Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
When I slid the new dishwasher into place and turned it on, she clapped once, genuinely pleased.
“You’re dangerous,” she smirked.
I wiped my hands on a towel. “Because I can use a wrench?”
“Because you fit,” she corrected quietly. “Total package, baby.”
That night, she kissed me like she was trying to say something she hadn’t put into words yet. I felt it anyway.
When it was time to leave, I hated it.
Hated packing. Hated the way her apartment already felt like something I was stepping out of instead of away from. Hated how goodbye had weight now. We stood by the door, her arms around my waist, my hands framing her face.
“This part doesn’t get easier,” she shared.
“No,” I agreed. “But it doesn’t make it wrong.”
She nodded, eyes bright. “Be safe.”
“I always am,” I confirmed, then added, because it mattered, “I’ll call.”
“I know.”
We kissed one last time—slow, grounding, a promise without pressure—and then I was gone.
Back on the street. Back on the bike. Back in motion.
But something was different now.
Because when I rode south, I wasn’t leaving her behind.
I was carrying her with me in the only way I could for now. But in the future, we wouldn’t be apart.
Thinking of that future made all the difference.
Chapter 19
Nita
Happiness crept up on me like it didn’t want to spook me.
It showed up in small, quiet ways. In the way I woke up smiling for no reason. In how my shoulders stayed relaxed through meetings that would’ve once had me braced for impact. In the way my apartment felt warmer, fuller, like someone had rearranged the air.
I was the happiest I had ever been.
That truth startled me every time I acknowledged it. Because nothing about my life on paper had changed. Same job. Same city. Same routines. Same carefully constructed independence I had worn like armor for years.
Except Dante.
Long distance was harder than I wanted to admit.
I missed him in ways that surprised me. I ached for him in moments that felt stupidly domestic. When I reached for a mug and remembered how he always warmed his hands around his coffee first. When I folded laundry and caught myself glancing at the doorway like he might walk through it, jacket slung over his shoulder, that half-smile he wore when he thought I was being too serious.
Every call helped.
And every call made the absence of his physical presence worse.
We talked every night. Sometimes long, sometimes just enough to hear each other breathe. He never pushed for more. Never pressed for definitions. He showed up exactly as promised, steady and present even from miles away.
That steadiness scared me. Because it made me want things I had trained myself not to need. Things I had given up hoping for.
Saturday was for my nieces.
Char dropped them off just after nine, both girls vibrating with energy, hair in braids with mismatched beads they had picked for themselves, sneakers already half-unlaced because patience was not their strong suit.
“Aunt Nita!” Elaina, the five-year-old shrieked, launching herself into my legs like a missile.
I laughed, steadying myself. “Good morning to you too.”
Jaihova, three-year-old followed more cautiously, arms up, eyes bright. “Park?”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “Park.”
That earned cheers loud enough to wake the neighbors.
We spent the day doing all the things that reminded me life existed outside conference rooms and security clearances.
Swings and slides. Sticky fingers from ice cream. Juice boxes that somehow always leaked. The kind of laughter that came from the belly, unfiltered and pure.
At one point, while they chased pigeons with wild abandon, I sat on a bench and checked my phone.
A text from Dante waited.
Dante: You look happy today.
I frowned slightly, then smiled.
Nita: How would you know that?
A pause.
Dante: Call it a guess.
I glanced up at the park, at my nieces mid-squeal, then typed back.
Nita: You’re right. It’s a good day.
I dropped them back at Char’s in the early evening, both girls half-asleep, sugar crashes imminent. Char hugged me long and tight.
“You look good,” she shared softly.
“I feel good,” I admitted.
Her smile was knowing but not intrusive. “I’m glad.”
So was I. Home felt quiet after that. The good kind of quiet. I showered, changed into soft sleep clothes, and curled up on the couch with my phone balanced against a pillow.
Dante called right on time.
“Hey,” he said, voice low and familiar.
“Hey,” I replied, smiling despite myself.
We talked about nothing. The girls. His day. A stupid movie he half-watched. The sound of his voice soothed something deep in me, even as it sharpened the longing.
“I miss you,” I admitted before I could stop myself.
He didn’t tease me. Didn’t make light of it. “I know,” he replied quietly. “I miss you too.”
That simple acknowledgment meant more than any promise could’ve.
“I’m heading to bed,” I gave way to eventually, yawning as the fatigue washed over me.
“Lock your door,” he reminded me.
“I always do.”
“Check it.”
I smiled. “I checked it.”