Page 110 of His to Have
My eyebrows arched. “What’s that?”
“A small self-care section in the boutique; both of them, for my stressed out brides? These scents, and lotions or something like it would be perfect.”
Her gaze shifted around the entire shop, taking notes of all of the items that could help create a calming oasis back home.
“Yeah, I’m thinking a dedicated spot for candles, bath salts, and calming teas,” she suggested, her eyes sparkling with inspiration. “It could really make a difference for brides who need a moment of peace before their big day.”
“You’re right.”
I could see the wheels turning in her head, and if it made her happy and helped her business, I was all for it. The fact that she was back thinking about her brides and her business was a sign that she was about ready to get back into reality. Before the kidnaping, it had been weeks since she’d seen the inside of her Atlanta boutique. And she hadn’t had time to open her Manhattan store. Before shit went way left, she was itching to get back into the groove of things. It felt good to see that spark that had been missing for the past few weeks come back in her eyes.
“You wanna find a supplier here? Or wait til’ we’re back home?” I asked while I continued to browse.
“Maybe a few items from here and then a black supplier. You know I love supporting us,” she glanced back at me with a wide grin.
“Then that’s what we’ll do when we get back to the States. Find you a beauty supplier.”
As we continued browsing, she was already three bottles deep into smelling another one of the lotions displayed on the shelves, lifting each one to her nose before squinting at the small Italian labels.
“What’s this one say, baby?” She held up a dark amber bottle.
“Olio dimandorledolci,” I read over her shoulder. “Sweet almond oil.”
“Mmm, I like this?” She closed the top and set it down with the growing collection of things I would gladly purchase for her at her feet.
At the top shelf sat more goodies, more skincare products for her to get lost in. On her tiptoes, she stretched to reach for a different bottle perched just out of her grasp. Brushing her back with my body, I leaned in, grabbing the clear bottle filled with a lavender-shaded substance and handed it to her. Watching her sample the lotions, she rubbed a tiny bit into the palm of her hands and brought them to her nose.
The sudden buzzing from her bags broke through our quiet moment.
“Baby, can you grab my phone?” she asked, attempting to screw the top back on the bottle and free her hands. “It’s in the bag with the fig jam. Or the perfume bottle. Whichever one I handed you last.”
Biting back a grin, I shook my head. I didn’t even ask why her phone was in there instead of the small crossbody she’d had on all day. I just rummaged through the items and grabbed the vibrating phone, glancing at the screen first.
Mrs. Antoinette.
Then I felt my own phone vibrate in my pocket. I pulled mine out to see Bash flashing across the display.
“Hmm.” I hummed, praying this wasn’t about to fuck up the mood. Extending her phone, I said. “It’s your mama... and Bash.”
She took it, her browcreasingas she stared at the screen. The worrywas already replacingthe peace I’d watched her find, and I hated seeing it. I brushed my lips against her forehead gently.
“Goahead andanswer. Itcould be important,” I told her gently. “I’ll see what your brother needs.”
When she nodded lightly to answer her mother’s call, I swiped toaccept the one from herbrother. “What’s good, Bash?”
“Pops is awake,” he saidright away,getting straight to the point. “Been upsince this morning.”
I could hear the relief buried under his controlled tone, but also something else. Men like us didn’t get a whole lot of time to be overly excited. Even when something as significant as his father’s waking from a poison inflicted coma. It was all business, all the time.
“How’s he doing?”
“Alive. Talking. But...” Bash paused, and I could practically feel the anxiety over the phone. “He’s not the same, and probably will never be. Doc says the ricin did permanent damage. Cognitive shit... motor skills. He knows who we are, remembers most things, but he’s... slower. Weaker,” he sighed.
In the background, I could hear Ayanna’s voice getting louder as she talked to her mother. Excitement was oozing with every word and I caught bits and pieces about booking the first flight out.
“When can you get Yanna back here?” Bash asked. “Mama wants her here.”
“I figured as much. Sounds like my wife is making plans as we speak.” I glanced back at her as she wrapped her call, catching the bright smile spreading across her face as she said her goodbyes. That smile made something ease in my chest. I pulled out my wallet and fished out my card and walked over to her.
