Page 214 of When Love Takes Root

She looked down at our joined hands and smiled to herself. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For loving my babies like they’re easy to love.”

I shook my head. “Red, . . . they’re yours. That already settled it for me.”

She blinked hard, then laughed through the tears threatening her eyes. “You make it real hard to keep mascara on.”

“Good thing you look beautiful without it.”

She smiled and pointed her fork at me. “Don’t start.”

“I haven’t started anything.”

“Mm-hmm. That’s exactly what a man who already started would say.”

I laughed. “Fair enough.”

She was quiet on the ride.

So was I.

The silence wasn’t empty. It was full, tender, and aware of everything we’d just said. Her hand rested in mine, her thumb brushing my knuckles like she needed to feel me there.

When we pulled into my driveway, neither of us moved.

The truck hummed before I turned it off. Darkness settled around us, the porch light warming her face.

She looked at me. “Are you inviting me in?”

“I am.”

“For coffee?”

“No.” Her lips parted. I leaned back, studying her. “For prayer if you need it. Dessert if you want it. My arms, either way.” My voice lowered. “And if you walk in looking at me like that, . . . it won’t be just coffee.”

Her chest rose.

“Good,” she said.

One word.

Soft.

Certain.

Dangerous.

By the time we made it inside, desire moved through the hallway like a slow strike of flint. She set her books and journal on the entryway table, then turned and placed her palm on my chest.

“Sit.” I blinked. Celeste nodded toward the couch. “Sit, baby.”

Lord.

I obeyed.

Not because I had to but because there was something sacred about watching her claim space she used to apologize for. Candlelight cut across her curves, her locs loosening, her eyes no longer hiding.