Page 181 of The Sweetest Return

Phipps felt different at night, warm air under glass, pathways glowing between palms, orchids, and deep green. I hadn't wanted the entire place empty. Empty would have felt like hiding her.

I wanted room.

A section had been reserved for us with enough discretion that the ropes almost looked accidental. Staff appeared when needed and disappeared before their presence crowded the evening, while other patrons remained far enough away to give us space without pretending Andre Jones could walk through Pittsburgh unseen.

A couple near the orchids slowed when they recognized me. Somebody whispered my name. One phone lifted briefly.

Imani's fingers tightened around mine.

She didn't let go.

I rubbed my thumb over her hand and kept walking.

That was what I wanted from the date. No announcement, no performance, no trying to use a public evening to force a label we had only recently agreed to explore. I wanted to take Imani somewhere beautiful, hold her hand, feed her well, and let anybody watching understand I had no interest in treating her like something I needed to hide.

Ellis, the horticulturist assigned to us, walked us through orchids, palms, and rooms where I knew just enough about plants to keep from embarrassing my family business.

Imani asked all the questions.

Of course she did.

She looked at flowers the same way she looked at jewelry, noticing texture, proportion, how light changed color, why one arrangement felt luxurious while another simply looked expensive. Beauty never swallowed her. She studied it until she understood what made it work.

I liked watching her in places designed to be admired.

She always gave me something better to look at.

Dinner waited in a glass-walled room with low flowers, dark linens, and candles positioned so nothing blocked my view of her. North & Vine handled the food because I trusted my people and because there was something satisfying about feeding Imani from something I had built.

We took our time through crab cakes, short ribs over parmesan grits, cornbread, vegetables, and lemon cake. She talked about Saint Aurelia and Nina growing more confident in meetings. I told her I'd still be at her condo the next morning with coffee and tools to judge everything Jabari had allegedly unpacked correctly.

“Bari helped.”

“Bari lied.”

“You haven't even seen it.”

“I know my man's work.”

She laughed into her wine.

After dinner, Ellis led us into the rose room.

Near the far end, Imani slowed in front of a section of deep-red roses with thick petals opening wide around darker centers.

“Oh.”

One little word.

I already knew I had picked right.

“Rouge Royale,” Ellis explained. “They can be temperamental, but when they open correctly, there's nothing quite like them.”

Imani stepped closer.

I pulled out my phone.

“Ask first,” she said without looking at me.