Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
“Quick money? No thanks, Montana.” She sipped the coffee. I swear she winced because she realized she drank after me, or did she realize it tasted of bitterness, regret, and bad decisions?
My thumb jabbed the On button. The machine went to work.
As the engine roared, Journey snapped, “Why do you care?”
I pulled the contraption off, closed the engine, and got into my vehicle. Needed to take it to the nearest mechanic for a new battery. “I’ma make a pass by here. Show you a real stalker. Don’t leave town. I’ll find you, easy.”
“You can’t make me stay. This was temporary. As soon as you’re getting the battery fixed,”—she winked at the closed hood—“I will run. Packed our bags last night.”
“Bet.” I slapped my hand against the SUV’s body. “A lot of folks love for Big Country to owe them favors. A couple of calls? I’ma know the direction you fled in.” My ego took a hit. Flee? Women ran toward me. “Did you find someone to watch Darius today?”
“No.”
I held up a hand then made a quick call to Momma. Before I finished bringing her up to speed, Momma hollered, “Journey’s coming back?”
“Montana,” Journey grumbled, house shoe tapping the pavement.
Focused on the call, I replied, “Yeah. Journey needs time to secure childcare. So, we gone watch Darius. Bring Elijah’s toys.” Damn, we didn’t bring up the boy. I cleared my throat. “Would it be okay … to bring his toys?”
“Ye … yeah. I’ll stay with Darius in the office all day.” Her smile floated through the receiver. “For however many days, mon cher. Don’t matter.”
“I’ll do what you do.”
“Non.” Momma laughed, warm, rolling each syllable. “Let’s tag team Little Dude. I take over in HC&PP if issues pop up.”
“Bet.” I hung up and leaned out the side window. “Bring him. Same as yesterday. Momma—”
“Agreed to watch him. Didn’t try to eavesdrop. Miss Virginia sounds elated.” Journey’s irritated expression melted with compassion. “Who’s Elijah? Can they play together until I get childcare?”
“Nah.” I slammed the shift in reverse.
“Oh? Is he in elementary? Winter break starts Monday, I believe.”
“Journey”—my demeanor softened—“my nephew’s resting … in peace.”
zuri
. . .
I’d replayed the moment on repeat. Had Montana revealed more of himself than he meant to when he spoke about his nephew? Heartache had flickered raw in his eyes, like he couldn’t shelve the discussion fast enough. If my son’s father loved Darius even half as much, Edwin would still be fast-tracking me toward Chief of Emergency Medicine. We’d also still be continuing our forbidden romance in medical closets or stairwells instead of me juggling Creole fine dining.
When Montana showed up at the restaurant those few days, he kept his distance unless a question dragged him in. But his eyes surveyed me like Everest—gear packed, sherpas hired, ready to go. Maybe? And everyone would know he’d conquered it. Me. Nope … never climbing again.
Yet there were softer glimpses. Allowing Darius to quiz him on dinosaur names. Teaching my son to catch at a community center. “Only a few miles,” he’d said. My nod of trust meant something. But his mention of his nephew’s passing put galaxies between us.
Now? A week had passed without him, even though he’d become a constant. Darius had also started at a childcare center this Monday. A blessing, though my wallet wept.
Montana had skipped Wednesday dinner with his mom and brothers. That silence … stung more than I’d admit since I didn’t have family.
I placed a plate of Sweat Like Mémère’s Crawfish in front of Montana’s cousin. I glared at her expensive purse on the ground and offered a sweeter-than-lemonade smile that implied if I trip again, this purse is mine. I’d definitely sell her Birkin and buy my baby a few more gifts for the holiday next week.
“The owner will be in today,” she said, forking the crawfish étouffée.
“Miss Virginia is in the kitchen; Miss Peaches should arrive in the afternoon for the dinner crowd.” My little cheap lemonade smile ramped a notch. What’s your game?
“No, honey.” The girl smiled back, lips circled around a straw. I guess we were twins. “Montana’s my cousin. I’m Genèse. You should get to know me.”
Why? I wanted to escape. Hell, moonwalk. I had to stay sharp, alive, and honestly? I already had my fair share of trauma from middle-school mean girls. “So …?”
“Well, you know my usual. I’m a good tipper when the help gets familiar.”
“Respect goes both ways, Genèse. Are you gonna call her more than the help?” A deep voice spoke from behind me.
That voice.
Montana’s eyes radiated fire and menace as he stepped toward her booth. “Or you want that chocolate pie?”
“Y’all don’t have no choc—oh.” Genèse rolled her eyes.
“Yeah. That’s right. Her name is Journey.” To me, he offered a “Chère,” sounding all rugged and manly.
My hello squeaked out.
Genèse cut in. “Cuz, why you tripping?”