Page 73 of When Love Takes Root

A beautiful woman could make a man want attention. A woman like Celeste made a man want to be trusted. I didn’t want to impress her for one evening and leave her spirit with more questions than answers. I wanted to be so careful with her that even her fear could stop bracing for impact.

She finally looked at me, and the question in her eyes came before the one on her tongue.

Celeste asked, “What are you looking for, Josiah?”

I didn’t shift. Didn’t smile my way around it. Didn’t dress the truth up to make it easier to swallow. “Marriage.”

Her brows lifted, but she didn’t laugh. That mattered. She sat back against the booth, one hand still on the table, her fingertips resting near mine like she had forgotten to move them away.

I held her gaze. “I’m dating with the intent to marry. My next girlfriend will be my future wife.”

Her breath caught. Not loud enough for the room to notice but enough for me to see it move beneath the gold at her throat. She looked down at the table, then back at me, and this time, her eyes were sharper, more awake, like I had said something that made her straighten somewhere deeper than posture.

“How do you know?”

I smiled a little, but I meant every word that followed. “Because I’m real tight with Big G. I run my decisions by Him first, especially the ones connected to somebody’s heart. I’m not out here practicing on women. I’m not asking for access to a woman’s peace just to see how it feels in my hands. If I pursue you, Celeste, it’s because I’ve already prayed about the weight of you. Your children. Your grief. Your faith. Your laughter. Your silence. All of it.”

Her lips parted. The margarita sat untouched between her fingers now, salt melting along the rim while she looked at me like the restaurant had faded somewhere behind us.

I leaned forward, just enough to make sure she heard me over the music and the clink of silverware. “I don’t want temporary. I don’t want convenient. I don’t want to be another man who makes a woman feel chosen until responsibility shows up. My next relationship is going to have roots. Prayer. Accountability. Covering. If I call a woman mine, I need to be able to stand before God and explain how I handled her.”

Celeste swallowed, and this time, she didn’t try to hide what moved across her face. Her eyes shined. Her fingers slipped from the glass to the napkin beside it, folding one corner, then smoothing it back down. She was trying to keep her composure, but her body had already started telling the truth. Her shoulders lowered. Her breathing changed. The caution in her face loosened by small degrees, not disappearing, but making room.

“That so?” she asked.

The question came out light, but her voice carried a tremble she couldn’t tuck away fast enough.

I let my smile deepen. “That’s so.”

She lifted her margarita but didn’t drink right away. The rim hovered near her mouth while her eyes stayed on mine. “And you think God told you to have fajitas with me?”

“I think God told me to pay attention.”

Her smile broke through then, small at first, then wider when she gave up trying to hold it back. She took a slow sip, set the glass down, and dragged her thumb over the condensation on the side. “And are you?”

I leaned in a little more. Not too far. Enough for her to know I wasn’t playing. Enough for my voice to reach her without pressing on her.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m paying attention to how your eyes change when you talk about your children. I’m paying attention to how you make jokes when something hurts because you don’t want everybody worried about you. I’m paying attention to how you keep your phone close because part of you is always listening for one of your babies. I’m paying attention to how your hands calm people before your words ever do. I’m paying attention to the way you still honor your husband while trying to decide whether living means you’re allowed to want more. And I’m paying attention to how careful I need to be if I ever get blessed enough to stand closer.”

Celeste stared at me.

No quick comeback came. No joke saved her. Her eyes lowered to my mouth for one brief second before they returned to mine, and the space between us warmed with everything we were both grown enough to understand and patient enough not to rush.

“That’s a lot of attention, Mr. Brooks.”

“It is.”

“You always this intentional?”

“When it matters.”

Her fingers inched closer to mine on the table, not touching, but close enough for both of us to notice. “And I matter?”

I didn’t hesitate. “More than I planned for.”

She looked away then but not before I caught the smile she tried to hide. It wasn’t shy. It wasn’t only flattered. It was a woman recognizing seriousness and attraction at the same time, trying to decide what to do with a man who had just offered both without fumbling either one.

When she looked back at me, her voice had lowered. “You’re dangerous.”