Page 60 of When Love Takes Root

Calista returned right after that with Cassia beside her, both of them carrying enough ranch, napkins, and suspicious concern to embarrass me into composure.

Calista froze when she saw my face. “Do I need to fight grief, the waiter, or the electrician?”

A laugh broke out of me, small and wet and unexpected.

Cassia slid into the booth beside me and placed a stack of napkins near my hand without making a production of it. “You don’t have to answer that.”

Leilani wiped beneath her eyes and reached for a fried pickle like she hadn’t just cracked my whole chest open in a restaurant booth. “She’s okay.”

“I am not okay,” I said.

Leilani nodded. “That’s a better answer than fine.”

Calista lifted her glass. “To better answers.”

Cassia lifted her tea. “To small hope.”

Leilani raised her water with lemon. “To letting God love us past what hurt us.”

They all looked at me.

My hand trembled when I lifted my sweet tea, but I lifted it anyway.

“To maybe,” I whispered.

Calista’s face softened. “To maybe.”

Our glasses touched in the middle of the table.

Maybe wasn’t healing. It wasn’t forgetting Jamal. It wasn’t pretending grief was finished with me. It was simply the first answer I’d given that wasn’t no. For tonight, . . . that was enough.

Day 1

Saturday Morning

I pulled into Celestial Crowns at 7:52.

I stayed in the truck for a moment. I had a job to do. Not a fantasy. Not a pursuit. A job.

Juice pulled in behind me with the crew. He climbed out with a breakfast sandwich in one hand, despite telling me fifteen minutes ago that he was “pulling up now.”

He knocked on my window. “You praying or practicing your professional face?”

“Brief the guys.”

“I did. Told them be respectful, don’t touch anything they aren’t supposed to, don’t flirt with the owner, and if they catch you staring, no they didn’t.”

I stared at him.

He bit into his sandwich. “That last part is leadership.”

“Move.”

He laughed and stepped back.

The front door unlocked before we reached it.

Celeste opened the door wearing black slacks, a cream blouse, and gold hoops brushing the sides of her neck. Her locs were pulled over one shoulder, red and brown catching the morning light. She looked tired around the eyes but not careless. Put together. Her blouse followed every curve without begging for attention, which somehow made it worse.