Page 22 of You Deserve Good Things

Time? That shit stopped like God hit pause on the whole world just so I could see her clearly.

She froze. Her fingers tightened around the book she was holding, and I saw it, the flicker of recognition. There was a storm brewing behind her eyes. The way her chest rose up and down methodically as if she forgot how to breathe.

Her lips parted, just barely. I waited for the sound. For my name to come out her mouth. But she snapped it shut and turned.

Like she could just walk away again.

Nah.

I moved before she took a second step. Reached out and wrapped my fingers around her wrist—gently, like I remembered how she didn’t like to be startled. Like I still knew her body better than she did.

“Don’t you dare,” I said, low, just above a whisper.

Her breath caught. She didn’t pull away. Didn’t turn, either. But that pause in her steps? That was enough for me to slide in. I stepped closer. Her back was still to me, the heat of her skin radiating into my chest like a flame I’d never stopped craving.

“You really gon’ act like you don’t see me, Yaya?”

That name hit her. I saw the shudder roll down her spine.

She turned.

And when our eyes met? My whole damn world stitched itself back together like I’d been cracked down the middle and only she had the thread to sew me back up.

She looked different. Grown. Fuller. Like life had kissed her and cut her in equal measure. But she was still mine. Still her. Still the girl who used to hum under her breath when she was nervous. Still the girl who used to doodle hearts in her notebook when she thought nobody was watching.

“Jacory . . .” she muttered breathlessly.

I closed my eyes.

That voice. That voice was the sound of safety and storms. If Heaven had an accent, it would sound like her whispering my name.

I opened my eyes, stepping in like I belonged in her space. ’Cause I did.

“It’s really you.”

She looked like she didn’t know what to say. Hell, she looked like she didn’t know how to be here with me again. And I got it. I really did. But I needed her to understand—this was no accident.

“You look . . .” she started then trailed off.

I caught her hand, slid my fingers through hers like I was reclaiming territory.

“You ain’t even gotta say it, baby. I already know.”

She blinked. “Know what?”

“That you missed me.”

She scoffed, tried to roll her eyes. “You’re still cocky as hell.”

“Yeah.” I smirked. “And you still in love with me, though.”

Her fingers tensed. Her lips parted again. And that silence? That was a confession.

She tried to pull back. “Jacory, we shouldn’t?—”

“Nah.” I shook my head. “You don’t get to do that. Not again.”

She looked like she wanted to bolt. Her heart was racing, and her fear was screaming, but I wasn’t allowing her to run.

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