Beginnings

Lailah pressed her palms flat against the counter, waiting for the old coffeemaker to sputter itself awake. The kitchen was too small for two grown women, and every morning she felt it—the quiet weight of living in someone else’s house. Grateful, yes. But not free.

“Elijah,” she called, glancing toward the hallway. “Shoes on. Bus’ll be here in ten.”

Her son’s muffled voice drifted back, something about not being able to find his backpack. She sighed, shaking her head with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Thirteen years old and still losing the same bag.

She opened the fridge, pushing aside her sister’s neatly labeled leftovers until she found the carton of eggs she’d bought yesterday. Just enough for a quick scramble. Not much, but better than letting Elijah go to school on an empty stomach.

By the time he shuffled into the kitchen, hoodie half-zipped, she already had a plate on the table. He was taller than he’d been even a month ago, it seemed. Legs like stilts, hands too big for his wrists. Growing faster than she could keep up.

“Eat,” she said, sliding the plate toward him.

“Yes, ma’am.” He dug in, but not before glancing at her. “You eat?”

“I’ll grab something later,” she answered automatically. She always said it, whether or not it was true.

He didn’t push. Just shrugged and kept eating. That was the kind of boy he was—observant, quiet, carrying more than she wished he had to.

When he finished, she tugged the hood of his sweatshirt up and kissed the top of his head. “Go on. Bus is coming.”

As he headed out, she whispered the same prayer she had every morning since moving here: Lord, cover him. Keep him safe. Give him peace. The words felt thinner than they used to, worn down by years of repetition, but she said them anyway. Habit. Hope. Maybe both.

The bus rumbled to a stop outside, brakes squealing. Elijah waved once before climbing aboard. Lailah watched him disappear, coffee finally dripping into the pot behind her.

Her phone buzzed on the counter—Selena’s name lighting up the screen.

She exhaled through her nose, already bracing herself. Selena only called this early when she was about to talk Lailah into something.

“Girl, you awake?”

Selena’s voice shot through the phone before Lailah could even manage hello.

“I’ve been up since five,” Lailah muttered, cradling the mug of coffee she’d finally poured. “School job, remember? Kids don’t teach themselves.”

“Mm-hmm,” Selena drawled. “But that little check they hand you every other Friday? That’s not teaching you nothin’ either.”

Lailah rolled her eyes, sinking into the chair at the kitchen table. She knew that tone. Selena was winding up. “What do you want?”

“I signed you up,” Selena announced, triumphant.

Lailah sat up straighter. “Excuse me?”

“For a shift. Event server. It’s tonight.”

“Selena—”

“Don’t Selena me. My cousin’s friend CJ manages a company called JR Events. They do all the high-end weddings around here. He’s short staffed this weekend and asked if I knew anybody dependable. Black slacks, black shirt, hair pulled back. They tip well. Easy money, Lailah. Good money. And you don’t even have to cook it.”

Lailah pinched the bridge of her nose. “I have Elijah. I don’t get home until after five as it is—”

“Your sister’s there, isn’t she? He’ll be fine. One night won’t hurt.”

“It’s not about him being fine,” Lailah snapped, then softened. “I’m just… tired, Sel.”

Her friend’s tone gentled for half a beat. “I know. But listen—don’t you want more than tired? More than this?”

Lailah’s gaze flicked toward the hallway that led to her sister’s closed bedroom door. Every corner of this house whispered a reminder: you don’t belong here. It was temporary, she told herself daily. Just until she saved enough for her own place. Still, temporary felt permanent when you were living out of half a closet and an extra dresser.

Selena’s voice pulled her back. “This is just one night. Carry some trays, smile a little, go home with extra cash in your pocket. That’s grocery money, light bill money, savings-for-your-own-apartment money.”

Lailah sipped her coffee, silent.

Selena pressed her advantage. “And let’s be honest—you need something new. You’ve been hiding in survival mode so long, you forgot what else there is.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“You are,” Selena said simply, not unkind. “And I get it. You been through some things. But just because the past was hard doesn’t mean the future can’t be better.”

The words struck deeper than Lailah wanted to admit.

Finally, she exhaled. “What time?”

Selena whooped. “Yes! Knew you couldn’t tell me no forever. Six o’clock. I’ll pick you up at five-thirty. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t look like somebody’s tired mama.”

“I am somebody’s tired mama.”

“Not tonight. Tonight you’re a professional server. Head up, shoulders back. Trust me, Lailah—you’ll be fine.”

Lailah ended the call with a weary laugh, shaking her head. Selena could talk anybody into anything. But still, as she looked around the little kitchen—her sister’s notes stuck to the fridge, Elijah’s half-finished homework on the table—she wondered if Selena was right. Maybe she did need something new.

Even if it was just one night.

By the time Selena’s car pulled into the long, winding driveway, Lailah was already regretting every life choice that had led to this moment.

The venue rose like something out of a Southern magazine spread—white columns, sprawling porch, magnolia trees glowing under strings of golden lights. Guests in suits and gowns were already stepping out of cars at the circular drive, laughter and music spilling into the warm evening air.

“This ain’t no church basement potluck,” Lailah muttered under her breath.

Selena grinned, teeth flashing in the dashboard light. “Exactly. That’s why you need to be here. Money flows different in places like this.”

Lailah tugged at the hem of her borrowed black blouse, suddenly aware of every wrinkle. She smoothed a hand over her black slacks, wishing she had bought new shoes instead of wearing the same pair she used at the school job.

“You’ll be fine,” Selena said, reading her silence. “Just keep your chin up and remember—you belong anywhere you walk into.”

They parked in the staff lot and followed the line of servers through a side entrance. Inside, the hum of activity hit her all at once: trays clattering, voices calling orders, the clink of glassware.

CJ, the manager Selena had mentioned, stood near the service entrance, clipboard in hand, giving out trays and last minute directions. Lailah copied the younger servers, balancing the tray carefully. Her arms trembled at first, but muscle memory from years of carrying laundry baskets and grocery bags steadied her grip.

When the door swung open and she stepped into the reception hall, she nearly forgot to breathe.

The room sparkled with chandeliers and candlelit tables, roses spilling from centerpieces, polished wood floors reflecting every light. A string quartet played near the corner, their notes weaving through the laughter and clinking glasses. The air was thick with perfume, wine, and the mouthwatering scent of roasted meat drifting from the kitchen.

It felt like stepping into another world—one she had no business in.

Still, she moved among the crowd, offering glasses with a polite smile. A few guests met her eyes warmly, murmuring “thank you” as they took their flutes. That surprised her. Back home, people barely looked up.

By her third trip, the nerves had quieted enough that she could breathe again. Her hands steadied, her steps fell into rhythm. For a fleeting moment, she felt competent. Almost invisible, but competent.

And then, on her way back to the kitchen, the door swung open—and she saw him.

The kitchen was a different world entirely.

Heat radiated from the stoves, steam curling into the air, knives flashing under the fluorescent lights. The place ran like a machine—everybody moving in rhythm, weaving around each other without colliding.

And at the center of it all stood the man who clearly made it run.

He wasn’t barking orders like the clipboard guy at the door. His voice was even, steady, cutting through the chaos without raising above it. One glance from him sent a junior cook scurrying to adjust a plate; a nod from him brought another server rushing forward with fresh trays. It was control without noise, authority without arrogance.

Lailah paused, just long enough to take him in.

Tall, broad-shouldered, sleeves rolled up on a crisp white chef’s coat. His skin glistened with the heat of the ovens, but he moved unbothered, focused. His hands—strong, sure—adjusted garnish on a platter of seared salmon as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Their eyes met for half a second when she stepped inside.

He didn’t leer. Didn’t smirk. Just a nod—acknowledgment, respect, as though she was another piece of this finely tuned orchestra.

Her throat tightened unexpectedly. She dropped her gaze, gripping the empty tray tighter as she slipped past him to the staging table.

Don’t read into it, she told herself. He’s just doing his job. Same as you.

Still, she couldn’t shake the quiet weight of that look.

“Back to the floor,” the clipboard man snapped, shoving another tray toward her.

She pivoted, careful this time, and slipped out again into the cool glow of the ballroom. But as she moved between the guests, her mind betrayed her, replaying that nod over and over. No words exchanged. Nothing but a flicker of attention in the middle of chaos.

And yet somehow, it had landed heavier than any pickup line she’d heard in years.

By the time the shift ended, her feet ached and her arms buzzed from carrying trays, but she’d survived. Maybe even done well. She caught sight of herself in a gilded mirror on the way out—flushed cheeks, hair escaping her bun, shoulders squared despite the fatigue.

Selena appeared at her side, grinning like a cat. “Well, look at you. Told you you’d be fine.”

“I’m exhausted,” Lailah muttered.

“Exhausted and noticed.” Selena waggled her brows. “Don’t think I didn’t see Chef Tall-Dark-and-Holy back there watching you.”

“He wasn’t watching me,” Lailah shot back quickly. Too quickly. “He looked right past me. I’m just another server.”

Selena’s grin widened. “Mm-hmm. Keep telling yourself that.”

Lailah rolled her eyes, but as they stepped out into the warm Southern night, she couldn’t deny it: for the first time in a long while, she’d felt something shift.

Small. Fleeting. But enough to make her consider another shift if CJ texts her.