Page 179 of Invisible Bars
Imanio smirked. “Let me and the people be the judge of that. I’ll put you down for it, but Naji… if you mess that up, we calling yo’ grandma’s ghost for an intervention. She gon’ show up in a cloud of cornbread dust, talkin’ ‘bout, ‘Not my recipe!’”
I laughed so hard I hiccupped, a quick tic jolting my shoulder. “Y-You’re silly,” I muttered, wiping a tear.
“I’m serious about that mac and cheese, Naji. Don’t play with us.”
We shared a laugh. Then he got serious.
“Aight. I know you gotta go. Shid, I do too. Your driver is here waiting in the car,” he informed me. “Hold up.”
Imanio pulled out his phone and tapped a contact.
“Yo,” he said into the receiver, “Come to the door. She’s ready,” then hung up without another word.
A few moments later, a tall man with dark brown skin, faded waves, and a calm but alert demeanor came walking up to theporch. He wore a sleek black jacket, black jeans, and a holster that he didn’t even try to hide.
“This is Reese,” Imanio introduced. “He’ll be taking you to and from work from now on.”
“Morning, ma’am,” Reese greeted, nodding politely.
My nerves twitched before my mouth could catch up.
“W-Who the hell is this oatmeal-colored tax refund lookin’ muthaf—ah! Sorry!”
Imanio stepped between us, his hand gently but firmly settling at the small of my back like he was re-centering me.
“I forgot to mention that she has Tourette’s,” he told Reese calmly. “Strangers make her a bit nervous. So don’t take anything personal.”
Reese raised a brow, then nodded. “Understood, boss.”
“You ain’t gotta speak unless she asks you something,” Imanio added. “She gets overstimulated easily—too much noise or energy can trigger her tics. So no loud talking. No sudden moves. Don’t slam the doors. Don’t blast the music. Don’t try to crack jokes. Your job is to keep her comfortable and get her there and bring her back home safely. That’s it. If she so much as looks uncomfortable when she returns, I’m holdingyouaccountable.”
Reese’s face didn’t move. “Got it, boss.”
Imanio gave him one final look. A silent warning passed between them.
“Let’s go,” he said to me.
Imanio walked me to the car, hand still pressed to my back, like I was glass he didn't trust the world to hold.
When we got to the passenger side, he opened the door for me. I started to step in, but he stopped me with a gentle touch under my chin.
“Make sure you call me on your break, text me throughout the dayandwhen you get off. I don’t want to wonder.”
His eyes dropped to my hand—the new iPhone sitting pretty in my palm.
Imanio didn’t just reactivate my old one or slap a SIM card into the past. He gave me something new, clean, fast and secure. And in a weird way, I knew that was his love language. He didn’t give me what I had… he gave me what Ideserved.
“I will,” I assured, meeting his eyes.
“I mean it, Naji. You go quiet on me, I’m pulling up.”
Another tic slipped out. “I-iMessage or inter—shit!—intervention, ha! Haaa, text yo’ mama!”
“Yeah, what you said. Now go have a good day, beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I expressed softly. “For everything.”
He brushed his thumb along my cheekbone, then leaned in and kissed me. It was deep, but not greedy or rushed. It told me everything without saying anything at all. Imanio was so caring. He showed me affection without allowing my tics to kill the moment.
