Page 22 of In Another Time

“What are you doing here?” Omir asked casually, leaning against the doorframe.

I glared at him, my emotions bubbling dangerously close to the surface. “Seriously?”

“What?” he asked, his tone indifferent.

“You’re really going to stand there like you didn’t just walk another woman out of your house?” I snapped.

Omir’s expression didn’t waver. “What the hell did you expect, Lennox? You made it clear where we stood.”

My breath hitched, his words slicing through me. “Are you kidding me right now?”

He shrugged, folding his arms over his chest. “You said it was just sex. That you didn’t want anything serious. So I’m living my life. Or does that shit only apply to you?”

“I’m not. . .” I clenched my fists, struggling to find the words. “I didn’t think?—”

“You didn’t think what?” he interrupted, his voice calm but sharp. “That I would do me? That I’d take you at your word?”

Tears stung the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “You’re unbelievable,” I hissed.

“No, Lennox,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re selfish as fuck. You show up here out of nowhere, and for what? To see if I’m still waiting around for your ass? Newsflash—I’m not.”

The words hit me like a slap, but I straightened my spine, refusing to crumble. “You know what?” I said, my voice trembling with anger. “It doesn’t even matter. I came to tell you I’m moving to Chicago anyway. I got a promotion, and I’m taking it.”

Omir’s expression remained infuriatingly blank. “Congrats,” he said flatly.

I stared at him, my heart breaking even as fury surged through me. “You can forget any of this ever happened,” I spat.

“Already done,” he replied, his tone devoid of emotion as he stepped back, closing the door.

I turned on my heel, storming down the steps and back to my car. My hands shook as I fumbled with the keys, my vision blurring as tears threatened to spill. As I slid into the driver’s seat, I allowed one tear to fall, but only one. I didn’t have time for heartbreak. Not now. Not ever.

With a deep breath, I started the engine and drove off, leaving Omir and everything we could’ve been in the rearview mirror.

ONE YEAR LATER

OMIR

The oversized scissors felt heavier than I expected, but the weight of the moment made up for it. Standing outside the entrance of my new southern cuisine restaurant,Notes of Soul, I looked out at the crowd gathered before me—friends, family, city officials, and curious people who’d come to celebrate the grand opening.

The air smelled like promise, smoked turkey collards, and honey-glazed cornbread. I inhaled deeply, my chest swelling with pride as I cut the crimson ribbon stretched across the front doors. The cheers and applause that followed were thunderous, filling the street with excitement.

I handed the scissors off to one of my staff, shaking hands and offering nods of gratitude to everyone who had supportedme in getting here.Notes of Soulwasn’t just a restaurant; it was a dream come to life. A space dedicated to great food, the history of jazz, and the soul of our culture.

This past year had been a whirlwind. Between managing the jazz club, securing funding, and obsessing over every detail of the restaurant, I’d grown in ways I didn’t think were possible. I was no longer the man I was a year ago—searching, unsure, and tangled in emotions I couldn’t control.

The jazz club was thriving, hosting artists from across the country. And now, this restaurant—my second dream—was finally a reality. Every late night, every setback, and every doubt had been worth it.

“Omir.”

I turned at the sound of her voice and saw Anya walking toward me, her caramel skin glowing in the late afternoon sunlight. She was stunning, as always, in a white mink coat and soft blue dress that hugged her curves perfectly. Her smile was radiant as she leaned in and kissed my cheek.

“There are some people I want you to meet, babe,” she said, sliding her arm through mine.

“Of course,” I said, allowing her to guide me through the crowd.

As we moved, I couldn’t help but think about how much had happened in a year. Anya and I were still rocking. She was beautiful and understanding. She came from money and didn’t need mine, but I loved providing. Our connection had grown naturally from that night at my club. Now, she was my fiancée, and our wedding was only six weeks away.

I glanced down at her as she spoke with a city official, her voice smooth and confident. She carried herself with grace, and I admired how she fit into this world I was building.

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