Page 141 of Love, Rekindled

“Kenan,” she says. “You’re the pushiest patient man I’ve ever met.”

A light ripple of amusement flows through the crowd.

“You were determined to get your shot with me,” Lotus says, “and you did.”

Kenan only nods, his expression sober, his attention completely on Lotus, who grips her hands in front of her waist, the richness of her sun-browned skin a startling contrast to the snowfall of her dress. I’m not sure if they even need any of us in this moment, they’re so intent on each other.

“When we met,” Lotus continues, “I wasn’t looking. I was deliberatelynotlooking, actually, and had sworn off dating altogether.”

She holds his stare while servers distribute glasses of champagne to the crowd.

“But to quote one of my favorite pieces, the Song of Songs, ‘I have found the one whom my soul loves.’ I always tease you about the difference in our ages, but I want you to know I relish every year we’ve had so far and covet every year ahead.”

He cups her face with one huge hand and kisses her forehead, leaning to whisper in her ear. Whatever he says, he doesn’t care that we can’t hear. It elicits a trembling smile from his beautiful wife.

“Sorry, y’all,” she laughs, turning tear-bright eyes back to the crowd. “That was just for me.”

“I told her that when I get her home,” Kenan says with a shameless grin, “I’mma?—”

Lotus goes up on her toes to reach him, slamming her hand over his wide smile.

“Like I was saying,” she laughs, holding up a champagne glass undoubtedly filled with something non-alcoholic. “Happy birthday to the finest man I know.”

“Happy birthday!” we shout, sipping our champagne and oohing when balloons fall from the ceiling and confetti explodes from every direction. Amid the celebratory chaos, a sobering thread of realization runs through me like a fraying ribbon. Seeing Kenan and Lotus on stage, witnessing their devotion to each other, gives me a picture of what I could have—what I thought I maybe never would after all the app date disasters and failed attempts at relationships. Kenan and Lotus, Banner and Jared, August and Iris—all the couples we sailed with for the last few weeks have extraordinary marriages. Within a few minutes of being around them, you recognize a rare bond that most people never find.

But what if I’ve found it?

Naz and I have only been together two weeks, and it’s amazing. Beyond anything I’ve ever had. And it’s not just the outstanding, once-in-a-lifetime sex—though that’s worth mentioning. It’s how I feel when I’m with him. Who I am with him and who he is with me.

I have found the one whom my soul loves.

Lotus quoted that in her toast. What if I have found the one? Or he found me? Or I fell into his arms? Whatever. Fate, the universe—something threw us together again, and I have to believe it’s for a reason.

With Cliff’s judgment and his fragile recovery at stake, the question becomesIs the possibility of what this thing between Naz and me could be…worth it?

Kenan bends to kiss Lotus’s baby bump, and the blatant love on his face when he looks down at her, when she returns the look a hundredfold…I can’t help but think it is.

CHAPTER TWENTY

~TAKIRA~

“I’m on my way.”Naz’s deep voice on speaker sends a frisson of pleasure over me.

“Good,” I reply, looking in the mirror at my half-done makeup. “I’ll be ready.”

“I haven’t been to many premieres and I haven’t seen much of Canon’s work, to be honest.”

“Well, this is a documentary.” My hands dither between the Pat McGrath and Tarte eye shadow palettes. “So not quite as glamorous as theDessi Bluepremiere will be, but everything Canon makes garners attention.”

“I can’t wait to show you off on the red carpet,” he says, the same pride in his voice that’s always there when we go out.

“Um, about that…” I sit in front of the mirror, dreading this conversation. “I was thinking maybe we shouldn’t walk the red carpet tonight.”

The silence on the other end of the phone clogs up with his frustration before he agrees and we hang up. He already knows why. In the two weeks since we’ve been back, we’ve seen each other every day, every night. Sometimes he stays at my place. Sometimes I’ll stay over at his. Sometimes…we say good night at the door and I ache for him, but it’s a sweet ache because I know I’ll see him again. Sweet because I know he’s aching, too. It’s arelationship. Not a one-night stand, a hook-up, a booty call, a fling, or a smash and grab.

It’s us, and it feels as fragile as a bubble blown and floating in the air—as strong as an oak tree that has withstood storms. It’s playing catch-up and it’s ahead of its time.

It’s everything I had become too jaded to believe in or hope for.

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