Page 35 of Raising Love
“Go away, Ivy,” Leo mumbled, his voice muffled.
Ignoring him, I opened the door to find him lying face down in his pillow, his long limbs hanging off the edge of his bed.
“Ivy, please get out?—”
“Mrs. Simmons just called,” I interrupted. “She and Mr. Simmons are coming to pick up Baby Love for the weekend.”
Leo’s head shot up so fast, I thought it might fly off.
“They’ll be here in half an hour,” I said, grinning. “All we have to do is get Baby Love ready?—”
“Say less,” Leo said, jumping out of bed.
“Wait,” I said, stopping him mid-stride. “Shouldn’t we decide what to pack?”
“What?” Leo threw his hands up dramatically and spun to face me. “No. Pack everything. Throw it all in the bag.” He held his thumb and index finger close together, his expression exaggerated. “I’m this close to throwing Baby Love in the car before they even park.”
“Leo!”
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Look, I love the kid, but I’m tired. So…” He tilted his head toward the nursery. “Let’s get him ready, ship him out for the weekend, and then I’m crashing. Straight to sleep.”
I laughed as I followed him back to Baby Love’s nursery, his long strides easily outpacing mine. “Same.”
“You ready?” Leo called from my bedroom door.
I stood in front of my full-length mirror, sliding the final earring into place.
“Yeah,” I replied, brushing a hand over my high bun to ensure it was smooth. “Just need a few more minutes.”
“Aight,” Leo said, lingering in the doorway. “The car will be here in fifteen.”
With Baby Love safely with Kendra’s parents and a glorious seven hours of uninterrupted sleep behind me, I was ready for a much-needed night out.
The Back in the Day Bash was a tradition. Every year when the 90s R&B concert rolled through Manhattan, Kendra, Tyrell, Leo, and I made a night of it. We shared a love for 90s music that bonded us, and this was the event we never missed.
Tonight was different. It was my first concert without Kendra and Tyrell.
Satisfied with my look, I nodded, pleased I kept it simple. A cropped leather jacket over a knotted graphic tee featuring Aaliyah’s face, black leggings, and knee-high boots. This was my usual concert attire, a nod to my love for 90s R&B and to Kendra, who always said I could never go wrong with that outfit because I resembled the singer which always made me blush.
Leo reappeared in the doorway, his voice interrupting my thoughts. “Our driver’s five minutes away. You ready?”
He looked effortlessly cool in a brown suede shearling bomber jacket over a plain black tee, paired with black jeans and black-and-white Nike Air Jordans. His closet was practically a shrine to Jordans—he owned every pair imaginable.
“Yes, I’m ready,” I said, grabbing my crossbody bag.
“You look nice,” he said, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual.
I frowned playfully. “I wear the same thing every year. You used to call it my ‘concert uniform.’ Remember? You tease me about it every year relentlessly.”
He shrugged. “It looks good on you this year.”
I stared at him for a moment, noting the smirk tugging at his lips before he turned and headed downstairs.
“Weirdo,” I said, trying to hide the blush creeping into my cheeks.
I couldn’t explain it, but things felt different with Leo lately.
On the drive to the venue, we checked in with Kendra’s parents to make sure Baby Love was doing well. True to his routine, he had fallen asleep right on time. I just hoped the Simmons could handle his colic when it inevitably hit in a few hours.
