My eyes water as I picture him in Roman’s kitchen all those years ago. “Yeah, sorry, m-m-my phone died, and I don’t like driving home in the dark without it charged up, just in case. I mean, there’s a charger in my Audi, but I’m used to driving D-d-the Camaro.”
He frowns as I stumble through my excuse, my heart pounding as the elation I felt weeks ago from seeing him in that parking lot comes flooding back in. He studies me, looking completely relaxed, an untouched drink on the counter next to him. He walks over to where I stand and takes the purse from my shoulder, tossing it onto the counter before stepping closer and turning me in his arms to untie my apron.
“Wait,” I say, pulling a bulging jack-o-lantern bag of candy from my apron, my cheeks flushing when I turn and thrust it at him. “Happy Halloween.”
He gazes down at it, and his lips lift. “Thank you.”
“It’s silly, I know.”
“Not silly.” He nods over his shoulder, a sheepish smile playing on his own lips as I look over to the kitchen table full of…everything imaginable, most notably two pumpkins ripe for carving.
“You want to do Halloween with me?”
He nods emphatically, turning back to me, a frown in place when he sees the tears in my eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“I love you,” I blurt out. “I’m sorry I’ve made this so hard on you.”
He searches my eyes. “No, Trésor, I deserv—”
“To be happy. We both do.”
He cups my face in his hands, relief in his eyes as I throw my arms around him and kiss him. He groans in surprise as I amplify the kiss, showing him just how hungry I am, and he tilts my head, diving deep as we stand in the middle of my kitchen and explore, a low moan leaving my throat as he gives in and grips the back of my shirt while pulling me tightly to his chest. He closes our kiss before I’m ready and turns me in the direction of my bedroom. “Go shower. We’ve much to do and a chess game to start. Hurry up.”
Taking his cue with a light slap on the ass and a little bounce in my heels, I walk through the living room to see he’s cleaned the house spotless and vacuumed. There’s not a thing out of place. The fire warms me as I walk by, the ambiance relaxing me further as I pause at the door of the bedroom to see that my desk has been cleared of clutter, the books shelved and organized. On top of my desk lays a leather-bound journal with freshly written script and a pen sitting next to it.
Cher Journal,
I met my grandfather, Abijah’s dad, when I was twenty-one at a park in Paris. He sent me an invite to join him at his table by way of messenger. He’d been watching over me for the years I’d been in Paris, something I took great comfort in after the fact. Before we met, I spent years searching for my mother’s relatives to help me and got the door slammed in my face due to being Abijah’s son. This was not the case with Abel.
My grandfather never once treated me as anything other than his beloved grandson. And he never once begrudged me for my mother’s abandonment of Abijah, either. After our initial meeting, he spent every Saturday with me for months, teaching me the game he held most dear to him while relaying to me everything he knew about life and the strategy of chess. I’ve always been a believer in the saying ‘listen to your elders,’ and though he fit the criteria, he was far wiser than any other man I’ve encountered before and after I met him, with one exception—my brother.
With Abel, I felt a kinship close to that of my bond with Beau, and maybe a little bit more so, due to the blood relation.
I’ve always felt guilty about that.
But after years of living mostly in solitude in the city, I had someone, a friend by way of family.
He was an odd man and laughed about things I often didn’t understand at times without him explaining them. He lived on a diet of French bread, cheese, apples, and the strongest coffee imaginable and often demanded I bring all before playing our game.