22. Derek’s Destiny

EDEN

“Who you making that plate for? And dressed like that?” Mama’s voice cut through the kitchen, sharp as a knife, as I carefully wrapped the plate in foil, tucking the edges down to keep the food warm. She was leaning against the counter, arms folded, watching me like a hawk with that look in her eye—the one that always made me feel like I was fifteen again and sneaking out past curfew.

“Nobody, Mama. Just Hakeem.” I tried to sound casual, like my heart wasn’t racing, like I wasn’t thinking about him since he and the guys dropped me off at home a few hours ago.

“Hakeem?” She arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued as she shifted closer, the scent of her jasmine perfume mixing with the lingering smell of fried chicken and collard greens. “Who’s that?”

I felt her eyes boring into me, reading between every line I didn’t want to say out loud. “He’s, um... Derek’s assistant or something. I don’t know.” I shrugged, trying to play it off like it was no big deal, even though my pulse was thrumming in my ears. “Derek and Destiny are out of town, and I just—I can’t let him starve. He’s house sitting for Destiny.”

She tilted her head, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh, so he can’t feed himself? There’s not a single diner in this city where he can get a meal?”

I rolled my eyes, a half-smile breaking through despite myself. “Mama, it’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh.” She laughed, that deep, warm sound that was all honey and side-eye. “You sure are dressed in some mighty short shorts for it to be ‘nothing like that.’”

I looked down at my outfit—my shorts were casual but hugged my curves just right, my hair freshly done, gloss slick on my lips. I bit the inside of my cheek, suddenly feeling exposed. I wanted to say something smart, but all I could do was tighten the foil around the plate, making sure every corner was secure, like it was more than just food I was wrapping up.

My cheeks burned, but I kept my eyes on the plate, refusing to give her the satisfaction of catching the flicker of nerves in my eyes. “I’m just being nice, that’s all. Hakeem’s been looking out for me all day with all this Jubilee stuff, and it’s the least I can do.”

Mama didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched me with that knowing smile, like she could see straight through the cracks I was trying to cover up. Finally, she pushed off the counter, her laughter soft but lingering in the air. “Well, just make sure he knows this is a one-time thing. You ain’t nobody’s personal chef.”

I nodded, forcing a smile, but inside I was already thinking about Hakeem’s smile. And as I finished securing his plate, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, I was hoping for more than just a thank you.

I didn’t know if I was imagining things, but I was damn sure there were sparks between us back at the office when I laid everything out in front of him. The way Hakeem held my hand, his grip firm but tender, like he was holding something precious. The way his eyes lingered on mine, softer than I ever thought a man like him could be, like he was seeing straight through me, past the walls I kept so carefully guarded.

And when he threatened Arnold and Johnathon, his voice low and dangerous, making promises I knew he’d keep—I’d be lying if I said it didn’t do something to me. It sent a heat rolling through me, curling in my belly, a slow burn that was impossible to ignore. There was something in the way he spoke to me, his words wrapped in steel but laced with an unexpected tenderness, that made my heart skip a beat. It felt like he was daring me to believe in him, to let go of my fears, and for the first time in a long time, I wanted to.

I hadn’t felt this way in forever—maybe never. The rush, the pull, the want. I couldn’t remember the last time I liked someone enough to let them in, even a little. And I wasn’t foolish enough to think I’d fallen head over heels for Hakeem already, but there was no denying the current running between us, electric and charged. The way he looked at me today, how I kept catching his eyes at rehearsal, his gaze heavy and heated, like he was undressing every layer I kept wrapped tight. It wasn’t just in my head. He was feeling me too. I could see it in the way he moved, the way his eyes would linger just a second too long.

So yeah, I was gonna go see him, wearing my little shorts that showed just enough leg to keep things interesting. I wanted to know him beyond the rough edges, beyond the loyalty he gave to Derek. I wanted to know his story—where he came from, what kept him up at night, and what made him tick. And maybe, just maybe, I’d let him see a little of mine, too.

What was the harm in seeing where this might go, in letting myself feel something, even if just for a little while?

“I promise, Mama, it’s nothing,” I said, trying to downplay the way my heart was racing, trying to sound casual as I slipped my earrings in, pretending I wasn’t putting in this extra effort for him.

Mama side-eyed me from across the kitchen, her lips curled in that knowing smirk that had gotten me into trouble since I was a kid.

“Eden Peterson, please.” She waved me off like she was swatting at a fly. “You like this Hakeem boy.”

I laughed, but it came out tight, nervous. “No, Mama, he’s Derek’s—”

“Whatever, girl.” She cut me off, chuckling as she leaned against the counter, arms crossed and eyebrow raised like she already had my number. “So, does he like you too?”

I rolled my eyes, trying to brush her off, but the truth sat heavy on my tongue, too sweet and too dangerous to keep holding back. I folded, my defenses crumbling under her steady gaze.

“I think so,” I admitted, my voice softening, like saying it too loud might make it real.

Mama’s eyes lit up with mischief, her grin widening. “So Derek and Destiny, and then their assistants start getting all close too, huh? How that gone work, Eden?”

I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, embarrassed by how easily she could see right through me.

“Ain’t nobody getting together, Mama,” I shot back, the words coming out sharper than I intended. “I’m just bringing the man some dinner.”

Mama just shook her head, a laugh bubbling up from deep in her chest, rich and full of all the things she knew but didn’t bother saying out loud. That laugh held history—mine, hers, the stories of women who’d been here before, trying to play it cool when their hearts were tangled up in something new.

“Uh-huh, sure. Just dinner,” she said, arching an eyebrow, giving me that look that cut through every excuse I’d tried to put up like armor. She’d seen it all before, the blushing cheeks, the sudden interest in cooking, and the nervous flutter in my voice. Mama wasn’t buying it for a second. “So, is he handsome?”

“Mama!” I groaned, my voice jumping an octave as I pretended to fuss with the foil, knowing full well she could read me like a book.

“What? He’s that ugly?” she teased, the words dripping with playful challenge.

“No, it’s not like that—” I stammered, feeling the heat rise in my face, “He just, you know...he’s got this baby face thing going on. Curly hair, pretty hazel eyes.” The words tumbled out before I could catch them, and I bit my lip, hating how exposed I felt just saying it out loud.

Mama’s eyes widened, her grin spreading slow and sly. “Oh! Well, go on with your bad self,” she cackled, leaning back against the counter like she was enjoying the show. “I didn’t know we were into the pretty boys now.”

“Jesus,” I muttered under my breath, trying to fight the smile pulling at my lips. She had this way of pulling truths out of me, truths I wasn’t ready to face.

But Mama wasn’t done, her voice softening just enough to slip under my defenses. “Eden, baby, I haven’t seen you bring anyone around in years. Not since—well, you know.” She paused, her teasing replaced by a flicker of something real. “I was starting to worry.”

I stopped fiddling with the foil, the weight of her words settling between us. “Worry? About what?”

Mama hesitated, her eyes searching mine, and for a second, I saw past the jokes, past the nagging, to the concern underneath. “I see a lot of things on The Shade Room, Eden. You just never know with your generation these days—y’all be talking about situationships and ghosting like it’s nothing. Then ya’ll don’t wanna get married. Nobody wants to have kids. And it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you even be excited like you are about this boy.” She shrugged, trying to play it off. “But if you wanna keep pretending like you’re just cooking and personally delivering food out of the kindness of your heart, alright then.”

I stood there, caught between annoyance and something else, something softer and hopeful that I didn’t want to name. Because maybe she was right. Maybe it wasn’t just dinner. Maybe it was the start of something, a chance to let go of my fears and just be, even if only for a moment.

But tonight, I wasn’t ready to admit that. Not to her. Not to myself. So I grabbed the plate of food, the warmth seeping through the foil into my palm, and turned toward the door.

“Goodnight, Mama,” I said, trying to keep my voice light, but there was no hiding the anticipation thrumming in my chest.

“Goodnight, baby,” she called after me, her voice laced with a knowing grin. “And Eden—if you like him, don’t be scared to show it.”

I didn’t answer, just smiled to myself as I grabbed my keys, the cool metal smooth in my palm, and took one last look in the mirror, fixing my lip gloss with a steady hand. There was no telling where this would go, but I was willing to find out. Maybe he’d ask me out. Maybe we’d stay up too late talking about things we never told anyone else. Or maybe it’d be nothing.

Whatever this was, I was ready to see where it might lead. And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t scared of the unknown.