by Nia Arthurs
My stomach clenched.
Unfortunately, I could relate.
“For a long time, I was angry at Olivia for abandoning him but, after spending so much time with her, I understood why she did.” Gran took my hand in hers. In a quiet, pleading tone, she said, “Life is full of hard choices. Sometimes, we have to make decisions that hurt in the present so we don’t hurt in the future.”
My eyes fell to the floor mat. “Are you telling me to abandon him?”
“I’m saying you can do that.” She paused. “And that you can come back.”
I looked up.
That secret smile was back on her face.
Chapter 11
Elliot
I didn’t expect to see Imani pulling into my driveway. If I was honest, I thought she wouldn’t have the guts to drop Gran all the way home.
While cooking, I’d kept my phone close by, waiting for the call that Imani had ‘forgotten an earlier appointment’ and couldn’t make lunch.
But she hadn’t.
She was here.
I let the curtain over the window drop a little so I could observe Imani without notice. She strutted around the hood of her car, the white-and-black jumpsuit cinched at her waist and flowing with each step. Smoothly, she tossed a lock of her curly hair back and then offered that hand to Gran. Brown skin glowed as brightly as her smile. She laughed at something Gran said.
I opened the front door and strolled down the step. A cloud bravely inched in front of the sun and offered us respite from its glare. The wind whistled through the leaves of the coconut trees. The scene was flourishing. Relaxing. Inviting.
It was the kind of day that made a man hope for things he couldn’t have. As I approached Imani, I had a sudden vision. Me. Imani. Our own home. A pack of kids with caramel-colored skin, tawny hair, her eyes and my smile.
I froze mid-step and waved the image away. Later, when I had the time, I’d take a machete—or maybe an ax—and chop that dream into little pieces.
Friends.
It was what I’d decided to be and I’d honor that.
“Hey,” Imani said with a soft smile.
“Hey.” I returned the grin and strode over to the passenger side to help Gran out of the car. “How was the drive?”
“Wonderful.” Gran’s eyes sparkled. She must have accomplished whatever little plan she’d had in mind because I recognized that self-satisfied smirk right away.
I arched an eyebrow.
She cocked her head to the side and blinked innocently.
“What did you talk about?”
“Oh, this and that,” Gran said breezily.
Imani ducked her head, avoiding my gaze.
“Right.” I was no fool. Gran’s attempt at getting Imani alone was probably so she could talk about me. Whatever. Gran could keep her secrets. The fact that it hadn’t chased Imani away was enough for me.
“Shall we?” Gran gestured to the porch.
“You have a lovely home,” Imani said. “I grew up right around here. Saw this house everyday. I always thought it was charming.”
“Did you?” I stared at her, surprised.
She bobbed her head and pointed. “I was right down the street.”
“You should have told me, dear. I’d invite your parents for lunch as well. Shall we head down and greet them?”
“It won’t do any good.” Sadness stole into her big, brown eyes. “A new family lives there now.”
“Oh.”
“My dad and his new wife.” She laughed darkly. “Well, I guess she’s not ‘new’ anymore. He’s managed to stay with her for over ten years.”
“Your dad?”
She nodded. “My parents split when I was fifteen. Mom and I moved out a long time ago.”
“I’m sorry.” Gran rubbed Imani’s shoulder.
I resisted the urge to offer my own comfort. Imani rarely spoke about her parents except to say that they’d been the best examples of a loving, harmonious couple… until they suddenly decided to separate.
The divorce bothered her, but that was one area of her life, of her heart—that she’d never granted me access to.
“Yeah.” Slender fingers rose and brushed away a curl that had fallen on her nose. “That was a long time ago. It really doesn’t matter to me now.”
Maybe someone else would have taken her words at face value, but I knew Imani—probably more than I knew myself. She couldn’t hide the flicker of unease or the brokenness in her smile from me.
Birds chirped in the solemn quiet.
A phone buzzed blending in.
Then a pause.
The phone blared again and everyone moved. I glanced down, realizing sheepishly that I’d left my cell in the house.
“It’s me,” Imani said, wiggling her phone high as proof. She stepped toward the porch railing and whispered, “Hello?”
Gran sniffed the air. “Is something burning?”
“The roast.” I spun and dashed inside. Yanking the oven door down, I used the oven mitt to bat away the smoke and grabbed the pan. The mitt slipped and exposed the side of my hand. The burning metal seared into my flesh.
Sweat popped on my forehead. I groaned but held on despite the pain and threw the pot on the counter. It clanged and clattered noisily.
I hauled my hand away and inspected it. There was a dime-sized circle between my thumb and pointer finger. The flesh was pink and irritated. Felt worse than it looked.
Footsteps thudded toward me.
“Elliot!” Gran cried.
Imani barreled forward, curls flying behind her and eyes wild with concern. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
She grabbed my wrist, her chest heaving. “No, you’re not.”
“Did he get hurt?” Gran asked from behind, wringing her hands.
“Really. It’s not a big deal.” I assured her.
“Why did you hold on to the pan?” Imani’s eyes darkened and she hissed, “If something hurts, you let go. Why didn’t you let go?”
“And ruin lunch? It wasn’t worth it.” I leaned closer to her, bending over so we were eye-to-eye. “Plus, it’s nice having you fuss over me like this.”
She scowled and shoved my hand away. Pain shot through the still tender flesh. I hissed. Imani looked stricken and grabbed for my hand again, more gently this time. Her fingers massaged into my thumb. Her scent wafted over me, something mixed with lavender.
My body stirred and I was that twenty-one-year-old again with raging hormones and a one-track mind.
I shuffled away so I could adjust my pants.
Imani noticed and mumbled, “Sorry. Did that make it worse?”
“I’ll go get the first-aid kit.” Gran left. Her flower-patterned skirt swished around her scrawny ankles. Footsteps thudded and then faded to silence.
Imani tugged me to the sink. “I think I read somewhere that you should pour cold water on it.”
It was cool water, not cold, but I didn’t correct her.
Imani shoved a lock of hair behind her ear and slapped the faucet. Water shot out of the spout and hit the metal rim of the sink with a loud hiss. She dragged me forward and stuck my hand under the stream.
Her hair fell against her cheek again. She pushed it back and looked up at me, her eyes a little calmer. “Is that better?”
The curl popped free again.
Imani didn’t bother fixing it this time.
My eyes slid over her face, the curve of her cheek, the shape of her lips. In every season of our friendship—even when we weren’t speaking—I wanted her close to me. Here she was. And I couldn’t touch her.
“Gran’s taking a while to find that first-aid kit, isn’t she?” Imani stammered.
“She’ll probably be back soon.”
Imani turned the faucet off and twisted her mouth so she could blow the curl out of her eyes. “Elliot, what’s…” She pressed into my hand. Her dark fingers explored the skin, fingernails rasping against my palm. “Why are there so man
y scars?” She turned my hand back around and ran her thumb across the ridges there. “Did you chop onions while blind?”
“Accidents happen in a kitchen.” I pointed. “That one’s from a crème brûlèe gone wrong and,” I settled my hand on the other side of the sink, slightly caging her in, “this one’s from a knife handle that snapped—”
She turned slightly, an eyebrow arched. Pressing both hands behind her back, she teased, “Who knew cooking could be so dangerous?”
“I’m a brave man.”
“Among other things…” Her smile melted as I looked down at her. She glanced at my chest, measuring my nearness. Her feet shuffled back, but there was nowhere to go.
The more she squirmed, the more my resolve slipped. My fingers dug into the sink, imagining the feel of her skin was as smooth as the metal.
Imani blinked. “Does it still hurt?”
“What?” I whispered, leaning in.
Her eyes flitted up. “Your hand?”
“No.” In fact, the only thing I could feel in this moment was my heart hammering like a pinball machine gone wild. Pain, pleasure, joy, sorrow—they were all swirling in my chest.
“Then maybe I should—” She pressed her hand flat against my shirt, probably to push me away.
But she didn’t.
We stayed there for a moment, locked in our own battles for self-control.
I gave in first.
My fingers hovered over her face. Gently, I slid them along her cheekbones. Felt the tiny, feather-like brush of her rebellious curl against the back of my knuckles. Slowly, gently, to the beat of her thickening breath, I slipped the tendril behind her ear.
Imani made a desperate little cry from the back of her throat. Her teeth rasped against her bottom lip as if desperate to catch on but afraid to bite down. Trembling fingers dug into my shirt, scrunching the front.
I read the expression in her eyes.
Desire.
She wanted me as badly as I wanted her.
I pressed my fingers against the back of her neck, drawing her up, closer.
Someone banged on the front door.
Imani startled.
I pulled back.
“Hello? Anyone home?” An unfamiliar voice shouted.
Imani’s brown skin reddened.
I frowned, still holding onto her. “Who is that?”
“It’s…” She took my hand and lowered it swiftly, “my fiancé.”
Chapter 12
IMANI
As I strode to the door to let Amir in, one strong, devastating memory kept pounding through my head.
It was a few weeks after the divorce that turned my world upside down.
Before they signed that dotted line, my parents had never fought in front of us. Ever. But, after they separated, they argued constantly. It was as if they’d given up on pretense and didn’t feel the need to disguise their hatred.
My mother tried to be strong after we moved out.
She failed.
It was like living with a zombie. Her face turned gaunt and bags formed beneath her eyes. Used tissues and the stench of regret littered every room in our new apartment.
It was hard to watch her like that, and it was even harder to choose sides.
My sister instantly blamed my father, while I struggled to reconcile the loving, caring man who’d been there for fifteen years to the one who’d walked out on us.
All I’d wanted was my family back together. So, for my sixteenth birthday, I tricked my mother into meeting me at a restaurant and told her my dad wouldn’t be attending.
Except I lied and gave Dad an invitation.
My birthday arrived. I bought a new dress, did my hair and told Mom to go and get herself fixed up before she met me at the restaurant.
She’d smiled prettily and agreed.
My plan was flawless. I’d get Dad to see Mom in all her glory, they’d fall in love from scratch and we’d be a family again.
Things went south. Quickly.
Dad came to my dinner… with his new girlfriend. Moments later, my mother called and told me she was outside, her voice filled with excitement for the first time since she signed the divorce papers.
I knew that happiness would disappear when she saw Dad’s new, younger girlfriend just like I knew Mom would insist on sitting with us and acting like everything was okay while her heart was breaking.
I remembered walking to the entrance that night, my heart stretching and pulling like play dough in the hands of a toddler. My mind churning and tumbling faster than a dryer on spin cycle.
How did I get Mom out of here?
How did I fix this?
I remembered opening the glass door that led to the lobby and staring right into Mom’s beaming face…shining, hopeful, oblivious.
All the things that Amir’s expression held right now.
I wasn’t able to shield Mom from getting hurt that night when I was sixteen, but I sure as hell wouldn’t let Amir feel the embers of betrayal that had stirred to life when Elliot touched me in the kitchen.
“Hey,” I said brightly, smiling for him. Only him.
“Hey, Babe. I’d kiss you but I’m sweaty.”
Relief. A woman shouldn’t feel relieved when she didn’t have to kiss the man she was about to marry.
Get a grip, Imani.
“Oh, look who’s here!” Gran squealed from behind me.
I squeezed my eyes shut as a bolt of frustration hit my chest. What kind of sorceress was she? I should have never let Gran convince me to invite Amir over. I should have rejected her invitation back at church.
“Good afternoon,” Amir said politely. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jersey and rocked back on his heels. He was nervous, out of place, but I had no doubts that Gran would have him feeling at home in seconds.
I turned on my heels, a strained smile on my face. Looking at the mischievous woman staring back at me, I murmured, “Thanks for the invite, Gran.”
“No problem at all.” She bobbed her head, dark hair flapping.
“I feel like I should have brought flowers or something.” Amir swung his hands behind his back and clasped them.
“Nonsense.” Gran pointed to me and winked. “That’s your flower, right there.”
I barked out a laugh. “Ha!”
They both stared at me.
I pursed my lips and swiveled back to Amir.
Brown eyes fastened on my jumpsuit. “You do look beautiful, but you always do.”
“Thanks.” I cleared my throat. “Were you speeding? You got here fast.”
“I figured missing church this morning might have landed me in the dog house so I rushed here to make up for it.” Amir moved close, hovering over my shoulder. The scent of his sweat was as familiar to me as my own perfume.
His chocolate-brown skin had darkened a shade, which meant he’d played without sunscreen again. I’d told this man a million times to wear SPF when he got out there.
Amir sniffed. “Was something burning?”
“There was an accident with the roast,” I explained.
“That would be on me.” Elliot stepped into our line of sight. His blond hair looked extra rumpled, as if he’d run his fingers through the locks in frustration. Blue eyes burned into my soul when he said, “Things got a little too heated in the kitchen.”
I choked. “He meant the oven. Right? You burned the roast.”
Amir shot me a strange look. “Babe, are you okay?”
Elliot smirked.
I flapped my head up and down, too afraid to speak again. If Amir hadn’t knocked on the door when he did, I would have kissed Elliot. No, I would have ravished Elliot. And I didn’t want to take the chance that Amir would read that truth in my gaze.
“I’m fine.” I waved haphazardly to our hosts. “Amir, this is Elliot White, my old friend from college and the caterer for our wedding.”
Amir’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “This is the guy?”
“Pleasure to meet you.
” Elliot swooped in and shook Amir’s hand. His grin was calm and sure. Was I the only one freaking out right now?
Amir nodded. “You too.”
“You play ball?” Elliot jerked his chin at Amir’s blue jersey and sneakers.
“A little. You?”
“Not much.”
“If you’re interested, we practice Friday nights and play other teams on Sunday.”
The men smiled.
I frowned.
No, I didn’t want Amir and Elliot bonding.
I needed to get out of here.
“It’s nice to meet you, young man.”
Amir dipped his head. “Thank you for the invite, ma’am.”
“You can call me Gran.” Elliot’s grandmother jumped in with a bright smile.
I glared suspiciously at her. Did she plan this?
Gran winked at me as if confirming my thoughts. “Enough with the introductions. It’s almost one o’clock and I’m starving. Let’s eat!”
Amir placed his hands on the small of my back and ushered me forward, pushing me in and away from the only exits. Elliot didn’t so much as glance back as he strode ahead, leading us into the next room.
All thoughts of escape evaporated when I spotted the bounty in the kitchen. The table was dressed beautifully. Soft bread rolls in a basket. Tossed salad, gleaming green, red and orange. Baked plantains. Cool mug of freshly squeezed lime juice. Beneath the underlying smoke that lingered, it smelled heavenly.
“Let’s just say I meant for the roast to be crispy,” Elliot joked, pointing to the chicken in the middle of the table.
Amir chuckled. “It still looks good, man. When I heard you burned something, I expected much worse.”
“Trust me. I rarely make mistakes.” Elliot looked at me, his eyes narrowed. “I was distracted today, but it won’t happen again.”
Was he talking about the chicken or… us?
I lifted my chin. “Of course it won’t happen again. We’re both professionals, right?”
Amir smiled. “Babe, what are you talking about? You can’t cook.”
Elliot snorted.
I shot him a glare as I sat down. “It’s not that I can’t cook. It’s that I don’t.”
“Well, now I’m curious.” Amir sat, his arm snaking over the back of my chair. His head swung to take in Elliot. “Did she cook in college?”
