Page 73 of The Spark

“Somebody’s about to get cussed the fuck out.”

She giggled, but I saw the glow of her skin, the way she still wanted me and that made my body fill with anticipation.

“Go. See who it is.”

I sighed, grabbing my boxers and pulling them on. I kissed her one last time before rolling out of bed, shaking my head as I made my way to the door.

When I opened it, my irritation vanished and I exhaled hard.

Mrs. Beverly Jameson and my damn mama. Both of them standing there, smiling like they had just won the lottery.

“Morning, baby.” My mother breezed past me, like she owned the place.

Mrs. Jameson did the same, smirking.

“Took you long enough to answer.”

I ran a hand down my face, trying to keep my expression neutral.

“What the hell are y’all doing here?” I couldn’t pretend to be respectful when my dick was still pulsing.

Beverly and my mother exchanged a knowing look.

And then?—

Amaya walked out.

Half-dressed. Eyes wide. Hair wild. Lips swollen.

“Mom?”

Mrs. Jameson smiled. “Morning, sweetheart.”

Amaya groaned, grabbing the closest thing—a blanket—and wrapping it around herself. My mother just chuckled, unbothered as hell.

“Y’all go on and freshen up. Together or separately. We’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Amaya and I just stared at them, humming made up songs and carrying on, and we looked at each other. Then back at them. They were serious.

I sighed, dragging a hand over my beard, shaking my head as Amaya grabbed my arm, pulling me back toward the bedroom and I swear I heard my mother laugh.

Matchmakers.

By the time we showered and got dressed, we found our mothers in the kitchen cooking dinner like they owned the place. And for once, I didn’t mind.

Amaya looked up at me, her eyes softer now, lighter and for the first time in weeks, there was no distance between us. And as I pulled her closer, kissing her temple, I knew—this was the start of something real.

Something forever.

33

Isat in the studio, stylus in hand, tablet glowing, working on my next big project while Amir was deep in his session. The air was rich with the scent of burnt vanilla and leather—a mix of my perfume and his cologne that had permanently settled in our shared spaces.

It had been months since everything changed between us. Months since he showed up at my showcase and we stopped pretending there was any other choice but each other.

Life had shifted in the best way.

The Raj album cover had done exactly what my agent predicted—it put my name in rooms I never imagined. Offers rolled in. Magazine covers, merchandise commissions, even concept art for a major Black-owned animation studio.

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