Page 51 of I Think They Love You

Denz cringes. Great. Now he’s going to owe Uncle Tevin too.

“Just have him digitally sign?” Cheryl snaps her fingers at Denz.“You’re emailing himright now? Thank you. You’re the best. Kiss those beautiful babies for me. Bye.”

“Um…” Denz waits.

Cheryl’s lips purse. “It’s done. Anything else?”

“N-no.” He can barely stand upright. “We got the space again?”

“Igot the space,” she tuts. “Sign the contract. You’re in the clear. For now.”

The pinch behind Denz’s ribs finally subsides. “Thank you, Auntie.”

“Mm-hmm.” She snatches the cheesecake bag from his loose grip. “I’m leaving now. Goodbye, nephew.”

When the elevator doors slide open, she adds, “I hope your boyfriend’s ready for me” before stepping inside.

“Me too,” Denz whispers to no one. As he stumbles back to his office, his eyes are drawn to a glow. The light in Kami’s office is still on.

On a quiet street, in the heart of Decatur, is the bungalow Denz spent his early adolescence in. A charming three-bedroom with creaky hardwood floors and a finished basement where he and his sisters would play hide-and-seek-in-the-dark for hours. It was chilly in the winter. Too hot in the summer. But he had his own room withDanny PhantomandTeen Titansposters.

He loved it there.

Then came the overnight buzz fromMarvelous Weddings. A more upscale clientele meant the Carters becoming a brand. The expectations of living that followed way too soon.

Now, his parents own a home on nearly seven acres, deep in the suburbs of Druid Hills. Denz loves it here too. Fresh lilies in the foyer. The walls and furniture are in neutral colors. Seven bedrooms, a private backyard where he can dip his feet in the heated pool, watch the sunset.

It’s made the cover ofAtlanta Homes & Lifestylesmultiple times. But there are moments where he misses the modesty of that bungalow. The magic of simple.

On a late Sunday afternoon, he stands inside his parents’ massive kitchen, waiting for commentary on the rose-colored Canali suit jacket he’s wearing. The mayor’s gala is less than two weeks away. Auntie Eva took one look at his proposed outfit options and demanded an emergency makeover.

“We’re not fumbling the bag because you have no style.”

Now, his career aspirations have become a group project. He’s confident Eva cares more about beating Cheryl than what’s at stake. Still, this is his fourth outfit in the last hour.

“What’s wrong with my own clothes?” he says.

“You have the wardrobe of the forgettable best friend in a rom-com,” comments Jamie as he smooths Denz’s black lapels. “Your clothes are the Kevin of outfit choices.”

“Thewho?”

“Exactly.”

Jamie’s fully invested in thisProject Runwaytransformation. A needed distraction. Dinner with his parents was, of course, a trash fire.

From the living room, where she’s putting together his next ensemble, Eva yells, “You can’t show up wearing—God forbid—somethingoff the rack. You need to look like a boss.”

“That’s my default mode, Auntie.”

“Aww,” Nic says from his left. “It’s adorable how much you really believe that.”

She’s in a Paramore T-shirt and ripped jeans, her curls braided into cornrows. He doesn’t consider her a fashion expert. But on such short notice, the opinions of his sister, mom, and nephew are all he has.

Jamie turns to the judges. “Well?”

“Six out of ten,” Nic says. “Four-point deduction for the model’s attitude.”

He’s going to murder her.

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