Page 81 of Heavy Is The Crown

“Well,” she finally said, gesturing toward the house, “y’all standing outside like strangers when we got food on the table. Y’all come on in too.”

As they moved toward the backyard, Kenyatta leaned in slightly toward Krys. “She ain’t give me the side-eye or nothing,” he murmured lowly.

Krys smiled, sipping her drink. “That means she likes you.”

Kenyatta let out a low chuckle. “Yeah? That all it take?”

Krys glanced at him, her eyes holding something else. “Nah,” she murmured. “That means she sees you.”

Kenyatta processed that as they stepped into the kitchen, where plates were already being made for them.

An older auntie planted a plate in front of Kenyatta. “You eat yet?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Well, sit down, baby. We eat in this house.”

Krys laughed, shaking her head. “They about to feed you to death.”

Kenyatta joked, “Long as it ain’t poisoned.”

“Please,” Krys scoffed. “They wouldn’t waste a good plate on you if they didn’t already like you.”

Kenyatta arched a brow. “Oh yeah?”

Krys reached for a bottled water. “Mmhmm.”

He leaned in slightly. “So that mean you like me too?”

Krys’ stomach flipped. Her eyes flickered up to his, the energy brewing; hard to tell when he was playing it up for the crowd or if he was being genuine.

Kenyatta grinned.

Krys took another sip, looking away. “Don’t start that shit.”

Chapter 20

The house was buzzing with energy, laughter, music, the lingering aroma of barbecue still floating through the air as the night rolled in. Plates were emptied, drinks were poured, and now it was time for games.

Ray, being the instigator she was, had riled everybody up, insisting on a game of Charades, because according to her:

“Ain’t no real Black function complete without folks ackin’ a fool.”

The group gathered in the living room, some sitting on the sectional, others posted up against the walls or lounging on the floor. Aunts, uncles, cousins, and of course, the kids—including Kaliyah and Mia, who had been inseparable since they got there.

Krys sat on the couch, legs crossed, wine in hand, watching the madness unfold with pure amusement. Kenyatta was posted beside her, arms relaxed across the back of the couch, close enough that his warmth was noticeable but not quite touching her.

Yet.

Ray, as the undisputed host and lead family event planner, stood in the center of the room, waving a stack of index cards.

“A’ight, listen up! We gon’ do this right. Teams of two, and no cheating ‘cause I already know how y’all get!”

Krys teased, raising a brow. “Is that a preemptive call-out, Ray?”

Ray pointed at her, eyes narrowing. “You damn right! ‘Cause you be cheating your ass off.”

“I don’t cheat,” Krys said smoothly, sipping her wine. “I just win efficiently.”

---