by Roi, D. S.
“You’re so thoughtful.” The tears started to brim. “You know better than to make your mama cry, boy.” She smacked his chest; then gave him a hug while he laughed.
Eric didn’t stay long. He’d taken a few hard hits earlier and wanted to get back to the hotel to settle in with the team before the game. Cyana understood. His college schedule and her work schedule didn’t always mesh for get-togethers. At this point, they had gotten used to meeting and parting.
He is right. Cyana got into her car and took a long breath. She’d given up much of her life to raise Eric, but never gave up on the dream of owning a pastry shop. He was three years old before she’d saved her first hundred dollars towards her patisserie. She paid her way through college, focused on baking and business management while tending to his every need. The tears the memories brought accompanied her smile.
The news he’d shared tonight was like a thousand weights dropping off her shoulders. She leaned back against the headrest and enjoyed the sense of freedom. Now she could move on and get started by débuting her skills at the largest wedding event in Weynor history.
Cyana pulled into the drive at Mama’s. She ran up the entry steps in the high-heeled shoes and flung open the door.
“I’m comin’ home,” she squealed as soon as she made it inside. Mama and Iona were sitting at the island looking at the computer. Iona had Josiah on her lap. He held his duck out to her. They each stood at the sound of her excited shriek. She fell into their loving group hug.
By the time Asher came up the drive, Laura was outside the Milway speaking with the last vendor. He took the truck off the left of the house into the parking lot, hidden by a tall mature line of boxwoods. He hoofed up the stone path to the front of the porch.
“Hey Laura—”
She held up her hand. “Don’t you even fake apologize to me, Mr. Wilmington. We both know you aren’t crazy about this portion of the process. I love a wedding most when it’s three days out. That’s why you hired me. Different strokes for different folks.”
He chuckled. “Thanks a hellava lot for looking out.”
She smiled. “Sally may boss me around, but I know whose name is on my check. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Wilmington.”
“You’re a gem.” He walked Laura to her car and opened the door after she hit the unlock button on the keyless entry. The moment she drove off, the storm inside him was brewing. He needed to put on a face to get Laura away from the house and gain the quiet he craved.
He entered the foyer and locked the door. He strolled to the open floor, surveying the rainfall chandeliers on opposite sides of the stairway, drifting from the high ceiling in thousands of shards of crystal. The hardwood dance floor and cloth-draped tables set a decent flow over to the double doors. The landscape out the large back windows was lit up against the darkness. His gaze floated over to the bar.
The work was done. The house would be bustling with decorators tomorrow but, for now, there was complete silence. He strolled to the bar, selecting scotch to pour a large glass. The colonial room seemed to call to him to make one final check to ensure it was back in order after the meetings. He leaned against the doorway with one arm folded over the other, leaving the scotch-laden hand on top. The glass made it to his lips by the time he analyzed the sofa, the writing desk, the coffee table and the hutch. All with memories which heated his blood.
He rolled against the doorframe and tapped the back of his head against the wood. Cyana. The woman was going to haunt him. He drifted back to the open floor. He could imagine her laughter, visualize her doing yoga in the middle of the dance floor. His stomach growled. He marched to the kitchen.
His phone stood out as the only object gleaming against the glossy kitchen island. Regret twisted his gut. All he wanted to do right now was hear Cyana’s voice, know she was still close by. He was sick with wanting her. It’s late, he rationalized. She’s long gone to bed or still out with her beau. He clamped his teeth together with such force his jaw ached.
The scotch soothed his agitation, adding fire to his gut to match his mood. He stalked over to the phone, took it out of sleep mode and stared at it a minute. In an hour you’re gonna be drunker than hell. Nothing good can come of it, Asher. Just leave it be. He strolled away from the kitchen and polished off the remaining scotch before twirling back towards the phone. Seconds ticked by as he watched it. Leave it be.
His grip tightened on the glass. He hurled it across the kitchen. The clatter of it shattering against the wall summed it up for him.
The one dream he didn’t know he had. The dream he couldn’t have ever imagined, was dying. And it hurt like hell.
25
Cyana couldn’t remember the last time she had a morning like this. She smiled the moment she woke up. The cool night air filtered through the cracked window with hints of azalea and honeysuckle. Josiah lay in his bed, bundled under the blanket with his duck secure in his grasp. She sighed as she took a moment to stare at him. Her heart warmed at the idea of being a mother again, then stung with heat at her reality. The only child she craved would be Asher’s.
Would any of the children she bore look like Josiah? Iona’s Ex had been tall with olive skin and dark hair, still Josiah came out with honey blonde tresses and her sister’s grey-golds. He was a perfectly tanned, fat faced babe.
A sudden ache sprouted in her chest. She blinked at the tears. It wasn’t fair to think this way, to drag her heart through a fantasy. No matter how far she’d fallen for Asher, she had to get back up again. Get over this thing plaguing her. He’d hit a woman before, at least one reported case. From her experience, there were oftentimes many more unreported incidents between lovers. She’d taken enough hits to know not every bruise was worth seeking medical attention. She just couldn’t do it again. Holding Eric’s limp body in her arms at the emergency room entrance was her undoing.
Jamal had thrown a tantrum over Eric’s use of his video game controller after having soda spilled on it accidentally. He’d hit Eric. When she protested, he turned on her. Once he’d beaten her down, he returned to their son and kicked him several times, breaking Eric’s ribs. The memory stirred a heavy knot in her throat and a sting in the pit of her stomach. No. Never again.
She blinked back tears, swallowing the emotion. Determined not to allow her mistakes to cloud her day, she peered at the clock. By the hours of sleep she counted, she should have been tired, but her mood buzzed. The excitement from the pending wedding played through her, snuffing every bit of sorrow. It was time to leave these demons behind. Start again.
She threw back the covers, stretched; then snuck from the room, leaving Josiah in his bed. She went through a round of burpees, pushups and leg lifts to fight the hip spread and keep her shoulders and arms looking mean in the maxi dresses she loved.
Showering with Iona’s favorite citrus soap rejuvenated her, though Cyana preferred her fragrances more mild. A quick scrub of her teeth, a mist of water on her unpinned fro and peppermint fragrance hair oil gave her the last of the morning pick-me-up. Nothing would bring her down after Eric’s news last night. It was the last prep day before the wedding. The first day of taking another serious step towards her dream. The Huffing house would be bustling.
She beat everyone to the kitchen, made the coffee and started kneading the fondant. She draped and smoothed the last round.
Mama entered. “Mornin’, baby.”
She smiled. “Morning, Mama.”
“Oh, ain’t you just the busiest thing this morning?”
Cyana chuckled. “I’m so excited. I was thinking about the rehearsal dinner. Did ya’ll get that deal too?”
“Um-hum. You know yo’ mama.”
“What’s the menu?” she asked.
“They wanted something light and different from the wedding choices. So, your sista’s going with flat bread pizza, Italian wedding soup, and a salad.”
“Hum.” Cyana paused while smoothing out the fondant covering over the last of the dirty iced tier.
“What’s on your mind, baby?”
“Could Huffin Muffin supply a tiramisu as a surprise?”
Mama smiled. “That’s the Huffing way. Capitalize.”
Cyana sighed. “Well, then I better get on this cake.”
“Hop to it,” Mama said. “I got your business cards while you were out yesterday. I’m glad you’re coming home. We can start using them right away.”
Cyana’s focus and energy spiraled in on the cake. She didn’t notice the noise level rise. It wasn’t until Josiah grabbed a gold-painted dark chocolate seahorse that Cyana gave him any attention. She laughed.
“You little thief. Just like your cousin.” She reached down, tugging him onto her hip as he shoved the candy bit in his mouth.
Iona laughed before crossing the room. “My boy’s got good taste, is all.” She held her hands out. “I’ll put him in the playpen or it’ll be the cake he invades next.”
“Good idea,” Cyana said.
“The cake is really beautiful,” Iona said.
Cyana took in the mountain of sweetness for the first time. She sighed while scanning the last of the gold and iridescent finished starfish, seahorse and dolphins she’d formed out of dark, milk and white chocolate. She’d lovingly crafted each edible delicacy topping the four-tier cake. The wave colored band near the bottom of each layer added enough interest to shift the eye upward. The blues and greens of the ocean complemented the gold and tan of her dolphins, seashell and starfish additions.
“I’ll never understand how you get those colors to match the fabric,” Iona said once she returned. “Looks about done.”
Cyana shrugged. “A few more; then I’ll start on the tiramisu for your rehearsal dinner.”
“Well in that case…” Iona reached out and snagged a milk chocolate seashell, leaving only the white chocolate one.
“Hey!” She’d shoved it in her mouth before Cyana could fight her for it. She pivoted to Josiah, hands on hips. “The apple don’t fall too far from the tree.”
He cooed and held out the headless sea creature for a few seconds before shoving it back in his mouth.
Loading the Huffing Kitchen truck was exhausting. Iona bustled about with her phone against her ear. Josiah’s sitter was late. Iona did not like missing her scheduled departure times. It was okay with Cyana, the extra minutes gave her a moment to sit with Josiah and read his favorite duck story.
Iona appeared in the doorway. “Josiah, Miss Trina is here.”
“Rina! Yay!” Josiah threw his arms in the air and ran towards his mother.
“Come on girl,” Iona urged. “Let’s go.”
Mama drove the beast truck, as Cyana and Iona came to call it. They moved along slowly to make certain nothing got toppled in the back. Though Iona would be reheating and finishing off the rehearsal meal, she and Mama were going to wheel in the prepped and pantry items for the wedding Sunday. The drive to the Milway was perfectly uneventful. Mama had no trouble parking on the side of the house by the stable kitchen.
Iona was the first one out the passenger door and up the mansion’s front entry. Cyana rounded the truck and unlatched its door. She tugged at the strap to roll it up. It resisted. The ever-present curl over her right eye fell into view. She tucked it into place, suddenly wishing she’d tied her hair back with a scarf. She sucked in a breath. A hand closed over hers, strong, pale; beautiful. She tensed, stifling the cry of surprise. With the truck’s engine still on, she hadn’t heard him. Asher’s heat radiated into her back.
“I’ll get it for ya, Love.”
Love. He kept calling her that. The pet name sent her into a heave-haul of emotions. She hadn’t looked at him. Her spine tingled with warning. His breath smelled of scotch. She stepped aside, giving him the room needed to get a better grip on the strap. He tugged once. The door opened several inches. She surveyed him. The muscles in his arms, shoulders and back rippled beneath the t-shirt. He took precaution, peering around the door to make certain the contents of the truck didn’t shift in any catastrophic way.
She sucked in a breath, forced herself to take in all of him. He wasn’t drunk. She sighed with relief. A glance to the bumper of the truck behind him revealed a short glass of scotch half-full, as if he’d only had a sip. By the time the door reached the ceiling of the truck she’d ogled the expanse of his back, the dark leather of the belt he wore and his buns in the denim pants.
He grabbed his glass off the bumper, pivoted to her and took the ramp strap closest him. They made eye contact for a moment. Something brewed in the depths of his two-tones. She forced another inhale, ripped her gaze from him to grab the strap nearest her. She’d seen the irritation in him before. He wanted to talk to her. Her gut clenched thinking about another conversation with him. Together they tugged out the ramp and Mama turned the truck off.
Silence stretched as she stared at his boots.
“You need help unloading this?” he asked.
His question forced her to look up. “Um, the hand truck we used for the tile will work.”
He took a sip of his drink, analyzing her from head to toe. Her mention of the tile and the way he watched her brought back the memories of working close to his fine body. Her face heated with a blush, which wouldn’t show on her dark skin, while her nipples peaked.
“I got a couple guys in there. We just poured the first round. I’ll get ‘em before the liquor sets in. Don’t you or Mama touch this stuff.” He raised his brows while pointing at the truck; then to her. “I’ll be back.”
“K,” she said. She stared at the truck as Mama came around it. “Um, Asher said don’t touch anything.”
The side door leading into the house kitchen opened. A gang of well-dressed men wandered out laughing, every one athletic. Joshua Wilmington was among them. They seemed to be his friends. He smiled at her.
“Howdy, Ms. Cyana and Ms. Huffing.” His gaze sparkled with genuine happiness. “We’ll get this unloaded for ya.”
“Oh, Asher has a hand truck somewhere,” Cyana said. “I wouldn’t want to overwork the All-Star team before the big day.”
“All-Star team?” One of the men called out. “I like her.”
“Fred, you got a date for tomorrow.” Joshua struck his shoulder and pivoted back to the house. “Hey, Dad.” He yelled out. There was no answer from the open side door. “Dad?” He called more strongly.
“I’m comin’. Damn, boy.” Asher stepped from the door. He turned back to the threshold. “Can’t talk to a pretty lady ‘round these parts with any respect.” He reached out. A familiar hand took his as he helped Iona down the stairs.
“Dad, stop flirtin’ with my caterer and get the hand truck,” Josh said.
“I’m on it.” Asher turned on his heels once Iona dismounted the stairs. He sauntered towards the kitchen door. Cyana watched the back of him in confusion.
“You okay, Ms. Cyana?” Josh placed a hand to her shoulder.
She startled. “I’m sorry. I’m fine. I just didn’t know Asher was your father,” she whispered.
“I’m adopted,” he murmured with a wink.
“Oh,” she said.
“Are we gonna see you in the house kitchen?” Josh asked.
She smiled up at him. “No. I’ll be helping Mama. But, you will enjoy a tiramisu, compliments of Huffin Muffin.”
“Mm.” He raised his brows and rubbed his tummy. He looked back to the truck. “So, which one is it?” He pointed at the containers with a mischievous expression which nearly mirrored the one Asher had given her a few times before.
She laughed. “I’m not telling.”
“Hey boy,” Asher called out, rolling the hand truck down the loading ramp of the stable kitchen. “Stop flirtin’ with my pâtisserie chef.”
“Well damn, Dad. Woman said there’s a tiramisu in here. What am I supposed to do?” Josh shrugged and held both hands to the sky.
Asher stopped in front of her. “Tiramisu? Really?” His two-toned stare sparkled. “All right, fellas.
We gotta get this here done,” he declared.
It was the fastest unload in Huffing Kitchen history. Iona seemed to be the master at directing traffic. She had the containers for each kitchen rightfully placed. Cyana stayed back to close the door of the beast truck. She was at the top of the ramp on her toes, stretching for the handle. The vibration of familiar steps and the clop of boots sounded behind her. A rippling forearm wrapped her belly. Her back hit hard muscle. A sigh ripped from her lips; every sense in her lit with a shiver. This was where she belonged. Deep instinct swayed her to slink into him.
Asher grabbed the strap, tugging the door down. “I guess your guy doesn’t really hit the spot, does he?” Asher’s breath brushed against her neck. The scruff of his cheek tickled her flesh.
Cyana sucked in a breath. She’d never experienced the kind of bold heat which shot through her. “Wh…” The word didn’t want to form, refused to give vibration to what missing him did to her.
Asher tugged her a step down the ramp so he could finish shutting the door, but didn’t ease his grip. “Is that it, Cyana? You sweet on another man?”
She shook her head vigorously. His grip tightened. She blinked, swore she could feel his cock pressing into her back. Old fear gripped her chest. The air thinned, her legs wobbled. “Asher, let me go.” She panted.
“Why? Seems you only want to talk to me right now. Tell me the truth, were you taken before you showed up at the Milway?”
“Asher, please.” It came out a whisper. She cursed how he shifted her to arousal in a matter of moments; how his dominant behavior made her feel scared. “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”
“You ain’t been truthful with me. You’ve been playin’ me for a fool, filly.”
“I have not.” Anger zipped through her. She pried at his thumb, peeled his hand away and freed herself.
“You haven’t told me the whole truth, Cyana. Why the hell can’t you be with me? I’m not dark enough for you?”
“We’ve discussed this, Asher. Race has nothing to do with us. I have a life. I have obligations.”
