Love In Due Season: Ch. 9

A Future Ahead

The July sun was already warming the porch boards when Lailah stepped outside with her coffee. The air hummed with cicadas and possibility. Moving boxes sat stacked behind the screen door, waiting to be emptied. Her ring caught the morning light—soft, subtle, but steady. Not a spotlight. A promise.

She wrapped her hands around the mug and breathed in the quiet.

“Thank You, Father,” she whispered. “For every piece I didn’t know how to ask for. For every turn that didn’t make sense until now. For this house. For Elijah. For… him. You’ve been kind.”

A breeze swept across the yard like an answer.

Inside, Elijah thundered down the hallway, nearly tripping over his own feet before bursting through the door.

“Ma! Uncle Dre said him and Uncle Marcus are bringing the last load from the storage unit! And guess what—AJ and Jo-Jo wanna show me the new path they cleared to the hoop!”

He grinned, tall and lanky and shining with joy.

She just smiled, feeling her heart stretch with gratitude. Her boy was home. Not sheltered—rooted.

A rumble of trucks broke the stillness, followed by laughter and shouting. The Carter family had arrived.

Two pickup trucks, an SUV, and Willie Mae’s unmistakable old Buick pulled into the driveway like an entire ministry team ready for service. Before Lailah even stepped off the porch, Julian was out of his truck, heading toward her with a smile that made her breath catch every time.

“Morning,” he said softly, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

“Morning,” she whispered back.

Behind him, chaos had already begun.

“Boy, put that box DOWN before you hurt yourself!” Willie Mae hollered. “Julian, tell your brother that couch ain’t gonna fit through that door angle! Lord have mercy!”

Julian just chuckled, sliding his hand to the small of Lailah’s back. “Ready for round two?”

“With your family? Nobody can ever be ready,” she teased.

He laughed, and together they walked inside.

Within minutes, the house came alive—brothers unloading furniture with competitive grunts, cousins running through the yard, his sister organizing her kitchen drawers like she’d lived there for years, and his parents making sure Elijah ate twice before noon.

Everything moved fast…but it didn’t feel rushed.

At one point, Lailah stepped into the hallway, blinking back unexpected emotion. She wasn’t used to this level of love—loud, helpful, unfiltered, and freely given.

Elijah appeared beside her, leaning on the wall with the same posture Julian had.

“You good, Ma?”

She nodded, brushing a curl from his forehead. “Yeah, baby. I’m good.”

He looked around at the noise and the laughter drifting through the house.

“You know, Ma… when I prayed for a family, I didn’t think God would give us this big of one.”

Her throat tightened instantly.

She pulled him close, hugging him against her. Julian, passing by with a box in hand, stopped in his tracks and listened. Their eyes met—Julian’s full of tenderness and something deeper than emotion.

Something like purpose.

By late afternoon, the last box was put away, and Willie Mae insisted they all stay for the first meal in the new house.

“Get them plates out that drawer. No, the big ones—I’m not serving blessings on no appetizer dishes,” she scolded.

They gathered in the living room. Some on chairs, some on boxes, some sitting on the floor. But it felt right. It felt lived in. And when Julian’s father prayed over the food, his voice thick with gratitude, Lailah closed her eyes and let every word settle over her home.

After dinner, the wisdom came.

Julian’s older brother Josiah leaned back and said, “Y’all wanna know the secret? Choose each other every day. Even when you don’t feel like it.”

His mother added, “Forgive quick. Laugh quicker.”

Willie Mae chimed in, softer than usual. “And remember—love ain’t loud. Commitment is. Don’t ever confuse the two.”

Lailah took it all in, Julian’s arm draped along the back of the couch, brushing her shoulder every so often. It grounded her.

As the sun dipped low, the family began gathering plates and shifting toward the yard.

Julian stood and extended his hand to her. “Ready?”

She nodded, and they walked outside together.

The trail to Willie Mae’s land wasn’t long, but tonight it felt sacred. String lights hung from the trees, swaying in the warm breeze. Chairs were set up in a small semicircle. His father stood beneath the lights with a worn Bible in hand.

This was it.

Elijah tugged on her arm. “I got you, Ma.”

She laughed softly, linking her arm through his. He walked her down the path, tall and proud, barely holding his smile together.

Selena waved a napkin dramatically. “You better WORK, girl! And—Julian! You got any single brothers? I’m taking applications!”

A cousin shouted, “Not this one! We’re already loud enough!”

Everyone burst into laughter.

But when Lailah reached Julian, everything quieted—not externally, but inside her.

He took her hand like he’d been waiting his whole life for that moment.

His father spoke of covenant.
Of commitment.
Of the beauty of new beginnings even after hardship.

Julian’s vows were simple. Clear. Steady.
Hers trembled but held truth.

When his father pronounced them husband and wife, the cheer that rose up shook the trees.

Julian kissed her softly—sure, peaceful, full of promise.

Family rushed them.
Elijah hugged both of them at once.
Selena threatened to faint.
Willie Mae wiped her eyes and muttered, “The Lord is faithful. Even when His timing feels inconvenient.”

As the celebration continued, a slow song floated through the air.

Julian reached for her hand again.
“Dance with me, Mrs. Carter.”

Lailah poked out her lip. Her heart melted at the name.

They moved in a slow circle as the world fell away—no noise, no pressure, just breath and closeness and something holy resting between them.

Willie Mae sniffled, whispering to Julian’s mother, “Look at them. That’s what peace looks like.”

His mom bumped her gently. “Come on, Ma. Let them be. We know how to party without them two. Elijah can stay with us for a while… let them get fully acquainted.”

Lailah laughed against Julian’s chest, shaking her head.

Julian, however, flushed a deep, unmistakable shade of red.

She lifted her head to look at him, eyes teasing.
“You okay?” she whispered.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Just… my mother needs boundaries.”

Lailah grinned and tugged lightly at his tie. “Well, she’s not wrong.”
“You want to get fully acquainted?” he murmured, voice low and playful.

Her answer was soft but confident.
She slipped her hands around his neck and kissed him. It was slow and certain, lingering just long enough to steal his breath.

“Actually,” she said quietly against his lips, “I do.”

Julian’s eyes widened, darting around the yard to make sure no one heard her.
Satisfied that the family was occupied, laughing and clapping and arguing over dominoes, he leaned close.

“Come on,” he whispered, warmth flooding his voice.

Without drawing attention, he intertwined his fingers with hers and guided her toward the dimly lit path leading back to their home. Lanterns flickered in the trees, and with every step, the noise of the celebration faded behind them.

Lailah glanced back once — the glow of family, the sound of joy, Elijah’s voice rising above the others — then turned toward her husband, smiling as he drew her close.

The night swallowed them gently as they walked the path together, hand in hand, ready for the rest of their beginning.

Love In Due Season: Ch. 8

No More Hiding

The sun wasn’t fully up yet, but the sky was already pinking at the edges when Lailah stepped out onto the porch with her mug clasped between both hands. The air carried that cool early-spring promise — soft enough to breathe easy, warm enough to hope again.

She closed her eyes.

“Father… thank You for waking me up today,” she whispered. “And thank You for letting things fall into place the way they have. I just need wisdom. Timing. Peace. All of it.”

Her voice felt steadier than it had in months. Maybe years.

She exhaled slowly, watching the breath curl in the air.

Her mind drifted — uninvited but gentle — to last night. The way Julian had opened doors for her without making her feel small. The way he listened. The way he watched her like he was studying her strength, not her flaws.

She swallowed.

“Lord… is this You?” she asked softly. “Or is this just me wanting something I’ve been afraid to want for a long time?”

A train horn echoed in the distance, low and steady. She didn’t need an answer. Just the quiet reassurance that she was being held.

And for the first time in years, she felt it.

When she stepped back inside, Elijah was already up, leaning against the counter pouring cereal into a bowl.

He glanced at her — then did a double take.

“You’re smiling,” he said, narrowing his eyes like she was a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

“I always smile,” she said.

“No you don’t,” he muttered, shaking the cereal box for emphasis. “But I like it.”

She ruffled his hair — or tried to. He had grown taller than her these past few months, shot up by Willie Mae’s cooking and this season of unexpected stability. He ducked away with a laugh.

“You ready for today?” she asked.

He nodded aggressively. “AJ and Jo-Jo said they’re gonna show me that hook shot again. And Uncle Ray said he’s gonna fix the net on the hoop before everybody comes over.”

The way he said it made her chest warm — their family. Their people. Like he had stepped into something that had room for him.

“You excited?” she asked.

He tried to hide it, but his grin betrayed him. “Kind of.”

Lailah leaned against the counter, studying her son’s face — looser, brighter, freer. “Me too,” she said quietly.

Her phone buzzed on the counter.

Selena.

Lailah braced herself.

“You going where?” Selena demanded before Lailah could say hello.

Lailah smiled. “To Julian’s parents’ anniversary celebration.”

“You got invited to the family function? The big one? Oh, honey, you’re in it now.”

Lailah rolled her eyes, though her smile stayed. “It’s not that serious.”

“Child, shut up before lightning strikes your phone. Julian practically took you home to meet the ancestors.”

“Goodbye, Selena.”

“No. No. You listen to me. Wear something nice. Like… nice nice. And do that soft thing you do with your hair. Men like that.”

“You don’t know what men like.”

“Exactly! That’s why you should listen to me — I’m objective.”

Lailah laughed, shaking her head. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Girl, you better! And record something for me. I need updates.”

She hung up, still smiling as she slipped her phone into her bag.

Later that afternoon, she and Elijah stepped out of the car and onto the wide Carter family property — a spread of grass, towering oaks, tables already set up beneath strings of lights. The smell of barbecue drifted through the air. Willie Mae stood near the porch shouting instructions at grown men as if they were children.

“Ray! Don’t you burn that chicken! And Julian, Lord have mercy, lift with your knees, not your back. You ain’t twenty no more!”

Elijah ran off toward AJ and Jo-Jo before she even finished greeting him.

Julian turned at the sound of her voice — or maybe at the feeling of her presence — and walked toward her wearing a smile that felt like sunlight.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, voice low.

“Thanks for inviting me,” she answered.

“Inviting you?” Willie Mae cut in, appearing out of thin air. “Baby, you family. Now go fix yourself a plate before these grown boys eat up everything.”

Lailah laughed, warmth settling in her chest as the evening unfolded around her.

Hours passed in a whirl of food, laughter, and stories. Julian’s mom teased him about losing to one of his younger brothers in spades. His dad cracked jokes that made half the cousins groan. Elijah played basketball with the older boys, surprising them with his height and jump.

As the sun dipped low, the first round of music started — Al Green, Frankie Beverly, Luther — the kind of soundtrack that made everyone sway a little.

Lailah stepped back inside to help one of the cousins refresh the drinks, then carried two pitchers out toward the yard.

That’s when she saw Julian waiting under the lights.

He didn’t call her name.

He didn’t wave.

He just looked at her like he’d been waiting for the exact moment she’d turn toward him.

She approached slowly, a little breathless from something she couldn’t name.

“What?” she asked, smiling despite herself.

Julian shook his head a little. “Come here.” He reached out his hand.

Lailah chuckled as she put the pitcher down. Then she slid her hand into his.

They walked a few steps until they reached the open space under the lights. He stopped, turning fully toward her. The music swelled — something slow, familiar, timeless.

He searched her eyes for a long moment.

“Why not here?” he murmured. “As many times as we’ve watched other people dance… why not us?”

Her breath caught.

Before she could think, he pulled her gently into him, his hand warm at her waist. She rested her hand against his chest, the rhythm of the music blending with the steady beat beneath her palm.

They swayed — slow, unhurried, like the moment itself had decided not to rush.

After a few minutes, Julian leaned back just enough to look at her face fully, the lights flickering in his eyes.

He moved a stray curl from her cheek.

Lailah blinked. “What?”

He didn’t answer.

He just kissed her.

Soft at first. Testing. Then deeper when she curled her fingers into his shirt, pulling him in the way her heart had been threatening to for weeks.

And just as the world narrowed to the space between their mouths—

“I KNEW IT!”

They broke apart to see Elijah standing with both arms raised like he’d just won a trophy.

Willie Mae shouted from somewhere behind him, “Well, PRAISE GOD, it’s about TIME!”

Lailah hid her face in Julian’s chest while he laughed — loud and warm and sure — one arm circling her waist, the other rubbing her back gently.

More teasing followed. Cousins clapping. His mama waving a napkin in the air. Someone yelling, “Go on, nephew!”

Julian lowered his voice, leaning close to her ear.

“No more hiding,” he said softly.

And for the first time in a long time, Lailah didn’t want to.

Love In Due Season: Ch. 7

The Quiet Kind of Care

Saturday evening came with a hush that Lailah felt in her bones.

The sky held that dim lavender glow between day and night as she pulled into the long driveway of Southern Grace. She checked the directions on her phone again. Julian had given her the venue address instead of a restaurant, which confused her. She half expected he meant for them to meet in the parking lot and walk somewhere nearby.

But when she stepped inside, her breath stalled.

The place was transformed.

Soft golden lights hung across the ceiling. Round tables were pushed aside to make space for a single long table draped in ivory linen. Fresh flowers rested in the center. A string of gentle instrumental music floated through the room like a whispered blessing.

There were no guests.
No staff.
Just stillness.
Just beauty.
Just a place prepared.

“Julian, what did you do?” she whispered without meaning to.

He emerged from the far end of the room, wearing a deep blue suit paired with a white shirt. No tie. No pretense. The simplicity made him look even more handsome, even more grounded. His eyes took her in slowly, warmly, with a kind of quiet admiration that made her chest feel too small.

“Lailah,” he said softly. “You look gorgeous.”

Heat rose in her cheeks. “Thank you.”

She wiped the corners of her eyes quickly, embarrassed by the tears she hadn’t meant to shed. She turned in a slow circle, still taking in the room. “How did you do all of this? And why? Doesn’t this cost a fortune? I don’t even know what to say.”

Julian approached her and offered his arm. She placed her hand in his without thinking.

“I told you I was building something I could share,” he said as he led her to the table. “This is part of it.”

He helped her into her seat with quiet care. Once seated across from her, he continued.

“My family owns Southern Grace. My parents built the business from nothing. I grew up in these kitchens. When they retired, I took it over. I expanded it. And I protect it. It is part of me.”

She stared at him. “So CJ works for you.”

He smiled. “Yes. But I do not need a title for people to respect the work I do.”

She exhaled slowly, overwhelmed. “Julian… this is a lot.”

“It is simple to me,” he said. “I wanted to share something meaningful with you.”

Dinner was beautiful.

Creamy potatoes that made her close her eyes.
Roasted chicken so tender it fell apart.
Fresh herbs.
Warm bread.
Soft music.
And Julian watching her with that gentle attention that made her feel newly seen.

She laughed when he caught her going back for a second bite of potatoes.

“So that is the favorite,” he teased lightly.

“Oh, absolutely,” she said, cheeks warm. “These are unreal.”

“My grandmother’s recipe,” he replied. “I only make it for people who matter.”

Lailah looked down quickly, her throat tight.

When the plates were cleared, he stood and extended his hand.

“Dance with me.”

Her eyes widened. “Here?”

“Why not here? As many times as we have watched other people dance, why not us? Why not here?”

A soft, disbelieving smile curved her lips as she placed her hand in his. He pulled her gently toward the open floor. The music shifted into something slow and warm. He rested one hand at her back, the other holding her hand securely, and guided her into an easy sway.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Lailah felt something inside her loosen. All the tension. All the years of holding herself small. All the fear of being seen. He moved with her like he had known her rhythm all along. And she let herself rest in the moment.

When the song faded, Julian did not let go right away. Their breaths mingled softly between them. Her heart pounded in a way that made her feel alive.

“Come,” he said, voice low. “There is something I want to share with you.”

He stepped away briefly and returned carrying a wide ceramic basin filled with warm water. He set it beside her chair. Her eyes widened, confusion washing over her.

“Julian… what is that?”

He did not answer immediately. Instead, he slipped off his suit jacket and folded it neatly on the chair beside her. Then he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, rolling them back with slow, deliberate movements. His eyes never left hers. Not even once.

When he lowered himself to one knee and placed a towel across it, Lailah felt her breath catch in her throat.

He rested a hand near her ankle, waiting. Asking without words.

“So there is this thing in my family,” he began softly, “that the men do. We wash the feet of the woman we intend to commit to. Not marriage. Not a proposal. Just a declaration.”

His eyes lifted to hers again, asking permission.

Her chest tightened. She nodded slowly.

He reached for her ankle, gently slipped off her heel, and continued. “It is letting her know she is seen. That we honor her. That we are willing to serve before we ever ask to be loved.”

He placed her foot into the warm water.

The tenderness of it broke something open inside her.

Her breath shuddered. Tears pressed at the corners of her eyes before she could stop them. Julian washed her foot slowly, reverently, as if she were something precious. Something worth tending to.

“Lailah,” he said gently, “it’s ok to let go.”

That was all it took.

A quiet, broken sob slipped out of her, then another, tears falling freely as she covered her face with both hands. Years of strain. Years of doing everything alone. Years of never being cared for in a way that wasn’t transactional or conditional.

And now here was a man on his knees, honoring her without condition.

He dried her foot with the towel, then lifted the other with the same gentle care. She watched him through blurred vision, her chest aching in a way that felt unfamiliar and holy all at once.

When he finished, he set the towel aside and stayed on one knee, looking up at her with a soft steadiness that made her heart falter.

“Julian,” she whispered, voice thin and trembling. “I don’t know what to do with a man like you.”

He smiled, faint and warm. “Just let me be here. One moment at a time.”

A small, broken laugh escaped her, the kind that comes from relief more than humor. She touched his cheek lightly, her fingers trembling.

He placed his hand over hers. Not pulling. Not pressing.

Just holding.

And in that quiet room filled with candlelight and warm water and the scent of fresh flowers, she let herself believe something she had not allowed in years.

That she was worthy of being loved gently.
Tenderly.
Intentionally.

She let him stay in that moment with her.
And for the first time in a long time, she stayed too.

Love In Due Season: Ch. 6

New Ground

By March, the mornings felt different.

The sun rose a little earlier. The air felt a little softer. And Lailah, for the first time in a long time, didn’t wake up with that familiar weight sitting on her chest.

She sat at the table sipping her coffee when Elijah came in, backpack slung over one shoulder, hoodie half-zipped.

“Did you finish your project?” she asked.

“Almost. AJ and Jo-Jo said they’d help me finish it today if I go over to Mrs. Willie Mae’s house after school.”

She raised her brow. “You asked first, right?”

“Yeah. Granny Willie said it was fine.” Elijah grinned. “She said I eat too little for a boy my age.”

Lailah shook her head, laughing quietly. “Of course she did. Alright, you can go. Just call me when you get there.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He leaned down, hugged her, then jogged out the door as the bus pulled up.

She stared at the door long after he left, feeling something she hadn’t felt in years.
Hope. Real hope.
Not the flimsy kind built on wishes, but the steady kind built on progress.

She gathered her things and headed out. Fridays were her long days. Ten to seven. She still wasn’t used to the feeling of driving away from work before the sky turned dark, but today she’d be staying through the evening rush. She didn’t mind it. This job had become a refuge.

By four-thirty, she was already inside Southern Grace, clipboard tucked under her arm, checking vendor deliveries and inventory for the evening event. The hum of the venue during the day felt different than at night. Calmer. She liked seeing the bones of the space before it turned into magic.

At five-thirty sharp, the servers began trickling in. Some were half-awake, some loud and chatty, some scrolling their phones as they clocked in. Selena waltzed in last, purse too big, voice too loud, smile too bright.

“Coordinator!” she announced dramatically, throwing her hands up. “Look at her. Running this place like she owns it.”

“Please stop,” Lailah muttered, checking off the linen deliveries.

Selena leaned her head against Lailah’s shoulder. “No. Because I am proud. You glowed up on me. I am witnessing it in real time.”

Lailah rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t fight the smile forming.
Selena always saw more in her than she saw in herself.

“You here till close tonight?” Selena asked.

“Probably. This one’s a bigger wedding.”

“Good. I need someone to complain to. These new kids don’t listen.”

“You don’t listen,” Lailah teased.

“Exactly. But at least I admit it.”

Lailah shook her head and moved toward the kitchen, trying to escape before Selena said something else outrageous.

The kitchen was already alive with motion. Prep cooks chopping vegetables. Junior staff plating hors d’oeuvres. The scent of garlic and rosemary warming the air.

And there was Julian, moving quietly through the chaos like it answered to him.

He didn’t have to bark orders.
He didn’t have to raise his voice.
People simply followed him because he carried a calm that steadied the room.

He looked up just as Lailah stepped inside.

And that calm sharpened.

Not harshly.
Just like he became a little more aware of the space she occupied.

“You settling into this coordinator thing yet?” he asked.

“A little,” she said, checking another item off the list. “Still finding my footing.”

“Well, from what I can see, everybody listens to you.”

She snorted. “That’s because I scare them.”

Julian smiled. “No. It’s because you carry the room without trying. People trust that.”

Heat crept up her neck, and she stared harder at the tablet.

He didn’t move. “Lailah.”

“Hmm?”

She looked up, and he was watching her in that quiet, unwavering way he had.
Not intense. Not bold.
Just deeply present.
The kind of look that made her feel seen in places she didn’t realize were invisible.

She cleared her throat. “You’re supposed to be prepping for later, not flirting with the staff.”

“Finally you noticed,” he said, grin slow and warm. “I was starting to think my game was off.”

Her breath hitched. “Julian…”

He must have seen the hesitation forming, the worry, the age difference creeping in, because his smile shifted into something steadier.

“What is it?” he asked.

She shook her head, trying to piece her thought together. “You’re younger than me. And I’ve got a kid. And life is already complicated enough without adding…” She stopped, frustrated she couldn’t articulate the rest.

Julian took one step closer. Then another.

“Lailah.”

She met his eyes.

“Have dinner with me.”

It wasn’t playful.
It wasn’t teasing.
It wasn’t him trying to charm her.

It was steady. Sure.
Like a man who had already counted the cost.

She opened her mouth. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

He tilted his head slightly. “I think I can handle myself.”

She blinked. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” he said lightly. “But I’m saying it anyway.”

Her pulse fluttered, warm and unwelcome and impossible to ignore.

“Julian…”

“I’m not asking for forever,” he said. “Just dinner. You and me. One evening.”

The safe answer.
The logical answer.
The mother answer.

All of them hovered on her tongue.

But something softer spoke first.

“Okay,” she whispered.

His smile was slow. Confident. Certain. “Good. I’ll text you the details.”

He walked back toward the prep station like he hadn’t just shifted her entire world.

Lailah stayed rooted in place, breath caught somewhere between her heart and her ribs.

Selena peeked around the corner from behind the shelving. “Girl, what did I miss?”

Lailah clutched her tablet to her chest, flustered. “Nothing.”

Selena raised her brows. “You lying.”

Lailah shook her head quickly and walked off to check the centerpieces before her face betrayed everything she didn’t have the strength to hide yet.

But inside her chest, something warm unfurled.

Something she wasn’t ready to name.

Something that felt like the beginning of something good.

Love In Due Season: Ch. 5

The Bloom

The argument began before sunrise.

Lailah stood at the stove flipping pancakes when her sister’s voice came sharp from the hallway.
“You got paid last Friday, didn’t you?”

Lailah turned, spatula in hand. “I did. Why?”

Her sister came into the kitchen, arms folded tight. “Because the rent’s due, and I don’t see you struggling to pay it like the rest of us. You’ve got those catering jobs now. Extra money.”

“I pay you every month,” Lailah said evenly. “On time. I’ve just been saving the rest so Elijah and I can get our own place.”

Her sister gave a short laugh. “Mm-hmm. Meanwhile, I’m the one making sure he eats dinner and gets his homework done. Feels like I’m raising him more than you are.”

Lailah exhaled, lowering the spatula. “But I asked you if it was okay. You said yes.”

Her sister shot back, “Well, how long do I have to keep doing this, Lailah?”

That question hung heavy in the air. From down the hall came the soft click of Elijah’s door closing—the quiet sound of him pretending not to hear.

Lailah swallowed hard and turned back to the stove. “I’ll see you tonight,” she said quietly.

She dropped Elijah at practice later that day, guilt still sitting heavy. She told herself she’d go for a walk before work, but her car drifted toward Southern Grace like it had made the decision for her.

The parking lot was empty when she pulled in. She turned off the engine and sat there for a long moment, forehead resting against the steering wheel.

“Lord,” she whispered, voice raw. “I’m doing the best I can. Please don’t let me mess this up.”

Tears came quietly—no sobs, just the steady kind that felt like release.

The back door opened, metal clanging softly. Julian stepped out with two trash bags, tossed them into the dumpster, then noticed her car and paused.

He walked over and tapped gently on her window. “You’re early.”

She wiped her face and managed a small smile. “Couldn’t sit at home anymore.”

He studied her for a second, then nodded toward the door. “Come inside. You can help me polish silverware. It’s calming work.”

Inside, the reception hall was mostly dark, one overhead light spilling across the long table. The faint scent of lemon polish and herbs hung in the air.

Julian gestured to a chair. “Sit. I’ll grab the napkins.”

She gave a tired laugh. “You always put people to work when they show up early?”

“Only the ones who need a distraction.”

It earned a small smile from her.

For a while, the silver clinked between them, the quiet settling like a blanket.
Finally, Lailah spoke. “My sister’s upset. Says she’s tired of watching Elijah when I work weekends. She’s not wrong, I guess.”

Julian nodded. “That’s a lot to carry.”

“It’s temporary. I keep telling myself that.”

He glanced at her. “You’ve been running on fumes. Between the school and here… it’s too much for one person to keep doing.”

Lailah lifted an eyebrow. “You been keeping tabs on my hours?”

He smirked. “You’ve been here long enough for me to notice who’s tired and who’s just lazy.”

She laughed under her breath. “Guess I know which one I am.”

“I didn’t say that.” His smile softened. “But I think you deserve better than tired.”

She looked away. “You always talk like you know exactly what people need.”

He shrugged. “I just pay attention.”

Their eyes lingered on each other for a beat too long.

Julian leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Actually, that’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about. We have a coordinator position opening up here. I think you’d be good at it.”

She blinked. “Me?”

He nodded. “You’ve got the patience and the instinct. You see what needs doing before anyone says it. The pay’s solid—better than what you’re juggling now. You’d be training staff, managing schedules, helping with planning. More leadership. Less chaos.”

Her breath trembled. “Julian… why are you helping me so much?”

He paused, eyes thoughtful. “It’s like when I’m in Grandma Willie’s backyard. When I pull up the weeds, the flowers and the crops grow more.” He stacked the last of the polished silver, neat and measured. “I’m just pulling up weeds because I want to see what you look like when you’re fully bloomed.”

She didn’t speak. She couldn’t.

At five-thirty sharp, the evening servers began filing in, tying aprons, grabbing trays, filling water pitchers. The usual pre-shift buzz echoed through the kitchen.

Except tonight, something was off.

CJ hurried in, face tense. “Chef, we’ve got a scheduling problem. Two servers called out. The replacement list has the wrong numbers. And the tables for the ceremony flip? They’re still not assigned.”

Julian muttered, “Perfect timing,” under his breath.

The kitchen was tense, people talking over one another, CJ flipping through papers.

Without being asked, Lailah set down her rag and stepped into the commotion.

“Okay,” she said calmly, “stop. One at a time.”

The room quieted—not because she raised her voice, but because she didn’t.

She reached for the clipboard and scanned it quickly. “Table assignments can be split. Put the stronger servers on the groom’s side. Newer ones stay on drinks. And the flip? Move Kennedy and Mark to the terrace. They’re quick.”

CJ blinked. “That’ll work.”

“And switch the coffee station,” she added, pointing. “It’ll bottleneck if it stays by the archway.”

Julian crossed his arms, watching.

Within minutes, everything was back on track. The younger servers moved with direction again. CJ exhaled like he could finally breathe.

And Lailah went right back to wiping down the prep counter like solving the crisis was nothing.

Julian stepped beside her, brushing her shoulder with his. “I told you,” he said with a small laugh, eyes warm. “We need a coordinator.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting,” he said, amusement tugging at his mouth. “I’m just stating facts. You’d be perfect for it.”

She rolled her eyes—but she smiled.

He stood, heading toward the kitchen. “I guess that’s your way of taking the job,” he laughed.

Outside, the parking-lot lights flicked on, gold and soft.

For once, she didn’t feel buried.
She felt seen.

Love In Due Season: Ch. 4

The Warmest Table

The January air still carried the sharp edge of winter when Lailah turned down the narrow road toward the address Julian had texted. Elijah had mentioned something about a biology project, group work, and “Mr. Julian’s grandma’s house.” She’d agreed, assuming it was just a quiet place for the boys to finish their experiment.

She was early. She planned to pick him up, thank whoever was hosting, and head home. But as she parked, the sound of laughter rolled across the yard, and the smell of something rich and savory drifted from the open window.

Before she could knock, the door opened.

“Mom, you’re here!” Elijah grinned, hair damp with steam from the kitchen. “Can we stay? Please? Mrs.—I mean, Grandma Willie said dinner’s almost ready!”

A voice boomed from inside. “Don’t you dare make that boy leave hungry. You too, baby. Come on in before the cold catches your bones.”

Lailah blinked. “I don’t want to intrude—”

Willie Mae appeared, small but commanding, a towel slung over one shoulder. “Intrude? I invited you by extension of him.” She jerked a thumb toward Elijah. “You raised him right. Now come see if I raised my grandson right.”

Lailah laughed, following her down the hallway lined with family photos. The kitchen was a burst of motion—pots bubbling, music humming low, and at the stove, Julian.

No apron this time, just a dark shirt rolled to the elbows, stirring something that smelled like heaven.

“Evening,” he said, flashing that quiet smile.

“Evening,” she answered, setting her purse on the counter. “I was just coming to pick up Elijah.”

“Too late,” Willie Mae said, already pulling bowls from a cabinet. “You’re in it now. Dumplings don’t make themselves.”

Lailah started to protest, but Julian tilted his head toward the counter. “You might as well. Grandma doesn’t lose too many arguments.”

Willie Mae gave a satisfied sniff and swatted his arm with the towel. “Keep stirring, Jules, and stop acting like you run this kitchen.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His grin widened, boyish and unbothered.

He handed Lailah a bit of dough. “Here—roll it just enough to hold together.”

She followed his lead, unsure but willing. He stepped behind her, guiding her hands once, briefly, showing how to shape the dumpling before dropping it into the simmering broth.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Just let it slide.”

Willie Mae looked over, hands on hips. “You better make sure those dumplings taste as good as that moment looks.”

Julian’s mother breezed in then, brushing snow from her hair. “Lord, Mama, what are you two whispering about in here?” Her eyes landed on Julian, then on Lailah, still close enough that his hand rested lightly at her waist as he reached for the spoon.

“Well, well,” his mother teased, eyes sparkling. “I turn my back for one holiday and my son finally brings home a woman who can cook.”

“Ma,” Julian said quickly, stepping back, color rising to his cheeks. “She came to pick up Elijah and volunteered to help, that’s all.”

Lailah covered a smile with her hand. “Helping under strict supervision.”

“Mm-hmm,” his mother said, winking at Willie Mae. “That’s what we’re calling it.”

Willie Mae only laughed. “Lord, I’ve been praying for this one to stop measuring his life by work. Maybe heaven heard me.”

Julian shook his head, but the faint flush stayed as he turned back to the stove.

Lailah glanced over. “So you work that much?”

He met her eyes with a grin that was equal parts proud and gentle. “I’m building something that I can share.”

Something in his tone made her pause. It wasn’t boastful. It was steady. Purposeful. Like he already saw the shape of what he was creating. And maybe who he hoped to share it with.

When the food was ready, the house filled with voices. Chairs scraped, dishes passed, and laughter layered over every sound. Lailah tried to keep to the edge, but the family drew her in. Someone handed her a plate before she could decline. Julian’s father told a joke that made Elijah laugh until he snorted. One of the brothers offered seconds before anyone had finished firsts.

The food was good. Better than good. The table was alive. Lailah hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this: the noise, the teasing, the way love could fill a room so easily.

Partway through the meal, Willie Mae began to hum an old hymn, the kind that carried memory in every note. Lailah found herself humming along without thinking, soft at first, then clearer. The room quieted, the way people do when something true starts happening in front of them.

When she finished, a burst of applause met her. She laughed, embarrassed, cheeks warm.

“Now that’s dinner music,” Julian’s father said, raising his glass.

“She’s got heaven in her throat,” Willie Mae added proudly. “You hush and let her sing next Sunday.”

“Oh, no, no,” Lailah said, standing to gather plates. “I’m better at washing dishes than taking encores.”

Julian followed her into the kitchen with a small smile. “You sure about that? Because you just put my whole family in a trance.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Please Jules,” she teased. “They were just being kind.”

Julian blushed more hard, playing it off with a laugh. “My family calls me that.”

Lailah’s eyes widened. “I apologize. I was only teasing.”

He gave a small smile, still a little flushed. “It’s fine. I…like it coming from you.”

The air shifted. It was gentle but unmistakable. Lailah turned back to the counter with a small smile. “Then I’ll be careful how I use it.”

Before he could reply, Willie Mae’s voice called from the dining room. “Jules, stop hiding and bring out that pie before your brothers do!”

He grinned. “Duty calls.”

They carried dessert to the table together, hands brushing once, light as a promise. The rest of the evening moved in laughter and seconds and the comfortable noise of people who loved being in the same room.

When it was finally time to go, Elijah hugged everyone like they were cousins he’d known forever. Willie Mae pressed leftovers into Lailah’s hands and kissed her on the cheek, “Next time, don’t wait for an invitation.”

Outside, Elijah beamed. “Mom, that was the best dinner ever.”

“It really was,” she said softly, watching the warm light spill from the windows.

Back home, Elijah fell right to sleep after a bath. Lailah stood in her small kitchen, touching the pendant at her neck. She thought about the music, the food, the laughter, the way Julian had steadied her hand over the dough.

For the first time in years, she didn’t feel hungry for anything.
She felt full.

Love In Due Season: Ch. 3

What You Carry

The sound reached her before she saw him.
Elijah’s voice was soft, muffled through the half-closed door, a child’s prayer said with the weight of a grown man’s worry.

“God, can You help us get the money sooner?” he whispered. “So my mom doesn’t have to work so much. And can You give her a good man? One that talks to You like she does? I know that’s what she wants. And…”

Lailah froze in the hallway, the words pressing against her chest until it hurt to breathe. She’d come to kiss him goodbye before heading out for another shift, but now all she could do was stand there.

For a long moment she watched the small shape of him beneath the blanket, his shoulders rising and falling in that slow rhythm of trust only children seemed to have. She turned away quietly, wiping at her eyes before the tears could fall.

By the time she slipped her shoes on, her heart felt heavy. Grateful, but heavy.

Selena honked twice from the driveway.

Lailah grabbed her bag and called softly, “I’ll be home late, baby. Love you.”
There was a sleepy murmur in return.

In the car, Selena glanced over as Lailah buckled her seat belt. “You good?”

Lailah nodded. “Just tired.”

“You’ve been saying that since August,” Selena said. “You sure it’s not something else?”

“Just tired.”

Selena didn’t push, but she reached over and squeezed her hand before turning the radio up. “Well, good news. Tonight’s crowd looks generous. Let’s make some grocery money.”

Lailah managed a small laugh. “You always know how to spin it.”

“Somebody’s got to.”

The drive to the venue was quiet after that. She watched the trees blur by in the fading light and tried not to think about her son’s words. A good man. What did a boy his age know about that?

Still, it stayed with her.

The night air smelled of rain when they stepped out of the car. String lights stretched across the open patio, and laughter drifted through the doors. Inside, the staff rushed to finish the dinner service. The usual hum of noise filled the space, but Lailah couldn’t shake the ache in her chest. She moved through her tasks on instinct, smiling when she needed to, speaking when spoken to.

Julian was there, as always, steady in the middle of it all. He gave his quiet instructions, checked plates, sent servers out with calm efficiency. Once or twice their eyes met across the kitchen, and she thought she saw a question in his. She didn’t have the energy to answer it.

When the last entrée went out, the chaos faded to a lull. There was still cleanup ahead, but for now, most of the crew slipped outside to smoke or scroll through their phones. Lailah stayed behind, wiping her hands on a towel before stepping toward the back of the hall.

The bride and groom were dancing under a canopy of lights, lost in their own world. Lailah watched from a distance, head resting on the wall watching a scene that felt like a movie. The music was slow, something about forever, and for a few seconds she let herself imagine what it would feel like to be wanted like that. Then she caught herself and looked away.

“Pretty sight, isn’t it?”

Julian’s voice came from just behind her. She turned to find him leaning against the wall, sleeves pushed to his elbows, a towel slung over one shoulder.

“It is,” she said quietly. “They look… free.”

He nodded, eyes still on the couple. “Hard to find that these days.”

She smiled faintly. “Maybe it’s not about finding it. Maybe it’s just about not giving up on it.”

He glanced at her then, studying her face for a moment longer than casual conversation required. “You okay tonight? You seem… somewhere else.”

“I’m fine,” she said automatically. Then, softer, “It’s just been a long day.”

He waited, not pressing, just standing there in that quiet way of his that somehow made people talk anyway.

Lailah sighed. “I overheard my son praying earlier. He wants me to be home more. Wants me to find someone good. It’s just a lot sometimes, trying to be everything at once.”

Julian’s expression softened. “Sounds like you’re raising a boy who knows how to care about people.”

“He’s a sweet kid. Too observant for his own good.”

He chuckled. “That’s not the worst problem to have.”

Something about his tone eased her enough to breathe. For the first time that night, she didn’t feel like she had to keep her guard up.

“I didn’t know you had a son,” he said. “How old?”

“Thirteen.”

He nodded. “So you started early.”

She raised a brow. “That supposed to be a polite way of calling me old?”

He laughed under his breath. “I was guessing close to my age, actually. You don’t act like the other women who come through here.”

“And how old is that?”

“Thirty-five.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “I have you by five years.”

“I’m good with that.”

“Nah. I like my men a little older,” she teased.

“Why is that?” he smiled, playing along.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I think they’re more mature.”

“I think the best sign of maturity is knowing what you want. Not age.”

She was caught off guard by his comment, flushed even. For a moment she didn’t know where to look, so she focused on the bride’s gown swirling under the lights.

He cleared his throat, gentling the moment. “You should get out more. There are a few good spots around here. Places you’d like.”

“Between two jobs and my son? I don’t think so.”

“Doesn’t have to be tonight.” He straightened, adjusting the towel over his shoulder. “Next time you get a weekend off, you should go into town. I know there’s some good stuff there.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“I don’t know. Clothes. Shoes. Spas,” he said simply. “Something that’s for you, not just for work.”

Lailah shook her head, smiling despite herself. “You trying to tell me my uniform needs help?”

“Not at all.” He met her eyes. “Just think you deserve to have things that fit the woman wearing them.”

She felt the warmth rise to her cheeks before she could stop it. “You’re full of lines tonight.”

“Let’s do it this way then,” he chuckled. “Does your son go to CMC Middle or CMC High?”

Lailah hesitated but answered, “High.”

“Okay, so he’s in there with my nephews.” Julian stepped a little closer so no one could overhear. “What if I grab my nephews and your son and take them to the Winter Fair? That way he can hang out and make friends, and you can have a day to yourself.”

She paused, caught off guard by his thoughtfulness. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“I’m the one who asked you,” he said gently.

She didn’t know what to say after that. For a woman used to carrying everything alone, the offer felt both foreign and kind. Her fingers found the small pendant at her neck, turning it slowly between them as she nodded once, quietly.

Lailah stayed where she was after he walked away, watching the newlyweds twirl under the lights. For the first time all evening, the heaviness in her chest eased. She didn’t know what to make of Julian or his words, but she knew how they made her feel.

Seen.

When the song ended, she turned back toward the kitchen, ready to finish the night. Her feet still ached, her heart still hurt a little, but there was something else there too. A spark she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Maybe hope was stubborn like that. It showed up even when you tried to leave it behind.

Love In Due Season: Ch. 2

Small Light

By the end of the first month, the extra money had started to show.
Not in new shoes or a better phone—just in the small envelope she kept tucked behind the flour canister. $1,245. She wrote the number on a scrap of paper and underlined it twice. It wasn’t freedom, but it looked like daylight.

Most weeks were the same now: work the school day, change shirts in the car, show up on whatever weekend worked best for her. The first few shifts had left her shaky and sore; now her body knew the rhythm. Clock in, polish, fill, set, serve, repeat. The young servers still drifted in late or whispered about weekend plans. Lailah kept her head down. She didn’t correct anyone unless a mistake was about to spill onto the floor—then she’d step in, quiet as breath, fix it, and slip back out of the way.

After a while even CJ noticed.
“Lailah, you keep the whole line calm. Appreciate that.”
She only nodded. Praise still felt foreign.

The ballroom smelled of flower and warm bread. Candles trembled in tall glass vases. Lailah balanced a tray of glasses against her hip, weaving between tables. She’d leaned to smile without thinking about it and to listen for small things, like ice rattling low in a cup, or laughter near the bar.

Every now and then she caught sight of the chef.

Julian. Always in motion, sleeves rolled, voice steady even when everything around him roared. She’d told herself the first night that his nod meant nothing. Weeks later, she still remembered it.

She was stacking empty glasses near the kitchen door when his voice reached her.

“You look like you’ve been training for a marathon back there.”

It took her a second to realize he was talking to her.

“Feels like it,” she said, breath short but polite.
“Don’t worry,” he added, eyes glinting just enough to count as humor, “no medals tonight—just carbs.”

A small smile tugged at her mouth before she could stop it. She wasn’t sure laughter was the right response, so she let the moment hang.

Julian gestured toward the line of servers waiting for trays.

“You’re the one who keeps them moving,” he said. “They follow your pace more than mine.”
She blinked. “I just try not to get in the way.”
“That’s what makes it work,” he said, already turning back to the plates.

He didn’t linger, but the words did. No one had told her she made anything work in a long time.

Saturday morning she woke before sunrise, the ache in her calves still pulsing. Elijah slept on the couch, one arm flung over his eyes, sneakers on the floor. She smiled, easing the blanket higher over his shoulder.

On the counter, the envelope waited. She added forty more dollars—tips from a private dinner—and whispered, “Thank You.” It wasn’t habit this time; it was gratitude.

Later, while folding laundry, she thought about Julian’s attempt at a joke. It hadn’t been funny, really, but the effort had cracked something open, proof that he saw her in the middle of all that motion.

A week later, another wedding. She arrived early, tying her tie while the younger servers debated who would handle champagne service. Nobody volunteered.

“I’ll take it,” she said, grabbing the tray before they could argue. They didn’t protest; they never did anymore. When the music swelled and guests flooded the dance floor, Lailah moved through them like she’d been doing this for years—efficient, invisible, steady.

In the kitchen doorway, Julian watched long enough to catch CJ’s comment.
“She keeps everybody calm,” CJ said. “Even me.”
Julian only nodded.

When she returned the empty tray, he looked up from the cutting board.

“Nice timing out there,” he said. “You make chaos look organized.”
She wiped her hands on her towel. “Comes from raising a teenager.”

His laugh, low and genuine, surprised her. It rolled through the kitchen and disappeared into the clatter of dishes. For a moment she let herself enjoy it, then slipped back toward the hallway before anyone could notice her cheeks warming.

That night, Elijah asked, “You think we can move soon?”
“Maybe,” she said. “We’re getting there.”

She didn’t tell him about Julian’s comment or the laughter that still echoed in her head. Some things felt too fragile to name.

After he went to bed, she sat at the kitchen table, notebook open beside the envelope. The numbers hadn’t changed much since last week, but her handwriting looked steadier.

She wrote in the corner: Starting to see light.

Then she closed the book, leaned back in the chair, and smiled.
Hope didn’t always arrive loud. Sometimes it showed up in small talk and tired feet—and in the sound of someone laughing for the first time in a long while.

My Kind of Therapy: Ch. 5

Chapter Five: Easing Into the Stretch

Carlton and Michelle

December had been kinder. Work still pressed, but not with the crushing weight of November. Michelle had finally managed to train up two new hires, and for the first time in weeks, her calendar wasn’t gasping for air. Carlton’s schedule lined up in its own weird way—four games at home, no flights, no hotel beds. Just the city, his place or hers, and more time together than they’d had since this whole thing began.

He’d decided to host a small get-together. Nothing fancy. Just Malik, a couple of teammates, and a few close friends. Michelle didn’t mind. She’d seen her family over Thanksgiving, filled her tank with the noisy warmth of nieces and nephews. Tonight, she was content to stay in Carlton’s orbit.

Malik had already stolen the spotlight within ten minutes of arrival. He reenacted a play from practice. Badly. Complete with falling over Carlton’s ottoman in slow motion.

The room howled. Michelle nearly did a spit take, laughing, until Carlton tossed a cushion at him and said, “Bro, stop embarrassing me in my own house.”

“No promises,” Malik replied, bowing like he’d just finished a Broadway show.

The night rolled like that. Easy laughter, food disappearing from trays faster than it could be refilled, the low hum of music under conversations. Michelle sat back at one point, glass in hand, watching Carlton move around the room. He wasn’t putting on a show. He didn’t have to. He was just… himself. And she liked him here just as much as she liked him on the court or in the clinic. Maybe more.

When everyone left and the last door clicked shut, the quiet felt heavier, but in a good way. Michelle stacked plates while Carlton gathered cups. They fell into rhythm, clearing the counters with the kind of silent teamwork that didn’t need words.

Until she noticed it.

He shifted, just slightly, carrying dishes to the sink. The set of his shoulders was off. The gait wasn’t the smooth glide she knew; it caught, almost imperceptibly, on his left side.

“Carlton,” she said softly.

He didn’t turn. “Hmm?”

“What’s going on with your back?”

“I’m fine.” Too quick. Too dismissive.

She set her glass down with a deliberate clink and moved before he could escape again. He turned to put something in the sink, but she was already there, catching him between the island and the counter. He blinked. Caught. Nowhere to go.

“Carlton,” she repeated. “Talk to me. You’re walking like a man a half step into retirement,” she joked.

“Come on, Michelle. Don’t do that,” he said, walking around her.

“Carlton.”

For a second, he held her gaze like he was deciding whether to push past it. Then he sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I wanted tonight to be perfect. I didn’t want you to worry about anything. But I tweaked my back earlier this week, and it’s been… lingering.” He looked down, jaw tight. “I’ve been stressed, honestly. I don’t need anymore time on the bench. I don’t-“, he sighed. “I don’t want the only time I see you to be on somebody’s table. Not now.”

Her chest softened, not at his words but at the frustration behind them. She leaned back against the counter, keeping him close. His height, his presence—right there, just a breath away.

“I think I know what this is and I don’t think it’s just about basketball,” she said slowly, carefully. “I’ve only heard about this technique, but I’ve never really been able to use it. But if you trust me, I’d like to try.”

He raised a brow, half-skeptical, half-intrigued. “What kind of technique?”

“The good kind.” A small smile tugged at her lips. “But you have to let me lead.”

He hesitated, searching her eyes. Then, after a sigh, he gave a short nod. “I trust you.”

She held out her hand. He took it without hesitation, large palm swallowing hers, and she pulled him closer until the air between them was thin. Her other hand lifted, brushing his shirt hem. “May I?” she whispered.

His voice was low, rough. “Yeah.”

Her fingers slid beneath the fabric, warm against his skin, and he flinched at the first contact—more from surprise than pain. Her hands skimmed his back, finding the lines of muscle she knew too well, tracing until she reached the knot, tight and stubborn. He winced. She pressed gently. “Here?”

He exhaled. “There.”

“Okay,” she whispered. “Deep breath.”

He obeyed, closing his eyes. She felt the rise of his chest under her hands. And as his lungs emptied, she lifted on her toes, leaned in, and brushed a soft kiss against his lips.

“I love you, too,” she breathed, timing the words with the release. Her voice was steady, her heart anything but. “Now let that settle in.”

His eyes flew open, stunned. For a second, he just stared, like he wasn’t sure if she meant it or if he’d imagined it. Then he moved, fast, sure, closing the space, his mouth on hers again, deeper this time. The kiss said everything he hadn’t been able to put into sentences these past months, all the restraint burning away in one rush.

Michelle’s fingers curled into his back, holding him close, not as his PT, not as the one who kept him from injury, but as the woman who loved him. And for the first time, she let herself believe he might really love her too.

Michelle pulled away first, breath shaky. Her body was doing things she hadn’t felt in years, and it scared her how much she didn’t want it to stop. She put a hand on his chest, pushing just enough space to breathe.

“It’s hot,” she admitted. “We can’t.”

Carlton blinked. “We can’t?”

“Not like that.” She started pacing the living room, arms crossed tight like that might keep her from combusting.

He tilted his head, half amused. “Yeah. No. That was a lot.”

“Yeah.” She pointed at him like it was his fault. “We talked about that.”

He frowned. “We did?”

“Yeah, we didn’t want to go there.”

He laughed, incredulous. “We talked about that?!”

Michelle bent over, hands on her knees, breathing hard like she’d just finished suicides. “Carlton, I love you, but I don’t know if I have the self-control to do that again.”

That broke him. He grinned wide and charged around the couch. There was nothing wrong with his back now! She tried to dart the other way, but he was quicker, catching her at the edge.

“Carlton—” she started, but her laughter gave her away. They both fell on the couch.

He kissed her again. She let him. Slower this time. Deeper. Intentional in a way that made her toes curl. It threatened more, promised more, but stopped right at the edge.

When he finally pulled back, both of them were breathless again.

“Okay,” he said, voice low but steady. “I agree.”

She leaned her forehead against his chest, still catching her breath. “Good. Because that was… yeah.”

“Yeah,” he echoed, smiling against her hair.

They let it hang there before moving back into the kitchen. He grabbed the stray cups, she loaded plates into the dishwasher. It felt oddly domestic; two people tidying up after a night that had been bigger than both of them.

When the counters were finally clear, she reached for her coat. “I should go.”

“You’re not leaving,” he said flatly, already hanging the dish towel back on the oven handle.

“Carlton—”

“Michelle, it’s past midnight,” he cut in. He stepped toward the window, nodding at the flakes falling thick and slow under the streetlight. “It’s snowing. I’m not letting you drive in that.”

Her mouth opened, ready to argue, but the sight of snow softening the world outside made her pause.

He turned back to her, tone gentler now. “Stay. I’ll take the couch.”

Her eyes flicked up at him, searching, soft. “You don’t have to—”

“I do,” he said simply. “You’ll sleep better knowing it.”

Something in her eased at that. She slipped out of her coat and draped it over a chair. “Okay,” she whispered, almost surprised at herself.

He smiled, quiet and relieved. “Good.”

The TV hummed low in the background as they settled. She curled up in the bed with a blanket he grabbed, still warm from the dryer. He lingered a little too long before heading to the couch, watching her settle in with that same half-smile he got when the game was already won.

For the first time in months, Michelle let herself rest without fighting it.

And for the first time in years, Carlton didn’t mind giving up his bed.

My Kind of Therapy – Ch. 2.2

Chapter Two: The Space Between pt. 2

Carlton

It’s easier to do the right thing when no one’s watching you do it. The hard part is sitting with yourself afterward.

Jasmin is excellent. I knew she would be. Her notes are precise in the app. Her hands find the spots that bark and coax them into something like cooperation. We move through progressions clean. No slack. No showboating.

But there are details I miss and pretend not to. The way Michelle says “let it settle” when a muscle wants to argue. The way she laughs when I act like a single-leg RDL is personal. The way she catches the micro-wince before I admit it’s a six out of ten and says, “Let’s back you off two degrees,” saving me from my own pride.

I keep all of that to myself because I chose this. Choosing means owning the stretch that follows.

The weeks after I told Reese, the schedule flipped like a page. We finally landed on Jasmin. New hands, new voice, new routine. Professional. Clean. No lines to worry about crossing. But absence is loud if you know how to listen to it.

My body was coming back to me in ways I trusted—shoulder stable, footwork cleaner, lungs remembering. The film didn’t lie. Neither did the mirror. But my head? It kept sliding toward her at odd angles: when a cue landed and I wanted to tell someone who would appreciate the precision, when a song in the weight room sounded like the one we joked about in session three, when recovery felt like prayer and I wanted to show it to someone who would treat it like church.

Reese and I had lunch out of habit on Wednesdays. Same little spot where the owner calls you “chief” even if you look like you’ve never captained anything. He ordered whatever he always ordered; I ordered protein like I was trying to convince my cells I still loved them. We ate in the comfortable quiet of men who’ve run suicides together and don’t need words to prove they did.

“You’re doing that thing,” he said, eventually.

“What thing?”

“Staring through food like it owes you money.”

I snorted. “I’m here.”

“Not fully.” He dipped a fry in something orange and sinful. “How’s the new setup?”

“Fine.” I shrugged. “Good work is still good.”

He waited, because he’s the kind of friend who can wait and still get an answer.

I rolled the condensation between my fingers. “She listens better than anybody I’ve worked with. That’s rare.”

Reese nodded, eyes on me, not the fries. “You told me that two months ago without the extra sentence you just didn’t say.”

“What sentence is that?”

“That you like her.”

I tilted my head. “I told you that already.”

“You told me the professional version.” He grinned. “I’m fluent in both.”

I laughed, because he earned it. Then I said the thing I’d learned to say when it was true: “I’m being careful.”

“Careful’s good.” Reese wiped his hands. “Also: no one ever won a game with only pump fakes.”

“I’m not pump faking.”

He lifted his palm. “I know. All I’m saying is when the lane opens, take it.”

I nodded, filed it, and changed the subject to the only thing that could ever hold equal weight for me: the work. We mapped the next two weeks like you map a road you can already see with your eyes closed: route, rest stops, exits you promise not to take.

Later that week, I swung by Reese’s sister’s coffee shop to help her unload a shipment. She’d asked me once before, and I never minded lending a hand. The place had its own rhythm—mismatched mugs stacked by the espresso machine, paperbacks that smelled like rain and glue, sunlight spilling lazy across wooden tables.

I came in through the back, carrying a box on my shoulder, and that’s when I saw her.

Front corner by the window, hair down, a dress I’d never seen her wear in the clinic. She was with another woman—her sister, I guessed. She’d mentioned her once during a session, in that offhand way you mention home when you’re still trying to figure out what “home” even means in a new city.

Michelle didn’t see me. She was laughing at something her sister said, head tipped, shoulders loose. Free. And in that split second, I understood a new kind of unfair: how someone could be breathtaking just by existing in their own joy.

She wasn’t taped into bands or counting reps or measuring degrees of flexion. She was just a woman with sunlight in her hair and the kind of smile you don’t earn by accident..

I dropped the box on the counter in the back, leaned against the shelves, and let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

I’d seen her a hundred times before. Hair pulled back. Black polo. Black pants. Focused. Professional.

But this? This was different. Dress soft against the light, and falling on every curve. Her laugh spilling like she’d been saving it.

She looked… free. And it wasn’t freedom from me or from anything else. It was freedom in herself.

And I wanted in on that. Not to take it, not to own it—but to be near enough that when she smiled like that, I could be the reason, even if only part of it.

Just months ago, I was thinking about angles and rehab protocols. Now I was thinking about what it would take to deserve that kind of closeness.

And that scared me in the best way. Because it meant this wasn’t a distraction. This wasn’t a passing thought. It was a shift.

I stayed in the back longer than I needed to, pretending to sort boxes so I wouldn’t risk bumping into her. But every sound from the front—her laugh, the scrape of her chair—pulled at me like magnets under the floor.

Eventually, I slipped out the side door. Some things you don’t interrupt, not when they’re that pure.

Back at the facility, Malik coasted beside me on a scooter someone had probably bought with poor judgment and a coupon code. “CJ,” he said, “you look like a man with a plan.”

“I’m a man with conditioning,” I said. “Big difference.”

He grinned, his favorite expression. “You still thinking about that PT?”

“She’s not my PT anymore.”

“Yeah,” he said, rolling the word like gum. “Exactly.”

I shook my head to chase him off and hit the court to shoot.

Ten makes from each spot, no move-ons until the net agreed. The ball felt clean in my hand. I don’t know how to describe the moment when your body and your will remember each other’s phone numbers again, except to say it’s like a city turning its lights back on.

Back to the grind.