Page 126 of When Love Takes Root

“I’m structured.”

She lifted her face, eyes wet, mouth soft, cheeks flushed from crying and trying not to. “You prayed for Jamal.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Because loving you means respecting who loved you before me.”

Her face nearly crumpled again.

I touched her cheek with my thumb. “Celeste.”

“I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“No,” she said, laughing softly. “But I’m not bad.”

“I can work with not bad.”

She glanced toward the living room. “Maybe we should watch that movie before I flood your kitchen.”

“I have towels.”

She pointed at me. “Don’t.”

I smiled and grabbed the cobbler from the counter. “Movie it is.”

In the living room, she noticed the throw blanket on the sofa and smiled to herself.

“You planned for me to get comfortable?”

“I hoped you would.”

“That was honest.”

“I’m learning your suspicious face.”

“It’s hereditary.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She sat at one end of the couch, careful at first, knees tucked slightly beneath her. I sat with space between us and handed her the remote.

She looked at it. “You letting me pick?”

“I invited a woman with five children and a salon full of opinions into my house. I’m not foolish enough to control the movie.”

“Smart man.”

“Trying to be.”

She chose an old, romantic comedy she said she watched whenever her emotions were “acting unemployed.” I didn’t ask for a definition. Some Celeste phrases needed acceptance, not explanation.

Little by little, she relaxed until her shoulder rested against mine.

I lowered the volume a little.