Page 70 of Saving Saul

Saul glances at me, flashing a smile that still has the power to disarm me. “Your influence,” he says, the warmth in his tone at odds with the tension in my heart.

I stir the pot in front of me, the wooden spoon tracing slow, deliberate circles. The colors meld together—red, green, gold—an artful harmony that feels like a cruel irony. My thoughts are anything but harmonious.

“Saul, can we talk about something?” My voice wavers despite my best efforts.

He pauses mid-chop, his hand hovering over the cutting board. “Of course.”

I take a breath, the heat of the kitchen closing in. “It’s about my catering business. Putting it on hold—it wasn’t just a pause. It was more than that.”

His brows furrow, his knife coming to rest on the counter. He turns to face me fully, his dark eyes narrowing with concern. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...” I falter, gripping the edge of the counter to steady myself. “It’s not just about the business, Saul. It’s about New Orleans. About my life there. It’s been too long since I’ve seen Selene or Carissa. It feels like I left pieces of myself behind when I came here.”

His jaw tightens, the lines of his face hardening. “We talked about this,” he says, calm but firm. “We decided this would be our home for a year, Tessa. We just hit that milestone. New Orleans isn’t going anywhere. You can always visit.”

“It’s not just about visiting,” I counter, stepping closer. The words spill out before I can stop them. “New Orleans is who I am. It’s in the jazz clubs, the bayou air, the stories in the streets. It’s in my blood, Saul. And I don’t know if I can be me without it.”

He takes a step forward, his presence towering but not threatening. His gaze locks on to mine, intense and unyielding. “Tessa, you didn’t leave New Orleans behind. You brought it with you. It’s in your cooking, your laughter, the way you light up this place. It’s alive here because you are.”

His words settle over me like a soft breeze but don’t erase the ache. The restlessness inside me rises like a tide, refusing to be calmed. “But is it enough? Can I carry it with me forever, or will it fade the longer I’m away?”

His face darkens, and I see the weight of my words landing heavily on him. “What are you saying, Tessa?”

“I’m saying I need more, Saul.” My voice cracks, and I force myself to keep going. “I need the pulse of the city, the air in my lungs. I need New Orleans as much as I need us.”

His expression shifts, the vulnerability in his eyes replaced by a flicker of frustration. “Are you saying this life we’re building isn’t enough?”

“Not without balance,” I reply, my tone soft but unwavering. “We could split our time—Accra and New Orleans. Build something in both places. Maybe even open a Gold Coast there. I think it would do well.”

He laughs, but it’s sharp and bitter, not the warm sound I’ve come to love. “Splitting time isn’t building a life, Tessa. It’s running from one place to another without ever putting down roots.”

“Roots can grow in more than one place,” I argue, stepping closer. The heat between us is palpable, the tension crackling in the air. “We’re not trees, Saul. We’re people. We adapt. We thrive on change.”

His jaw tightens, and his voice drops to a low, dangerous whisper. “Is that what you really want? Or are you afraid of choosing?”

“AmI?” I snap, my frustration boiling over. “Or areyouafraid of letting go?”

Silence falls like a hammer, heavy and suffocating. The kitchen noise fades into the background, and the clamor of pots and pans is a distant hum.

He runs a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “You think I’m not doing enough? That I’m not carrying enough already?”

“Sometimes it feels like you’re carrying everything but us,” I say, my voice trembling with the weight of my confession. “It’s like you’re afraid to let go of this—your family, your heritage, your guilt over not stopping Patrick before he hurt your grandmother.”

The air between us grows colder, his silence deafening. Finally, he speaks, his voice raw and unguarded. “Love is why I’m here, Tessa. Not guilt. But how do I choose between theheartbeat of my heritage and the woman who makes my heart beat?”

I swallow hard, my hand reaching for his instinctively. “Maybe you don’t have to choose, Saul. Maybe we can find a way to have both. Together.”

His grip tightens on mine, the weight of his decision visible in the lines of his face. For a moment, we stand there, suspended in the tension of what could be.

But the question lingers, unspoken yet undeniable: Can love truly bridge the gap between two worlds, or is the divide too vast even for us?

* * *

Later That Night

I pace the length of our massive living room, the echo of my footsteps swallowed by the high ceilings and plush rugs. My phone feels like a lifeline in my hand; Its cool surface anchors me as my thoughts drift. spiral. When the screen lights up with Selene’s face, her expression is familiar and soothing, even through the distance. A second later, Carissa’s thumbnail pops up in the corner, her warm smile a small comfort against the storm brewing inside me.

“Hey, Tessa,” Selene greets, her voice calm but cautious, cutting through the static of my racing mind.

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