Page 240 of The Sweetest Return

Her expression softened before she covered it with a sip of wine. “That was a good answer.”

“It was the truth.”

Her gaze moved down to the shirt. “And before you say anything, yes, I’m wearing this.”

“I bought you loungewear.”

“This is better.”

“It’s big as hell.”

“That is the point.”

“It hides too much.”

“From who?”

“Me.”

She smiled into her glass. “You’ll survive.”

“Barely.”

We ate at the smaller table near the windows because I liked her close and because the formal dining room still felt like it belonged to somebody pretending to be more civilized than me. Tasha had made salmon with lemon-caper butter, roasted sweet potatoes, greens with smoked turkey, and warm rolls Imani tried not to grab too quickly before giving up.

Mostly, we ate quiet.

Easy quiet.

The kind that let the day come down.

She told me about meeting Nia at The Nocturne and the Saint Aurelia preview they were shaping. Small guest list. Legacy. Self-possession. Diamonds on women before trays. A room where Black women could see the jewelry alive before anybody started talking price.

“That sounds like you,” I said.

“It’s us. Nia has a strong eye. She understands atmosphere.”

“And The Nocturne?”

“The right fit. It carries history without begging people to respect it.”

I liked the way she said that.

“You excited?”

“I am.”

“Good.”

She watched me over the rim of her glass. “And you?”

I knew what she meant.

I looked down at my plate. “I’m something.”

“That sounds like avoidance.”

“It is.”