge to answer it—to hear her voice, to beg her to come pick him up, to tell her he was so incredibly terrified of dying alone in this filthy room—was completely overwhelming.

He stared at her name until the screen went dark.

Missed Call.

Smoke let out a ragged breath, the tears finally tracking sideways across the bridge of his nose. He picked up the pen with his right hand, awkwardly gripping it in his non-dominant fist.

Slowly, messily, like a child learning to write for the first time, Smoke traced his signature on the divorce papers.

Three miles away, Annie was standing in the center of Smoke’s walk-in closet, completely surrounded by the ghosts of her husband.

Baby Sam was finally down for his morning nap, giving Annie her first uninterrupted moment of silence. She hadn't called Smoke to beg him to come back. She hadn't called him to scream.

She called him because she was standing in front of his meticulously organized side of the closet, staring at his row of gym bags.

He had taken a duffel bag last night. But he had left behind his favorite worn-out leather weekender—the one he always took when he traveled. He had left behind his expensive electric razor. He had left his favorite boots.

Annie reached out and grabbed the gray hoodie he had worn two days ago, pressing the fabric to her face. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

It smelled like sawdust, heavily roasted coffee, and the musky cedar of his cologne. That was it.

She grabbed the flannel he had worn to the grocery store on Sunday. Same scent. She grabbed the t-shirt he wore to bed on Monday. Nothing.

Annie dropped the shirts to the floor, her heart pounding a strange, frantic rhythm.

Her name is Elena. I've been seeing her for six months.

If her husband had been sleeping with another woman for half a year, why was last night the very first time she had ever smelled that cloying, cheap gardenia perfume? Smoke was meticulous, yes, but no one was that perfect. Scent transferred. It lingered on car seats, on jackets, in hair. For six months, there hadn't been a single trace of another woman on him.

Then, magically, on the exact same night he breaks her heart, he walks in smelling like he bathed in a bottle of it?

"You're an idiot, Smoke," Annie whispered to the empty closet.

She turned on her heel and marched downstairs to his home office. She locked the door behind her and sat down in his heavy leather desk chair, pulling his iPad toward her. She knew his passcode—it was the date of their wedding. He hadn't changed it. Mistake number two.

She unlocked the screen and immediately opened their joint banking app.

She scrolled down to the date on that crumpled hotel receipt.

Three weeks ago.

The receipt was for $450.00 at the Grand Orchid Hotel.

Annie scoured the transactions.

There was no charge for $450.00.

Okay, she thought, her pulse quickening. He paid cash to hide it.

She looked for ATM withdrawals leading up to that weekend. Nothing. Smoke hadn't pulled out a single dollar of cash from their joint accounts in over two months. His personal business account for the contracting firm was linked as well. She checked it.

Zero withdrawals.

Where did he get four hundred and fifty dollars in untraceable cash?

Annie picked up her own phone. Her hands were shaking, but her mind felt razor-sharp for the first time in twelve hours. The paralyzing, suffocating grief from this morning had slowly morphed into a hot, dangerous adrenaline.

She searched for the number of the Grand Orchid Hotel and hit dial.

"Grand Orchid, guest services, how can I direct your call?" a polite voice answered.

"Hi," Annie said, forcing her voice to sound breezy and professional. "My husband stayed with you guys three weeks ago, and his accounting department lost the folio for his expense report. I was wondering if you could email me a copy? The last name is Moore. First name, Elijah."

"Of course, ma'am. Let me pull up that weekend," the receptionist typed for a few seconds. "Moore... Moore... Ah, here it is. Elijah Moore. One King Suite."

Annie’s breath caught. He was there.

"Can you confirm the payment method for the accounting department?" Annie asked, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the phone.

"Yes, it looks like he paid in cash at the front desk," the receptionist confirmed. "It was a walk-in reservation at 2:00 PM on that Friday."

"Great. Thank you," Annie swallowed hard. "And did he charge anything to the room? Room service, drinks?"

There was a pause.

More typing.

"No, ma'am," the receptionist sounded slightly confused. "Actually... the system shows the electronic keycard for that room was never used. He checked in and paid, but the door was never opened."

The air completely vanished from the room.

Annie sat frozen in the leather chair. The silence in the house was suddenly deafening.

The keycard was never used.

He hadn't slept with anyone in that room. He had walked in, handed them cash he had likely hidden from a side job, taken the receipt, and walked out.

He had manufactured the evidence.

Annie slowly lowered the phone from her ear. She looked at the framed photo on Elijah’s desk—a picture of him holding a newborn Sam in the hospital, tears of absolute joy streaming down his rugged face.

The blood on the porch.

The trembling hand.

The sudden, brutal personality shift.

The faked receipt.

He wasn't having an affair.

He was running away.

"What the hell is going on with you, Lijah?" Annie whispered, the hot tears finally returning to her eyes—not out of heartbreak this time, but out of absolute, bone-chilling terror.

Adrenaline is a terrifyingly efficient fuel.

He faked the receipt.

He faked the affair.

But why? Smoke was a fiercely loyal, terrifyingly protective man. He would step in front of a moving train for her and the kids. The only reason—the only conceivable reason—he would intentionally destroy her and run away was if he believed staying would hurt her more.

Annie opened a new tab on his iPad. Her fingers flew across the glass screen, pulling up the FordPass app they used to monitor the maintenance on his F-150.

She clicked on the Vehicle Location tab.

A tiny blue dot appeared on the map. It wasn’t parked at a luxury high-rise downtown with a twenty-six-year-old named Elena. It was parked ten miles away at the Sunburst Motel—a notorious, run-down dive off the interstate that rented rooms by the hour.

A millionaire contractor, voluntarily hiding in a roach motel.

"What are you doing, Smoke?" she breathed, her mind racing.

She closed the app and stared blankly at the screen, desperately hunting for the missing puzzle piece. Her mind violently rewound the last forty-eight hours. The stiffness in his shoulders. The way he avoided looking at her. The weird, rigid way he had held his left hand in his pocket during the fight.

Then, a memory slammed into her with the force of a physical blow.

"I’m going to run by an urgent care clinic down in West Palm just to make sure I didn't tear anything."

He had said that yesterday morning after dropping his coffee mug.

Annie’s hands started to shake.

She opened the web browser and typed in the URL for their Blue Shield health insurance portal. As the primary policyholder, her login granted her access to the entire family’s medical claims. She typed in her password, her breath hitching in her throat as the little blue loading circle spun.

The dashboard loaded.

She immediately clicked on Recent Claims.

There was a new, pending authorization from yesterday afternoon.

Annie leaned closer to the screen. It wasn't an urgent care clinic in West Palm. It was a Level II Hospital in West Palm Beach.

Patient: Moore, Elijah

Department: Neurology / Neuro-Oncology.

Services Rendered: MRI Brain W/WO Contrast.

Diagnosis Code: Pending Final Report.

Annie stopped breathing.

The air in the office was instantly sucked into a vacuum. She stared at the word Neurology. The letters seemed to detach from the screen, floating in her vision, sharp and jagged and dripping with venom.

MRI Brain.

You don't get a STAT MRI of your brain with contrast for a pinched nerve in your neck. You don't go to a neurologist for a strained muscle from lifting weights.

"No," she whispered, her hands flying up to cover her mouth.

The trembling hand. The dropped mug. The blinding headaches he tried to hide in the dark. The blood on the porch from where he had likely collapsed or dug his nails into his own skin in agony.

He wasn't having a midlife crisis.

He wasn't cheating on her.

There was something terrifyingly wrong inside his head.

“I’m suffocating here,” he had lied last night, looking at her with those dead, empty eyes. “I just want out.”

He had taken her hatred, fully absorbing the blow, just to set her free.

"You stupid, beautiful, arrogant idiot," Annie sobbed, a fresh wave of tears pouring freely down her face as she clutched the iPad to her chest.

She didn't collapse this time.

The despair was entirely eradicated by a fierce, blinding, maternal fury. Smoke was used to carrying the weight of the world on his massive shoulders. But he had fundamentally underestimated the woman he married.

Annie shoved the chair back and sprinted out of the office. She grabbed her phone from the kitchen counter and hit her mother's contact name.

"Mom," Annie said the second the line connected, her voice trembling but forged in absolute steel. "I need you at my house. Right now. Sam is asleep in his crib, and the older two get off the bus at three."

"Annie? Honey, what’s wrong? You sound—"

"Smoke is sick, Mom," Annie choked out, grabbing her car keys from the hook. "I don't know what it is yet, but it's bad. And he's trying to run away so I don't have to deal with it."

"Oh my God. I'm leaving right now. I'll be there in five minutes. Go get him."

Annie hung up. She ran out the front door, not even bothering to lock it, and threw herself into the driver's seat of her SUV. She jammed the car into reverse, the tires screeching against the pavement as she backed out of the driveway.

Smoke wanted to play the tragic martyr. He wanted to sit in the dark in a cheap motel room to spare her the pain of whatever was coming.

But as Annie merged onto the highway, slamming her foot down on the gas pedal toward the Sunburst Motel, she made a vow of her own. She was going to kick down the door of that filthy room, grab the love of her life by his stubborn collar, and demand the goddamn truth.

For better or worse. In sickness and in health.

She wasn't just words on a paper.

She was his wife.

And he was about to find out exactly what that meant.

Smoke sat at the edge of the motel bed, staring blankly at the divorce petition. He had finally managed to sign it. His signature looked like the jagged scrawl of a stranger, but it was legally binding. It was done.

He reached for the bottle of high-dose steroids on the desk, intending to take another dose to fight off the heavy, suffocating pressure building behind his left eye.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The sudden, violent pounding on the motel room door sounded like a SWAT raid. Smoke flinched, his left hand instinctively jerking. He knocked the orange pill bottle over, scattering little white tablets across the sticky laminate floor.

"Smoke!" a voice screamed from the other side of the cheap hollow-core door. "Smoke, open this goddamn door right now!"

Smoke’s heart stopped.

The blood entirely drained from his face, leaving him cold and paralyzed. It was Annie.

How the hell did she find me?

"I know you're in there!" Annie yelled, pounding so hard the wood groaned in the frame. "I tracked your truck! Open the door before I have the manager bring the master key!"

Panic, sharp, wild, and utterly terrifying, clawed at his throat.

He wasn't ready. He hadn't built his walls high enough yet.

The mask he had worn last night was cracking under the weight of the agony in his skull. If she saw him like this, if she looked into his eyes, she would see the truth.

He had to hold the line.

He had to be the monster.

Smoke stood up, his massive frame tight with manufactured fury. He crossed the small room in three strides, unlocked the deadbolt, and yanked the door open.

Annie stood on the concrete walkway. She looked terrible, her eyes were swollen, her dark hair was a mess, and she was wearing the same leggings from yesterday. But beneath the exhaustion, her eyes were burning with a fierce, absolute fire.

"What are you doing here, Annie?" Smoke demanded, his voice a low, hostile rumble. He blocked the doorway with his body, making sure she couldn't see the scattered pills on the floor behind him. "I told you I’d have the lawyer send the papers. You have no right to track me."

Annie didn't flinch.

She stepped forward, practically pressing her chest against his solid chest, forcing him to look down at her.

"The Grand Orchid Hotel," she said, her voice shaking but razor-sharp. "You paid cash. But the electronic keycard was never used. You never opened the door to that room, Smoke."

Smoke’s jaw locked. He stared down at her, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. Dammit. She checked.

"I stayed at Elena's place," he lied smoothly, without missing a beat. "I just bought the room to have an alibi if you checked the accounts. It doesn't change anything."

"Elena doesn't exist," Annie snapped, her voice rising. "Stop lying to me! I know you didn't go to an urgent care in West Palm. I logged into Blue Shield, Smoke. I saw the claim. Neurology. Brain MRI."

The world tilted on its axis.

The high-pitched ringing in Smoke’s ear suddenly turned into a deafening roar. His chest tightened so violently he could barely pull air into his lungs. She knew. The one thing he had sacrificed his marriage to hide from her, the one thing he was terrified of her finding out—she held it in her hands like a loaded gun.

Deny it. Push her away. Break her.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Smoke said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. He crossed his arms over his chest, burying his trembling left hand beneath his right bicep. "The urgent care referred me for an MRI because of a pinched nerve in my neck. The machine happened to be in the neuro wing. That’s it."

"A pinched nerve?" Annie repeated, letting out a wild, breathless laugh of sheer disbelief. "You expect me to believe you walked out on fifteen years of marriage, faked an affair, and moved into a roach motel because of a pinched nerve?"

"I walked out because I don't want to be married to you anymore!" Smoke roared, stepping out of the doorway to tower over her on the walkway. "Why is that so hard for you to understand? I’m done, Annie! The MRI was nothing! It was negative! I'm perfectly healthy, and I still don't want you!"

"You're a liar!" she screamed back, tears finally spilling hot and fast down her cheeks. She shoved his chest with both hands. "You're a coward! You're trying to protect me from something, but I am your wife! I took a vow! You don't get to unilaterally decide to shut me out because things get hard!"

"It's not about protecting you!" he shouted, the lie tearing his throat raw. "I don't love you! Look at me, Annie! Look me in the eye and listen to me! I don't love you!"

He stared down at her, forcing every ounce of venom and cold hatred he possessed into his gaze. He needed her to believe it. He needed her to feel the absolute, irrevocable rejection of the man she loved.

Annie stared back up at him, her chest heaving. She searched his dark eyes, looking for the warmth, the adoration, the familiar safe harbor she had known since she was a teenager.

She found nothing. Just a cold, impenetrable wall.

"Fine," Annie whispered, her voice finally breaking. The fight completely drained out of her body, leaving her hollow and defeated. "If you really don't love me... if you really want this divorce... then sign the papers right now. In front of me."

Smoke didn't hesitate. He stepped back into the room, leaving the door open. He picked up the signed petition from the wobbly desk and walked back to the doorway. He shoved the papers roughly into her hands.

"Already done," he said coldly.

Annie looked down at the paper. Her eyes scanned the document, landing on the signature line at the very bottom.

The breath completely left her lungs.

She stared at the ink. It wasn't Elijah’s signature. Elijah had beautiful, sharp, architectural handwriting. The signature on the paper was a jagged, barely legible scrawl. It looked like a young child had violently dragged a pen across the paper.

She slowly looked up from the paper, her tear-filled eyes dropping from his face to his arms.

He was still standing with his arms crossed defensively over his chest. But beneath his right bicep, his left hand—the hand he had used to sign the paper, the hand he had been hiding in his pocket for two days—was violently, uncontrollably trembling.

Smoke saw where she was looking.

He immediately dropped his arms, shoving his left hand deep into his jeans pocket, his face pale and stricken.

But he was too late.

Annie looked up into his eyes, the absolute, horrifying truth finally clicking completely into place.

"Elijah" she whispered, her voice trembling with absolute terror. "What is wrong with your hand?"

A/N:

I hope you all enjoyed this! This is a pretty short series- maybe one or two more chapter. As always, Let me know in the comments how y'all feel! Until Next time 💝

Tag List:

@mmbee675 @warybasiliskloremaster @bananajoeclone @r8dsquid

[myheartsaysyes]

The Mixtape: Part 6

Summary: A mixtape, a confession, a punch, and one very public cookout meltdown. Annie and Smoke finally tell the truth. Too bad the truth came with witnesses.

A/N: Be gentle with me and remember what Erika Badu said about her shit! 🫣

W/C: 11k

Annie laughed. The sound came out sharp.

“You wanna know why?”

Smoke’s jaw tightened.

“Why I look at you like that.” Her grip tightened around the suitcase handle. “Because the last time I saw you, you acted like you couldn’t wait for me to get the fuck outta Mississippi.”

A murmur moved through the yard.

Smoke’s head jerked back slightly. “What?”

“You heard me.” The tears were coming faster now. “I came to yo’ house so excited to see you.”

She pointed at him. “I was nervous as fuck.” She stepped closer. “But you ain’t even want me there.”

The memory hit her all over again. Standing in that house. Sitting at the kitchen table. Trying to make conversation with him when he felt a million miles away despite being right in front of her.

“You barely talked to me.”

Smoke stared at her. “Annie—”

“No.” Her voice cracked. “You stood most of the time.”

Another step.

“You looked miserable.”

Another.

“You was more interested in whoever called your phone, than talkin’ to me.”

Something flashed across Smoke’s face. 

Memory.

Finally.

“Then I told you I was leavin’.” Her voice dropped. “And all you could say was ‘aight.’”

The yard went silent, because now they weren’t talking about the years after. They were talking about the last day. The last face-to-face meeting.

Annie laughed bitterly. “I said I’d call you.” Her eyes burned. “You ain’t even act like you cared if I did.”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t even halfway down them porch steps before you closed the fuckin’ door.”

Smoke just stared at her. 

Then he laughed. 

The sound wasn’t amused. It wasn’t even angry. It sounded exhausted. Like somebody reaching the end of their rope.

“You really believe that delusional shit, huh?”

Annie froze.

Smoke shook his head.

“I sent you letters.”

His voice rose.

“I sent you birthday cards.”

Another step.

“I sent you Christmas cards.”

The hurt was gone now. This was frustration.

Years of it.

“Any fuckin’ thing I could think of to get you to talk to me.”

Smoke pointed at the mixtape still clutched in his hand.

“That mixtape was the last fuckin’ straw.”

Annie’s face faltered.

Smoke kept going. “I put everything I couldn’t say in that muthafucka.” His chest rose sharply. “I told you I loved you in that shit.” 

The words cracked. “Without sayin’ the words.”

Another step.

“And you still gave my ass nothin’.”

Annie stared at him. Confused. Hurt.

Smoke laughed again. Broken this time.

“No call.”

Another breath.

“No letter.”

Another.

“No card.”

His eyes burned. “Nothing.”

The silence stretched tight between them.

Then his face hardened. “And when I finally did talk to yo’ ass?”

Annie felt her stomach drop.

Smoke nodded once. Slow. Deliberate. “You got some nigga laughin’ in the background.”

The entire yard went still. Someone gasped. 

Annie blinked.

“What are you—?”

“You heard me.”

His jaw clenched.

“I called.”

Another breath.

“And some nigga in the background laughin’ while I’m listenin’ feelin’ stupid as fuck.”

Recognition flickered across Annie’s face.

Finally.

Because he’d been carrying that one for years.

“How the fuck you think that felt, huh?”

Annie opened her mouth. “Elijah…”

Smoke shook his head. 

Then finally answered the question she’d been asking this entire time. The one underneath everything else. The one about why he hadn’t begged.

Why he hadn’t chased. 

Why he hadn’t stopped her.

His voice dropped. Dangerously quiet.

“You wanted me to tell you to stay?”

Annie’s eyes filled with tears instantly.

Smoke nodded.

“You wanted me to tell you not to go?”

The hurt surfaced one final time. 

Raw. 

Unprotected.

“How was I to fight for you when I already thought you was gone?”

The words landed between them with enough force to steal the air from her lungs. 

For the first time since she stepped back into Mississippi, Annie realized something she had never considered.

The last time she saw Elijah Moore, he wasn’t sitting across that kitchen thinking she was leaving.

He was sitting there thinking she had already left.

Jada couldn’t remember the last time she felt this invisible.

The strange part was that neither of them had forgotten she was there.

Annie had looked directly at her. Smoke had answered questions about her. Her name had been spoken more than once since this conversation started.

Yet standing here now, she had the uncomfortable feeling that she was watching something that had started years before she arrived and would continue long after she left.

Around them, the cookout had faded into background noise. Not literally. Mrs. Jones still stood beside the grill. The dominoes game remained abandoned. Children still tore through the yard with water guns while somebody’s uncle argued about football loud enough for half the neighborhood to hear.

But none of it seemed to matter to the two people standing in the middle of the yard.

They had stopped talking about her several minutes ago.

Maybe they had never really been talking about her at all.

The thought settled uneasily in her chest.

She had spent the last year believing she understood what existed between her and Smoke. He hadn’t promised her anything. If anything, he had been frustratingly honest from the beginning. He wasn’t looking for a relationship. He wasn’t making promises. More than once he had told her she deserved somebody capable of giving her more than he could.

At the time, she thought he was protecting himself.

Now she wasn’t so sure.

Now she stood here listening to Annie talk about North Carolina and loneliness and missing Smoke, and for the first time Jada found herself wondering if she had misunderstood the entire situation from the beginning.

Because whatever this was, it didn’t feel unfinished.

It felt… interrupted.

To make it worse she heard him say—

“I thought you knew how much I fuckin’ love you.”

She felt the sentence before she fully understood it.

Her mind tried to correct what he had said. Tried to bend the words into something easier to survive. Loved. Had loved. Used to love. Any version that belonged safely in the past, where old heartbreaks and high school memories were supposed to stay. But Smoke hadn’t said it that way. He stood in the middle of Mrs. Jones’ yard with his voice cracked open, eyes fixed on Annie like nobody else existed, and said he loved her in the present tense.

Love.

It wasn’t nostalgia, regret or some unfinished thing he had outgrown, but never properly buried. Love. The kind of word Jada had spent the last year trying not to ask for because she already knew better. The kind of word Smoke had never offered her, not even accidentally, not even in one of their after-midnight moments when sometimes people said more than they meant to. He had been kind to her. Honest with her. Careful in his own way. But he had never been open. 

Not like this. 

Not exposed in front of half the town with his pride bleeding out at Annie’s feet.

The pieces came together slowly at first, then all at once. Every dinner made sense. The silence after Annie’s name came up. Every conversation he ended before it could become something more. 

Every moment she had mistaken for progress suddenly looked different.

She had spent a year telling herself Smoke was guarded, emotionally unavailable, too damaged by whatever had happened back then to let anybody all the way in. Standing here now, watching him look at Annie like the last eight years had never been able to touch the deepest part of him, Jada understood the truth with a humiliation so quiet it almost felt private.

He hadn’t been unavailable.

He was just unavailable to her.

She looked at Annie then, really looked at her. Tears were coming down her face so freely now that she didn’t seem aware of them anymore. The suitcase was still in her hand, though her grip had gone slack around the handle. She looked wrecked. Angry. Drunk enough to say too much and sober enough to feel every bit of it. Jada wanted to hate her for standing there holding the one thing Jada had spent years hoping for. But the anger wouldn’t hold the way it used to. Not now. Not while Annie looked like she had been bleeding from the same wound all along.

Then she looked at Smoke.

He wasn’t watching the crowd. Not Stack, Pearline, Mary or the dominoes table that had gone still behind him. 

He wasn’t even watching her.

The thought settled strangely in her chest because, despite everything, she knew things about Smoke. She knew how he took his coffee. Knew what kind of music he listened to when he thought nobody was paying attention. 

But standing here now, she found herself seeing how much of him had always remained just out of reach.

She knew his real name.

She had just used it not even an hour prior.

But standing here now, she realized there was a difference between knowing a name and belonging to it.

To most people he was Smoke. Even when they called him Elijah, it sounded like a substitute. A government name. Something official.

Annie said it differently.

Elijah when she was angry. Elijah when she was crying. Elijah when she wanted him to understand exactly how much he had hurt her.

And every single time she said it, his attention sharpened.

Friends had called him Elijah before. His family certainly had. But Jada couldn’t remember ever hearing another person say it and have him answer it so completely.

The realization settled quietly.

The name didn’t belong to Annie.

But somehow, the version of him that answered to it always had.

He was looking at Annie the same way he had looked past Jada in that parking lot freshman year. The same way he had looked every time Jada convinced herself she was imagining it, because the alternative meant admitting there had never really been a contest.

That was the part that finally settled.

There had never been a contest.

She had spent years wondering what Annie had that she didn’t. Beauty, softness, ease, some invisible thing people seemed to recognize before she could name it. She had treated the question like something she could solve if she studied it long enough. As though understanding Annie would somehow teach her how to be chosen over her. But standing there with Smoke’s confession still hanging in the humid air, she realized the question had always been wrong.

It was never about what Annie had.

It was Annie.

It had always been Annie.

Standing in Mrs. Jones’s backyard, listening to Smoke confess a love he never stopped carrying, she finally understood.

It was Annie then.

It was still Annie now.

Stack should have felt surprised.

Instead, he felt like somebody had finally handed him the missing pages of a story he’d been trying to understand for years.

Around him, nobody was pretending to mind their business anymore.

Aunt Cheryl had abandoned the grill entirely. The tongs she’d been carrying were long gone now, forgotten somewhere behind her. Uncle Lewis stood beside her with his arms folded across his chest, his expression unreadable beneath the evening light. Geneva and Max had drifted closer too. Even the dominoes game had dissolved. The men still sat around the table, but nobody was touching the tiles. The entire yard seemed suspended between one moment and the next, waiting to see what would happen.

He barely noticed any of it.

His attention remained fixed on Annie and Smoke.

For the first time since Annie came home, Smoke and Annie were finally talking. Really talking. Not the careful conversations they’d been having for the last two days or the polite versions of themselves they showed everybody else. 

This was the ugly shit. The buried shit. Shit both of them should’ve said years ago, but never did.

Then Smoke said it.

“When I finally talked to yo’ ass, I heard some nigga in the background laughin’.”

The words settled over the yard.

He felt something click into place. He didn’t know exactly what Smoke was talking about, but suddenly he understood something he hadn’t understood in years.

Back then, he’d known something happened. He just never knew what.

After Annie moved to North Carolina, Smoke had still talked about her at first. Not constantly. That wasn’t his style. But enough. Enough that he knew she stayed on his mind. Then one day it seemed like somebody flipped a switch.

Smoke stopped bringing her up. He wasn’t checking the mailbox on the regular. And he stopped looking at the phone every time it rang.

The change hadn’t happened at once. It was slow enough that most wouldn’t have noticed it. 

But he did.

They were sitting on the back patio steps one evening when he’d finally gotten tired of pretending not to know something was wrong.

“What happened wit’ Annie?”

Smoke didn’t answer. He’d kept staring out into the yard like he hadn’t heard the question.

“Nothin’.”

“C’mon bruh.”

A long silence followed.

Then Smoke finally spoke. “Me and Annie done.”

Stack remembered waiting for more. An explanation. A reason.

Anything.

None came.

Smoke stood, flicked his cigarette into the dirt, and walked inside.

That had been the end of it.

Every time Stack tried bringing Annie up afterward, the conversation died before it started. Smoke changed the subject. Left the room. Found something else to do. Looking back, Stack realized he hadn’t been protecting a secret.

He’d been protecting a wound.

Standing in Aunt Cheryl’s backyard now, listening to eight years of misunderstandings unravel in real time, he finally knew what he’d been looking at back then.

Smoke hadn’t stopped talking because he stopped caring. He stopped talking because something convinced him Annie was already gone.

The knowledge of this sat heavy. He watched the two of them. Shit, the whole reason he’d pushed Annie to come over that last time she was in town was because he’d been hoping they would talk. 

He remembered practically forcing the issue. Telling her to stop being scary and come through. Watching her walk into the house carrying that overnight bag. Watching Smoke look up when she stepped through the door. Then leaving because he’d thought privacy was all they needed.

Now he wanted to go back in time and knock both of them upside the fucking head.

Apparently they’d spent the entire visit doing exactly what they were doing before now—avoiding conversations that mattered.

Annie thought Smoke had sent her a goodbye.

Smoke thought Annie had moved on.

Neither one of them said any of it.

Stack looked towards Pearline.

She stood with her arms folded tightly across her chest, her face still carrying traces of the argument she’d had upstairs. If there was anybody in the yard having a worse day than Annie and Smoke, it was probably her.

Between Annie cussing her out and Mary standing twenty feet away pretending she hadn’t started half this bullshit, Pearline was already hanging on by a thread. Add in the fact that Mary had slept with Stack while she and Stack were still trying to figure out whatever the hell they were becoming, and Pearline looked one inconvenience away from committing a felony.

Despite everything else going on, they both seemed to arrive at the same conclusion at exactly the same time.

These two had spent eight years makin’ themselves miserable when all they had to do was open their muthafuckin’ mouths and talk.

Annie stared at him.

For several seconds, she couldn’t make herself respond. Not because she had nothing to say, but because too many things arrived at once and crowded her throat before any one of them could become words. The heat in her face sharpened into something closer to embarrassment, then anger, then disbelief. She could see him standing there at eighteen with the phone pressed to his ear, hearing some boy laugh somewhere behind her and deciding the worst possible thing because hurt people were good at doing that. 

She could see it. That was the problem. She could finally see it, and seeing it didn’t make her less angry.

“That was probably somebody from class,” she said, her voice rough from crying. “I don’t know, Elijah. I had people around me.”

Smoke laughed once, and the sound cut through what little softness had tried to form between them. “Of course you did.”

Annie’s eyes narrowed. “What the fuck that supposed to mean?”

“It mean exactly what it sound like.” 

His grip tightened around the mixtape without him seeming to realize it. 

“I been standin’ here listenin’ to you tell me what you thought, what you felt, what you needed, like I was supposed to know all that from three states away when half the time I couldn’t even get you on the fuckin’ phone. I tried everything I could think of just to get you to talk to me. And you still gave me your ass to kiss.”

The words hit hard enough to make someone in the crowd inhale sharply. 

Annie felt the force of them too, but pride rose before hurt could fully show. It crawled up her spine and locked her shoulders in place, the same stubbornness that had carried her through years of pretending she hadn’t spent half her life missing him. 

Across the yard, Pearline’s face tightened like she already knew Annie was about to say something she would regret. 

Maybe she did. Maybe everyone did. Maybe that’s why she started moving towards Annie.

Smoke kept going, his voice lower now but no less dangerous. “So yeah, when I finally heard yo’ voice and some nigga was in the background laughin’ like he had a reason to be comfortable around you, I was done. By the time you came to my house, I already thought you was gone. Hell yeah I was distant. Hell yeah I didn’t know what to say. What the fuck you expect me to do, Annie? Sit there and beg you to stay after you had spent months showin’ me you ain’t wanna be kept?”

Annie flinched before she could stop herself.

The reaction crossed Smoke’s face quickly. Satisfaction didn’t follow it. If anything, he looked worse for having said it. 

Tired. 

Angry. 

Hurt enough to keep swinging because stopping would mean feeling the full weight of what he had just admitted in front of everybody.

“That’s what you thought?” Annie asked.

“What else was I supposed to think?”

“You could’ve asked me.”

Smoke’s laugh was sharp. “Oh, you would’ve answered this time?”

The words landed exactly where he aimed them. 

Annie’s mouth parted, but nothing came out at first. 

Around them, the yard seemed to draw even closer. Aunt Cheryl had moved off to the side of them, Uncle Lewis beside her with a hand hovering near her elbow like he was not sure whether to hold her back or follow her in. Geneva and Aunt Max stood just behind them, their faces set with the kind of concern that understood this was no longer simply messy. 

This was two people cutting each other because bleeding alone had stopped feeling fair.

Annie swallowed hard, but her pride would not let her lower her voice. “Sorry,” she said, the word brittle enough to break. “I forgot who I was talkin’ to.”

Smoke’s eyes darkened. “What that mean?”

She laughed, and it came out uglier than she intended. “Mr. Talkative. My fault. I forgot I was supposed to read your mind and listen to a mixtape wit’ no note, no explanation, no call, no nothin’, and somehow understand everything you were too fuckin’ scared to say out loud.”

Stack’s hand came up toward his face, not quite covering his eyes but close enough. Pearline closed hers. Mary, who had been chewing on the inside of her cheek so hard she looked like she might draw blood, went completely still. Even Jada seemed to wince, though whether it was for Annie or Smoke, nobody could tell.

Smoke stared at Annie like she had reached over and put her hand directly on an old bruise.

“You wanna talk about that day at my house?” he asked.

Annie lifted her chin. “I been talkin’ about it.”

“Nah.” Smoke shook his head once, slow and controlled. “You been talkin’ about what you decided it was. You walked in there already thinkin’ I had moved on, and everything I did after that, you made it fit.”

Her eyes flashed. “And you didn’t?”

The question stopped him for a moment, just long enough for Annie to see that it landed. She stepped closer before she could think better of it, the suitcase forgotten at her side, the tequila still moving through her blood in warm, reckless waves.

“You stood there lookin’ at your phone,” she said. “That’s what you were doin’ while I was sittin’ there feelin’ stupid. So since we talkin’ about assumptions, what was I supposed to think? You thought I moved on, you did too?”

Smoke’s jaw clenched. “That wasn’t—”

“Wasn’t, what, Smoke?” she cut in.

The name landed wrong.

Everybody felt it.

Smoke’s face changed immediately, the anger tightening into something sharper because she knew exactly what she had done. She always called him Elijah, and today dragging his real name out of him with every accusation and every confession, and now she had put Smoke between them like a door slamming shut.

Annie saw the reaction and kept going anyway.

“That your phone wasn’t blowin’ up? That you wasn’t waitin’ on somebody else to call? What, you was fuckin’ Jada back then too? Couldn’t wait to call her pick-me ass once I left?”

Mary choked on whatever was in her cup. It came out half cough, half strangled laugh, and Aunt Max shot her a look sharp enough to cut. Jada’s face went completely still, all the earlier humiliation hardening into something colder as she looked from Annie to Smoke and back again. She didn’t smirk. She didn’t defend herself. She only shook her head once, small and tired, like even she knew this had stopped being about her a long time ago and somehow Annie had dragged her back into it anyway.

Smoke’s voice dropped. “That was my boss.”

Annie blinked.

Smoke took a step closer. “That phone you keep talkin’ about? That was my boss tellin’ me what job site to be at the next mornin’.”

For one humiliating instant, Annie felt the ground quake under her. She saw the kitchen again. Smoke glancing at the phone. Her stomach twisting. Her mind building a whole story out of one look because she had been scared enough to believe almost anything by then. The obviousness of it should have made her quiet. 

Instead, pride rushed in to save her from the shame.

“Sure, Smoke.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t do that.”

“The way you looked at that phone wasn’t no damn job site look.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that nigga was just a classmate?” Smoke fired back, his voice rising again. “Not with the way he was laughin’. Not with that little ‘oh, Annie’ shit in the background like he knew somethin’ I didn’t.”

Recognition flashed across her face before she could hide it.

Smoke caught it.

“Yeah,” he said, the word rough. “I remember that part too.”

Annie’s stomach tightened because now she remembered it clearly enough to hate how messy memory could be. A study group. Somebody joking around. A boy from class who had been harmless and annoying and nowhere near important enough to have shaped eight years of pain. She couldn’t even remember his name. Could barely remember his face. 

Yet here Elijah stood, holding onto his laugh like evidence.

“Again…you could’ve asked,” she said through clenched teeth.

Smoke’s laugh came fast and mean. “Again… you would’ve answered?”

The yard flinched with her.

Annie took a step toward him, anger burning through the embarrassment now. “Maybe if you learned how to open your fuckin’ mouth instead of sittin’ around actin’ like silence make you deep, we wouldn’t be here.”

Stack moved before anyone else did. Not fully between them yet, but closer. Pearline reached for Annie at the same time, her hand closing around her arm just above the elbow.

“Annie,” Pearline warned softly.

Annie snatched her arm back without looking at her. “No, don’t Annie me. Everybody wanna talk now, right? Everybody got all this shit to say now.”

Smoke stepped forward too, and Stack’s hand landed flat against his chest.

“Back up,” Stack muttered.

Smoke didn’t look at him. “Move.”

“Nah, back up bruh.”

Aunt Cheryl finally stepped into the center of it, and though her voice was not loud, it carried across the yard with enough force to cut through the shouting. 

“ENOUGH.”

Nobody moved at first.

She looked at Annie, then at Smoke, and the disappointment in her face somehow made both of them look younger. “Y’all are bein’ real damn silly right now, and I know both of y’all got more sense than this.”

Annie’s chest rose and fell too quickly. “I’m leaving.”

“Baby, don’t walk outta here like this,” Aunt Cheryl said.

“I said I’m leaving.”

“You hear me talkin’ to you?”

Annie looked away because if she looked at Aunt Cheryl too long, she might break in a way anger could not hide. “I can’t be here.”

Smoke laughed under his breath, and the sound made something in her snap before he even spoke.

“Go on then.”

The yard went still.

Stack’s head turned sharply toward his brother. “Smoke.”

Smoke ignored him, his eyes locked on Annie. “Run away like you always do. That’s what you good at anyway.”

The words hit harder than anything else he had said, maybe because this one was not about old phone calls or letters or a mixtape or some boy laughing in the background. This one was about her. About the pattern he believed he knew. 

About the thing she feared might be true.

Annie moved before she thought.

Pearline caught her around the waist just as Stack caught Smoke by the shoulders.

“Let me go,” Annie snapped.

“No,” Pearline said, voice shaking now. “No, you not doin’ this.”

Smoke tried to shrug Stack off. “Get off me.”

“Bruh, chill the fuck out,” Stack said, tightening his grip. “Both of y’all look stupid.”

The whole yard had shifted into motion now. Aunt Cheryl was yelling for everybody to back up. Uncle Lewis stepped between two cousins trying to get closer. Geneva had one hand pressed to her mouth while Aunt Max kept saying Annie’s name like repetition might bring her back to herself. 

Cornbread stood near the edge of the yard with Therise tucked behind him, his eyes moving between Smoke and anyone who looked like they might be foolish enough to step in wrong. Bo hovered near the dominoes table, uncertain whether to help or stay out of grown folks’ business. Mike and Isoo stood a little farther away with Grace beside them, all three looking like they had accidentally wandered into the part of a family gathering nobody was supposed to see.

Then Annie saw Isoo.

It happened fast enough that nobody could stop it and slow enough that everybody understood what she was doing.

Her eyes found him across the yard, and the expression on her face changed. It wasn’t soft or calm. Her expression changed into something petty, wounded, and desperate to regain control of a situation that had stripped her bare in front of all the people she knew.

“Isoo.”

Smoke went still in Stack’s arms.

Pearline’s grip tightened around Annie immediately. “Annie, don’t.”

Isoo looked caught off guard at first. Then he straightened, his gaze flicking from Annie to Smoke and back again. “Uhh, yeah?”

Annie wiped her face with the back of her hand, still breathing too hard. “Will you get me outta here? I don’t wanna be here no more.”

A low sound moved through the yard.

Smoke’s entire body moved forward, but Stack shoved him back hard enough to make him stumble a half step.

“Don’t,” Stack said.

Smoke’s eyes never left Annie. “You serious?”

Annie looked directly at him when she answered. “Yeah.”

Pearline turned her slightly, trying to make Annie look at her instead. “Please don’t do this. Not like this.”

Aunt Cheryl stepped closer. “Annie, baby, you makin’ a mistake.”

“I already made plenty today.”

“Then don’t make another one,” Geneva said, her voice gentle but firm.

Annie heard them. She did. Somewhere underneath the hurt and the tequila and the humiliation, she heard every warning being offered to her. But hearing was not the same as stopping. Not when Smoke was still looking at her like he had been right about her all along. 

Not when the word run was still sitting in the air between them.

Isoo took a cautious step forward.

Mike immediately caught his arm. “Bro, don’t do it.”

Isoo looked at him. “She don’t wanna be here, Mike.”

“I said don’t do it.”

“She asked me for a ride.”

Mike’s expression tightened because everybody knew it was more than that. Annie knew it too. So did Isoo. So did Smoke. The entire yard could see it, which only made it worse.

Smoke shoved Stack’s hands off him hard enough this time that Stack had to step in front of him fully. “Annie, you don’t gotta leave. I’ll go.”

The words should have softened something.

They did.

For a second.

Then Isoo spoke.

“She said she don’t wanna be here, Smoke. Let her go.”

Smoke turned his head slowly.

The yard seemed to feel the change before anybody moved. Stack’s hand went back to Smoke’s chest. Mike stepped in front of Isoo. Aunt Cheryl said Smoke’s name in a voice that should have stopped him.

It did not.

Isoo stepped around Mike and lifted his chin just enough to make the whole thing worse. “You done said enough to her.”

Smoke moved so fast Stack barely managed to get a hand on him.

It slowed the first step.

It didn’t stop the second.

The punch landed with a sick, clean sound that cut through the entire yard. Isoo stumbled backward into Mike, one hand flying to his mouth as Grace screamed and Cornbread cursed loud enough to shake the trees. 

Everything exploded at once. 

Stack grabbed Smoke from behind, dragging him back with both arms locked around his chest. Mike shoved Isoo behind him while Bo and Cornbread rushed forward. Aunt Cheryl’s voice rose above everybody else, furious and heartbroken all at once, but Annie barely heard it.

Annie stood frozen with Pearline’s arms still around her.

Because a minute ago she had wanted to leave.

A minute ago she had wanted to hurt him.

A minute ago she had wanted to prove she could walk away first.

Now Elijah stood several feet away, breathing hard, eyes still locked on hers while half the yard tried to keep him from doing something worse, and Annie realized with a sick, sinking feeling that the thing between them had not broken open.

It had finally broken all the way loose.

Stack didn’t stop walking until they were well past the edge of the cookout.

The music still carried through the trees, muffled now by distance. Every so often laughter drifted across the yard, strange and out of place after everything that had just happened. The farther they moved from the crowd, the easier it became to pretend the entire scene had happened somewhere else.

Smoke knew better.

His jaw still ached from how hard he’d been clenching it. His knuckles hurt too. Every few steps he flexed his hand without realizing it, the sting settling deeper each time.

Neither brother spoke.

Not at first.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It rarely was. Most people expected twins to talk constantly. Stack and Smoke had never needed to. Half the time they communicated through looks, shrugs, or the simple understanding that came from spending an entire lifetime beside somebody.

They stopped beneath the old pecan tree near the edge of the property.

The same tree they’d hidden behind as kids whenever Aunt Cheryl started handing out chores.

Smoke leaned against the trunk of the tree and reached into his pocket for a cigarette.

The movement felt automatic. Familiar. Something to do with his hands while his head tried and failed to catch up with everything that had happened over the last hour. His fingers found the pack easily enough, but when he reached for the lighter, the tremor hit immediately. Not enough for most people to notice. Enough for Stack.

The wheel clicked beneath his thumb.

Nothing.

Smoke frowned and tried again. This time a flame appeared before sputtering out. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath as frustration tightened his jaw. Before he could try a third time, the lighter disappeared from his hand altogether.

He looked up.

Stack stood there holding it.

Neither brother acknowledged what had just happened. They didn’t need to. Stack flicked the wheel once and a steady flame appeared immediately. Smoke leaned forward, lit the cigarette, and took a long drag. The burn settled harshly in his lungs, but it gave him something to focus on besides the image of Annie standing in the middle of Aunt Cheryl’s yard with tears on her face, fire in her eyes, and a suitcase in her hand.

For a while neither of them spoke. The sounds of the cookout drifted through the trees in pieces. Somebody shouted something that earned a chorus of responses. Music floated lazily through the humid evening air. Life was already trying to move on from the scene they had left behind.

Smoke wasn’t.

His attention kept drifting toward the house. The porch. The front yard. The windows upstairs. Anywhere Annie might appear.

Stack followed his brother’s gaze and immediately understood what he was looking for.

Or rather who.

It sat heavily on his chest. Even after the argument, after the screaming. And even after the punch. Smoke was still checking to see if Annie had left.

Again.

Stack rubbed a hand across his jaw and sighed.

“You know what’s crazy?”

Smoke already hated where this was going.

“No.”

“You punched the wrong nigga.”

The cigarette paused halfway to Smoke’s mouth. He turned slowly toward his brother, prepared to tell him exactly where he could go with that opinion, but the words never came. Stack wasn’t smiling. There wasn’t even a hint of amusement on his face.

That was how Smoke knew he was serious.

“Isoo ain’t why you mad.”

Smoke looked away.

Unfortunately, that only proved the point.

Stack watched him before his attention drifted downward. The mixtape was still in Smoke’s hand.

That stopped him.

Because of what it represented. Because somehow, through the argument, the walk across the yard, and the fight, Smoke had never put the damn CD down.

“You still got it.”

Smoke frowned.

“What?”

Stack nodded toward the plastic case.

“You ain’t even notice, did you?”

For the first time Smoke followed his gaze. His eyes settled on the familiar handwriting stretched across the cover, and something tightened in his chest so suddenly it almost annoyed him.

Annie’s handwriting.

Uneven.

Familiar.

The same handwriting he’d spent years pretending didn’t matter anymore.

Two weeks.

She’d spent two weeks making it. Two weeks choosing songs and recording tracks and carrying around thoughts she apparently never intended to say out loud. Then she’d brought it all the way from North Carolina just to throw it at his head in the middle of a family cookout.

The memory should’ve irritated him. Instead, the corner of his mouth twitched.

Stack caught it immediately.

“There he is.”

Smoke rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Nah.” A laugh escaped Stack before he could stop it. “That girl been stressin’ yo’ ass out since freshman year.”

The comment should’ve been easy to ignore. Instead it pulled a memory loose.

Not a fight or an argument.

Something worse.

A Saturday afternoon at Mary’s house nearly ten years ago.

The backyard had been packed with teenagers pretending they were older than they actually were. Music blasted from a speaker somebody’s cousin swore cost more than his first car. Folding chairs circled coolers full of drinks nobody was supposed to have. Half the boys spent the afternoon trying to look cool while half the girls pretended not to notice them trying.

Annie had been sitting on the hood of somebody’s car laughing so hard she nearly slid off the edge.

Stack remembered that part clearly.

The sunlight catching the gold in her earrings. Her hair pulled back. The way she laughed with her whole body when something genuinely caught her off guard.

Isoo stood nearby, running his mouth the way Isoo always did.

Talking.

Joking.

Trying to make everybody laugh.

For a while nobody paid much attention. Then Annie hopped down from the hood and wandered off toward the house with Pearline and a few other girls.

The conversation turned naturally after that.

At least until Isoo looked in the direction she’d disappeared and shook his head.

“Maaaannn, Annie get any thicker and somebody gon’ have to do somethin’ about it.”

A few of the boys laughed. Stack remembered laughing too.

At first.

Isoo grinned. “Y’all laughin’, but I’m serious.”

More laughter.

Mike threw a chip at him. “Shut yo’ dumb ass up.”

Isoo caught it and kept talking anyway. “Landry act all shy and innocent, bet it won’t take much to get in them pants.”

The laughter died just enough for the guys to start looking at each other. Enough for Mike to stop smiling and for Stack to notice Smoke. Because Smoke had gone completely still. Not the usual version everybody knew. 

This was different.

The kind of stillness that felt dangerous.

Isoo either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“What?” he laughed. “Y’all know I’m right.”

Nobody answered.

Stack remembered watching Smoke set his drink down.

Slowly. 

Carefully.

The way people did when they were trying very hard not to break something.

Or someone.

“Aight.”

The single word cut through the conversation.

Isoo looked over. “What?”

Smoke’s face gave away nothing. “Aight.”

The backyard had gone completely silent by then. Even the music seemed farther away.

Isoo laughed nervously. “What?”

Smoke took one step forward. “Don’t do that.”

The smile faded from Isoo’s face. “Do what?”

“Talk about Annie.”

The answer came calm. Too calm.

Stack remembered exchanging a look with Mike. Both of them already knew where this was headed.

Isoo tried to laugh again. It didn’t sound nearly as confident this time. “Man, I ain’t say nothin’.”

Smoke took another step. “Then keep it that way.”

Nobody spoke. The tension sat thick enough to touch. Then Mike stepped between them before either one of them could do something stupid.

“Everybody chill.”

Smoke didn’t take his eyes off Isoo. Isoo didn’t take his eyes off Smoke. Eventually somebody changed the subject. Somebody turned the music up. 

The moment passed.

At least on the surface.

Later that night Stack finally asked about it. “You really don’t like Isoo?”

Smoke hadn’t even looked up from whatever he was pretending to focus on. “I tolerate him.”

Stack remembered laughing. “What the hell that mean?”

“It mean I tolerate him.”

That had been the end of the conversation.

At least until now.

Standing beneath the pecan tree nearly ten years later, the memory came back so clearly Stack almost laughed.

Almost.

Because looking at Smoke now, looking at the bruised knuckles, the cigarette hanging from his mouth, and the mixtape still clutched in his hand, Stack finally understood something he probably should’ve understood a long time ago.

Smoke never got over anything when it came to Annie. Not the comments. Not the misunderstandings. Not the silence. And definitely not her.

The memory hit Stack hard enough that he started laughing all over again.

Smoke shot him a glare. “What?”

“You serious?”

“What the fuck so funny?”

Stack shook his head. “Man.”

“What?”

“Nigga, you almost fought Isoo over Annie before she was even yo’ girl.”

Smoke frowned. “That ain’t what happened.”

“That’s exactly what happened.”

“It ain’t.”

Stack laughed. “Nigga, you been holdin’ a grudge against that man for almost ten years.”

Smoke dragged on the cigarette and looked away.

Which was answer enough.

Stack laughed one final time before the amusement faded from his face. Something more serious settled into its place as his eyes looked back towards the house. Somewhere behind them Aunt Cheryl was probably still fussing. Pearline was probably trying to keep Annie from doing something she’d regret. Mary was probably regretting every decision that led her to this afternoon.

Eventually Stack sighed. “You know what really got you tho?”

Smoke didn’t answer.

Stack kept going anyway. “She was leavin’.”

The words hit home.

Smoke’s shoulders tightened.

Stack noticed.

“That’s what this really about.”

The cigarette burned quietly between Smoke’s fingers as he stared toward the trees.

“You thought she was stayin’.”

Silence.

“And then she grabbed that suitcase.”

The image came back instantly. Annie walking across the yard. Suitcase in one hand. Mixtape tucked beneath her arm.

Leaving.

Again.

The feeling that followed made Smoke’s stomach turn.

Stack saw the exact moment it happened. Saw the way his brother looked away. Saw the way his jaw tightened.

“You ain’t punch Isoo because Annie asked him to get her outta there.”

His voice came quieter now.

More careful.

“You punched him because she grabbed that suitcase again and the first person she reached for wasn’t you.”

The truth settled heavy between them.

Smoke stared out toward the trees and, for once, had absolutely nothing to say. Because his brother was right.

And they both knew it.

After a while Stack nodded toward the mixtape still resting in Smoke’s hand.

“You gon’ listen to it?”

Smoke looked down.

The handwriting seemed heavier now somehow. Not because it had changed, but because he finally understood what it cost her to make it. The physical proof that Annie had loved him enough to create something. Loved him enough to carry it across state lines. Loved him enough to spend eight years holding onto pieces of him she should’ve left behind a long time ago.

“I don’t know.”

Stack snorted. “That’s a lie.”

Smoke glanced up.

Stack shook his head. “You been listenin’ to Annie for damn near ten years.”

The words lingered beneath the pecan tree long after neither brother said anything else. Smoke looked down at the mixtape again and, for the first time all day, allowed himself to consider the possibility that everything he thought he knew about the last eight years might’ve been wrong.

The yard didn’t go quiet after Stack dragged Smoke away, but something in it changed. The music still played from the speakers near the patio, and the children eventually started running again once the adults stopped looking like somebody might get knocked into the grass next. A few people returned to their plates because food was food, even when the family business had just embarrassed everybody in a twenty-foot radius. 

But nobody really went back to normal. 

The dominoes table remained half-abandoned. Aunt Cheryl’s grill smoked unattended. Uncle Lewis stood near the center of the yard with his hands on his hips, looking at everybody like he was daring one more person to act a fool. The whole cookout felt bruised.

Annie stood in the middle of it with Pearline’s hand still wrapped around her arm and realized, slowly and then with a sickening drop in her stomach, that she had done exactly what she swore she hated. 

She had made everybody watch her hurt. 

She had dragged Pearline into it. Jada into it.

And now Isoo. 

Elijah was dragged into the worst, ugliest parts of herself and then stood there shocked when he bled too. 

The anger that had carried her across the yard and into the argument had started to burn out, leaving behind humiliation, tequila, and the awful clarity of consequences. Across from her, Isoo stood with Mike beside him, rubbing his jaw while pretending the punch had not landed as hard as everybody heard it land.

Annie swallowed around the knot in her throat and pulled herself out of Pearline’s hold. For a moment Pearline tightened her fingers like she thought Annie might do something else, but Annie only shook her head and stepped toward Isoo. The movement made several people pause, including Mike, who immediately stepped halfway in front of his cousin like he didn’t trust this day to stop being stupid on its own. Annie could not blame him. She barely trusted herself.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and the words felt too small for the amount of damage sitting around them.

Isoo blinked at her like he had not expected to be included in her regret. “For what?”

Annie almost laughed, but the sound would have come out wrong, so she looked down instead. “For pullin’ you into this. For askin’ you to take me away from here when I knew exactly what I was doin’.” Her voice thinned slightly on the last part because saying it out loud made it real in a way thinking it had not. “You ain’t deserve to get hit because I was tryin’ to make him mad.”

Mike made a sound under his breath that sounded suspiciously like agreement, but Isoo lifted a hand before he could start. There was still irritation in his face, and there should’ve been, but there was also enough understanding to make Annie feel worse. “Yeah,” he said after a moment, rubbing his jaw again. “You kinda did put me in the middle of the shit.”

“I know.” Annie nodded, blinking back tears she was tired of shedding in public. “And I’m sorry.”

Isoo looked past her toward the side of the house where Stack had taken Smoke, then back at her. “You good?”

That almost broke her. It wasn’t because she was good, it was because Isoo asking after taking a punch from the man she had actually been trying to hurt made her feel about two inches tall. “No,” she admitted, barely above a whisper. “But that still wasn’t fair to you.”

Behind her, Aunt Cheryl gave a low hum that said she approved of the apology but not nearly enough to be finished with Annie. 

That sound alone made Annie’s shoulders drop. She knew what was coming before she turned around. Aunt Cheryl had moved closer, Aunt Max and Geneva with her, and Pearline stood slightly behind them with her arms crossed tight against her chest and dried tears still on her face. The four of them together looked less like comfort and more like judgment with earrings on.

Before Aunt Cheryl could speak, movement near the driveway caught Annie’s attention. Jada was standing beside her car with her keys in one hand and her purse tucked beneath her arm. 

For a minute she simply stood there, looking towards Annie with an expression Annie couldn’t fully read. Not smug, angry or defeated exactly. Just tired in a way that made Annie’s own anger toward her feel suddenly old and useless. 

Their eyes met across the yard, and neither woman said anything. There was too much history and not enough relationship for words to do anything helpful. Jada gave the smallest nod, not a forgiveness or friendship nod, but a nod of acknowledgment. She then opened her car door and left without turning the moment into anything bigger than it needed to be.

Mary, unfortunately, was not nearly as graceful.

“I just wanna say—”

The collective groan that rose around the yard cut her off quickly.

Pearline laughed. The sound held no amusement whatsoever.

“No.”

Mary blinked. “No?”

“No.” The exhaustion in Pearline’s voice somehow made the word sharper.

For one stunned moment she simply stared at Mary. The woman had spent the entire afternoon looking uncomfortable, defensive, confused, and mildly offended depending on who happened to be talking to her. Right now she looked all four at once.

Mary folded her arms. “I was just tryna help.”

That made Pearline laugh again.

This time several people looked over.

“Help who?”

“Annie.”

“By doin’ what?” Pearline asked. “Having Jada show up so you could embarrass Annie?”

Mary opened her mouth. Closed it. Then shrugged. “How was I supposed to know she didn’t know about Jada?”

Pearline stared at her for a long moment. The anger she’d been carrying around shifted into something else. 

Disbelief maybe.

Because that answer would’ve meant a lot more if Mary hadn’t spent years inserting herself into situations that had absolutely nothing to do with her.

“Funny.”

Mary frowned. “What’s funny?”

“You suddenly worried about other people’s feelings besides your own.”

A few people nearby winced.

Mary’s expression hardened immediately. “Oh, here we go.”

“Yeah. Let’s go.” Pearline folded her arms across her chest. “You knew Stack and I was tryin’ to work on our shit.”

The tension in the yard changed, because now they weren’t talking about Annie and Smoke anymore. Now they were talking about something else.

Mary rolled her eyes. “Pearline—”

“No.”

The answer came quick.

Firm.

“You knew.”

Mary looked away briefly.

Pearline shook her head. “I knew Stack had a reputation. Shit, the whole county knew Stack had a reputation.”

That earned a snort from somewhere behind her.

Probably Cornbread.

She ignored it. “I knew what I was signin’ up for. I knew me and him wasn’t together.” Her eyes settled on Mary. “But you knew too.”

Mary’s jaw tightened.

The silence stretched just long enough for everybody to understand what Pearline was really saying. Mary didn’t owe her loyalty nor did she steal anything.

But Mary knew and still did it anyway.

Movement near the side of the house pulled several heads around.

Stack had reappeared.

He walked back into the yard from the direction he’d taken Smoke, hands shoved into his pockets and irritation written plainly across his face. One look at the group gathered around Mary and Pearline told him exactly where the conversation had gone while he was gone.

Unfortunately for him, when Pearline saw him, her eyes narrowed.

“Here come Satan himself.”

Stack sighed immediately. “Maaaannn.”

Mary looked relieved to see him. Pearline looked anything but. 

Stack stopped a few feet away. “What happened now?”

Pearline pointed at Mary. Then pointed at him. Then pointed back at Mary. The gesture somehow communicated an entire argument without requiring a single additional word.

Stack understood every bit of it.

Unfortunately.

Mary looked toward Stack as though he might somehow rescue her from the argument. “Tell her.”

The request earned a sharp laugh from Pearline. “Tell me what?”

Mary threw her hands into the air, visibly frustrated by the fact that nobody seemed interested in helping her case. “That y’all wasn’t even together when Stack and I hooked up.”

From where Annie stood, she watched something flicker across Pearline’s face. It didn’t look like anger. Not exactly. More like exhaustion. The kind that came from having the same conversation too many times with somebody determined not to understand it.

The problem had never been whether Mary and Stack were technically together. 

Everybody knew they weren’t.

That wasn’t the point.

Apparently Stack had finally reached the same conclusion.

“She know that.”

Mary frowned immediately. “Then why she actin’ like—”

“Because that ain’t what she mad about.”

The interruption landed hard enough to stop her.

Annie watched Mary blink. Then stare. Then look at Stack like he’d suddenly switched sides in the middle of the game.

Stack sighed and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. The gesture reminded Annie of Elijah. Not because they looked alike. It was the way both brothers seemed to reach for their necks whenever they were about to say something they didn’t particularly want to say.

“The point ain’t whether me and her was together.”

Mary folded her arms. “Then what is it?”

Stack looked directly at her. “The point is you knew me and Pearline was tryna figure somethin’ out.”

The yard seemed to settle around the statement. Enough for Annie to see Mary’s expression change, and to see Pearline stop looking angry and start looking hurt. Enough for everybody listening to understand exactly what Stack meant.

Mary opened her mouth as if she intended to argue. Nothing came out.

Stack nodded once. “And so did I,” he added quietly. “And I still did it anyway.”

That seemed to surprise everybody.

Including Pearline.

The admission lingered in the air longer than Annie expected. For most of the afternoon people had been defending themselves. Explaining themselves. Finding ways to make their mistakes belong to somebody else. Stack’s words carried none of that. No excuses or an attempt to soften the edges.

He owned it.

Annie watched Pearline look away first. Whatever answer she had been expecting from him clearly wasn’t that one.

Stack’s attention followed her immediately. “Pea.”

Pearline’s eyes found him almost against her will. “What?”

The answer came sharp enough to draw a few smiles from the people standing nearby.

Stack accepted it without complaint. “You right.” His jaw tightened briefly before he continued. “We wasn’t together.”

Pearline rolled her eyes so hard Annie almost laughed. “Stack.”

“Let me finish.”

Pearline crossed her arms. The look she gave him suggested she was considering several forms of violence.

Still, she stayed quiet.

Stack took a slow breath. “We wasn’t together,” he repeated. “But I knew how you felt.”

Something changed in Pearline’s face. Small. Quick. Easy to miss if Annie hadn’t been watching.

The crowd seemed to fade away. For one brief moment it looked like only the two of them existed.

“And if I’m bein’ honest,” Stack continued, “I knew how I felt too.”

The confession seemed to make him uncomfortable almost immediately.

Good. Annie thought he deserved it.

Stack shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced toward the ground before looking back at Pearline. “I should’ve never did it.”

The words came rougher now. 

Real.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.”

The entire yard seemed to pause, because Stack rarely apologized. Not without being forced.

Pearline stared at him for so long Annie started wondering if she intended to leave him hanging.

Then she shook her head. “You really practiced that and still sounded stupid.”

The laugh that escaped Aunt Max came out so suddenly she nearly choked on her drink.

A few other people joined in.

Even Stack smiled. 

Briefly.

“Probably.”

“Definitely.”

That earned another round of laughter. Some of the tension that had been suffocating the yard all afternoon finally loosened. Not completely. There were still too many wounds walking around for that. But enough for people to breathe again.

Annie smiled despite herself.

Pearline was making a joke out of it because that was easier than standing in the middle of a cookout and admitting she’d been waiting to hear those words for months.

But Annie knew what she was really saying.

I heard you.

I’m still mad.

But I heard you.

Aunt Max pointed immediately. “Good. We done here.”

Several heads turned toward her.

She pointed directly at Pearline next. “And stop cussin’.”

Pearline stared at her. “I only said one bad word.”

“That was enough.”

A few people laughed.

Including Pearline.

Finally.

Aunt Cheryl, who had spent most of the exchange watching everybody with the patience of a woman entirely too old for the foolishness surrounding her, pushed herself away from the grill and dusted her hands together.

“Alright.”

The single word cut through every conversation happening nearby.

People stopped talking.

Aunt Cheryl pointed directly at Mary. “Mary, go on home.”

Mary blinked and pointed at herself. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Aunt Cheryl’s expression never changed. “Take your pale ass home before you “accidentally” ruin somebody else’s relationship.”

The yard erupted. Even Uncle Lewis laughed.

Mary looked genuinely offended. “Everybody actin’ like I’m the reason all this happened.”

The gasp that left Pearline’s mouth was so dramatic Annie actually turned toward her.

“Oh, this bitch—”

“PEA.”

“I know!”

Pearline threw her hands into the air.

“I know!”

Unfortunately, Mary kept talking. “Like I got magical powers or somethin’.”

Annie saw Pearline start forward before she fully committed to it. She also saw Stack recognize the danger immediately.

“Don’t.”

“I’m not.”

“Pearline.”

“I’m not!”

She absolutely was.

As soon as she took another step, Stack wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her backward.

Pearline’s protest echoed across the yard. “LET ME GO.”

“No.”

“Just one.”

“No.”

“Stack.”

“No.”

The entire exchange happened so fast Annie barely had time to process it. Pearline twisted in his grip and pointed toward Mary, who had stopped beside her car to watch the chaos she’d created.

“PLEASE LET ME FIGHT HER.”

The request sent half the yard into laughter. Aunt Max bent over so suddenly Annie worried she might actually fall.

Mary looked offended. “Fight me for what?”

Pearline pointed harder. “THAT.”

Stack dropped his forehead against Pearline’s shoulder because he was laughing too hard to stay upright.

“Just one punch,” Pearline begged. “One slap. Somethin’.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“Pea.”

She groaned loudly. “This is why women be choosin’ violence.”

Aunt Cheryl closed her eyes. “Lord.”

Before Pearline could argue again, Geneva spoke up from behind them.

“Go on.”

The yard went quiet.

Pearline blinked. “…What?”

Geneva pointed toward Mary’s car. “My auntie said go.”

Everyone watched Geneva, waiting to see what she would do next. Even Stack lifted his head.

Geneva folded her arms. “Everybody else wanna be mature about this shit, coddling this ho. But I’m ‘bout to slap this bitch if she don’t get the fuck on.”

The entire yard erupted.

Aunt Max nearly folded in half laughing.

Mary looked horrified and glanced around the yard as though searching for a single ally.

Nobody volunteered.

Not one person.

“Whatever, I’m outta here.” She exclaimed as she turned on her heels and left.

“Drive safe, ho,” Geneva called.

The laughter got louder.

Even Annie found herself smiling despite everything.

By the time Mary finally climbed into her car and drove away, the yard felt lighter than it had all afternoon. 

Aunt Cheryl stared off into the yard a little while longer before looking back at Annie. “Now you. Come inside.”

Annie wanted to argue. Wanted to say she was grown, that she didn’t need to be summoned like a child, that she had already been embarrassed enough for one afternoon. But Aunt Cheryl’s tone left no room for any of that. And more than anything, Annie was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of crying. Tired of standing in the yard while everybody looked at her like they had watched her come apart and were now trying to decide how much of her could be put back together before dinner.

The kitchen felt cooler than the yard, but not any easier to breathe in. Annie sat at Aunt Cheryl’s table with a glass of water she had not asked for and couldn’t make herself drink. Pearline sat across from her, still quiet in that dangerous way that meant the hurt hadn’t gone anywhere. Geneva leaned against the counter with her arms folded, soft-eyed but not soft enough to let Annie hide. Aunt Max stood near the stove, shaking her head every few seconds like she was replaying the whole scene and finding new foolishness each time. Aunt Cheryl remained standing at the head of the table, which somehow made Annie feel even more like she had been called into the principal’s office.

For a while nobody said anything. That was worse than yelling. Annie stared into the water and watched the surface tremble slightly every time her fingers brushed the glass. The tequila had left her with a warm, dull ache behind her eyes, but the buzz was fading fast enough to be cruel. Without it, every choice she had made in the last hour stood in front of her with perfect clarity.

Aunt Cheryl finally sighed. “Baby, I love you. I do. But you acted a damn fool out there.”

Annie closed her eyes.

“And before you start,” Aunt Max added, pointing at her, “yes, Smoke acted a fool too. We ain’t takin’ sides and he ain’t sittin’ at this table right now. You are.”

That made Geneva glance down, but she didn’t disagree.

Annie wiped at her cheek, even though there were no fresh tears there yet. “I know.”

“No,” Pearline said quietly. “I don’t think you do.”

Annie looked at her and the guilt from upstairs came back so quickly it nearly stole her breath. Pearline’s face was still tender from everything Annie had thrown at her. Not physically, but emotionally. The words had landed. Annie could see that now. She had wanted Pearline to hurt because she had been hurting, and that thought sat inside her like something rotten.

“I’m sorry,” Annie said.

Pearline looked away, pressing her lips together. “I know you are.”

“I shouldn’t have said all that to you.”

“Nah, you shouldn’t have.” Pearline’s voice remained even, which somehow made it worse. “And I shouldn’t have kept what I knew from you. Both can be true.”

Annie nodded, but Pearline was not finished.

“You hurt me, Annie. I get why you was mad. I do. But you looked at me like I brought you down here to humiliate you on purpose.” Pearline’s voice cracked slightly, and she swallowed before continuing. “I was wrong. I should’ve told you from the minute I saw him with Jada. But I wasn’t tryin’ to make you look stupid. I was tryin’ to protect some little piece of hope because I knew you still had it, and I knew he did too.”

The kitchen went quiet again.

Annie stared at her hands.

Geneva moved from the counter and sat beside her, close enough that her knee brushed Annie’s. “That’s the part you keep missin’. You keep talkin’ like you was the only one everybody could see hurtin’. But we saw him too.”

Annie’s throat tightened.

Geneva’s voice softened. “You really didn’t know, did you?”

Annie shook her head, and this time the tears came with no fight left behind them. “No.”

Aunt Max huffed, not unkindly. “Chile, that boy loved you so loud for somebody who barely opened his mouth.”

Despite herself, Pearline let out a broken little laugh. Geneva smiled sadly. 

Aunt Cheryl didn’t smile at all.

“He loved you,” Aunt Cheryl said. “And from what I just saw out there, he still do. But love ain’t worth much if all y’all do is use it to hurt each other.”

That one landed deep.

Annie covered her mouth with one hand, trying to hold something in that was already breaking loose. She had spent eight years telling herself Elijah hadn’t loved her enough to come after her, only to find out he had been reaching in every way he knew how. Letters. Calls. Cards. A mixtape. All these pieces she had not seen or had not understood, scattered behind them like evidence from a life neither of them had been able to explain. 

And even after learning all of that, even after hearing him say love in the present tense, she had still found a way to pick up the sharpest thing near her and swing.

Aunt Cheryl pulled out the chair across from Annie and sat down at last. That scared Annie more than when she had been standing. “You spent eight years waitin’ on that boy to come get you,” she said, her voice quieter now. “That’s what you told him out there. You waited for him to show up, say the right thing, fight for you the right way, know what you needed without you ever havin’ to say it plain.”

Annie could not look away from her.

“But what if it’s your turn now?” Aunt Cheryl asked. “What if the thing you been waitin’ on him to do is the thing you gotta do for him?”

The words moved through Annie slowly, then all at once.

Her chair scraped against the floor before she fully realized she had stood. Pearline looked up, and something like relief crossed her face. Geneva’s hand fell away from Annie’s arm as though she had known this was coming. Aunt Max stepped aside before Annie even reached the doorway.

“Go,” Pearline said.

Annie did.

She moved through the living room with her heart pounding so hard it made her chest hurt. The sounds of the cookout rushed back the moment she opened the front door, humid evening air wrapping around her as she stepped onto the porch. A few people looked over. Someone called her name. She didn’t stop. She took the steps too fast, nearly stumbled at the bottom, caught herself, and kept going across the yard, past the folding tables, past the abandoned plates, past Mike and Isoo sitting near the cooler.

She ran because walking felt impossible.

The driveway seemed longer than it had earlier. The road beyond it stretched under the fading Mississippi sun, quiet except for the distant hum of cicadas and the sound of her own breathing. Annie reached the edge of the gravel and looked both ways, searching for his truck, for taillights, for dust lifting off the road, for any sign that she had not waited too long this time.

There was nothing.

No truck.

No Elijah.

Only the empty road stretching ahead of her, wide and indifferent.

Annie stood there breathing hard, one hand pressed to her chest as the truth settled over her with a cruelty she had earned. 

For eight years she had waited for Elijah to come after her. For eight years she had told herself that if he loved her enough, he would find a way to show up.

Now she had finally gone after him.

And he was already gone.

End Note: I wanted to get this out to y'all as soon as possible, because the next chapter is going to take me some time. It will be HEAVY Smoke, possibly all Smoke. So I have to get my mind right to get into his mind as he listens to Annie's mixtape. 💿🥹 But let me know what you think about this chapter.

Tag List:

@partylikemajima @brownskincheyenne @lizbehave @anniensmoke3 @margepimpson @brownsugarcoffy @aellesa @lilblckraincloud @hdfen2474 @magnifique2be @chromexbarbie @loveabledovee @milkywayzard @katezy2x @nicanotnika @wakandamama @numb1smokeanniestan @sunshinerepublic @pennopencil @shereeluvssinners @chknnwffls @underated345-blog @thefutureemmywinner @shamansha @tnychellee @blue4everrsworld @girlmath101 @bananajoeclone @ayishia101 @summrsovrinterlude @mmbee675 @lestatthelioncourt @nyifly22 @storiesbyasl @thebumblebeesworld @thedutifulone @dealore @cocoagadgetsworld @hotebonynearby @sighsrollseyes @atpeaceinthestars @saralance03 @miss-spiders-sunny-patch @imqueenmelanin @cardi-bre91 @soufcakmistress @charmedthoughts @waitingtobreatheagain

[shereeluvssinners]

Jayme Lawson

[explodesallovertheplace]

Annie and Smoke are stressing me out bad they got me stumped😫

Mind you Im the one writing it...

This is why I preferred to lurk as a reader and not a writer😭

(I gotsta see it thru😤, add more to the Smoke and Annie content of this fandom)

[shereeluvssinners]

[shereeluvssinners]

[shereeluvssinners]

Wunmi 💙

[shereeluvssinners]

[shereeluvssinners]

Michael

Mini_berry727

[shereeluvssinners]

Obama Presidential Center Portrait Unveiling #michelleobama #barackobama...

[merrymaryfebruary]

Love Spell

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

[brownskincheyenne]

What happened in Nola ??

[merrymaryfebruary]

I have a preview. 👀

[lizbehave]

[merrymaryfebruary]

I wrote 3 major parts so far. I have to write 2 more and tie them all together.

[lizbehave]

† The Priestess

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.”

“Your maaaan,” Pearline teased playfully. Annie smiled.

“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.”

“Hush!” Gigi swatted Nellie’s shoulder. “It’s reliable.”

“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. 

Pearline spoke again. “And…he ain’t tried nothin’?” 

“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. 

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[nat111love]

SINNERS (2025) dir. Ryan Coogler