Page 25 of In Another Time

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my mind racing. What if I hadn’t pushed him away? What if I’d let myself feel more? What if I hadn’t been so damn stubborn about staying in control?

A honk from the car behind me snapped me out of my daze. I wiped my hands on another tissue, trying to compose myself as I pulled back into traffic. But the image of that wedding invitation stayed with me, etched into my mind like a cruel reminder of what I had lost—or what I had never allowed myself to have.

I whispered under my breath, “What the hell are you doing, Lennox?”

The words hung in the air as I drove toward the office, but for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I had all the answers.

OMIR

It was midday, and the lunch rush had just settled. The jazz tunes playing softly in the background gave the place the kind of vibe I’d always envisioned—warm, inviting, and steeped in culture. I glanced at my watch, running a mental checklist of the day’s tasks. Between this place and the club, there was always something that needed my attention.

The double doors to the kitchen swung open, and Kurt, my head chef, emerged, wiping his hands on a towel. “Yo, boss, we’re running low on the bourbon glaze for the ribs. You want me to adjust the recipe, or should I send someone to grab more?”

“Stick with the original,” I replied, crossing my arms. “We’re building a reputation on consistency. I’ll make sure we have everything restocked by tomorrow. Anything else?”

He shook his head. “Nah, just keeping you in the loop.”

“Appreciate it, man,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder before he disappeared back into the kitchen.

I exhaled, letting my gaze sweep over the restaurant. It had been open for just under a month, and already it was a neighborhood staple. Families came for the food, tourists came for the history, and everyone left with a smile. The soul food joint complemented the jazz club perfectly, a one-two punch of culture and community.

But no matter how much success I had, there was always that nagging feeling in the back of my mind. I tried to shake it off, focusing instead on the here and now. I had a good thing going—a thriving business, a woman who adored me, and a life that, by all accounts, should’ve felt complete.

Just as I was about to head back to my office, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, smiling at Anya’s name flashing on the screen. “Hey, baby,” I answered, stepping into a quieter corner.

“Hey yourself,” Anya’s melodic voice came through. “Just checking in. Did you confirm the reservation for the final cake tasting next weekend? Time is ticking.”

“Yeah, it’s all set,” I assured her. “Everything’s gonna be perfect.”

“Good. You know how much this means to me.”

“I do,” I said softly. “You’ve been planning this day since you were a little girl, right?”

She laughed. “Something like that. But it’s not just about me. It’s about us.”

“Exactly,” I said, leaning against the wall. “And you know I got you. Anything you need.”

“You’re the best,” she said, her voice warm. “I’ll let you get back to work. Love you.”

“Love you too,” I replied before hanging up. I stared at the phone for a moment, the smile lingering on my face. Ourwedding was just a month away. Still, there was that damn nagging feeling again, like an itch I couldn’t quite scratch.

Later that evening, I made my way to my father’s house. After the passing of my mother a few years back, Pops refused to pack up and move, saying the house held too many memories. The smell of fried chicken hit me the second I walked through the door. Pops was already parked in his recliner, a beer in hand and the game blaring on the TV.

“Omir Rashad, you’re late,” he said without looking up.

“I’m five minutes early,” I shot back, grinning as I leaned down to give him a hug.

“Fifteen minutes late in my book,” he retorted, motioning for me to grab a seat.

I settled into the couch, grabbing a beer from the cooler beside him. We sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the game and shouting at the screen when our team missed an easy play.

“You’ve been busy,” Pops said during a commercial break, glancing at me.

“Always,” I said with a shrug. “Businesses don’t run themselves.”

“And you’ve got that wedding coming up too,” he added, taking a sip of his beer.

“Yeah, that too.”

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