Page 70 of A Smooth Operator

"Procreate? You scientists talk funny."

"Remi," she yelled. "We haven't even dated properly, and you're weaving—"

"Wedding plans?"

I leaned back on the blanket and laid down. I opened my arms. "Come here, Doll."

"You're out of your mind," she snarled.

"I need some sugar, darlin'."

The look she gave me would've scared a lesser man. It only shrunk my balls by half.

"I love you, Echo. I'm fighting to keep you in my life for you to see me as a good man who is worthy of you. I'm baring my soul for you here, Doll; give me the fuckin' time of day, will ya?"

It took a good minute of her breathing hard, but ultimately, the universe threw me a bone, and she relented.

I held her again, and this time, when we talked, I felt some of the old barriers melt away.

We stopped talking about the serious stuff and shifted to our work lives—the funny things that happened to both of us. Echo laughed more frequently, her gaze lingered longer, and in those shared glances, I felt a connection rekindling, something I had feared was lost to us.

When the sun began its descent, casting long shadows over the grass, Echo leaned her head against my shoulder. "I missed this; missed when we used to sit on my porch swing," she murmured.

"I did, too," I confessed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Let's not ever stop doing this."

"I need time," she pleaded, her hand finding mine under the blanket, our fingers intertwining naturally.

"Take all the time you want; as long as you let me hold you through it, I won't be an ass about it."

"Okay," she whispered and burrowed into me.

We watched the sunset in silence; the sky painted with strokes of pink and orange, the day closing on a moment of simple joy and newfound promises. In the dwindling light, I felt hopeful, the kind of hope that feels like the first warm day after a long winter, promising new beginnings just on the horizon.

Chapter 26

Echo

"Who cares what Sierra thinks? If she doesn't behave, Remi needs to set her straight. You're not in a relationship with Remi's mama," Teresa told me.

Since she'd convinced me to stay at GeneVerse, Teresa had become my mentor. She was one of the few people in my life who I trusted with my truth. I had told her about Remi—how our relationship had started, ended, and was now starting again.

I had told Remi that I would come to his parent's place for Thanksgiving, but a part of me was set on bailing at the last minute. He knew that and told me so explicitly. He wasn't planning to let me get away with it.

"You try to bail, I'm gonna hogtie you and haul you to my parents' place."

Teresa was a big wine lover and, according to Dallas, knew enough to work in a restaurant as a sommelier. Since I didn't know a whole hell of a lot about wine, when she and I met for our mentoring sessions, we did so at wine bars.

This time, we were at Knifebird. It was an intimate bar, an elegant blend of modern and rustic. Dim lighting softened the contemporary furniture, with shadows playing off exposed brick walls. It was the kind of place where you could lose track of time over a glass of fine wine, nestled in the midtown neighborhood, a local favorite for its relaxed yet sophisticated vibe.

Teresa and I had settled into a cozy corner with plush velvet chairs that enveloped us comfortably. The small, round table between us was cluttered with a plate of assorted cheeses and our wine glasses, refilled periodically by a discreet waiter who seemed to appear exactly when needed.

We were drinking a bold, aromatic syrah—a recommendation from Teresa, who appreciated a wine with character and depth. It felt fortifying, somehow appropriate for the pep talk I was receiving.

"Echo, listen to me," Teresa continued, her voice firm yet encouraging. "You've got to stand your ground. Remi's family dynamics are not your responsibility. Your only job is to be yourself and support Remi; his job is to be true to himself and be there with and for you."

I swirled the wine in my glass, watching it cling to the sides. "I know, but it's hard. Sierra has always seen me as the poor dirty girl with the crack whore mother from the wrong side of the tracks."

Teresa reached over and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. " That has nothing to do with you. That was your family, your mother. You, Echo, are a brilliant scientist, someone Remi wants to be with. You have accepted him, flaws and all. You've earned your place at any table—not because of the Drakes, but because of who you are."

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