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Two weeks later
Well, isn’t this cozy?
Zaria’s eyes narrowed as she looked through the glass wall of Kaleb’s ranch office at him sitting across his desk from a pretty woman. An attractive young woman with wavy auburn hair, big hazel eyes, and plump lips.
They both laughed.
That annoyed her because she hadn’t seen any sign of Kaleb’s good humor of late.
Freeing her face of frowns, she continued into the small building serving as his office, fighting off the desire to ask: “Hehehehe. What’s so funny? Share the damn joke...and it better be hilarious.”
But she didn’t.
That would be childish.
Jealousy had a way of making grown folks revert back to immature ways and she refused to lose control. Absolutely refused.
Right?
Right.
“Hello,” Zaria said, proud of sounding pleasant.
Kaleb rose to his feet.
He doesn’t look caught being up to no good.
“Baby, this is Greyson Locke,” he said. “She’s a journalist with The Agriculturist here to discuss—”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Locke,” Zaria said, relaxing as she extended her hand to the woman she now noticed holding a small digital recorder.
“Actually, it’s Miss,” she said as she smiled.
Miss? And dimples? Really, Lord?
Zaria released the woman’s hand before she gave in to the urge to squeeze it until it burst. Chill out, Zaria. Chill the hell out.
Kaleb reclaimed his seat.
Greyson turned her attention back to him.
The room fell silent.
Am I being dismissed?
“You needed something, baby?” Kaleb asked when she remained.
“Your Mom has all the grands for the week so I thought you and I could ride to grab something to eat...but I see you’re busy,” she said.
“Actually, could you just pick up lunch for everyone?” Kaleb asked.
The smile she gave him was weak. “I guess?” she said, surprised by the turn of events. “That wasn’t the goal. But...uhm...yeah. Sure. I can make a food run.”
He came around the desk and pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his well-worn leather wallet. “Thank you,” he stressed, bending his head.
She puckered her lips but the kiss landed on her cheek. It felt cool and perfunctory. “No. Thank you,” she said, reaching in the wallet for another crisp bill.
Zaria gave Greyson one last polite wave and left, walking the distance back to the house to climb into the Range Rover Kaleb gave her for her forty-fifth birthday. She loved it and she’d made sure to show him just how much that night.
What’s on tap for the big 5-0?
It was in a few days and her curiosity was piqued. They always made sure each other’s birthdays were special. She could use a little extra attention from her husband.
The divide between them had only widened. Sometimes he came in so late that she was already in bed. And when he did get home he went right to sleep. His attention was elsewhere.
It felt like déjà vu of her first marriage.
It was nothing but her faith in his character and her love for him that kept her from thinking it was another woman. Kaleb was fiercely loyal and honest. So, although Zaria had not given up on him, nine months was a long time to be unhappy.
“Chuckle it up for me like you were Miss Locke,” she drawled as she made a comedic face as she drove down the long driveway and onto the main road.
What did he get me for my birthday?
Zaria arched a brow as she picked up her phone. The twins helped pick out the car. Had he gotten their help for this gift as well? “Meena or Neema?” she asked herself as she steered the SUV. “Both.”
She dialed Meena first.
“Hey, Momma,” she said.
“Hold on let me get Neema,” Zaria said.
“Mom—”
Zaria put her on hold and dialed her other twin daughter. She frowned when Neema didn’t answer and clicked back over to Meena. “Your sister didn’t answer—”
“Hi, Momma. This is Neema,” she said.
Zaria swerved her Range Rover on the road in shock. “Wait. What?”
The twins laughed together. It reminded her of them as kids pulling tricks and then giggling about it endlessly.
“Neema’s here at my house. We’re on speaker, Momma.”
“What are you two up to?” she asked, accelerating forward down Highway 17.
“Getting the kids dressed to take to Nana Lisha and Papa Strong,” one said. “Freedom is near.”
“Periodt!” the other added, using the term used by the popular female rappers City Girls.
At that moment she knew the latter was Neema and not Meena. They sounded alike but Neema was more prone to random moments of ratchetness.
“That decked out Sprinter Pops brought her was the best gift ever,” Zaria said. “She already scooped up all of the Holtsville grandkids. The van was packed.”
“They wanted all the grandkids, even Kadina and Lei, so Meena and I are gonna chill with them for a little while before we head back out.”
“All fifteen of y’all?” Zaria asked.
“God bless ‘em,” one of the twins said.
“Amen,” Zaria added, driving past the Family Dollar on the left and slowing down to pull up to one of three gas pumps in front of Cyrus Dobb’s storefront that was a relic from fifty years ago.
As the tiny downtown area of the small southern town began to grow, Cyrus and his small gas station remained. The townspeople were loyal to one of their own and homegrown Cyrus was definitely that. As she climbed from the car, she frowned a bit at his empty rocker on the wooden porch. Normally he would pump the gas and offer a bit of history—or gossip depending on his mood. The wizened dark-skin man with white hair and gnarled hands had to be every bit of seventy or eighty and he was a town legend.
“Hold on. Let me get gas,” Zaria said to her daughters before putting the phone down on the console.
“Tell Cyrus we said hi.”
She was thankful he had finally updated his pumps and she was able to use her bank card. She looked around at her surroundings as she waited for the tank to fill.
Zaria grown up in neighboring Summerville and moved to Holtsville when she married Kaleb. Although it lacked the conveniences of Summerville or Walterboro, she had come to love the small town. Her hometown was bursting with homes, stores, restaurants, and nightlife while Holtsville had retained its small-town charm with a population under two thousand. There were plenty of unoccupied lands filled with grass, wildflowers, and towering pine trees. Homes were more than a backyard apart. The nights were star-filled and so quiet that the sounds of tiny night creatures seemed to echo. Everyone knew everyone and gossip was rampant. Scandals, financial ruin, repossessions, arrests, affairs, and plenty of he say-she say was all fodder—especially with the addition of social media. There were no strangers. A family could throw a cookout and everyone in the neighborhood knew they were automatically invited. Life was easy.
With one last look at the empty rocking chair, she snatched the receipt the machine printed and climbed back inside her vehicle.
“Cyrus wasn’t on the porch,” Zaria said as she pulled out and checked traffic before turning to head in the opposite direction on Highway 17. “Maybe he was inside.”
“Trust me, he’s around there somewhere,” Neema said.
“You’re right, Twin,” Meena agreed.
“So, listen, girls,” Zaria said. “My birthday is coming up.”
“Yes?” they said in unison.
“What’s Kaleb up to this year? Party? Jewelry? A trip?” she asked, looking up at the rearview mirror to check traffic before she switched lanes as she made the fifteen-minute drive to Summerville where there was more of a variety of restaurants than Walterboro.
The line went quiet.
Zaria tensed. “What?”
“We haven’t heard anything yet, Momma,” Meena said.
Zaria frowned.
“But I know he’s on it,” Neema added.
“Right,” she said, even as she felt a nervousness rise.
Zaria knew her children. All five. Through and through. This wasn’t a cute and coy act the twins were giving her to cover a surprise. They honestly knew nothing.
He wouldn’t forget? Do nothing? No. Just...no.
“Do you want us to ask?”
Zaria shook her head. “No,” she said emphatically. “A husband shouldn’t have to be reminded of his wife’s birthday.”
“Momma?” Meena asked.
“You good?” Neema added.
“Yes,” she lied, not realizing her hurt had come through in her tone.
“Kaleb won’t let you down, plus he’s good to you all the time,” Meena said.
He used to be.
“It's not about a gift, ladies. Remember that. It’s the thought. The effort. The consistency,” she said, pulling off the road in front of a storage facility as tears filled her eyes. “The love.”
“You okay?”
“Yes,” she lied again, feeling like she already told her children too much. “I’m in some traffic. Let me call y’all back.”
Zaria ended the call and went to her home screen to look down at the picture of her husband’s face.
I gave my ex-husband over twenty years of my life. Stuck on stupid. Blinded by love. I missed all the signs. I ignored them. I don’t have another twenty years to sit by and get blindsided by another man.
The last nine months of her marriage was a true test and they were failing.
Kaleb was pulling away and she was fighting hard not to give up.
“Do you, Kaleb, with all the love, commitment, patience, forgiveness, and devotion needed for a lasting union, take Zaria to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do. I do,” he said.
“Do you, Zaria, with all the love, commitment, patience, forgiveness, and devotion needed for a lasting union, take Kaleb to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do,” she said.
One lone tear raced down her cheek and landed on Kaleb’s face on the phone.
Lately, it was feeling more and more like “I don’t”.
∞
Kaleb wiped the sweat from his brow as he and Grayson Locke stood near one of his paddocks for exercising the horses used on the farm. “To me, the best sound in the world is the steady drone of my milking machines,” he said, pausing to listen to the hum in the air.
Grayson nodded in understanding. “The dairy industry—”
“Sssh,” he said softly and as politely as he could. “Just listen to it.”
She fell silent.
He lost count of just how long they listened to the whine of the machinery he purchased last year to further modernize the barn. “For so many farmers across the country—dairy farmers, in particular—that sound has disappeared. That quiet is the sound of failure and that is a hard pill to swallow.”
“May I quote you on that?” she asked.
He looked down at the petite woman with a nod. “Absolutely,” he said, seeing her and not seeing her.
He was not a man admiring a woman. He was a farmer appreciating a journalist for helping to spread the word about the current state of dairy farming in America. That was all.
Kaleb had always been not just a rancher but a student of agriculture. He researched the market, learned effective grazing methods, stayed abreast of laws and regulations that affected the industry, and was a member of many farming alliances and coalitions. He was not just a farmer but an advocate. Thus, an offer from The Agriculturist to be interviewed had been more than welcomed.
Although he’d rather be helping Lordan and the rest of the ranch hands repair fencing along the north line of his property, he continued giving her a tour of his farm. He was grateful she was dressed for the occasion in jeans and boots and knew how to ride a horse. He preferred that to the use of the many pieces of riding equipment he owned. The pace and hoofprint of a horse seemed less damaging to the natural landscape than the heavy tread of a utility vehicle.
“Milk prices are reported to be down by forty percent going back as far as 2014,” Greyson began after she followed him coming to a stop under a huge maple tree with branches that seemed to reach a hundred feet wide from tip to tip.
“They are,” he agreed. “For many reasons that seemed to have a snowball effect. Many farmers are losing the battle. Everything from the increased popularity of sports drink and soy or almond milk; the president’s tariff’s on foreign steel and aluminum impacting the foreign purchase of dairy; even a decline in the use of cheese. It’s a domino effect. All of it has been traumatic to the industry.”
“Right,” she agreed before steering the horse around to go back ten feet before using her digital camera to take a picture of Kaleb on his horse beneath the shade of the towering broadleaf tree.
Kaleb didn’t bother to pose. She got whatever shot she got. This wasn’t about personal glory, just the story of the American farmer—and, in particular, the extra weight of being African-American.
When she joined his side, he led her to his dairy store at the front of the ranch easily accessible by the road. “I never knew in 2011 that I was ahead of my time in terms securing another stream of income for the farm,” he said as they climbed off the horses and he secured them to a post several yards from the front of the store. “Even with this we have cut back to just morning hours and weekends to keep it cost-effective.”
“Kaleb!”
He glanced up at Neema’s black SUV slowing down and pulling off the main road next to the paved front yard of the store. Both twins were in the vehicle and since they weren’t in one of their sporty convertible Volvos, he hoped the kids were them.
“You mind if I talk to your employee?” Greyson asked.
“Sure,” he said, glancing over at Minnie, a high school student who worked for him every summer.
Zaria used to run and operate the store but the kids absorbed her time and he had to hire someone. He had to admit he liked when she was more involved with the farm. He missed it.
Kaleb made his way over to his stepdaughters. “Hey, Twins,” he said even as he opened the back door and leaned in to smile at four pairs of bright brown eyes.
Two sets of twins. All two years old and looking at him with happy eyes and wet smiles as they kicked their feet and reached for him from where they were strapped into their car seats. Two on the middle row and two on the rear.
“Pops!” they all exclaimed at varying times and volumes.
He was Pops and the twin’s real father, Ned, was PaPa.
Kaleb loved them. They were his step-grandchildren but he loved them fiercely and it was clear from their expressions that they loved him as well.
“Hope. Faith,” he said, leaning in to press his face against each smooth brown cheek.
The girls giggled.
He walked around the rear of the vehicle, opened the door to lower the empty seat and leaned in. “Martin. Malcolm,” he greeted them, gently squeezing their round tummies and causing a burst of laughter.
“Where y’all headed?” he asked Meena and Neema as he closed the open rear door.
“Nana Lisha and Papa Strong’s,” Meena said from the passenger seat.
He squinted against the summer sun blazing down on them as he stood near the driver’s side door. “I forgot they wanted all the grands for a week,” he said. “That’s insane.”
“Absolutely,” Neema agreed. “But that’s why we love them.”
“It’s a huge house but where are they all going to sleep?” he pondered.
Meena shrugged one shoulder in the red sundress she wore. “Two or three to a bed. Sleeping bag or comforters on the floor. Who knows?”
He nodded.
He wasn’t much older than his stepdaughters and things had been rocky between them at first but his consistency with them and respect of their father had led to them having a great relationship.
They shared a look before both eyed him. It was like having double vision with them both having long hair again. It really was hard to tell them apart.
“Soooo. Momma’s birthday is this week,” Neema said tapping her hands against the steering wheel.
Kaleb grunted and winced.
“The big 5-0,” Meena added. “Please say you have something huge in the works because if not it may be lights out for you.”
Kaleb nodded. He’d forgotten. A first. He balled his hand into a fist and lightly pounded the hood of the SUV. “Thanks, Twins,” he said, before releasing a heavy breath.
They shared another look.
“Is everything okay with you two?” Meena asked, leaning forward to look across her sister at him.
“Yeah,” he lied.
Their eyes filled with disbelief.
“No,” he admitted, hating being untruthful. “But it will be.”
“As long as there is always love in the mix everything can be fixed if you want it to be.”
He locked eyes with first one twin and then the other. “There is nothing in this world that can make me stop loving your mother. Nothing,” he stressed, his voice firm and unrelenting.
“Or no one?” Neema asked, the softness revealing her hesitance to do so.
Kaleb’s jaw tightened. He took offense to that. “No one. Never. I’m surprised you have to ask that,” he said, his tone clipped.
Neema reached to squeeze his hand. “We love our Dad but their breakup—”
“No. Call a thing a thing. He cheated,” Meena said flatly.
“Right. When our Dad cheated it really broke her heart and I don’t want—”
“We don’t want,” Meena interrupted, her eyes steady and intense.
Neema glanced over at her twin and then back at Kaleb. “Right. We don’t want that for her ever again.”
“Neither do I,” he assured them.
They both offered him smiles that reminded him of their mother. His annoyance with them dissolved. “Drive careful,” he said, ever protective of them as he was his own children.
“Think big,” Neema called out the window as they pulled off with one last blow of the vehicle’s horn.
He pulled a hand towel from the back pocket of his Dickie pants and wiped the dust and sweat from the top of his head.
Did Zaria voice concerns to them?
He frowned to think his wife held doubt in him.
Tell her, Kaleb. Tell her the truth.
Could he really blame her if she did? He knew things between them were different. He just couldn’t seem to find a way to fix them.
Kaleb made his way back over to enter the store as Greyson handed Minnie her debit card. He glanced down in her straw basket with KJ Dairy stamped on the side to find milk, cheese, and homemade peach ice cream. “Thank you for that,” he said, opening the door for her to exit.
“Have a good day, Mr. Strong,” Minnie said.
He gave her a wave before he left the building as well.
“That’s what it's all about, supporting the farmer,” Greyson said with a warm smile. “My father farms in the Upstate so I get it.”
“I might know him. Where in the Upstate?” he asked.
“Willie Locke? Spartanburg? He has a small livestock farm,” she said.
“No, I don’t know him,” he said. “Maybe my father does.”
Greyson chuckled. “It’s nowhere near the size of this and definitely not your father’s spread,” she said.
He climbed up onto the saddle with well-practiced ease and strength. “That’s even more impressive for a small farm to survive today,” he said, waiting for her to ease her purchases into the saddlebag before she mounted her horse as well.
“He works at a plant full time though,” she said. “I go home every weekend to help out.”
Kaleb had to admit it was nice to have someone to talk to about his work. Farming was in his blood and was as big a part of who he was as anything. To know him—truly know him—was to know about his love and dedication to his ranch.
“Let’s head back. I need to get some work done,” he said.
They continued discussing the plight of the dairy farmer and ate up the brief time to make it back to the barn in ease.
“Listen, I’d have to run it by my editor, but what if we extended this beyond one interview to a series where I’d maybe shadow you and your staff and get some insight on the effect of the current economy on farming?” she asked as she handed one of the younger ranch hands the reigns to the horse she borrowed.
Kaleb frowned, still atop Danger who shifted back and forth as if he was reckless. He was feeling much of the same. “I don’t know. I’m pretty busy with the farm. Let me think about it,” he requested, his mind already drifting to riding to catch up with Lordan and the others.
“Okay, I’ll check to see if that’s even possible,” Greyson said, extending her hand up to him. “Thank you, Mr. Strong.”
“Kaleb,” he offered as he took her hand.
“Okay, Kaleb.”
With one final nod of his head, he steered Danger in the opposite direction and lightly kicked his sides to take off at a run towards the north line.
∞
Zaria leaned in to smell the large bouquet of two dozen blooming roses Kaleb gifted her for her birthday. They were having dinner in a private room of her favorite restaurant in downtown Charleston. The space was large enough for twelve people, but he reserved it just for them. The candlelight and colorful summer flora with creamy tablecloths and gleaming cutlery gave it the perfect romantic ambiance.
She felt beautiful in her deep purple strapless jumpsuit and dramatic makeup with her weaved tresses in soft waves that framed her face and flowed down her back. She sparkled from wearing every piece of jewelry Kaleb had given her over the last eight years.
Their four-course meal consisted of seafood delicacies fresh from the Lowcountry waters and prepared in French and Southern fusion. For dessert they enjoyed mini pineapple upside-down cakes served warm with caramel sauce and homemade vanilla ice cream.
Outside their private room, the sounds of a delicate jazz tune began to play.
Kaleb took another swig of his brandy straight on the rocks before rising to extend his hand to her. She looked up at him with a soft smile, loving his sexy silver good looks in his all-black attire. She accepted his hand, anxious for the night to end in her undressing him.
“You look beautiful, Zaria,” he whispered in her ear once he had pulled her body close to his.
She shivered at the feel of his hand tucked just inside the deep vee of her jumpsuit as she settled her chin on his shoulder and played with his nape. “I haven’t heard that from you in a minute,” she said, hating the insecurity she felt.
She was celebrating her fiftieth rotation in life and the last thing she needed was to be affirmed by a man. Any man. But she also knew she loved this man with whom she danced—and shared life—and above all, she was just a woman trying her best to save her marriage.
He leaned back a bit.
Zaria did the same.
“You are and will always be the most beautiful person in the world to me,” he whispered down to her, his voice deep as coffee and just as stimulating.
“Same here, my love,” she said before tasting his mouth.
She fought not to frown at the slight taste of alcohol. Instead, she tucked her face against his neck. He had imbibed during their dinner. In fact, she had lost count of the number of drinks he ordered.
And when he stumbled during their dance, she didn’t try to hide the annoyed look from her face.
“What?” he asked.
His eyes were not the same.
She knew that because she stared into them.
Zaria released a breath as her shoulders slumped.
In every life, as time goes by, there’s a moment when shit just needs to be said. Questioned. Investigated. Of course, Zaria would prefer it wasn’t the night of her birthday in a beautiful restaurant but she had been silent for too long.
“Kaleb, I don’t know what is going on with you. I don’t know what the drinking is about—”
“Drinking?” he balked.
His eyes shifted from hers for just one moment, but it was very telling.
Although they were alone, she kept her voice low. “It’s my birthday, and you’re driving, so why in the hell are you drunker than me?”
“Zaria, please,” he implored, turning from her to walk to his chair.
He reached for his unfinished drink but knocked it over instead. It dinged against the crystal vase of her flowers before hitting the table with a thud. “Shit,” he swore, looking over at her.
Zaria cringed, not recognizing the man before her.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, wiping his face with both of his strong hands. “Too much celebrating.”
“Celebrating? Everyday? Because you can’t see to keep beer in the fridge at home or in your office,” she said, revealing a truth she noticed over the weeks but didn’t speak on until that moment.
“You watching me?” he asked, his voice incredulous.
The glass door to the room opened and their server, a tall white man with a blonde ponytail entered.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked, his eyes briefly taking in the wet table cloth and overturned glass.
He immediately moved to wipe up the excess.
“Some black coffee and maybe another basket of your honey-glazed croissants,” she said, giving him a polite smile before she reclaimed her seat.
Zaria remained silent until they were alone again. “I’m not watching you. I watch my kids not my husband,” she shot back.
“Is that a jab at my age? I take damn good care of my family,” he said, his voice cold.
She looked away for him for a moment, accepting the sting of hurt that the night had gone so wrong. “Is it a jab at my age that I have to damn near rape my husband?” she asked, thinking of the night they shared beneath the blanket on the living room sofa.
She’d been too horny and craving his loving to care that he smelled of the farm and tasted of dust and sweat.
“Is there another woman, Kaleb?” she asked, feeling her eyes go soft with the emotion causing her heart to pound and her gut to clench.
Fear. Pure and simple.
Kaleb shifted forward in his seat, his brows furrowed into a frown. “Is that why the twins asked me that? Did you tell them I’m cheating on you?”
“The twins?” she asked. “I don’t talk my personal business with my children and you know that ...but when did you talk to them?”
He settled back against his seat and shrugged. “They came by the farm earlier this week. Why?”
Zaria arched a brow as she picked up her clutch and removed her phone. She dialed the more sensible of her twin daughters.
“Happy birthday again, Momma!” Meena said with a lot of enthusiasm.
She put her on speaker and placed the phone on the table. “Did you and Neema remind Kaleb about my birthday?” she asked with her eyes locked on his face.
“Ma’am?” she asked, sounding more like she was twelve than in her twenties.
“You know I don’t repeat myself. Nothing has changed since you lived under my roof,” Zaria said, her voice brooking no argument. She was in full mommy mode. “That why I called you and not Neema because I don’t have time to play, Meena.”
“Yes, ma’am, we did.”
Zaria took the emotional gut-punch with a downturn of her lips. “Even though I asked you not to?” she asked, her eyes not wavering from his.
Meena sighed. “Momma—”
She ended the call and gave the phone a nasty little shove to slide it away from her a bit. She didn’t fight to hide her disappointment. “It wouldn’t be a big deal if you haven’t been so different lately. It's just like one more straw on the camel’s back, Kaleb. Like damn, really?” she asked.
The waiter entered the room but paused as if he could feel the tension spinning around them.
Kaleb cleared his throat and motioned for him to enter. “Thank you,” he said as the man set the coffee and the basket of bread on the table before silently exiting.
“First, there is no other woman,” he assured her, reaching across the table for her hand.
She eased it out of his grasp.
“Second, I’m sorry I almost forgot about your birthday. I have just been really busy with the farm. There’s a lot going on,” he admitted.
Zaria continued to study him, remaining quiet because she so badly wanted him to talk to her. Explain things to her. Make it right with her.
“Third. This is your birthday night. Forget the thirty-minute drive home. Let’s get a room and I’ll prove to you, my sexy ass wife, that you don’t have to rape me,” he said.
“I don’t do drunk dick,” she countered.
He chuckled. “Drunk dick or sober dick it's still hard dick. Believe that,” he promised with his deep-set eyes locked on hers with purpose. “I’ll have you scratching the sheets. Trust.”
She hated that she squirmed in her seat as her clit throbbed to life. She ignored that sudden pulse. “Nah, I’m good,” she said.
They eyed each other across the table. Even with the addition of alcohol and anger plus disappointment, the air around them—their vibe—was still electric. At times it was also their vice. It cackled in the air like silent thunder. It pulsed between them. Fiery. Hot. Explosive.
Their bodies were traitors to their hurt feelings.
“I love you,” he mouthed, patting his lap.
She was reluctant. How many more times could their issues be placated with sex? The issues remained far after the climax was enjoyed.
“Tell me,” she implored, rising to come around the table to settle down on his lap.
“Tell you what, Zaria?” Kaleb asked, placing his warm grasp on her buttock with one hand and the knee with the other.
She reached for a soft mint from the tiny glass bowl on the table and offered it to him.
With a slight smile, he opened his mouth.
“What are you sorry for?” she asked, drawing from that night once again as she remembered his plea as he had clung to her.
His handsome face filled with confusion before he shook his head.
“Talk to me, Kaleb. Tell me something. Clue me in because I’m so damn confused but trying my best—please believe my very best—to trust things will autocorrect. But let me be clear,” she stressed, ignoring the feel of his dick getting hard beneath the cushion of her soft buttocks. “There’s not too many more straws the camel’s back can take.”
His deep-set obsidian eyes studied hers for the longest time. “Have faith in me, Z. Don’t give up on me and don’t stop believing in me,” he implored. “I am not him.”
Ned. Her ex-husband.
The stain of his betrayal was forever the baggage she fought to leave out of their marriage.
Kaleb brought his hand up to cup her nape as he drew her face closer to receives his minty kisses. They both moaned when she lightly drew the tip of his tongue into her mouth to suckle.
Everything seemed to flutter. Her lashes. The pit of her belly. Her clit.
“Hotel or home?” she asked into the space between their lips.
He thrust his hips upward sending his dick gliding across her bottom. “The car,” he boldly said.
“Deal.”
They rose.
Her anticipation of the heated long strokes and slow grinds to come had her trembling in her heels. She felt lightheaded as Kaleb deftly motioned with his hand for the waiter to bring the check.