Quentin lifted his gaze to his grandfather, but remained silent.
“You know I’ve never been demonstrative with my feelings,” Grandpa Frank went on gruffly. “My father was a mean ol’ cuss who’d sooner take a strap to your hide than hug you. But he loved each and every one of us the best way he knew how.” He cleared his throat. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I hope you never doubted how much I…well, how much I love you.”
Quentin swallowed with difficulty, profoundly moved by his grandfather’s words. He sat forward with his elbows braced on his knees, beer bottle dangling between his legs as he looked directly into the old man’s eyes.
“First of all, you were never in danger of losing me. It’s true that I’ve always been close to Sterling. He and Dad were on the police force together. They used to play basketball with me and Mike and take us for rides in the squad car. After Dad died, being around Sterling made me feel connected to Dad. But that doesn’t mean I wanted to replace you, Pops. Believe me when I tell you that I’ve never doubted your love for me. Were there times I thought you were harder on me than anyone else? Yes. Were there times I resented your tough love? Absolutely. But as I got older, I started to understand and appreciate the lessons you and my father instilled in me. Both of you taught me the value of hard work and discipline, and that got me through college and law school. You pushed me to reach my full potential, Pops. And you’ve always been there for me whenever I needed you. Given all that—” he gestured to encompass the wall that was dominated by pictures of him “—how could I ever think you didn’t love me?”
His grandfather gazed at him, his eyes moist with tears he fought not to shed. “Thank you for those kind words, son,” he said humbly.
“Meant every one of ’em.” Quentin smiled and sat back against the sofa, lifting his beer to his lips. “But you ain’t fooling nobody, Pops. I know you only said all those things because you’re worried about being replaced by my other grandfather.”
Grandpa Frank sputtered before he realized Quentin was joking. They both laughed, the teasing remark bringing some levity to the conversation.
Just then they heard the clomping of heavy boots approaching the room. Then Quentin’s cousin Trajan appeared, a toothpick dangling from one corner of his mouth as he grinned at them.
“Hey, family. How’s it going?”
They called warm greetings to him as he sauntered into the room.
Trajan Reddick was a shade darker than Quentin with short wavy hair, thick eyebrows, a straight nose and a square jaw. He’d inherited their grandfather’s piercing green eyes, and a neatly trimmed goatee and sideburns framed his face. He had the Reddick physique—wide shoulders, narrow hips and long legs. At six foot four, he was just an inch shy of Quentin’s height—a minuscule difference that would have fueled major trash talking when they were younger.
He came over to Quentin. “Wassup, cousin.”
“Yo, Traj. Wassup,” Quentin said, rising from the sofa.
They exchanged one of those manly brotha hugs—part chest bump, part backslap and part handshake that ended with the cool finger snap.
Trajan hitched his chin toward Quentin. “How long you been here?”
“Not too long.” Quentin sat back down and picked up his beer.
Trajan sprawled beside him on the sofa with his long legs stretched out, one foot cocked up. He was wearing dusty black work boots and blue coveralls with the name of the family’s electrical contracting business embroidered on the back.
“Where’s your old man?” Quentin asked.
“Out on a late job. Said he’d be over as soon as he’s done.”
Trajan and his father, Fletcher, ran the family business. Although they had more than enough employees to handle their busy workload, Fletcher still went out on calls. He enjoyed working hard and keeping his skills sharp.
Grandpa Frank grinned at Trajan. “Did your grandma tell you Quentin was here?”
“Nah, Ma called me after she talked to Grandma. But I was coming over for dinner anyway. My cupboards are looking kinda bare.” Trajan grinned at Quentin. “I know you can’t relate to that anymore, being married to a chef and all. And how is your beautiful wife doing? I’m still waiting for her to wake up and realize she married the wrong Reddick.”
Quentin snorted. “Yeah, okay. Keep dreaming.”
Trajan laughed.
Although several years apart, Quentin and Trajan had always enjoyed an easy camaraderie. Growing up, they’d bonded over their love for boxing, fast cars and hip-hop. When they weren’t pulling outrageous pranks on each other, they’d tormented Trajan’s sisters, which often landed them in trouble.
Quentin, Trajan and Grandpa Frank were chatting about sports when Grandma Penny came downstairs with her phone to her ear. “I’m calling Alexis,” she said, winking at Quentin. “I want her to come over after the birthday party and bring my baby.”
Trajan grinned slyly. “That’s right. Tell her to bring her pretty little self over here.”
When Quentin shot him a dirty look, their grandparents laughed.
It wasn’t long before more Reddicks arrived, spilling into the basement on a tidal wave of warmth and good cheer. They surrounded Quentin, enveloping him in bear hugs and chattering over one another. There were many of them—his father’s two sisters and their spouses and a few of their children. His great aunt Flora, a spry old widow whose green eyes sparkled with a youthful gleam. She’d come with her youngest daughter and son-in-law, a congenial black man who worked in the family business.
And then there was Trajan’s mother, Terri, a statuesque mahogany beauty who bore such a striking resemblance to Kenya Moore from Real Housewives of Atlanta that excited fans often stopped her on the street to ask for an autograph and take a selfie with her. Given that Terri was at least fifteen years older than Kenya, being mistaken for the reality star always amused and flattered her.
“Hey, baby boy.” She hugged and kissed Quentin, then drew back to cup his cheek and smile. “Where are Alexis and Junior? You didn’t bring them with you?”
“Nah,” he drawled. “They’re at a birthday party.”
Terri tsked at him. “Now, Quentin, you know we love you dearly,” she teased, “but you can’t be showing up here without that baby.”
He laughed. “So I’ve been told. Grandma already called Lexi, so she’ll be on her way soon.”
Terri brightened. “Oh, good. I need to thank her for giving me her beef bourguignon recipe. I made it for some friends last night, and it turned out perfect.”
“That’s great,” Quentin said warmly. “That’s one of my favorite dishes of hers.”
“It’s delicious. I followed her recipe to a T, and my friends couldn’t stop raving about it.”
“Cool.” Quentin smiled. “Where are Tempest and Tiana?” he asked, referring to her two daughters.
“Tempest had to work late, and Tiana’s getting her hair done.”
“About time,” Trajan joked.
Terri swatted his shoulder. “Leave your sister alone.”
Trajan laughed, draping an arm around her shoulders and kissing her cheek. “Relax, Ma. You know I’m just playing.”
“Uh-huh. Whatever.” But she was smiling.
Her good humor evaporated with the arrival of her estranged husband.
Fletcher Reddick was Fraser’s younger brother, the baby of the family. He was tall, ruggedly handsome and built like the other Reddick males. He had the same green eyes as his father and son, and his curly black hair was wisped with gray at the temples. Like Trajan, he was wearing heavy work boots and blue coveralls that bore the company’s name.
He greeted Quentin with a warm, backslapping hug. “How’s it going, nephew? You doing all right?”
“Yeah, I’m good. You?”
“Business is good. Can’t complain.” Fletcher flashed that crooked smile that lit his eyes. The smile that reminded Quentin of his father’s. “How’s your mom doing?”
“
She’s fine.”
Fletcher nodded. “Glad to hear it. Tell her I said hello.”
Quentin smiled. “Will do.”
He watched as his uncle’s gaze drifted to Terri. They stared at each other until Terri murmured, “I’m going to see if Mama needs help in the kitchen.”
As she turned and left the room, Fletcher’s eyes followed her.
Although they’d been separated for the past two years, a blind man could see how much they still loved each other. Their breakup had come as a shock to the rest of the family, and to this day, no one knew what had caused it. Whatever the reason, Quentin hoped they’d work things out and get back together soon. He missed the fun-loving couple that used to break out into duets at summer cookouts while all the children giggled and pointed at them. Back then, no family gathering had been complete without the sight of Fletcher and Terri slow dancing to a song heard only in their heads.
At Grandma Penny’s summons, Quentin, Trajan and Fletcher headed upstairs to the dining room and sat at the large table, where they were served steaming plates of meat loaf, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob and yeast rolls slathered with melted honey butter.
They rolled up their sleeves and dug into the meal with gusto. Although Grandma Penny wasn’t as good a cook as Lexi or Mike or Prissy Wolf, her comfort food always hit the spot.
Soon the house was filled with the sound of cheerful voices and laughter. Standing at the entrance to the dining room with their arms around each other’s waist, Frank and Penny Reddick watched their family with contented smiles.
When Lexi arrived with Junior, the women swarmed her, fawning over the baby and exclaiming how big he’d gotten since they last saw him—which had been less than a week ago at Thanksgiving. Grandma Penny took him from Lexi and rocked him in her arms as the others clamored for the chance to hold him.
While Junior enjoyed his rock star treatment, Lexi made her way to the dining room, where Quentin and Trajan were eating and bantering with each other. Several minutes earlier, Terri had appeared with a pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemonade. As she silently topped off their glasses, her eyes had met Fletcher’s. After she left, Fletcher had pushed back from the table and gone after her, leaving Quentin and Trajan to raise their eyebrows at each other. Not even Trajan knew what was going on between his parents.
As Lexi approached the dining room, Quentin couldn’t help staring at her through the open doorway. His wife was hella fine with her long-lashed dark eyes, luscious lips and lickable brown skin. Today she was wearing a snug red tunic sweater and black leggings that molded her delectable curves. Her calf-high black leather boots added a few inches to her petite frame.
Quentin devoured every inch of her as she came toward him. The natural swing of her hips heated his groin, conjuring memories of their erotic hotel tryst.
“Hey, babe.” She leaned down to kiss him, purring as she tasted the honey butter on his lips. “Mmm. Delicious.”
“I agree,” he murmured, sliding his hand under her sweater to gently cup her round ass.
With a soft laugh, she pulled away and flicked her head back to get her bangs out of her eyes, an unconsciously sexy gesture that always drove him crazy.
Apparently he wasn’t the only one affected.
Across the table, Trajan was grinning at Lexi. “Wassup, gorgeous.”
“Hey, Traj,” she greeted him in that sweet, smoky rasp of hers. “How you doin’?”
“Good.” His grin turned wicked. “I’d be doing even better if you came over here and gave me a hug.”
Before she could take one step, Quentin growled, “Nah. You don’t need to be hugging him.”
She giggled as he pulled her onto his lap, possessively locking an arm around her waist. As he kissed the nape of her neck, she snagged the half-eaten yeast roll off his plate and bit into it, letting out an appreciative groan that bordered on erotic.
As a rush of lust raced to Quentin’s groin, he shot a hard glance at Trajan. He was incensed to see his cousin staring at Lexi like he wanted to sop her up with a damn biscuit. When he licked his lips, Quentin scowled and kicked his shin under the table, prompting a startled “Ouch!”
Trajan’s yelp of pain drew knowing laughter from the living room.
“Uh-oh,” Grandma Penny could be heard saying. “Traj must be flirting with Alexis again.”
Trajan called back, “I wasn’t, Mama. I swear!”
More laughter erupted as Trajan grinned, reaching down to rub his injured leg.
Soon everyone congregated in the dining room, talking and joking raucously as they gathered around the table.
As Lexi helped herself to more of Quentin’s food, he looked around at the sea of laughing faces and smiled, basking in the knowledge that no matter what happened with the Harringtons, he would always be surrounded by a loving, supportive family.
13
For the past several years, Lexi had enjoyed volunteering for various arts organizations, including the High Museum of Art and the Children’s Museum of Atlanta. When a new museum of black history and culture opened last summer, she’d wasted no time reaching out to the director to offer her services.
As a volunteer coordinator, she helped plan and organize events, exhibits, lectures and educational programs. One of the first ideas she’d brought to the table was an entrepreneur power luncheon to provide information and resources to the community while raising funds for the museum. The idea was so well received that she was elected chair of the luncheon committee.
On Wednesday afternoon, the group met at the museum to discuss preparations for the event. Once everyone was seated around the table with their refreshments and notepads, Lexi got down to business.
“Thank you all for making room in your schedules for today’s meeting. I realize some of you had to leave work early to be here, so I really appreciate your time and flexibility. Given that this conference room won’t be available for the next two weekends, I didn’t want to wait to meet. I thought it was important for us to get together as soon as possible since March will be here before we know it.”
Several heads nodded in agreement.
“Before we begin,” Lexi continued with a smile, “I just wanted to share some good news. I spoke to Asha Dubois on Sunday, and she said she’d be honored to speak at our luncheon.”
A flurry of excited chatter went up around the conference table. Several people began clapping and cheering and congratulating Lexi on securing such an illustrious keynote speaker.
She laughed, waving off the praise. “I didn’t do anything special. All I had to do was ask. I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know Asha over the past six years, so I have a lot of respect and admiration for her. She worked hard to get where she is, and she truly believes in reaching back and helping others.”
“I can totally see that,” one woman spoke up. “You always hear what a diva she is. But she hires more minorities than any other fashion house, and she’s mentored many up-and-coming designers.”
“That’s right,” Lexi confirmed. “My Spelman mentees were beyond excited last year when Asha flew all of us out to New York to attend Fashion Week. We had front row seats at her show, and we got to meet Anna Wintour and other fashion industry bigwigs. The girls said it was the most amazing experience of their lives. One of them is now considering a career in fashion design, so Asha invited her to do an internship at House of Dubois next summer.”
“Wow,” everyone exclaimed. “What a wonderful opportunity.”
“It is. That’s how Asha rolls.” Lexi smiled warmly. “I can’t think of a better woman to headline our entrepreneur luncheon during Women’s History Month.”
A chorus of agreement went around the table.
“So now that we’ve got our keynote speaker,” Lexi continued, “let’s talk about the program, venue, sponsors, catering. All that good stuff.”
The committee spent the next hour brainstorming ideas and hashing out the logistics. When the meeting was over, several people approached
Lexi to ask follow-up questions and gush some more about Asha. Everyone was excited about the luncheon and predicted that it would be a smashing success.
As they said their goodbyes and headed out to the parking lot, Lexi was joined by Veronica De Leon, a pretty Puerto Rican woman with a deep bronze complexion and shoulder-length dark hair streaked with blond highlights.
“Great meeting,” she complimented Lexi. “You’re a natural at planning and organizing.”
Lexi smiled. “Thanks, Veronica. I wouldn’t say I’m a natural. I’ve just had plenty of practice. When I was growing up, my mom was always working. So she depended on me to plan meals and cook dinner, pack lunch for my brother and sister, check their homework, schedule their doctor’s appointments.” She shrugged. “I had no choice but to become organized.”
Veronica chuckled. “When you put it that way, I guess not.”
As they started toward their cars, Lexi admired Veronica’s leopard-print pumps. “Girl, those shoes are everything.”
“Thanks, mami. So are yours,” Veronica said enviously, pointing a manicured finger at Lexi’s sky-high snakeskin stilettos. “I’ve been checking them out ever since you arrived for the meeting. Are those from Asha’s line?”
“Yup. They just came out.”
“They’re gorgeous. Damn. I want ’em.”
Lexi grinned. “So get ’em.”
Veronica snorted. “I wish I could, girl, but those babies would blow my budget for the next six months. Unlike some people I know, I have to work for a living.”
This I Promise You Page 14
