Page 139 of Fixing to Be Mine

“You look tired, honey,” she says, brushing Stormy’s hair back, like she used to do with Kinsley when she came home from college. “But good. Real good.”

Stormy nods, lips parting like she might thank her, but Mama just waves it off before the words come.

“Now all of you go in. Don’t want the food to get cold.”

Mama didn’t want too much attention on the moment.

Inside, the kitchen smells like roasted chicken, biscuits, and something sweet. The house is loud—voices layered over music, silverware clinking, Harrison laughing too hard in the living room with Vera and Sterling.

“Come on, y’all,” Dad says and lets out a whistle.

My brothers and sisters and their partners rush into the dining room.

Every seat’s full, except for the ones waiting for us. Stormy sits first, and I move beside her. Our hands clasp under the table. I give her a smile, and goose bumps trail across my skin. I want to get lost with her.

“Stormy, baby, welcome home,” Mama says, using her real name. Cheers and laughter follow, and everyone is just as happy as me that she’s here. That she’s staying. “You’re a Valentine now.”

Stormy smiles, but I don’t miss the way she blinks a few extra times, like she’s holding back something bigger than a thank-you. Gratitude. Relief. Maybe even peace.

Dinner’s a blur of overlapping stories and half-finished jokes while being full of stolen glances. My older brothers argue about preseason football. My sisters trade gossip. Dad throws in the occasional one-liner that makes Mama swat him on the arm.

No one asks about New York. No one brings up headlines or drama. They talk to her like she’s one of us because she is.

Vera leans over at one point and whispers, “When are you proposing?”

I give her a smile. “Soon.”

After dessert, people drift into the living room or outside onto the porch. The house stays full, warm, and buzzing. But for a second, Stormy and I are alone in the kitchen, standing by the sink with dirty plates in soapy water.

“Sorry about the dishes,” I say, nodding toward the sink. “You know the rule. Unfortunately, no passes.”

She leans against the counter, facing me. I move forward, pressing my lips against hers, and we get lost in the moment.

“You taste good,” I whisper. “Like ice cream and cherry pie.”

She looks up at me, her voice just a breath above a whisper. “I didn’t think I’d ever have this.”

“But you do,” I say. “And to think, we’re just gettin’ started, darlin’.”

She steals another kiss, and it takes every ounce of strength I have to pull away.

“Let’s hurry so we can get the fuck outta here. I want real dessert.”

“God, yes,” she says, biting her bottom lip.

I lean forward and pluck it into my mouth, slightly sucking on it. She sighs against me, and then we pick up our pace. I wash, and Stormy rinses, then places the plates in the dishwasher.

Since she stormed into my life, I realize we’re not figuring out if we belong to each other anymore.

We already do.

And, hell, we’re building something damn near unbreakable.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

STORMY

TWO WEEKS LATER

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