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It was a boisterous laugh.

One full of love.

The more I heard it, the more I remembered it from my memories.

You couldn’t forget a laugh like that.

Black Adkins, my father, seemed larger than life. And when he laughed, I felt it deep in my soul.

“You have time,” he murmured. “I’ll pay for college. Whatever you want to do.”

I remembered what he said about searching for me. About how much of his retirement he’d spent.

And I felt a pang of sadness.

One day, I’d make up for what my mother did to him. One day, he’d feel like those eleven years never happened. I’d find a way, I would.

Twenty-Nine

I don’t want people wondering if I’m a bitch. I want it crystal clear. Without a doubt.

—Jessamy to Black

Jessamy

Something happened after that day that Black claimed me in public.

All of a sudden, when I walked into a store, people didn’t look at me like I was unwelcome.

They did, however, look at me like I was a new puzzle that they wanted to solve.

“Hey!”

I jumped, turning around to look at the woman behind me.

“H-Hi.”

“I’m Mable.” She offered me her hand. “That’s my pastry that you’re eating.”

I blinked and looked down at the powdered sugar monstrosity that tasted like heaven. “It is?”

She nodded.

“I love it,” I admitted. “Is this your farmer’s market stand?”

“Yep,” she said. “I went into catering not too long ago. Now I do all kinds of meals for everyone. Pastries and cookies are my farmer’s market thing. I know that it’s cold and all, but I’m so glad that the city started to host these, rain, snow or shine. It makes me happy to see people eating my food.”

“It’s amazing,” I said.

Her eyes were soft when she said, “So you and Black.”

“Mable,” a deep male voice said from behind her.

I turned and looked up. And up. And up.

He was tall.

He was also named Romeo, and he had gorgeous eyes.