Page 77 of The Spark

Behind the counter, Reggie glanced up, saw us—then beamed.

"Well, well, well. Look what the wind blew in."

"Hey, Mr. Reggie," I said, stepping forward.

He pulled me into a hug, his grip warm and firm, before stepping back to look me over.

"You’re glowing, sweetheart." His eyes dropped to my belly, pure joy crinkling his features. "And this little one right here… she’s already got good taste, huh?"

Amir chuckled, standing behind me, his hands resting lightly on my hips.

"You know she’s gonna have the best ears in the game," he said.

Reggie gave a knowing chuckle before nodding toward the stacks.

"Go on, y’all. Pick something out. I got a feeling I already know how this is gonna end."

We wandered through the aisles, fingers grazing old records, the warmth of Amir’s body never straying far from mine.

"We need to start early with her music education," he said, pulling a J Dilla vinyl off the shelf. "This? Essential."

I squinted. "You think a newborn is gonna appreciate J Dilla?"

"I think it’ll wire her brain the right way."

I rolled my eyes, flipping through my own stack before pulling out a Donny Hathaway album.

"This is what she needs," I countered, waving it at him.

"Oh, so we just skipping hip-hop altogether?"

"Not skipping. Just… prioritizing the soul."

He snorted, shaking his head, but I caught the fondness in his eyes.

We stood there, grinning, debating, falling into the same rhythm we always had.

"You know what?" Amir muttered, stepping closer, pulling me into him. "We should just let her decide when she gets here."

I lifted a brow. "And how’s she gonna do that?"

"Easy." His fingers tilted my chin, his mouth hovering over mine. "She’ll kick for what she likes."

I was about to roll my eyes when?—

A soft flutter beneath his palm.

We both froze. Then looked at each other and in that moment I knew that the baby liked us… the baby liked the love that created him or her. Amir knew it too.

I didn’t have time to think before he was pressing into me. His lips crashing onto mine, slow and deep, stealing my breath, and my entire world.

His hands held me close, firm, certain, fingers splayed over the curve of my belly and I melted into him, into us, into this life we built.

Somewhere behind us, I dimly heard the click of a record being placed on the turntable.

Then a familiar voice floated through the speakers—"Would you dance with me? Take a chance with me?"

Minnie Riperton’s“Lover and Friend.”

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