Chapter 10

One month later

Ngozi brought her swift run to an end as she came to Main Street of Passion Grove. She released puffs of air through pursed lips and checked her vitals and mileage via her Fitbit. She waved and smiled to those townspeople she knew as she continued to move her feet in place while she waited for her heart rate to gradually decline.

Feeling thirsty, she walked down the block toward the bakery, pausing a moment at the display in the window of the high-end boutique, Spree, that offered the latest trend in designer clothing. A beautiful silver beaded sheath dress with a short hem caught her eye, and she knew if she wasn’t still sweaty and hot from a run, she would have gone into the boutique to try it on. “Another time,” she promised herself, continuing on her way.

The large black metal bell sounded as she opened the door to La Boulangerie. The scent of fresh-brewed coffee and decadent sweets filled the air. There was a small line of customers awaiting treats in the pastry shop decorated like old-world Europe, with modern accents and brick walls. It was a warm Saturday in June, and the townspeople were out and about, milling around their small downtown area.

She checked incoming messages on her phone as she waited her turn. Soft hairs seemed to tickle her nape and she kept smoothing them with her free hand, also aware that she suddenly felt a nervousness that made her wonder if she’d caught a flu bug or something. When the hairs stood on end, she turned but didn’t recognize any of the people in line behind her.

“Welcome to La Boulangerie. How may I help you?”

Ngozi faced forward. Her eyes widened to see Alessandra’s cousin and her former client behind the counter. “Marisa, you work here?” she asked, her surprise clear.

Alessandra’s family, the Dalmounts, was a superrich family of prominence. She doubted her salary matched the weekly stipend Alessandra allotted her entire family, following the tradition her father had started when he was the head of the family.

Marisa, a beautiful young woman in her late twenties with a massive head full of natural curls that rested on her petite shoulders, smiled and shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve never had a job and I have to start somewhere,” she said, her voice soft and raspy as if she could bring true justice to a soulful song. Although Ngozi recalled that her deceased father was Mexican, there was no hint of a Spanish accent.

“That’s true, but I’m surprised Alessandra couldn’t get you something entry level at ADG,” Ngozi said, taking a small step back to eye the desserts on display in the glass case.

“I’m just starting to think a handout from your rich family isn’t the best way for me,” she said, sounding vague.

“Not many young women would feel that way,” Ngozi said, pushing aside her curiosity. “I’m proud of you,” she offered, feeling odd giving praise to a woman not far from her own age.

“Thanks,” Marisa said.

“Hey, Bill,” Ngozi said, smiling at the man with shoulder-length blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. As always, his black apron with Bill the Pâtissier embroidered on it was in place.

“Afternoon,” he said, his tone appreciative as he gave her a slow once-over in her pink form-fitting running gear.

Bill wants some chocolate in his life.

“Marisa, I’ll take a bottle of water and a fresh fruit cup for my walk home,” she said, politely ignoring his flirty look. She was used to it. Bill had long ago let his intentions be known, and she had always turned him down gently.

He just chuckled at her deflection before heading back to the rear of the bakery.

“Coming right up,” Marisa said, using the back of her hand to swipe away a long tendril that escaped from her top knot before pulling on gloves.

Ngozi was tempted to purchase a mini walnut Danish ring, able to tell it was packed with cinnamon sugar. She wasn’t ever going vegan, but she did try to fit in healthy eating when she could. Still...that Danish is looking like a treat.

“Let me get a walnut Danish ring, too,” she said, pulling her credit card from the zippered pocket on the sleeve of her running jacket.

Marisa gave her a knowing smile as she used tongs to slide the treat into a small brown paper bag with the bakery’s logo. She took the card and handed Ngozi her treats and a small foil packet with a wet wipe for her hands. Soon she returned with her receipt. “Thank you and come again,” she said.

“Bye, Marisa. I will,” Ngozi said, turning away with a smile.

She tucked the water bottle under her arm and the Danish in her pocket before opening the wet wipe packet to wipe her hands.

“Ngozi.”

Her body froze, but her heart raced a marathon, and those hairs on her nape stood on end. Now the nervous energy was familiar.

Chance.

Turning toward his voice, she spotted him sitting at a bistro table in the corner of the pastry shop with Alek. She hadn’t even noticed them there. Chance unbent his tall frame—his tall, well-proportioned, strong frame—and waved an inviting hand to an empty chair across from him.

Ngozi hesitated.

They had done so well avoiding each other for all these months. And now, just like that, out of the clear blue sky, here they were.

Fate?

Perhaps.

Finally, she moved toward him, and it was as if everything else in the bakery outside of her line of vision on him blurred. With every step that brought her closer to him, her nerves felt more and more frayed.

Alek tossed the last of his powdered doughnut into his mouth before wiping his hands with a napkin and rising. “Good to see you, Ngozi,” he said.

She just nodded, never taking her eyes off Chance.

Alek looked between his friend and his wife’s best friend before walking out of the pastry shop as if he knew his presence was suddenly forgotten.

Chance reached around her to pull the chair out.

“Still the gentleman,” she said, offering him a polite smile before she sat down and crossed one leg over the other.

“Of course, of course,” Chance said, offering her a charming smile as he sat back down.

Ngozi set her water and the plastic container of fruit on the table as she eyed how good he looked in a navy tracksuit with one of his dozen or so Patek watches on his wrist. “You look good, Chance,” she admitted, picking up the bottle to open and take a sip.

“So do you,” he said, eyeing her before shifting his gaze out the window of the storefront.

They both fell silent.

Then they spoke at once.

“Ngozi—”

“Chance—”

They laughed.

“Our goddaughter is growing up fast,” Ngozi said, searching for a neutral topic.

Chance nodded. “I got her a baby Lambo car. She’ll be driving around their courtyard in no time.”

“Only you would buy a baby a mini-Lambo,” she said. “Is it pink or bright red?”

His smile widened. “Fire red, of course.”

“Of course,” she agreed.

More silence.

So many questions were sitting on the tip of her tongue, ready to tumble out.

“You’re still running?” Chance asked.

Ngozi looked pensive. “Running from what?” she asked, instantly nervous an argument would ensue.

Chance shook his head. “No, I meant running. Exercising. Jogging,” he said, making back-and-forth motions with his fists as if he were running.

“Oh,” Ngozi said. “My bad. Yeah. I’m still running, addicted to the high of it. You?”

He nodded. “I did ten miles this morning,” he said.

“I did like five around the lake and then came here for a little snack before I head back to my house,” she said.

“Your house?” he asked.

Their eyes met.

Ngozi looked away first, opening the container to pop a grape into her mouth. “I moved out of my parents’,” she said, lifting the container toward him in offering.

He picked it up and poured a few grapes into his hand. “How is it?”

“The house?” she asked.

“Living alone for the first time.”

They shared another look.

“Necessary,” she admitted. “It was time to trust myself to be who and what I truly want to be. Right?”

Those were the words he had given to her that night they’d ended their relationship. She could tell he caught the reference instantly.

“I only wanted the best for you,” he explained.

Ngozi leaned forward to grasp his hand atop the table. “No, I’m not throwing shade. I needed to learn to want the best for me, too,” she said.

He looked down at their hands clasped together and stroked her thumb with his.

Ngozi shivered, feeling a rush she could only guess was like an addict getting their first hit of drugs after a long break of sobriety. Not wanting to stir up the desire for him for which she was still in recovery, Ngozi gently withdrew her hand.

Chance instantly felt the loss of her touch. He looked down at his empty hand for a few beats before closing it into a fist.

He hadn’t expected to run into Ngozi today. Even with sharing godparent duties for baby Aliyah and each of their best friends being married to each other, they hadn’t crossed paths. When she walked into the bakery, he’d watched her, but he wasn’t even sure he wanted to make his presence known to her. They had moved on from each other. Survived the breakup.

He was so intent on letting her go about her day that he never let Alek, who had his back to the door, know that she was there. But he never lost sight of her. Never took his attention off her. He couldn’t deny that he was pleased to see her again. And the jealousy sparked by Bill the Surfing Dude flirting with her could not be denied.

And when she reached for the door handle to leave, he had to stop her.

Now she pulled away from his touch.

“I saw they did a news story on your pro bono work,” he offered, shifting away from sensitive subjects.

Ngozi nodded. “Recently, I’ve been doing more of that, but I think it’s necessary. Not everyone is as privileged as we are to afford proper legal representation.”

“People forget I grew up in the hood, but I have never forgotten, and I remember young dudes getting locked up for small crimes but staying in jail for months or longer because no one could afford bail or owned property to put up as collateral,” he said.

“Maybe you could donate to help the underserved with that issue,” Ngozi offered, tearing the label off the water bottle. “I’m thinking of setting up a nonprofit to do just that.”

Nervous?

The thought that he still affected her made him anxious.

“Yes, or you could refer such cases to Second Chances, the nonprofit I’ve already set up to do that,” he said, remembering all of her urgings for him to give back more with his wealth.

Remember, to whom much is given, much is required, Chance. God didn’t bless you so that you can buy thousand-dollar burgers and million-dollar cars.

She looked taken aback. He gave her a wide smile, enjoying it. “Growth,” he pointed out.

“Right,” she agreed. “I will definitely send some referrals your way. Maybe I could talk to the partners about making an annual donation. It would be a good look for the firm.”

Chance looked around the busy little pastry shop to avoid getting lost in her deep eyes. “So, we’re teaming up?” he asked.

“For a noble cause? Definitely,” she said without hesitation.

His heart hammered, and he could hardly believe that this woman still had the power to weaken him at the knees. “And more?” he asked.

Now, that caused her to noticeably pause.

“You know what, forget it,” he said, shifting in his seat as he took a sip of the cup of Brazilian coffee he’d purchased. “You may have met someone.”

“I haven’t.”

He cut his eyes up at her over the rim of his black cup.

She didn’t look away.

Chance set the cup down as he wrestled with the myriad feelings now swirling inside him, creating their own little storm.

“Have you?” she asked, her voice soft.

He shook his head. “How could I? When I love you, Ngozi,” he confessed.

Her eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with her hand that trembled.

“I dropped the lawsuit when I realized that not having you in my life hurt far more than losing a million damn dollars on a stupid wedding I shouldn’t be having anyway because she was not the love of my life,” he said with such passion, leaning forward to take her free hand in his.

“You are, Ngozi. You are the love of my life.”

Her grip tightened around his hand.

“I have tried to forget. Tried to move on. Tried not to dream about you. Tried like hell not to miss you. And until I saw you today, I convinced myself that I succeeded, but I didn’t,” he said, licking his suddenly dry mouth as his breaths quickened. He pressed a hand to his chest over his pounding heart, patting it. “You are in here. All of it. And I don’t know what to do but love you. To have you. To fight for you. To take care of you. To make love to you. To be happier than I have ever been...with you.”

Again, she tugged her hand, freeing it of his clasp as she rose, gathered her items and strode away.

His heart ached at her denial of his love. He clenched his jaw and curled his fingers into a fist to fight the regret that filled him as he watched her walk away from him. She tossed the water bottle and the fruit cup in the trash can before walking back over.

He stiffened his spine and cleared his throat, preparing for another of their epic arguments—those he did not miss. Especially in public.

“Let’s go,” Ngozi said, extending her hand.

His confusion showed on his face. “Where?”

“To my house, to show you just how much I love you, Chance Castillo,” she said with a sassy and tiny bite of her bottom lip.

His desire stirred in an instant.

As he grabbed his keys and took her hand to follow her, he was thankful that his heated blood didn’t rush to his groin and leave him to walk out of the shop with a noticeable hard-on.

They barely made it through the front door.

Ngozi gasped as Chance pressed her body against it with his, holding her face with his hands as he kissed her with unrelenting passion that left her breathless and panting. And when he lowered his body against hers, layering her with hot kisses to her neck and the soft cleavage he revealed as he unzipped her jacket, she spread her arms and foolishly tried to grasp the wood of the door, looking for something to cling to as her hunger for him sent her reeling.

With each press of his lips or lick of his tongue against her skin—the valley of her breasts in her lace sports bra, her navel, the soft skin just above the edge of her undies—she lost a bit of sanity.

And cared not one bit.

Chance stripped her free of her clothing and her undergarments, leaving her naked and exposed to his eyes and his pleasure. And he enjoyed her long neck, rounded shoulders, long limbs, both pert breasts with large areolae surrounding her hard nipples and clean-shaven vulva with plump lips that only hinted at the pleasures it concealed.

With his hard and long erection pressing against the soft material of his pants, Chance hoisted Ngozi’s naked body against his and carried her the short distance to the stairs, laying her on the steps and then spreading her smooth thighs as he knelt between them.

“I’m sweaty,” she protested, pressing a hand to his forehead when he dipped his head above her core.

Chance looked up at her. “I don’t give a good goddamn,” he said low in his throat before brushing her hand away and dipping his head to lightly lick and then suck her warm fleshy bud.

He ached at the feel of it pulsing against his tongue, and when she cried out, arching her hips up off the steps as she shifted her hands to the back of his head, he sucked a little harder. Feeling heady from the scent and taste of her, Chance stroked inside her with his tongue.

“Chance,” she gasped, her thighs snapping closed on his shoulders as she tried to fight off the pleasure.

He shook his head, denying her, not caring if he pushed her over the brink into insanity as he pressed her legs back open and continued his passionate onslaught with a deep guttural moan.

“Please...please,” she gasped.

He raised his head, his eyes intense as he took in hers brimming with pleasure, and her mouth gaped in wonder. “Please what? Please stop or please make me come?” he asked, his words breezing across her moist flesh.

The sounds of her harsh breathing filled the air as she looked down at him. “Make me come,” she whispered. “Please.”

Chance smiled like a wolf as he lowered his head and circled her bud with his tongue before flicking the tip against the smooth flesh with rapid speed meant to tease, to titillate, to arouse and to make his woman go crashing headfirst into an explosive orgasm. He had to lock his arms around her thighs to keep her in place as she wrestled between enjoying the pleasure and being driven mad by it.

And while she was deep in the throes of her climax, he rose from her just long enough to shed his clothes and sheathe himself. To be as naked as she. To relieve his aching erection. He hungered for her and could not wait one more moment to be inside her.

Chance thrust his hard inches inside her swiftly. Deeply.

Ngozi reached out blindly and gripped the wrought iron railing of her staircase, not caring about the hard edge of the step bearing into her lower back or how each of his wild thrusts caused her buttocks to be chafed by the wood.

Chance lifted up his upper body to look down at her as he worked his hips back and forth. Each stroke caused his hardness to slide against the moist ridges of her intimacy. She was lost. To time. To place. To reason.

“Here it comes,” he whispered down to her.

She gasped as his inches got harder right as he quickened his thrusts and climaxed inside her, flinging his head back, the muscles of his body tensing as he went still and roughly cried out in pure pleasure.

Wrapping her ankles behind his strong thighs, Ngozi worked her hips in a downward motion that pulled on the length of him.

Chance swore.

Ngozi had a devilish little smile, taking over as she worked her walls and flexed her hips to send him over the edge into the same mindless pleasure he brought her. And when he gave a shriek similar to the falsetto of an opera singer and tried to back out of her, she locked him in place and continued to work every bit of his release from him.

“Please,” he begged, wincing and biting his bottom lip.

“Please what? Huh? Please stop, or please make me come some more?” she asked, her tone flirtatiously mocking in between hot little pants of her own.

“Please stop,” he pleaded.

She stopped her sex play, but with him still inside her, she sat up and pulled his face down to kiss his mouth a dozen or more times. “Don’t you ever forget that I love you, too,” she whispered against his lips, searching his eyes and seeing that all her doubts of his feelings for her had been for naught.

The next weeks for Chance and Ngozi seemed to fly by. Happiness and being in love had a way of snatching time. And they were happy. Their time apart had brought on changes both needed to be able to love someone properly.

Life was good.

Ding-dong.

Ngozi was lounging on her sofa reading through briefs. She picked up her tablet and checked the security system, frowning at the sight of Chance’s mother, Esmerelda, standing on her front doorstep.

Well, life was almost good.

She dropped the tablet and the back of her head onto the sofa as she released a heavy sigh. What could she possibly want?

Ngozi avoided Esmerelda at all costs. Although she and Chance had reconciled, they’d never discussed his mother or her clear dislike of her son’s choice for love. “Hell, I’m not the one who left him at the altar,” she muttered, rising from the sofa to pad barefoot out of the room and over to the front door.

Ding-dong.

Ngozi paused and frowned with an arched brow. “A’ight now,” she warned.

She allowed herself one final inhale and exhale of breath with a prayer for patience before opening the door with a smile that felt too wide and too false. “Hello, Ms. Diaz. How can I help you?” she said.

Esmerelda was a beautiful woman of just her late forties. Having had Chance at such a young age, she physically did not look that much older than him. She stood there in a strapless red dress with her hair in a messy topknot. Ngozi couldn’t deny that she was beautiful.

“May I come in?” she asked, looking past Ngozi’s shoulder.

“Chance isn’t here,” she immediately explained.

“Yes, I know,” Esmerelda said. “He’s at the offices for Second Chances.”

Very true. Yes, he was. Of course, she would know that. Esmerelda and Chance were very close, Ngozi knew, but she also felt they were too close. Hell, does she think anyone is good enough for him?

“So, may I come in?” Esmerelda asked again.

Ngozi nodded and stepped back, pulling the door open along with her. “Right this way,” she said, closing the door and leading her into the family room.

“That is a beautiful painting,” Esmerelda said, moving to stand in front of the fireplace and look up at the artwork Ngozi had hung there the day of the Spring Bazaar.

Three svelte women in floral print dresses with large wide-brimmed hats that covered their faces sat in a field of flowers. “It is The Gossiping Neighbors by—”

“Juan Eduardo Martinez,” Esmerelda provided, turning to offer her a smile. “I am very familiar with his work.”

“Chance introduced me to him and some other Dominican painters with the art he has at his house,” Ngozi said, crossing her arms over her chest in the strapless woven cotton jumpsuit she wore.

“Yes, I introduce him to our culture any time we are back in Cabrera,” she said with pride.

Ngozi nodded. “We flew there last weekend and it really is a beautiful city, Ms. Diaz,” she said.

Esmerelda looked around at the room, taking in the vibrant colors and artwork. “Do you mean that or are you just saying it?” she asked.

“I mean it or I wouldn’t have said it,” Ngozi said, feeling offended.

Esmerelda looked surprised by Ngozi’s push back. “I don’t know,” she said with a shrug and downturn of her ruby red lips as she dragged a finger across the edge of the wooden table.

The hell...

“Ms. Diaz, I love your son. I really do. I mean, I thought I would never be blessed with happiness after losing my husband. At first I didn’t know what I did to deserve a second chance. I actually thought I didn’t, but now I know I am just as good and decent and caring as he is. We are good for each other,” Ngozi stressed. “And if you can’t see that I make your son happy, then you just don’t want him to be happy with me or maybe anybody else. I just really wished you had been this vigilant with Helena and saved him the heartache and shame.”

Esmerelda’s eyes lit up and she rubbed her fingers together, like she was excited by Ngozi’s spunk and candor. “Hello, Ngozi Johns, it’s nice to finally meet the real you,” she said, extending her hand.

Ngozi looked down at it guardedly. “Huh?” she asked.

“I thought you were a phony blowhard like the Blonde Devil, and it’s good to see a difference in you,” she explained, her hand still offered. “I fed you the spiciest meal I have ever cooked, and you still swallowed it down to avoid angering Chance’s mother. You wouldn’t even speak up for yourself. I saw you as docile and weak. That is not the type of woman my son needs.”

Ngozi was surprised at the woman’s discernment. They’d met just once, and she saw right through the facade.

“I told him this and my Chance kept insisting that you were fiery, strong and had no problem telling him when he was wrong. I wanted to see this for myself and I didn’t...until just now,” Esmerelda said, actually offering Ngozi a smile. “I know my son. Sometimes, not all the time, but sometimes he needs to be challenged and pushed. Push him to be the best man he can be, and then my job can be done, Ngozi.”

She nodded, feeling relief as she finally took Esmerelda’s hand into her own. “I will because he does the same for me.”

“Good,” Esmerelda said, releasing her hand and turning to open her tote to remove a teal canister with delicate flowers. She handed it to Ngozi. “Recipes of my son’s favorite Dominican dishes. Learn to feed him something besides sex. Bueno?”

Ngozi took the can and laughed. “Si,” she said, holding the canister to her chest.

Esmerelda reached for her purse and headed out of the room, pausing at the entrance. “The only two secrets I want you to keep from Chance are that you have those recipes and that I was here today,” she said before turning and leaving.

Ngozi didn’t have a chance to walk her to the door.

Instead, she opened the canister and sifted through the recipe cards. They were photocopies of the originals Esmerelda obviously wasn’t ready to part with.

Feed him something besides sex.

Ngozi could only laugh.

Chance was watching television as they lounged in Ngozi’s master suite, having decided to spend the night at her home in Passion Grove instead of at his in Alpine. He glanced over at where she had been reading Colson Whitehead’s Underground Railroad. The book was lying on the lounge chair in front of the window, and she stared outside at the late summer night.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

Ngozi glanced over at him with a soft smile. “Today would have been my brother’s birthday,” she said.

Chance used the remote to turn the television off and then rolled off the bed in nothing but his sleep pants to walk over and straddle the lounge as he sat closely behind her. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and then her nape. Finally, she had shared more with him about her brother’s death and its impact on her family’s life, just as he told her about meeting his father and discovering he had three half siblings—none of which he was prepared to deal with in the manner it called for. Ngozi had made sure he knew that she wanted him to reach out and meet his siblings sooner rather than later. It was clear her longing for her deceased brother intensified her feelings on his relationship, or lack thereof, with his siblings.

“If he was here, what would you give him for his birthday?” he asked, redirecting his thoughts back to her as he leaned to the side to watch her beautiful profile.

“Oh wow, I never thought about it,” she said, looking reflective. “He used to love comic books, so I would’ve bought out a whole theater and watched Black Panther with him,” she said, nodding. “He would’ve loved that movie.”

“Or you could have just brought him over to my theater at the house,” Chance reminded her, massaging her upper arms.

“True,” she agreed. “Sometimes I forget you’re a billionaire.”

“And that’s one of the reasons I want to marry you,” he said, meaning to surprise her with his admission.

He felt her body go stiff before she turned on the lounge to face him.

“Chance,” she said.

“Ngozi,” he returned, digging into the pocket of his pants and removing the box he had placed there.

The plan had been to slip it under the pillows and propose after making love to her, but the moment seemed perfect.

“Whoo,” she exclaimed as she caught sight of the large diamond solitaire atop a band of diamonds.

“Are you saying yes?” he asked, feeling so much love for her and no fear of laying his heart on the line once again.

“Are you asking me?” she said gently with a pointed look at the floor.

“Right,” he agreed, chuckling as he rose from the seat to lower his body to one knee and take her hand in his.

“Marry me, Ngozi, and love me just the way I need you to, and I promise to love and to cherish you just as you need to be loved and cherished. I want nothing more than to create a family with you. To love and be tempted by you for the rest of my life,” he said earnestly, hiding none of his love for her.

Ngozi nodded. “I will love you forever and always, Chance Castillo,” she swore as he slid the hefty ring onto her finger.

“Mi tentacion,” he whispered to her as he rose and pulled her body up against his and kissed her with enough love and passion to last a lifetime.