Page 61 of Until the Ink Dries

I shook my head. “I can’t with you.”

“Where is your boo while you’re standing here flashing me?”

“I think he’s in the kitchen. I smell something delicious and I’m starving.”

Shirah giggled. “Worked up an appetite, huh?”

“Girl! Let me get off of here. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay. I love you, boo.”

“I love you, too.”

I disconnected the call and took a final look at myself. I was feeling so much like me that I snapped a picture of myself from the neck up and posted it to my Instagram with the caption,“Who said I ain’t a baddie?”

I barely closed out the app before the notifications started going off. As I tossed my phone on the bed, I noticed a shirt and a pair of boxers neatly folded on the other end. That’s when I realized our wet clothes were gone. Picking up the items, I slipped them on and headed out of the bedroom.

My nose carried me to the kitchen, where I found Benjamin plating food. He gave a light smile when he looked up and saw me.

“Good morning,” I said, rounding the island.

“Good morning.”

It felt so natural to float into his arms and tilt my head up for a kiss. His arm slid around my waist just before he grabbed a handful of my ass.

“I see my clothes fit,” he said.

“I might just keep them. You have some joggers to go with this? I can’t walk in my parents’ house wearing the same thing I left in.”

He chuckled. “You grown, right?”

“I am, but my parents don’t need to know I was out here getting my back blown out.”

He grinned. “Yeah, you took it like a champ, though. I swear, I thought you were gonna be a runner.”

I shot him a glare as I took a seat at the island. “Don’t get beside yourself, sir. I’ve never been a runner.”

He chuckled as he set a plate of eggs, bacon, grits, and biscuits in front of me, along with a glass of orange juice. Just as he joined me at the island, his phone rang with a FaceTime call. When he answered, a wild haired Charlie appeared on the screen.

“Good morning, Daddy!”

“Good morning, princess. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. Did you have fun on your date? How is Ms. Willow?”

“I had a great time and why don’t you ask Ms. Willow yourself?”

He angled the phone so she could see me. I smiled and waved.

“Hey, best friend!”

“Hey!” She gasped. “Look at your hair! It’s so pretty. You have curls like me!”

That warmed my heart. It was confirmation that representation matters. If Charlie could love her curls, I should be free to love mine, too.

“Thank you, baby. I miss your face.”

“I miss you, too. When are we gonna play together again?”

---