NOT NICE: A Hurricane Novella

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Hey everyone! I hope you’re all safe and doing well after Hurricane Helene. Thankfully, my family and I made it through without any issues—didn’t even lose power this time. With the gloomy sky and rolling clouds as my backdrop, I couldn’t help but wonder what the residents of Westonberry (my fictional universe) would be doing. So I decided to challenge myself with a stand-alone short story to pass the time. It ended up being longer than intended - too long for this software - so I had to split it in half. Here’s part 2. Then we’ll be back to our regularly scheduled program with, “Derek’s Destiny”.

I hope you’re enjoying Marlon and Magnolia as much as I enjoyed writing them to life. Their banter was so much fun to write.

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MARLON

I paced the cramped office of my restaurant, back and forth like a man caged. My iPhone was pressed to my ear, every muscle in my body tight as a live wire. The TV in the corner of the ceiling blasted the local news, the volume cranked up so high I could feel the reporter’s words vibrating in my chest.

“Hurricane Helene is expected to make landfall tomorrow afternoon, with Westonberry directly in its path. All residents within 10 miles of the beach are ordered to evacuate immediately. This storm will be catastrophic,” the Mayor's voice boomed, each word heavy and grim, cutting through the small room like a cold blade.

A pause.

“Do not attempt to ride out this storm near the coast. If you stay...you may not survive.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, thick with dread, as if he’d just handed down a death sentence. The room seemed to shrink, the gravity of the storm looming closer, more real with every syllable.

“You hear that shit? They’re talking about mandatory evacuations. I gotta close up shop for God knows how long!” I barked into the phone, my voice bouncing off the walls. “Do you know how much money I’m about to lose? A full day’s worth of customers gone at minimum, and God knows what kinda damage we’re looking at if this storm really tears through.”

“Marlon,” Caleb’s voice was calm, almost too calm. The kind of laid-back you only get living in Cali where the sun shines 365 days a year and bad news is just background noise. “Man, you live and work on the beach in Florida. What’d you think was gonna happen during hurricane season?”

“They said hurricanes weren’t that bad here! I put everything into this place, and now I gotta walk away not knowing what I’m coming back to? What if everything I worked for is gone by the time I get back?”

Caleb sighed on the other end, that lazy West Coast drawl making it sound like he was half asleep. “It’s gonna be fine, man… Look, why don’t you come out here, stay with me and Naomi? At least till things blow over.”

"Ain’t no flights left," I muttered, sinking into the old leather chair behind my desk. The thing squeaked under my weight, like it might give out any second, which was exactly how I felt. Fragile. Unsteady. My hands pressed against my head, fingers digging into my scalp, like I was physically trying to hold it all together.

"I already checked flights. I’m stuck." I glanced over at the live feed of the highways on my screen. Cars jammed bumper to bumper, barely moving. "And the highways look crazy too, with everyone trying to get out."

The live stream flickered, showing a sea of taillights stretching into the distance. I couldn’t help but feel trapped, like I was watching the world around me unravel, while I stayed rooted in place.

“Oh, okay,” Caleb said, sounding distracted, followed by a low grunt that made me wince.

Then I heard Naomi’s soft giggle in the background, and it clicked. They were at it. Again.

“Y’all are fucking right now? While my life is about to be underwater?” I snapped, my frustration spilling over.

I could practically hear Naomi’s laughter crackling through the phone like static.

“Hey, Marlon,” Naomi chimed in, sounding all innocent and sweet, like she wasn’t just caught mid-act.

“Hey, Naomi,” I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face, trying to wrap my head around the chaos swirling around me and their casual, carefree vibe.

“We weren’t fucking,” Caleb said, completely unfazed. “Naomi was giving me head.”

“Baby!” Naomi’s voice playfully shot through the line, with a hint of embarrassment.

“What?” Caleb said, not a hint of shame in his voice. “These pregnancy hormones got you pouncing on me anytime, anywhere. I’m the real victim here. This is a cry for help. Help me, Marlon, please.”

“Shut up! You didn’t have to tell your cousin!” she fired back, and I could practically hear the sound of her smacking him upside the head through the phone.

“You’re pregnant. I know his restaurant is his woman, but he knows how that happened,” Caleb continued, laughing like he hadn’t just dropped all of this in the middle of my crisis. “He’s a grown-ass man.”

I sighed, rubbing my temples as the weight of both the hurricane and my cousin’s oversharing crashed down on me. “Can y’all have some decorum, please? I’m trying to deal with an actual disaster here.”

Naomi groaned in the background as she struggled with something before I heard the sound of fabric tearing. “This would be so much easier if you weren’t wearing slacks.”

Caleb, of course, couldn’t resist one last plea. “See what I’m dealing with, Marlon? I’m out here fighting for my life, man.”

“Yeah, sure sounds like it,” I deadpanned, shaking my head.

Caleb was my favorite cousin, though we weren’t cousins by blood—just in that unspoken, unbreakable Black folks’ way. Our fathers were best friends, closer than brothers, which made us family by default. We grew up tight, like we shared the same DNA, and if you saw us together, you wouldn’t know any different.

He’d been through hell and back after his ex-wife’s scandal—she’d had a baby with his best friend, Xion, turning his world upside down by triggering a divorce with a million dollar payout. But Caleb was resilient, finding his way to a second chance with Naomi, a woman who was every bit as beautiful as she was kind.

Naomi had come to me when their relationship hit a rough patch, her eyes filled with a kind of raw, desperate hope. I helped however I could, and now, here they were—expecting a baby, planning a wedding that I was set to cater in a few months, and apparently unable to keep their hands off each other even in the middle of my existential crisis.

Naomi’s laugh was softer this time, a little warmer. “Marlon, your restaurant is beautiful. The food, the vibe—it’s such a special place for us. It’s part of our story, you know? We can’t wait to come back.”

Her words were sugary sweet, but they didn’t ease the knot in my chest. It wasn’t just about business; it was about everything I’d built, everything that storm was threatening to take away.

“Let’s just hope there’s something left to come back to,” I grumbled, my frustration seeping through every word like oil on water.

“It’s gonna work out, man,” Caleb said, brushing off my worry with that easy-going confidence that used to calm me, but right now felt like a slap in the face. “Besides, the storm could shift directions any minute. You know how Florida is.”

“Yeah, let’s pray for a miracle while I leave my house and business to chance,” I muttered, feeling the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me. My phone buzzed again, the screen lighting up with the name Heritage House. A historic bed and breakfast just a few short miles away.

“Alright, Caleb, I’ll let you and Naomi get back to… whatever y’all were doing,” I said, trying to sound light-hearted but failing miserably. “I gotta take this call.”

“Call me back if anything,” Caleb replied, still unbothered.

“Love you, bye!” Naomi’s voice chimed in, bright and genuine, cutting through the tension like a ray of sun on this cloudy day.

“Stop telling that man you love him,” I heard Caleb complain in the background, his voice muffled but playful.

“But I do, he’s family!” Naomi whined, her voice growing faint as they bantered back and forth.

I hung up before I could hear the rest, a small chuckle escaping my lips despite the storm swirling both inside and out. Those two were a mess—a beautiful, chaotic mess that made the world feel a little less heavy, even for a second.

“Marlon, are you there?” Ms. Mable’s voice cut through the line before I could even get a word out. That familiar mix of warmth and command wrapped in a slight Southern drawl.

“Ms. Mable, how’s it going? You ready for this hurricane?” I asked, trying to sound as calm as possible. It was hard to fake it with her, my favorite elder in town who always seemed three steps ahead of everyone.

“Ain’t nobody worried about no hurricane,” she scoffed, waving off the storm like it was nothing more than an afternoon shower. She sounded just like my staff, all day brushing off the warnings like they were no big deal. It was that classic Florida attitude, and it bugged the hell out of me. Why was I the only one acting like the sky was about to cave in while everyone else carried on like it was just another rainy day?

“Y’all Floridians don’t take nothin’ serious,” I chuckled, though frustration edged my voice more than humor.

“And you New Yorkers worry too much,” she shot back, her voice steeped in that deep Westonberry pride. She wasn’t about to let a little storm ruin her day—or so she thought.

“The Mayor said—”

“The hell does he know? He ain’t God,” she cut me off dismissively, her words laced with defiance, as if the storm couldn’t touch her, like she was invincible.

I shook my head, staring at her like she was crazy. “You sure about that, Miss Mable? ‘Cause it’s lookin’ like God’s about to drop the ocean in our front yard.”

“Just gon’ be a little sprinkle is all, probably,” she said with a dismissive wave, like we were talking about a light drizzle instead of a Category 4 hurricane barreling down on us. “Been through worse. Folks always overreact when the winds pick up.”

I ran a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling up. “Miss Mable, they’re calling this one ‘catastrophic.’ Not a sprinkle, not a drizzle. Catastrophic.”

“Honey, in Westonberry, everything’s catastrophic until it ain’t. You’ll see.”

I couldn’t decide if she was brave or just plain crazy.

“You need me to come over and help get the house ready?” I asked, trying to shift my focus. Ms. Mable’s big old historic bed and breakfast always felt like it could take on anything, but I knew she’d been rattled since her son moved out of state, leaving her with a big empty nest.

“Yes, but listen— I know you don’t have any kin around here, and everything’s booked up. Plus, I know you’re not trying to be far from Coastal Fusion. I went ahead and saved you a room here,” she said, her voice softening. “Been meanin’ to tell you, but I’ve been busy calming down my out-of-town guests, makin’ sure they don’t lose their minds over this little ol’ storm.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding, my shoulders dropping a little as the tension eased. Ms. Mable always had that effect, like she was a lighthouse in the middle of a stormy sea.

"Ms. Mable, you’re too good to me," I said, my voice heavy with gratitude and exhaustion.

"Nonsense. Just get on over here once you’ve locked everything up, alright?" she replied, her tone as warm as it was firm, the kind of reassurance only someone like Ms. Mable could provide.

I hesitated, glancing out the window at the darkening sky. “But wait, Miss Mable, you’re still relatively close to the coast. You sure we’ll be okay?”

She chuckled, that low, comforting sound she always made when she thought someone was overreacting. "Boy, this house has been standing since the beginning of Westonberry. It ain’t going nowhere. Been through more storms than you’ve had birthdays. Trust me, we’ll be just fine."

"Yes, ma’am. I’ll pack a bag and head over soon," I said, glancing at the security feed showing my empty restaurant, chairs neatly stacked, and the place looking almost abandoned. "Doesn’t seem like anyone’s coming by the rest of the day anyway."

We hung up, and I stood there for a moment, staring at the quiet, empty space on the screen. Coastal Fusion felt more like a ghost town than the bustling place it was just a day ago. The calm before the storm, literally and figuratively. I sighed, knowing there wasn’t much more I could do. The storm was coming whether I was ready or not.

I stepped out of my office and on to our back porch, the salty breeze hitting me hard as I watched my staff finish securing the last of the custom shutters. Those floor-to-ceiling windows that usually made the restaurant feel open and inviting now felt like a liability, a fragile barrier between my hard work and nature’s fury.

My house had been boarded up for days, looking like some forgotten relic with all the plywood slapped over it. My neighbors had laughed at me, saying I was doing too much too early, but I couldn’t risk it. I spent more time at Coastal Fusion than at home anyway—getting my place squared away was just another item to check off my never-ending list.

The waves had already taken on a sinister edge, slamming against the shore with a ferocity that sent sprays of saltwater high into the air. The sky, once a pale blue, had darkened to a threatening gray, clouds swirling together like they were plotting something big. Thunder rumbled in the distance, low and menacing, the sound rolling over the water like a warning. The wind began to whip through the empty streets, rattling signs and shaking palm trees as if testing their strength.

I glanced once more at the security feed of my empty restaurant, the stillness inside a sharp contrast to the chaos brewing outside. Ms. Mable had said it was nothing, just another storm passing through. I wanted to believe her. But as the wind howled louder, pushing the waves higher, the knot in my gut tightened.

This wasn’t just a little storm. I could feel it in my bones. Something bigger was coming.

MAGNOLIA

Westonberry Market was a battlefield of panic and desperation. Shelves stripped bare, aisles crowded with people gripping carts like lifeboats on a sinking ship. No water, no bread—just the echoes of frantic shoppers swept up in the storm before the storm, all fear and frenzy fueled by meteorologists’ doomsday predictions. Hurricane Season always felt like one big scam—price gouging masked as preparedness, folks draining their pockets for a disaster that might not even brush the coast.

Lucky for us, the B&B was already stocked with the essentials. I just needed a few odds and ends to keep our guests fed through the hurricane lockdown since everything else in town would shutter once the winds picked up. We’d be doing more than breakfast today and possibly into tomorrow.

I pulled my Wrangler into the driveway, already cussing under my breath at the thought of hauling everything inside, but my irritation hit new heights when I saw him—Marlon, the smug owner of Coastal Fusion, hauling potted plants off the front porch and into the garage out back like he had any right to be here. His broad back was to me, but I’d recognize that obnoxious confidence anywhere.

The last thing I needed was a run-in with the man who couldn’t let a four-star Yelp review slide. He’d confronted me about it at a wine tasting, puffed up like some overgrown man-child, and I’d let him have it right there in front of everyone. Since then, we’d been locked in a petty beef that had no end in sight. And now, here he was, unbothered, acting like he was saving the damn day.

I slammed the Jeep door hard enough to send a jolt through the humid air, announcing my presence like a storm warning. Marlon’s head whipped around, eyes narrowing as if my very existence offended him. That perpetual scowl of his was locked and loaded, but I’d be lying if I said he was ugly. Marlon was the kind of fine that stopped traffic—well over six feet, skin the color of polished mahogany, a fresh fade that stayed crisp, and a goatee that framed his mouth in a way that drew attention whether you wanted it to or not.

His body? Built like he had a personal vendetta against every piece of gym equipment. But all that muscle and smooth skin didn’t mean a thing when his attitude was trash. Arrogance radiated off him like the heat off the asphalt, turning all that beauty into something you couldn’t stand to look at for too long.

"Magnolia," Marlon said in that terrible northern accent, letting my name drip from his lips like it tasted bitter. He stepped closer, all chest and attitude, invading my space like he had a right to it.

“Lia,” I snapped back, cutting my eyes at him. “Nobody calls me Magnolia.”

“Your mama named you Magnolia, so I’ma call you Magnolia,” he shot back, like the cocky asshole I knew him to be.

I leaned in, voice low and sharp. “Call me Magnolia again, and I’ll make sure you wash up on the beach with the debris after the storm.”

Before he could fire back, my mother’s voice cut through the tension, smooth as butter but firm enough to demand attention. “Oh good! You’re back.” She walked up, her smile softening the edges of the chaos around us. “Marlon’s gonna ride out the storm with us. He’s just helping me—”

“What? Why?” My annoyance flared hot, my patience already worn thin by her stubborn refusal to leave the B&B and come inland to my place in Juniper Hills. I was out here to make sure she was good, and yeah, to keep an eye on our guests because business didn’t stop, hurricane or not. That meant staying in my old room instead of going home, which was bad enough without Marlon complicating things.

Mama sighed, like she was talking to a child who just didn’t get it. “You know he doesn’t have any family here. It’s his first hurricane, and he’s scared.”

“I’m not scared, Miss Mable,” Marlon huffed, defensive as always.

Mama shot him a knowing look, unfazed. “Boy, please. I rode by your place, and it looks like a drive-by hit it with all those boards slapped on like you’re expecting a siege.”

I couldn’t help it; a laugh escaped me before I could catch it, a short, sharp burst that only made Marlon’s scowl deepen.

“Amateur,” I scoffed, the word laced with all the disdain I’d been saving just for him. Marlon, with his perfectly measured confidence, finally looked a little rattled.

He glanced up, his eyes scanning the sky, dark and swollen like it was holding back something wicked.

“I’m sorry I’m not unfazed by natural disasters,” he shot back, his voice tight with a mix of sarcasm and a hint of something else—maybe fear, maybe anger. “Look at this sky.”

Thunder grumbled in the distance, low and ominous, like the storm was listening in on our conversation, waiting for its cue. The air was thick with that heavy, electric smell that always came before the rain, the kind that made your skin prickle and your breath hitch, reminding you that nature didn’t care about your plans or your pride.

“This thing is gonna hit any minute.”, Mama said.

“Well, that’s the last of the plants,” Marlon said, dusting his hands off like he’d just solved all our problems. “Anything else you need me to secure before I go to my room?”

“You could bring in the groceries,” I answered, already turning on my heel, giving him my back before he could fire off another one of his smart-ass comments. My boots clicked against the walkway, each step a silent warning to keep whatever words he had locked behind that clenched jaw of his.

I could feel his eyes burning into my back, the tension thickening between us like the storm clouds overhead. But Marlon wouldn’t dare show his annoyance with me in front of my Mama. He’d play nice, all polite and helpful until her back was turned. But that didn’t change the fact that I was stuck riding out this hurricane with him under the same roof. And that, in its own way, felt like the real storm I had to weather.

Between the winds outside and the tension inside, I knew it wasn’t just the hurricane I’d have to survive—I’d have to figure out how to keep my cool with Marlon’s presence crashing against my nerves every time I turned around.

MARLON

Ms. Mable was right. I was scared as shit.

The wind outside howled like a wild animal, relentless and untamed, rattling the shutters that kept me blind to the chaos just beyond the walls as the outer bands of the Category 4 hit. My phone was glued to my hand, eyes fixed on the security camera feeds. Everything inside Coastal Fusion looked calm on screen—still intact, untouched—but my mind was racing, every gust of wind a phantom punch to the gut.

As comfortable as Ms. Mable’s house was, I couldn’t settle. My nerves were frayed, my thoughts scattered. I’d been going nonstop since the day I dreamed up Coastal Fusion, grinding through the late nights and early mornings, every inch of that restaurant built with my sweat and stubbornness. To rest and sit on my hands felt unnatural.

A restaurant wasn’t just a business. It was a demanding lover, a petulant child, and a never-ending obsession all rolled into one. Caleb was right; Coastal Fusion was my woman, my child, my everything. And the thought of that storm battering her walls, ripping her apart—I couldn’t take it. The anxiety wrapped around my chest like a vice.

I got up, restless, my body unable to stay still any longer. My mind was as unsettled as the storm brewing outside, so I wandered the halls of Heritage House, trying to shake off the weight of it all. The house creaked softly under my footsteps, its old bones groaning with history. Heritage House wasn’t just some bed and breakfast—it was the oldest house in Westonberry Beach, a sprawling 12-room relic of another time. Miss Mable had taken great care with every inch of it, naming each room after a famous Black literary giant and decorating it accordingly.

As I roamed, I passed the Zora Room, named after Zora Neale Hurston, the walls lined with vibrant fabrics and shelves filled with her works. Further down, I spotted the Morrison Room, with its deep, soulful tones and bold artwork that echoed the complexity of Toni Morrison’s novels. Each room was a tribute, a living homage to the writers who shaped our history and our stories. Miss Mable had turned the house into a literary sanctuary, a place where history, culture, and art came together under one roof.

I was staying in the Langston Suite, named after Langston Hughes, and it was easily the most elegant of the rooms. The walls were adorned with framed poems, handwritten letters, and photos of Hughes. Dark wood furniture gave the room a rich, warm feel, and the deep-blue bedspread reminded me of the Harlem nights he wrote about so often. I could almost hear the jazz notes from his poems dancing in the air. The room felt like stepping into a piece of Black history, and I couldn’t help but feel a certain weight every time I lay in that bed, like I was in the presence of greatness.

But even surrounded by all that history, all that legacy, I couldn’t find peace. Heritage House was a place of refuge, but even its sturdy walls couldn’t block out the uncertainty brewing in the pit of my stomach.

I ended up downstairs in the kitchen. Kitchens had always been my sanctuary, the only place I felt some semblance of control since I was a kid. But here, Magnolia stood in the middle of it, cooking something with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. She was the kind of woman who would look you in the eye and tell you what you didn’t want to hear, the same woman who had the audacity to leave me a four-star review on Yelp, messing up my perfect streak.

Magnolia cooked at some quaint little B&B and thought she was Gordon Ramsay’s twin, always acting like she knew more about the culinary world than she really did. I trained in Paris, New York—I lived and breathed this shit. Coastal Fusion was the best damn restaurant in town, and she had the nerve to critique it like she was some big-shot chef. My annoyance was right there on the tip of my tongue, ready to spill, but then I caught a glimpse of her. Magnolia was slicing potatoes with a slow, deliberate rhythm, and my eyes wandered lower without permission. The way her hips moved, the way that ass jiggled just enough to draw your attention—it was like she was teasing the air itself.

I shook my head, trying to pull my mind back from that dangerous edge. She was infuriating, sure, but God help me, there was something magnetic about the way she moved.

“Lunch will be ready in about an hour,” Magnolia said, her back still to me, the steady rhythm of her knife slicing through the potatoes never faltering. She didn’t bother to look up, didn’t even flinch at my presence, like she’d sensed me long before I’d crept into her kitchen domain.

“What you makin’, mashed potatoes?” I mocked, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “At least it ain’t from a box.”

She froze at the sound of my voice, her knife pausing mid-air. I watched as she took a slow, measured breath before turning her head just enough to give me that look—the one that could cut deeper than any blade in her hand. Magnolia rolled her eyes with all the dramatic flair of a seasoned actress, then went right back to her task, like I was nothing more than an annoying breeze blowing in from the storm.

“Lunch isn’t included in your stay, Sir,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcastic sweetness. “Maybe you should venture out into the hurricane and see if you get lucky. I’m sure that head of yours is dense enough to take a hit or two from some debrie, a fallen tree even.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound low and amused. She had a fire that made her impossible to ignore, even when she was trying her damnedest to slice me with her words. There was a challenge in every word, every movement, and for reasons I couldn’t explain, it made my pulse quicken in a way it hadn’t in a long time.

“Maybe you should take a break today,” I said, the challenge clear in my voice. “You know, since you’ve got a real chef on the premises.” I smirked, half-joking, but there was a part of me that meant it. I needed something to keep my hands busy, something to drown out the storm raging inside my head. Cooking had always been my therapy, the one place I could work through my shit without saying a word.

Magnolia stopped mid-slice, her shoulders stiffening as she finally turned to face me again, her expression sharp enough to cut. The knife in her hand gleamed under the soft kitchen light, and for a second, I wondered if she was tempted to use it.

“Why are you such an asshole?” she asked, her voice filled with exasperation.

Her eyes locked onto mine, and there it was—anger, sure, but also a flicker of curiosity, like she couldn’t decide whether to throw me out, stab me with the knife or ask me why I was still standing there.

I shrugged, leaning back against the counter with a smugness I didn’t quite feel. “Born this way, I guess.”

“And you’re proud of yourself?” Magnolia shot back, eyes narrowing as if she was dissecting me right there in the middle of Ms. Mable’s kitchen. Her tone was sharp, cutting through the forced bravado I was putting on display.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I fired back, raising an eyebrow, daring her to push just a little harder. It was easier to spar with her than to admit how messed up I felt, standing on the edge of losing everything I’d built.

“Yeah, whatever. Mr. Perfect ain’t so tough, can’t even handle a four-star review,” she said, the words laced with just the right amount of bite to sting. It was like she’d found the one crack in my armor and didn’t hesitate to jab at it.

I clenched my jaw, her words hitting the nerve I’d tried to bury. Magnolia wasn’t just talking about my restaurant—she was talking about me. And as much as I wanted to brush it off, the truth of it cut deeper than I cared to admit.

“When you build something from the ground up with your blood, sweat, tears, and the last of your cash, you let me know if you wouldn’t take it personal when someone leaves a scathing review out in the open,” I snapped, my voice hardening.

I hadn’t meant to let the frustration slip, but the words came tumbling out before I could stop them. This restaurant was my life, and every critique felt like a dagger aimed right at my heart.

Magnolia didn’t flinch. She just crossed her arms, knife still in hand, eyes fixed on me with that cool, unimpressed stare.

“Scathing review? You’re so dramatic,” she said, her tone flat, dismissive. “I gave you four stars, not one. Reviews are part of the game, rookie. My family’s owned this house for over a hundred years, and it’s been a bed and breakfast for thirty. You think I don’t know anything about blood, sweat, and tears?”

Her words hung heavy between us, and for a moment, the room felt smaller, more intimate, like she’d peeled back a layer neither of us meant to expose. She wasn’t just some woman who ran a kitchen; she was the backbone of a legacy, just like I was trying to be with Coastal Fusion. There was grit beneath that polished exterior, and as much as I hated to admit it, she understood more than I gave her credit for.

“Alright, fair enough,” I said, trying to soften my tone but not quite managing it. I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the tension knotted up tight. “But my place—Coastal Fusion—it’s all I got. I didn’t inherit a legacy, didn’t have no safety net. It’s just me out here, so yeah, maybe I am a little dramatic when it comes to my place.”

Magnolia leaned against the counter, arms still crossed, but her posture had relaxed a fraction. Her eyes searched mine, as if she was seeing past the bravado I wore like a second skin.

“You think this house was a safety net? Honey, this place has been a blessing and a burden. I’ve had to fight tooth and nail to keep it running, especially after my granddad passed and left me to handle everything. Every storm that blows through, I’m out there nailing boards up just like you. Every season, I’m holding my breath, hoping the roof holds, hoping the guests keep coming.”, she explained.

I took in her words, the way her voice dipped just slightly when she mentioned her granddad, and I realized we were more alike than I’d ever wanted to admit. Both of us clinging to something that defined us, something that gave us purpose when everything else felt shaky.

“You ever think about just… letting it go?” I asked, not really expecting an answer. It was the kind of question you ask when you’re exhausted, when you’ve been running on fumes for too long.

Magnolia shook her head, a small, defiant smile tugging at her lips. “Every damn day,” she admitted, her voice quieter now, softer in a way that made me feel like I was seeing the real her for the first time. “But you know as well as I do, we don’t quit. We patch up the holes, clean up the mess, and keep moving forward. That’s just who we are.”

I nodded, feeling a strange sort of kinship forming between us, born out of hard work and stubborn pride. We were both fighters, both too damn proud to admit when we were scared or tired. The storm outside could tear up the coastline, rip apart everything we’d built, but we’d be right there the next morning, picking up the pieces.

“Guess we’re more alike than we are different, huh?” I said, a half-smile tugging at my lips.

Magnolia rolled her eyes but there was a glimmer of something warmer beneath it, a hint of respect. “Looks that way, Marlon.”

The wind howled outside, rattling the shutters, but for the first time all day, I didn’t feel so alone.

“What if…” I hesitated, the words feeling foreign in my mouth. Asking for help wasn’t exactly my style, but I was tired of standing on the sidelines. “Can I help you prepare lunch?” I finished, my voice softer, almost cautious, like I was stepping onto unfamiliar ground.

Magnolia looked at me, her brows lifting slightly, caught off guard by the sudden shift in my tone. For a second, she didn’t say anything, just studied me like she was trying to decide if I was being genuine or just trying to get under her skin again.

“You offering to help, or just looking for something to critique?” she asked, her voice edged with a playful skepticism, but there was a flicker of something else—curiosity, maybe, or a sliver of understanding.

I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. “No critiques. I promise. Just… something to do. Keeps my hands busy, you know?” I gestured vaguely around the kitchen, the space suddenly feeling warmer, more inviting.

I wanted to say more, to explain how cooking was the only thing that ever made sense when the rest of my world felt like it was spinning out of control, but the words got stuck somewhere between my chest and my throat.

Magnolia considered me for a moment longer, then finally nodded, stepping aside just enough to make room. “Fine. But don’t be all in my way or I’ll kick you out. I don’t typically like anyone in my space.”

I grabbed an apron, tying it around my waist like I was suiting up for battle. The kitchen wasn’t just a room with countertops and appliances—it was where I felt most like myself. And maybe, just maybe, it was a space where the walls between us could come down, even if only for a meal.

“Put me to work, Magnolia,” I said, rolling up my sleeves, eager to lose myself in the rhythm of the kitchen. It had always been my sanctuary, the one place where everything else faded into the background. “I could use a distraction.”

She smirked, tossing a dishtowel over her shoulder. “The name is Lia, Marlon.”

“Okay, Lia,” I said, smirking back as I got familiar with her kitchen. “But what about Maggie?”

“Maggie? What?” She wrinkled her nose in confusion.

“What’s wrong with Maggie… it’s cute.” I teased, trying to keep the mood light as I opened a drawer, figuring out where she kept her knives.

“Absolutely not. Do I look like a Maggie to you?” She turned to face me, hands on her hips, her lips curled in amusement.

I chuckled, giving her a once-over. “You do look like a Magnolia when I think about it—soft, pretty,” I said, the words slipping out before I had a chance to stop them.

Magnolia froze, her head tilting slightly as she studied me, a look of surprise and confusion crossing her face. For a second, I thought I’d crossed a line. Shit. We were supposed to be keeping up this enemies thing, and I had just handed her a compliment on a silver platter.

I quickly interjected, trying to salvage my ego. “Old as shit,” I added, hoping to keep the banter alive, throwing her off.

She doubled over in laughter, practically folding in half, her body shaking as she clutched her stomach. “It hurt you that bad to give me a compliment? My God, Marlon, you’re truly an asshole! You just can’t help it, can you?” Her laughter was infectious, and I found myself smirking, caught in the glow of her amusement.

“I’m saying, Magnolia trees are old as shit,” I continued, determined to dig myself out of the hole I’d fallen into. “They’re one of the oldest trees in existence. That’s why they don’t even have true petals. Stubborn and stuck in their ways, just like you.”

Magnolia raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as the laughter faded to a smirk. “Why do you know so much about magnolias, Marlon? Are you a secret floral enthusiast?”

“Maybe,” I shrugged, daring not to reveal that I had looked it up the first night we met, intrigued by her name. I wasn’t about to tell her that I also knew magnolias symbolized luck, stability, and dignity. Nah, that was too much. I couldn’t let her know how deep that curiosity ran.

But as I watched her move around the kitchen, a little lighter now, a little more at ease, I felt that familiar pull—the one that made me want to know more, to keep this moment stretching out longer than it probably should.

“I like Maggie ’cause I want a name that only I call you,” I said, trying to keep it casual, not wanting to sound too sentimental. It was one of those truths that felt too heavy to say outright, so I let it slip out as lightly as I could.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes but unable to hide the hint of amusement tugging at her lips. “’Cause you’re so special?” Her tone was dripping with sarcasm, but I could see the curiosity behind her teasing.

“Exactly,” I shot back, grinning as I grabbed a knife from the counter. I was leaning into the banter, but there was more to it than that. I didn’t want to call her what everyone else did. I wanted something that was just ours, even if neither of us would admit it yet.

Magnolia shook her head, a playful smile creeping across her face, but she didn’t push it further. That name was sticking, whether she liked it or not.

She glanced up from the cutting board, where her knife moved with a steady rhythm, slicing through the potatoes like it was second nature.

"By the way, I am in fact making mashed potatoes —rosemary garlic mashed potatoes," she said casually, not even looking at me as she kept cutting. "Something simple, but perfect for this weather."

I raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter with a smirk. "Mashed potatoes? Really? Seems a little... basic, Maggie."

She shot me a quick look, eyes narrowing just a bit.

"Well, if you'd rather eat something from a box the way ya’ll make it at Coastal Fusion, by all means," she teased, throwing my earlier jab back at me. "But if you want to help, grab those rosemary sprigs on the counter and start stripping the leaves."

I glanced at the pile of herbs, half-tempted to give her a hard time just for the fun of it, but something about the way she moved so confidently around the kitchen made me want to see this through.

"Stripping leaves? What am I, your sous chef?" I muttered, feigning reluctance as I reached for the rosemary.

"Yes, actually," she replied without missing a beat, turning back to her work, her hands moving deftly as she chopped. "Now stop complaining and get to work, Marlon."

I couldn't help but chuckle under my breath, the banter between us feeling surprisingly easy.

"Yes, Chef," I muttered, stripping the leaves from the stems, trying not to admit that, despite the sarcasm, I actually liked working alongside her like this.

We moved around each other like two chefs who’d shared a kitchen for years, falling into an easy rhythm of unspoken rules and silent understanding. The storm outside beat against the windows, howling winds and rain threatening to tear the world apart, but inside, there was something different. The clinking of utensils, the soft sizzle of something frying—it all blended together in a quiet symphony. It was as if, for just a moment, the chaos outside didn’t matter.

We weren’t enemies here. There was something else in the air, something more than the storm. It was peace, maybe even understanding. But whatever it was, it felt like the beginning of something neither of us could ignore, even if we tried.

MAGNOLIA

As it turns out, Marlon isn’t a complete asshole. At least, not when he’s in the kitchen.

We worked in a rhythm that surprised me—him chopping vegetables while I seared chicken on the stove, the sizzle and pop of hot oil filling the silence between us. Marlon moved around my kitchen like he’d done it a hundred times before, his large hands deftly slicing through onions and peppers like a man who knew his way around more than just business deals and gym routines.

“It’s like you run your own resturant or something,” I teased, sliding a pan of roasted potatoes into the oven. I kept my tone casual, but I was watching him, waiting to see if that arrogant smirk of his would make an appearance.

He glanced up, his eyes meeting mine with a flicker of something that felt less like a challenge and more like a truce. “I spent a few summers working in my uncle’s restaurant back in the day. Guess I picked up a few things,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal, but there was a hint of pride in his voice, like those memories still held weight.

“Really?” I asked, genuinely curious despite myself. “That what inspired you to open your own restaurant?”

“That was definitely the start of it. I loved the hustle, the fast pace. Meeting new people every day but also getting to know his regulars, learning what made them come back. I fell in love with it—the energy, the grind.”

“You loved working hard even as a kid?” I raised an eyebrow, half-joking but still intrigued. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for the type. You give off ‘trust fund baby trying to prove to Daddy he can stand on his own’ vibes.”

Marlon chuckled, but there was no arrogance in the sound, just a quiet understanding that ran deeper than I’d expected.

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he replied, his voice low and steady, calm in a way that made me take him more seriously. There was no bite in his words, just a quiet statement of fact that hung between us like the steam rising from the stove, thick and lingering.

“You love meeting new people?” I asked, tilting my head, trying to make sense of him.

“Hell yeah!” he replied, his voice filled with a kind of enthusiasm that almost made me laugh. “You don’t?”

“Nah,” I said, shaking my head with a soft chuckle. “I’m an introvert who loves to stay in her kitchen alone, music on, no distractions. That’s my happy place.”

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, giving me that smug smile that was annoyingly charming. “You let me in here. Why?”

I paused, the words catching in my throat as I stared at his stupidly handsome face, the kind that made it hard to form a coherent thought. I didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to say that I was actually enjoying his company, or that a small, secret part of me was hoping he’d want to cook all the meals with me during his stay.

“I needed help,” I said, though the lie tasted thin.

Marlon raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

I rolled my eyes, turning back to the stove to hide the heat rising in my cheeks. “Don’t get cocky. You’re here because Mama said you’re a big ass baby who is scared of the hurricane. That’s all.”

He laughed softly, the sound warm and low, like he knew I wasn’t being entirely honest. “Keep telling yourself that, Magnolia.”

He moved closer, reaching around me to grab the fresh herbs, brushing against me just enough to send a ripple of heat through the already warm kitchen. I should’ve moved, should’ve put some space between us, but for reasons I couldn’t quite pin down, I didn’t.

“You mind if I plate these?” he asked, gesturing to the neatly grilled chicken resting on the counter. “Presentation’s key, right?”

I nodded, surprised at how easily I handed over control. “Knock yourself out.”

We fell back into a rhythm, him arranging the food with a precision I never would’ve expected, and me garnishing each plate with sprigs of parsley and wedges of lemon. When we finished, the plates looked like something straight out of a food magazine—simple, clean, perfect.

As we carried the plates out to the guests at the dining table a few minute later, Marlon leaned in, his voice just low enough for me to hear. “You’ve got a good thing going here, Lia. This place, your food... It’s special.”

The sincerity in his words caught me off guard, and for a second, I almost forgot why I didn’t like him. “Thanks,” I said quietly, not sure what else to say.

We set the plates down in front of our guests, and for a moment, we were just two people making sure everyone was taken care of. No tension, no petty beef—just a quiet understanding that maybe, in this kitchen, we could coexist.

Marlon handed me the last plate, and when our fingers brushed, the touch was warm, lingering just a second too long, like neither of us was in a rush to let go. His voice dropped, softer than I’d ever heard it.

“I got your back today,” he said, those deep brown eyes of his holding a sincerity that made me pause. “Let’s just get through this storm, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle in a place I hadn’t expected.

As we cleaned up the kitchen, the comfortable silence between us slowly turned into something else, something curious and tinged with the kind of questions that had been hovering between us all day. I couldn’t help myself; prying felt like second nature.

“You really do love food, huh?” I asked, stacking dishes in the sink and sneaking a glance at him.

He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I do. It’s more than just feeding people—it’s an experience. You know?”

I smiled back, but there was something about the way he spoke that pulled me deeper. “How does your girlfriend feel about food being your first love? Can she even compete?” The words slipped out faster than I intended, tinged with a nervousness I didn’t quite understand.

Marlon’s face shifted, the lightness replaced with something sharper. “No wife, no girlfriend,” he said, maybe a little too quickly, like he’d been waiting for the chance to set the record straight.

“No?” I echoed, unable to hide my surprise.

“If I had somebody, I’d be with her right now,” he said simply, his tone straightforward, but there was a vulnerability tucked beneath it, one that made me wonder what kind of lonely he’d been living with.

“Makes sense.” I tried to sound casual, but his answer hung in the air, heavier than the humidity outside.

He rinsed the last of the dishes, then glanced at me, eyes searching for something I wasn’t ready to give. “Why aren’t you riding out the storm with your man?”

I hesitated, my throat suddenly dry. “We’re…on a break,” I said, the words barely audible as I busied myself with wiping down the counter, my back turned to him.

“A break?” His voice was incredulous, a low rumble that held more judgment than I was ready to handle. “We’re big and grown, Maggie. What kind of little boy are you playing with that you need to take breaks?”

His words stung, sharp as glass, cutting through the carefully crafted distance I’d tried to keep between us. I wanted to snap back, to tell him it wasn’t that simple, but the truth was, I didn’t have an answer that made sense—not to him, not even to myself. Instead, I just stared at the spotless kitchen, feeling the weight of his question settle like the calm before the storm.

“It’s embarrassing…” The words slipped out before I could catch them, exposing more than I meant to.

Marlon leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as he looked at me, his expression softer than I’d ever seen. “Talk to me. We don’t have nothing else to do but wait this thing out.”

I hesitated, picking at the edge of the dish towel in my hands like it might offer up the right words. “He’s not… all the way available.”

Marlon raised an eyebrow, his hand making a little circle, urging me to keep going. “Go on.”

I let out a deep sigh, the kind that comes from the bottom of your chest, where all the secrets and shame are buried. “He’s thinking about not going through with his divorce.”

Marlon’s eyes darkened, his expression shifting from curiosity to something more guarded. “So he’s married.”

“They weren’t together when I met him,” I said quickly, defensive. “He was separated. Papers filed. It wasn’t—”

“So he said.” Marlon’s voice was calm, but the skepticism in it hit me like a slap. It wasn’t accusatory, just a blunt observation that stung worse than it should have. The kind of statement that sounded too much like something Mama would say when she’d finally had enough of my excuses.

I flinched, his words cutting a little too close to the bone. “Why are you sounding like my mama right now?” I muttered, half annoyed, half exposed.

“Maybe because I’ve seen this play out before,” he said, not unkindly, just matter-of-fact, like he’d watched this movie one too many times. “Men like that…they always got a reason to keep you waiting. And it’s never about you, Magnolia.”

The way he said it, steady and sure, made me feel seen in a way that both comforted and unsettled me. I looked away, swallowing the lump in my throat, knowing that somewhere in his words was a truth I wasn’t ready to admit.

“Guess I’m stupid, huh?” I said, my voice wavering between bitterness and vulnerability, each word a jagged edge cutting into my pride.

Marlon shook his head, the intensity in his eyes softening. “Not stupid. He probably talked a good game, made it sound real convincing, and you got caught up. Happens to the best of us.”

“Does it?” I challenged, not quite believing him, not quite believing myself. There was something about the way he said it that made it sound like a bad habit you could shrug off, like I wasn’t standing here feeling foolish for believing in a man who wasn’t really mine.

Marlon shrugged, wiping his hands on a dish towel, his gaze never leaving mine. “Look, I’ve never been in this exact predicament, but I’m not judging you if that’s what you think and there’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle between us. “But the way I see it, he’s made his decision—to stay in his marriage. So, this isn’t just a break, Magnolia. You’re broken up.”

His words hit like a gut punch, straightforward and unapologetic, ripping away the layers of hope I’d clung to. I looked at him, trying to muster up some anger, something to throw back in his face, but all I could feel was the dull ache of recognition. Marlon wasn’t sugarcoating it, wasn’t trying to play the hero—he was just laying it out plain. And maybe that’s what stung the most: the truth was so damn clear, and I’d been too wrapped up in fantasies to see it.

“But he said—” I started, grasping for the words that used to feel so comforting, so full of promises I’d clung to like lifelines.

“Doesn’t matter what he said,” Marlon cut in, his voice low but firm, closing the distance between us until he was right there, his presence grounding but heavy. “It’s what his actions say, and that man has decided to fight for his marriage.”

I shut my eyes tight, like squeezing them shut would somehow block out Marlon’s words, make them dissolve into the air along with the ache building in my chest. But they lingered, sharp and unrelenting, forcing me to confront what I’d been avoiding.

“Hey,” Marlon said softly, his hands finding their way to my shoulders, rubbing gently as if to knead the tension out of me. His touch was warm, unfamiliar but steady, and it almost made me crumble. “It’s okay.”

A tear slipped down my cheek, hot and unwanted. I brushed it away, quick and angry, trying to keep myself together in front of him. The last thing I needed was his pity.

“I wasn’t trying to be mean, I just—” he started, his voice laced with an apology that felt sincere, not patronizing.

“I know.” My voice barely made it above a whisper, my eyes locked on the floor because looking at him felt like admitting too much. “I know you’re just being honest.”

“Not to the point of hurting you,” Marlon said, stepping closer, his voice gentler now. “Honesty doesn’t mean cruelty.”

“You didn’t hurt me, he did,” I clarified, my fingers twisting nervously at my side. “I guess… it’s just that you helped me see the truth I was trying so hard to avoid, and it hit me all at once.” I forced a small smile, but it felt shaky, fragile.

I wasn’t expecting it, but Marlon opened his arms, his expression softening as he held them out. Without thinking, I stepped into him, my body instinctively seeking the warmth of his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me close in the middle of the kitchen like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You deserve to be loved out loud, by someone who’s fully available to you,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “Not someone playing games with your heart while they figure out their marriage.” His words settled deep, and before I knew it, I found myself clinging to him, my fingers gripping the back of his shirt, holding on like I needed him to keep me from falling apart.

Part of me was embarrassed that I had shared so much with him, confused that I’d let him see this vulnerable side of me. But as I stood there, wrapped in his arms, I realized something—this wasn’t just comfort. For the first time in a long time, I felt safe. Protected. Cared for by a man who wasn’t asking for anything in return. And despite the whirlwind of emotions, despite the confusion, I couldn’t bring myself to pull away.

He just held me, and I let him. No words, no expectations—just the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek, the warmth of his arms wrapping around me like a shield against the world.

“It’s not the first time he’s put me on ice,” I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “But this time feels different.”

Marlon’s grip tightened, just slightly, as if steadying himself before responding. His voice, low and steady, was laced with a quiet anger. “That’s not right, Magnolia. Not normal either. That’s bullshit.”

I blinked against the sting in my eyes, swallowing the lump in my throat. His words cut through the fog of doubt, sharp and honest. It was something I hadn’t been willing to admit to myself, but hearing it from him, in that no-nonsense way of his, made it real in a way I couldn’t avoid.

“I don’t know why I keep letting it happen,” I admitted, my voice small, barely audible against the sound of the waves crashing outside. “It’s like I’m waiting for something to change.”

Marlon shifted, pulling back just enough to look at me, his dark eyes steady, filled with an intensity that made my heart ache. “Waiting on him to change isn’t the answer, Maggie. You deserve better than that. You know it.”

The certainty in his voice, the way he said it like it was the most obvious truth in the world, made something inside me crack. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear it until that moment.

“So when you’re not being an asshole, you’re a therapist?” I tried to joke, my voice muffled against his chest.

He chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling, like thunder trapped in his ribcage. “I’m not an asshole for real, Maggie. Just a man who wanted to maintain his five-star streak on Yelp,” he said, his tone lighter now, teasing.

I bit my lip, deciding it was time to come clean. “Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice soft, reassuring.

“I pressed the four stars by accident. It was supposed to be five.”

“What?” he said, pulling back just enough to look at me, but still keeping me in his arms. His brow furrowed, and I could see the surprise flash across his face.

“I mean, I did have some critiques, sure, but honestly, it was one of the best meals I’ve ever had,” I admitted, feeling a little sheepish. “But I was rushing while writing the review at the table, and I guess I accidentally put four stars. I didn’t realize until you ran up on me like we were about to square off in a war that I’d made a mistake.”

“So why didn’t you cop to it right then and there?” he asked, his voice softening, though there was still a hint of disbelief.

“You were being an asshole,” I said with a shrug, meeting his eyes.

He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “So you cursed me out in front of The Chamber of Commerce members instead of just saying, ‘My bad’?”

“I wasn’t about to back down,” I shot back, a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. “What was I supposed to do? Fold under pressure?”

Marlon shook his head, laughing softly. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“So are you!” I retorted, playfully smacking his chest, but the tension between us had shifted now, lightened by the absurdity of it all.

He smiled, that slow, dangerous grin that always made my heart skip a beat. “Guess we’re a perfect match, then,” he said, his voice low and teasing, and in that moment, I couldn’t help but think he might be right.

For a moment, the kitchen was filled with nothing but the quiet hum of electricity between us and the distant rumble of thunder outside. Marlon didn’t say anything, didn’t push—he just held me, his arms steady, solid in a way that made me feel more grounded than I had in ages.

Fuck this fake beef, I thought. I wanted to kiss him, and the way his eyes lingered on mine made it clear he was thinking the same thing. The air between us felt charged, like we were on the brink of something inevitable.

“What’s going on in here?”, my Mama’s voice asked just as I was about to make my move.

Marlon and I jumped apart, like two kids caught sneaking around, my heart practically leaping out of my chest. I cleared my throat, trying to shake the heat that had crept up my neck.

“Nothing!” I said, way too fast, sounding more like a teenager than the fully clothed grown woman I was.

Mama narrowed her eyes, glancing between the two of us with a knowing look, arms crossed over her chest. “Mmhmm.” She didn’t have to say anything else—her expression did all the talking.

“Was just helping Magnolia clean up so we can start prepping dinner,” Marlon added quickly, clearing his throat, though the tension in his voice gave him away.

Mama cocked her head to the side, still eyeing us like she had x-ray vision, able to see through every excuse and awkward glance we exchanged. “Mmmhhmm,” she repeated, clearly unconvinced but mercifully letting it slide—for now.

“Just gonna remix this chicken and put it in some containers with sides so everyone can eat when they’re ready,” I said, trying to sound casual as I moved toward the counter. “That way I can get to my room and stay there.”

“But your room is outside,” Marlon said, concern creeping into his voice.

Mama shot him a look. “She knows where her room is, Marlon.”

“I’m just saying, she’ll have to be out there in the rain, the wind, the lightning…” he continued, sounding like he was gearing up for an argument.

“It’s right there, Marlon. I’ll be fine,” I said, pointing toward the little guest cottage a few yards away. “I just don’t want to have to come in and out. Once I go, I’m in for the night.”

“Okay,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced.

Mama sighed, her patience clearly thinning. “Well, whatever you two are doing in here, just don’t have your private parts out. This is where we cook. That’s unsanitary.”

“Mama!” I gasped, eyes wide in pure shock. “Ain’t nobody—oh my God, why would you say that?”

Marlon let out a hearty laugh, doubling over as Mama waved a dismissive hand like it was no big deal and sauntered out of the kitchen.

“Girl, I know what I said!” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared down the hallway.

I groaned, covering my face with my hands.

“I swear she’s got no filter,” I muttered, but I couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of my lips. When I peeked at him through my fingers, he was grinning, and despite everything, I felt that pull again—the one that had me wanting to kiss him in the first place.

He stepped closer, too close for me to ignore, and when I looked up, his expression had shifted. The humor was gone, replaced with something more intense, more focused. My heart stuttered in my chest as he leaned against the counter, his eyes locked on mine, dark and unreadable.

“Maggie, I’m serious,” he said, his voice dropping lower, rougher. “You don’t have to stay out there tonight. You could… stay inside. In here. In my room. I’ll sleep on the pull out couch, you can have my bed.”

I froze, my pulse quickening as his words settled over me. It wasn’t just the offer—it was the way he said it, like there was more than just shelter from the storm wrapped up in those words. Like he was offering something I wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

“I’ll be fine,” I whispered, my voice shaky, betraying the calm I was trying to hold onto. But I could feel it—this pull between us, growing stronger by the second. And the more I tried to deny it, the more undeniable it became.

Marlon’s gaze didn’t waver, his eyes still on mine, like he was daring me to take a step closer to whatever this was between us. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Magnolia. I know you still might feel a way about what you shared with me. We can keep talking if you want.”

I swallowed, the tension thickening in the air. Part of me wanted to run, retreat to the safety of my little cottage, to shut this down before it turned into something I couldn’t control.

“I’m not pretending,” I said, the words coming out sharper than I intended. But even as they left my mouth, I knew they weren’t the truth. “I really am fine. If you just want someone to keep you company because you’re scared of the little hurricane, just say that, Marlon. You don’t have to act like you wanna stay up and braid each other's hair all night while we have a sleepover,” I added, trying to lighten the moment with a joke, but even I could hear the edge in my voice.

Marlon’s smile was slow, almost dangerous, the kind that sent a ripple of something electric down my spine.

“Keep playing, Maggie,” he warned, his voice low and steady, like he was daring me to push further.

My heart raced, the playful banter suddenly feeling like it was teetering on the edge of something deeper, something I wasn’t sure I was ready for. The storm outside raged on, but the one brewing between us was louder, more potent.

“I’m just saying,” I shrugged, trying to keep my tone casual, though it felt impossible with the way he was looking at me. “I don’t think you can handle—”

In an instant, Marlon closed the distance between us, his hand gently gripping the back of my neck, his lips hovering just above mine.

“Handle what, Maggie?” he whispered, his breath hot and teasing.

Before I could respond, the kitchen lights flickered, the storm outside finally making its presence known. The thunder rumbled louder this time, the wind howling against the windows like it was trying to break through.

"Guess the storm’s picking up," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, using the shift in weather as an excuse to ease the tension that had been building between us. "We should hurry up so I can get outside before it’s too dangerous."

Marlon nodded, but his eyes never left mine, still filled with that intensity that had my pulse racing. "Yeah," he said, his voice low. "Alright, Maggie."

The way he said my name felt different now, heavier, like there was more hanging in the air than just the storm outside. He didn’t push, didn’t argue—just watched me for a beat too long, like he was waiting for me to change my mind.

I busied myself with packing the containers, moving with a purpose I wasn’t sure I actually had, but my hands were trembling just enough for me to notice. I couldn’t tell if it was from the storm brewing outside or from Marlon. Maybe both.

“Hey, let me finish this up for you. You head on out since you don’t wanna braid my hair and make friendship bracelets,” he teased, his voice laced with that sarcasm that always seemed to wrap around the unspoken things between us.

I chuckled, the tension easing just slightly. “You sure?”

He nodded, that slow, steady smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I got you, Magnolia. Head out since you don’t wanna stay with me,” he said, driving his point home one more time, the words hanging between us like a dare.

Marlon walked me to the back door, his presence heavy beside me as I stared out at the cottage through the dark, stormy night. The distance between here and there seemed so much further than usual. The wind howled louder, rattling the windows, but the real storm—the one inside me, between us—was still there. Quiet. Simmering. Ready to break at any moment.

I could feel Marlon’s eyes on me, a steady heat at my back, as I took a deep breath, trying to shake the pull that made me hesitate.

"Stay safe out there," he said, his voice soft but carrying the weight of something more than just concern for the weather.

I turned to him, a smile tugging at my lips, but there was something unspoken between us, and we both knew it. Just before I stepped outside, I hesitated, glancing back at him one more time. His eyes met mine, and in that split second, it was like the air thickened, crackling with the tension that had been building all night.

"Goodnight, Marlon," I said, my voice soft, but even I could hear the edge in it—like we both knew this wasn’t just a simple goodbye.

"Goodnight, Magnolia," he replied, his voice low and measured, but there was something in the way he said it—something that made me feel like this storm between us was far from over.

I stepped out into the wind, the rain beginning to fall in thick, heavy drops, but the truth was, the most dangerous thing I was walking away from tonight wasn’t the hurricane—it was the pull I felt toward Marlon, the one I wasn’t sure I could keep resisting.

And deep down, I knew this wasn’t the end. It was just the calm before the next storm.

MARLON

I couldn’t sleep for shit.

Tossing and turning, my mind was as restless as the storm outside. The hurricane sounded like a boxing match between the gods—each gust of wind a heavy punch, each crash of thunder a body blow that rattled the windows. But even more disturbing than that? I couldn’t stop thinking about Magnolia.

Fuck.

The truth was, I’d always been attracted to her rude ass. The way she carried herself, always ready to curse somebody out, kept things interesting. Ever since she lit into me in front of every business owner in town, the tension between us had been undeniable. But spending time with her in the kitchen earlier today? That was different. For the first time, we both let our guards down, and I knew something was brewing—something beyond this storm.

And I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to find out what it was. Who knew when we’d get another opportunity like this? Both of us worked in hospitality; our lives were constant motion. But now, with the hurricane pinning us down, there were no distractions, no schedules, just us. I needed to talk to her.

Fuck it.

I grabbed my hoodie, slipped on my slides, and headed downstairs to the back door where she’d left earlier. The wind pushed against me the second I cracked it open, howling like it wanted to throw me back inside. The rain was relentless, hammering the ground with a vengeance, drenching me the second I stepped out. But I pushed forward, cutting across the yard, my eyes locked on the soft glow of the light in her room.

I reached her door, knocking like I was the damn police, my fist slamming against the wood in desperation. The wind whipped around me, pulling at my hoodie, the rain soaking me to the bone. But I didn’t care. I needed to see her, to talk to her. I needed to know she was okay—and, hell, maybe to figure out what was happening between us.

A few seconds passed, then the door cracked open, and there she was—Magnolia, standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with surprise.

“Marlon, what are you doing?” she snapped, but before I could answer, she grabbed me by the hoodie and yanked me inside, slamming the door behind us. The moment the cold air from her AC hit me, I felt the chill settle deep into my bones. My clothes clung to me like a second skin, drenched, and I stood there, teeth chattering, dripping water onto her perfectly clean floors like some half-drowned idiot.

“You’re gonna get sick if you stay in those clothes,” she said, her voice all business as she eyed me up and down. There was no room for debate, no time to argue—just the sharp command in her voice that made it clear I wasn’t about to stand there soaked for long.

Without a second thought, I peeled off my hoodie, then my wet t-shirt, socks, and cargo shorts, the fabric sticking to my skin, making everything more awkward than it already was. I was down to my boxers, standing there dripping water in her room, the absurdity of it hitting me like a brick.

We both froze, the silence thick between us. Did I just take all my damn clothes off?

Magnolia’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat as she stared at me. And there I was, half-naked and shivering like a fool, her gaze locked onto mine, neither of us knowing what the hell to do next. This was beyond awkward—it was the kind of situation you couldn’t just brush off.

"Well, this is... something," I muttered, trying to break the tension, but the words felt flat in the thick air between us.

Magnolia blinked, like she was snapping out of a daze, and then, instead of stepping back or saying something snarky, she laughed—a soft, incredulous laugh that made the corners of her eyes crinkle. And for a moment, it was like the storm outside didn’t matter.

“You’re naked,” Magnolia said, her eyes flicking to my chest before quickly darting away, as if she couldn’t decide whether to be offended, amused, or just plain confused.

“I have underwear on,” I defended, raising my hands. “You told me to take my clothes off.”

She smirked, crossing her arms. “Do you always follow directions without questioning anything?”

“Well, I was freezing... am freezing,” I shot back, shivering as the cold crept further into my bones. Then I glanced down at my soaked boxers and shrugged. “Matter of fact, I think I gotta take these off too.”

Before she could react, I yanked them down, the wet fabric hitting the floor with a slap. Magnolia gasped, spinning around with her hands covering her eyes like she’d just witnessed a crime scene.

“What are you doing?!” she half-shouted, half-laughed, clearly caught off guard.

“I’m getting in the bed,” I said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Without waiting for her permission or approval, I dove under the covers, the warmth enveloping me instantly. The sheets were soft, and I sank into them like a man who’d just been pulled from freezing water, grateful for any reprieve from the cold.

“Marlon, get out of my bed,” Magnolia said, now standing over me with her hands on her hips, trying to sound stern.

I grinned up at her, refusing to budge. “Nope. Not happening. You told me to take my clothes off, and now I’m freezing. You got two options—either get in here with me and share your body heat, or deal with a shivering naked man under your covers.”

Her mouth opened, then closed, the battle playing out on her face. She shook her head, muttering something under her breath, but she didn’t move me.

She looked at me like I’d lost my damn mind. “Marlon, you’re trying to spoon me as some sort of revenge for not staying in your room.”

“Get your ass in here, Maggie!” I demanded, trying to keep my voice playful, but there was an edge of vulnerability creeping in, one I wasn’t used to showing.

“Marlon, this is crazy.”

“Maggie,” I repeated, dragging the name out like a dare. “I’m vulnerable and freezing my ass off. Please, just get in here and give me some damn body heat. I need you.”

She hesitated, her eyes flickering with indecision, weighing the absurdity of the moment against the quiet tension that had been simmering between us all day. For a second, I thought she’d turn me down, that she’d walk out of the room and leave me there shivering in my own awkwardness. But then she sighed, rolling her eyes in that dramatic, exaggerated way she did when she knew she was giving in.

Magnolia climbed into the bed beside me, her warmth immediately melting away the cold that had seeped into my bones. Her body fit against mine like it belonged there, and suddenly the hurricane outside didn’t matter. It was just the two of us, tangled up in the sheets, as the storm raged beyond the walls.

“You couldn’t even stand me this morning, and now here you are, spooning me in my bed. Things have really taken a turn,” Magnolia joked, her voice teasing but soft as I wrapped myself around her, the curve of her back pressing into me.

“They have,” I grumbled, shifting to get even more comfortable, feeling her warmth seep into me. “Like this damn hurricane.”

There was a brief silence, and then Magnolia tensed slightly, like she’d just noticed something.

“Marlon… do you have a hard-on?” she asked, her voice a mix of cautious amusement, like she couldn’t quite believe it was happening.

“No,” I lied, but the truth was evident. We both knew it.

“You do,” she said, her words punctuated by a stifled laugh. “It’s poking me.”

“This is me on soft, Maggie. It’s just that I’m working with a lot,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant, but even I could hear the cocky tone creeping in.

Magnolia snorted, shaking her head but staying right where she was, not pulling away.

“You have the nerve to have a big dick, too? No wonder you’re so damn arrogant.”

I chuckled softly, pulling her a little closer.

“Can’t help it,” I muttered, letting the tension between us settle into something warmer, something deeper than either of us was ready to admit.

The room went still, the only sounds left were the faint hum of the AC and the relentless pounding of the rain against the window. Then, it really hit me. I had run out into a full-blown hurricane to come see this woman, and now I was naked in her bed, holding her like I belonged there.

"This is awkward," she said, breaking the silence, her voice low, as if she was trying to convince herself of something.

“A little” I admitted, my face buried in the curve of her neck, while my eyes darted around the room nervously.

“I have a little portable dryer thing I bought from Amazon. I can put your stuff in there… in a little bit,” she offered, like she was trying to steer us back to something resembling normalcy.

Things went quiet again, the only reminder of the world outside being the sound of the storm beating against the house.

“Umm, Marlon, why are you here?” she asked softly, her voice less sharp than usual.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” I said, feeling the weight of those words more than I expected.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked, her tone carrying that familiar mix of confidence and skepticism.

“I don’t know… maybe ’cause there’s a Category 4 hurricane happening,” I said, trying to lighten the tension with humor, even though I knew that wasn’t the real reason I’d come.

“I’ve been through a million of these since birth, I told you. I was fine. There was no reason for you to run out here.”

“Maybe I just wanted to keep spending time with your mean ass, Maggie. Shit,” I shot back, half-serious, half-playful, but the words hung in the air longer than I expected. There it was—maybe not the full truth, but closer to it than I’d planned on getting.

“Why? Because now you know I meant to give you a five-star review, suddenly we’re cool again?” she teased, her voice carrying that edge of sarcasm she always wielded like a weapon.

I rolled my eyes but pulled her tighter, needing her heat more than I’d ever admit. “Yeah, whatever,” I muttered, my breath warm against her neck.

“Marlon, you’re gonna have to get that hard-on under control,” she said, half-exasperated but with a laugh creeping in.

“Nobody told you to have a fat ass and a bad attitude, Maggie,” I snapped back, frustration and attraction tangled up in my words.

“Oh, so that’s what you like? You like that I’m mean to you?” she said, turning in my arms, her face now inches from mine. Her eyes gleamed, that familiar fire in them, but there was something else, something softer lurking behind the bravado.

For a moment, the storm outside didn’t matter, and neither did the awkwardness. She was there, looking right through me, and it wasn’t just about the banter anymore. It was something deeper. Something I wasn’t sure either of us knew how to handle.

“Maybe I do,” I said, my voice dropping as I held her gaze. I shrugged, trying to keep things light even though everything felt heavy in the best way. “It’s... not boring, that’s for sure.”

She didn’t say anything for a beat, just watched me, like she was piecing together everything that had been left unsaid between us. Then, in a move I didn’t expect, she reached up and traced a finger along my jawline, her touch both teasing and tender.

“This is gonna be weird tomorrow when we go back to hating each other,” she said, half-smirking.

I didn’t even want to play those games anymore, to be honest.

“I really don’t want you to go back to that man if he tries to switch up, or any man that’s making you share, not giving you what you’re worthy of,” I said, my voice low but firm.

Her smirk faltered, and she raised an eyebrow. “How do you know what I’m worthy of?”

“Maggie,” I said, looking at her like she was missing something obvious. “I know you’ve pegged me as an arrogant asshole, and sure, we’ve had our share of petty beef. But from what I’ve gathered since we met, that bullshit you’re accepting? It’s way less than what you deserve. I don’t need to know every detail to see that.”

She stared at me for a moment, eyes searching mine as if trying to figure out whether I was just another guy feeding her a line. But I wasn’t.

Magnolia blinked, dropping her hand from my face, her expression softening. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just… don’t settle for scraps, Maggie,” I said quietly. “Not when you’re worth the whole damn feast.”

“I had you all wrong,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper now.

“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to ignore the way her touch sent a current through me.

Magnolia’s eyes softened, and for the first time since I met her, the armor she wore seemed to drop just a little. “I thought you were just some arrogant, stuck-up chef who couldn’t take a little criticism. But you...you’re not just that…you…”

She didn’t finish the sentence, but she didn’t have to. The way she was looking at me, the way she was letting her guard down in that tiny, vulnerable moment—it was enough. The storm outside kept raging, but inside, between us, something else was happening. Something that felt bigger than either of us had anticipated.

I reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, my fingers lingering just a little too long.

“Maybe you had me all wrong, Maggie,” I said, my voice quieter now, “and maybe I had you all wrong too.”

Her lips parted slightly, and for a split second, the air between us crackled with possibility. The banter, the teasing—it was still there, but underneath it was something real, something raw. And as she looked at me, I knew whatever was between us wasn’t just about the fight we’d been carrying on for years. It was about what was happening right now, with no distractions, no defenses.

The moment stretched, thick with tension neither of us seemed willing to break. I hovered there, just a fraction away from her, testing the waters, feeling the heat radiating between us. My heart pounded in my chest, a slow, heavy rhythm that drowned out the storm outside.

“You want me to kiss you, Maggie?” I asked, my voice low, the words hanging in the air between us.

She gave me that look—the one that always had a bit of a challenge behind it, her lips curling into a smirk.

“You like toxic shit, Marlon,” she teased, her voice soft but edged with that fire that never seemed to go out when we were together.

“Nah,” I murmured, my breath brushing her lips. “I just…” I paused, my mind racing, but the truth slipped out before I could stop it. Screw it—I was already naked in her bed. “I just like you,” I whispered against her mouth, the confession heavy in the air between us.

Her smirk faltered, her eyes softening as she registered what I’d just said. Then, without a word, she closed the tiny gap between us, her lips pressing softly against mine. It wasn’t playful or teasing—this was something real, something that carried the weight of all the tension we’d been holding for too long.

I kissed her back, slow at first, savoring the way her lips felt against mine, like everything had finally clicked into place. Magnolia sighed into the kiss, her hand sliding up to my neck, pulling me closer, as if she was finally done pretending she didn’t feel this too.

All the words, all the fights, all the tension between us—none of it mattered now. I was in her bed, naked and vulnerable, and for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t trying to hide behind anything.

“Why did you really come here?” Magnolia asked, her voice soft but curious, cutting through the warmth of the moment.

I held her gaze, searching for the right words, something that wasn’t just another line. “I liked talking to you earlier,” I admitted, my voice quiet but steady. “I wanna keep getting to know you. And... I wanna let you know you’ve got other options besides that man.”

Her lips curled into a slight smirk. “I do?”

“Yeah,” I said confidently, letting the weight of my words settle between us. There was no need to elaborate—she knew what I meant.

Magnolia licked her lips, and as her eyes stayed locked on mine, she slid her hand between us, palming my erection, sending a shockwave through me that made me groan involuntarily. She smirked, clearly satisfied with my reaction.

“I mean, it’s not every day a girl like me has a man like you in her bed,” she teased, but there was something deeper in her tone, something that hinted at more than just playful banter.

“Maggie,” I murmured, my voice dipping lower, testing the waters. “If you’ve been wanting me to fuck you, be a big girl about it.” The words came out daring, reckless, hanging between us like a challenge. “I don’t know what this ‘guy like me, girl like you’ bullshit is. I’m a straightforward man. Tell me what you need.”

Magnolia’s breath hitched, her hand tightening slightly on me, and for a second, I felt her stiffen. But then she exhaled, her body relaxing, sinking deeper into the moment. Her silence was an answer on its own, and the room felt charged, like we were both standing on the edge of something that neither of us could turn away from now.

I sighed, pressing on. “I know it wasn’t easy for you to tell me about your... situationship. But you did, and I could tell it hit a sore spot. I know we haven’t exactly been best friends, but you’re good people, Magnolia. You come from Ms. Mable, and that means something. Spending time with you today—it’s been nice. I’m thinking this could be the start of a friendship. Am I wrong?”

Magnolia stayed quiet for a moment, as if weighing my words, turning them over carefully. “Do friends spoon?” she asked finally, her voice playful but laced with a hint of something deeper, something vulnerable.

“This is for survival, Maggie,” I whispered, my lips brushing her ear as I leaned in closer, feeling the heat of her skin against mine. “You’re helping me, like a good friend. And if you need me to help you…” I let the words hang between us, my voice dropping to a low, gravelly whisper. “All you gotta do is let me know.”

She didn’t respond, but she didn’t pull away, either. We were both right on the edge of something, neither of us sure where it would lead, but neither of us willing to back down. I held her a little tighter, the wind howling outside like it was trying to tear the world apart, but inside, wrapped up in her warmth, nothing else mattered. For now, this was enough. But the way she felt against me, the way she’d let me in without saying a word—I knew this wouldn’t stay unresolved for long.

MAGNOLIA

“Touch me,” I whispered, the words slipping out like a confession I hadn’t meant to say out loud, but they hung in the air, thick and electric.

Marlon’s grip tightened, his arms wrapped around me like a fortress. He leaned down, his breath warm against my ear. “Maggie, I got you right here. I am touching you.”

I sucked my teeth, frustration bubbling beneath the surface, mixing with something hotter, more dangerous. “You know damn well what I mean, Marlon.”

His lips curled into a smirk that made my pulse jump. “No, I don’t,” he said, his voice rough and teasing, the edge of it sending a shiver down my spine.

I rolled my eyes, exasperation seeping into every word. “You’re such a pain in my ass.”

He chuckled, that deep, rumbling sound that made my stomach flutter against my will. “I can be, if that’s what you’re into,” he said, his tone dropping into something darker, more wicked. “But you still haven’t told me exactly how you want me to touch you.”

I shot him a look, my irritation only half-real. “Do you need directions for everything?”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable, something intense. “I need your consent, first of all.”

“I just fucking told you to touch me,” I snapped, my voice sharper now, edged with desperation I couldn’t hide.

“If I touch you the way I want to, Magnolia,” he whispered, his voice thick with promise, “by the time I’m done, you’re gonna be apologizing for ruining my five-star streak on Yelp.”

The air between us crackled, every inch of space charged with the weight of what we weren’t saying. The storm outside had nothing on the one swirling between us, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to brace myself for it—or let it take me under completely.

“I will not apologize to you,” I said, my voice steady, though my heart was pounding hard enough to make me wonder if he could hear it.

Marlon’s grin was slow, deliberate—like a predator circling prey. It wasn’t just a smile; it was a dare, one I wasn’t sure I had the strength to turn down.

“Give me the word, and I bet you will,” he challenged, his eyes locked on mine, daring me to take the bait. “You’ve felt what I’m working with, Magnolia. You really wanna play those games?”

I scoffed, trying to keep the crack in my resolve from showing. “Just because it’s big doesn’t mean you know how to use it.”

Marlon chuckled, the sound low and deep, like the rumble of thunder right before the storm hits. It sent a dangerous thrill down my spine, heating my skin from the inside out.

“Oh, I know exactly what to do with it. But that’s not the question, is it?” He pulled me closer, his presence overpowering, filling the space between us until I could barely breathe. “The question is, can you handle it, Maggie?”

I clenched my jaw, every nerve in my body on high alert at the way he said my name like it was a weapon, like he enjoyed watching it cut into me. “Stop calling me Maggie.”

His smile widened, dark, teasing, his eyes glinting with a challenge I wasn’t sure I could resist. “Or what?”

He leaned in, just close enough for me to feel the heat of his body, his breath mingling with mine. The air around us felt thick, electric—charged with every unsaid thing that had been building between us for too long. It wasn’t just the name he was pushing; it was the line between want and need, between control and surrender. He didn’t flinch as I struggled to find words.

“Careful, Magnolia,” he said, his voice a rough whisper, sending a shiver through me. “You might just find out what it means to be handled.”

The tension between us thickened, swirling like the wind outside, heavy with everything unspoken. And in that breathless moment, with the storm raging both inside and out, I knew I wasn’t the only one bracing for what came next.

“Is that supposed to scare me?” I taunted, even though my pulse was racing, every nerve on high alert.

“No,” he said, stepping so close that our breaths mingled, his lips a mere inch from mine. “It’s supposed to make you think twice before you run that pretty little mouth.”

I smirked, refusing to give an inch. “I’ll think about it when you give me a reason to.”

Marlon’s grin was wicked, every inch of him radiating pure, unfiltered arrogance as his hand skimmed my waist—just enough to tease, never enough to satisfy. “Oh, I’ll give you plenty of reasons. All you gotta do is let me.”

I leaned in, my breath hot against his cheek, pushing back with every bit of defiance left in me. “I said… touch me, Marlon,” I dared, my voice low and daring him to cross that line.

He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that sent a jolt straight through me, and before I could blink, he had my leg pulled over his hip, locking me against him with a force that made my breath hitch.

“Open that smart-ass mouth,” he ordered, his tone edged with the kind of authority that sent a shiver through me.

I parted my lips, defiantly meeting his gaze as he slipped his pointer and middle finger onto my tongue, his touch rough and demanding.

“Suck it, Magnolia,” he growled, his eyes blazing with a challenge that dared me to keep up.

I wrapped my lips around his fingers, my heart pounding, caught in this wild, reckless moment that I couldn’t turn away from, even if I wanted to. I did as I was told as he watched me, mouth slack before he pulled the fingers out my mouth and they made their way into my soaked panties - two fingers inside me and his thumb massaging my clit.

“Look at you, wet as fuck before I even touched you, huh?” Marlon’s voice was a low, throaty whisper as he kissed my shivering lips, his mouth hot and urgent against mine. He pulled back just enough to let his eyes roam over me, dark and hungry. “How long have you been wanting me to fuck you, Magnolia?” he asked, his tongue flicking over his lips like he was savoring the taste of every confession he was about to pull from me.

I gripped the back of his neck, my nails digging into his skin, desperate and aching as I moved my hips in sync with the slow, deliberate rhythm of his hands. The tension in my body coiled tight, ready to snap. My breath came out in short, needy pants, each movement sending shocks of pleasure rippling through me, unraveling me piece by piece.

“I—” I whimpered, but the words caught in my throat as his massive fingers danced inside me, filling me up, stretching me in a way that made me wonder what the rest of him would feel like if this was just his fingers. My body trembled beneath his touch, my thoughts fragmented, every ounce of control slipping away. “Just now,” I lied, the words shaky and weak.

“Answer me truthfully, or I’ll stop,” he warned, his voice dripping with dominance, the kind of control that sent a fresh wave of heat rolling through me. His fingers moved with an agonizing slowness, drawing out every sensation, every inch of need that had been building between us for longer than I wanted to admit. The threat of him stopping had my head spinning, the thought unbearable.

“Since the first day I saw you,” I gasped, the truth spilling out in ragged breaths, my eyes rolling back as the pleasure crested higher. “When you came to our Christmas party,” I admitted, the memory of him in that sharp suit, all swagger and smirk, flashing hot and vivid in my mind.

Marlon’s grip on my hip tightened, his fingers pushing deeper, hitting a spot that sent a hiss of pleasure ripping through me, sharp and consuming. “And why didn’t you say something?” he pressed, his words a low, gravelly challenge, breaking through what little defenses I had left.

“That night… I was with him,” I managed, my voice trembling, breaking under the weight of the admission. It was the truth I hadn’t wanted to face, not then, and certainly not now—not when Marlon was making me feel like everything before him had been nothing more than a pale comparison.

His fingers slowed, but they didn’t stop, coaxing more truth from me with each deliberate, excruciatingly perfect movement. “But you’re not with him anymore, are you?” His voice was low, dark, threaded with the kind of certainty that cut through all the noise in my head.

“No,” I breathed, shaking my head, every inch of me trembling, on the edge of something I could no longer control. “Not anymore.”

Marlon’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin as he pushed me closer to that edge, his eyes locked on mine. “Good. Because tonight, you’re with me.”

“But that’s over now,” he said, his gaze burning into mine, pushing me to face the truth.

I nodded, my body trembling with every unspoken promise.

“I wanna hear it,” he growled, his fingers curling in a way that made my toes curl in response.

“Yes,” I breathed, my voice barely a whisper, the truth hanging between us like a dare.

“You’re not going back to him, no matter what he says, no matter what games he tries to play. Understood?” Marlon’s voice was firm, steady, cutting through the haze of everything I’d been running from.

“Yes,” I whispered, my resolve thickening with every syllable. His words weren’t just a demand—they were an anchor, holding me in the moment, keeping me from drifting back into the past I’d been too afraid to let go of.

“It’s Sir, Magnolia,” he corrected, his tone rough, unyielding, his gaze never leaving mine. The reminder of earlier—my snide comment about lunch not being included—dripped from his lips with a mockery that made my heart race. “Remember? ‘Lunch isn’t included in your stay, Sir,’” he mimicked, his voice low, teasing, but laced with a darkness that sent a shiver through me.

And then he sank his fingers deeper, twisting them just right, drawing a gasp from my lips before I could stop it.

“Yes, Sir,” I breathed, the words spilling from me like a surrender I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding back. It wasn’t just compliance—it was acceptance, giving in to the pull that had been between us from the start, a power I’d been too proud to acknowledge until now.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise thick with satisfaction, seeping into me, deeper than any touch. His words curled around me, wrapping me in something warm, dangerous, something that made me feel seen in a way that burned and soothed at the same time.

In that instant, there was no past, no hesitation—just Marlon, commanding every inch of me, and me, more than willing to let him. The storm inside was no longer something I feared; it was something I craved, something that had been brewing for too long. I let it pull me under, knowing that, for the first time, I wasn’t drowning—I was choosing to sink into it.

He watched me like he was savoring every tremble, every flicker of vulnerability I’d tried so hard to hide from him and myself. His fingers never slowed, never faltered, dragging ragged breaths from my throat that I couldn’t quite catch.

“You deserve better” he murmured, voice rich and heady as his free hand gripped my waist, anchoring me against him. “You need more”

I shuddered, his words piercing through the haze of want. “I need more,” I gasped, my hips rocking against his hand, desperate for the kind of release that only he seemed capable of giving.

He leaned in, his lips brushing mine. “I know exactly what you need, Magnolia,” he growled, the sound reverberating through me, dark and promising. “But you gotta work for it. You gonna work for me?”

“Yes, Sir,” I breathed, every nerve alight, ready to be unraveled.

He pulled his fingers away, and I whimpered at the loss, but he was quick to replace the emptiness with a slow, torturous slide of his hand up my thigh, pinning me his hardness.. His hard length pressed against me, teasing, testing my restraint.

“Look at me,” he commanded, and when I did, his eyes were searing, pulling me into the heat of everything we’d been dancing around. “You want this? All of it?”

I nodded frantically, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I tried to pull him closer, but Marlon wasn’t having it. He held me there, suspended in that delicious, agonizing tension.

“I need to hear you, Magnolia,” he insisted, his voice rough, demanding every inch of me. “Tell me you want me.”

“I want you,” I panted, the truth spilling out in a rush of need that felt like a weight lifting off my chest. “God, I want you, Marlon.”

His mouth crashed onto mine, hard and insistent, swallowing every moan, every desperate plea as he rocked against me, slow and deliberate, building us up to that razor’s edge. Each kiss, each touch felt like a promise, a reckoning that neither of us could walk away from now.

“You’re mine tonight,” Marlon said, his voice rough and commanding, breaking the kiss just long enough to catch my gaze, his breath hot and ragged against my lips. “You ready for that?”

“Yes, Sir,” I whispered, the words trembling on my tongue, laced with a mix of defiance and surrender. Marlon was the storm I’d been trying to avoid, and now that I was in his grasp, I never wanted to find my way out.

The sound of my own pleasure filled the room, raw and desperate.

“You’re so beautiful, Magnolia,” he said, his eyes roaming my face like he was committing every gasp and moan to memory. “Can’t wait to see what you look like when you’re coming for me.”

“I’m right there,” I panted, my body tensing, the pressure building in a way that made everything else fade to black.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice a rough whisper as his fingers pinched my swollen clit, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through me. “I know.”

“Marlon!” I screamed, the sound raw and unfiltered, a plea and a command all at once.

He watched me unravel, his eyes never leaving mine, soaking in every flicker of my need as I screamed.

“I know, Magnolia,” he repeated, his voice low, almost reverent, like he was savoring every second of my surrender.

I bit down on my lip, trying to hold back, but he curved his fingers just right, pressing firmly on my clit in a way that shattered whatever composure I had left. The intensity tore through me, wave after wave, and all I could do was cling to him, lost in the sensation, lost in him.

Marlon’s eyes stayed locked on mine, dark and filled with a hunger that bordered on possessive. His fingers moved with a deliberate, knowing rhythm, coaxing sounds from me that I didn’t know I was capable of making. Every touch, every push and pull was precise, like he was learning my body note by note, playing me with an expertise that left me dizzy and breathless.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice low and rough, cutting through the haze. My eyes fluttered open, meeting his, and the intensity there was enough to make my breath hitch. He wanted every piece of me laid bare, no hiding, no holding back.

I tried to respond, but all that came out was a strangled moan as he curled his fingers again, hitting a spot that sent me careening toward the edge. My back arched, and I could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap.

“God, Marlon, I can’t—” I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders, the words tumbling out between ragged breaths.

“You can,” he growled, his mouth grazing my neck, teeth scraping just enough to make me whimper. “You’re gonna give me more, Magnolia. All of it.”

His pace quickened, relentless, each thrust of his fingers drawing me closer to that precipice. I was trembling, my body pulled taut, every nerve lit up like a live wire. I tried to hold on, tried to keep some semblance of control, but Marlon wouldn’t let me. He pushed and pulled, his movements demanding, refusing to let me stay in that safe, guarded space I’d kept myself in for so long.

"Cum for me again," Marlon urged, his voice thick with command and a promise that made my whole body tremble. "I’m right here. I’ve got you."

“Marlon, please,” I begged, the words spilling out like a plea I couldn’t hold back anymore.

“You’re right there, Magnolia. Let it go for me.”

And that was all it took. The floodgates opened, and I shattered, another release crashing over me like a tidal wave, relentless and all-consuming. Harder this time. The pleasure ripped through me, pulling me under, drowning me in its intensity. I clung to him, my fingers digging into his skin, my cries muffled against his shoulder as my body convulsed with the force of it. Every nerve in me felt like it was on fire, burning with an overwhelming need that only he could put out.

Marlon held me steady, his grip firm and unyielding, anchoring me as the chaos of the moment threatened to pull me apart. His touch was my only tether, grounding me in the midst of a storm I had no control over.

“Beautiful, Maggie,” he murmured against my ear, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction that sent another shiver coursing through my already trembling body. “Just like that.”

I collapsed against him, spent and trembling, the aftershocks still rippling through my limbs. Marlon’s grip tightened, holding me close as if he knew I needed the grounding, the reassurance that this wasn’t just a fleeting moment. He brushed his lips against my forehead, soft and lingering, a quiet promise in the aftermath of the storm we’d just weathered together.

“Maggie.”

His voice broke through the haze, low and commanding, pulling me back just enough to register the heat still simmering between us.

“Hhmmm?” I answered, my body still trembling, the aftershocks of my release leaving me breathless, unable to form a full sentence.

“I wanna see you cum for me when I’m inside you.” His words dripped with a dark promise, his fingers trailing down my spine, sending new shivers skittering across my skin. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear, and my pulse quickened as the weight of what he was asking settled in. “Can I do that?”

The question hung between us, thick and heady, laced with the kind of desire that had already left me unraveled once—but the thought of it happening again, of giving him that control, sent a fresh wave of heat surging through me. His touch was slow, deliberate, like he was giving me time to say no, to walk away, but we both knew I wasn’t going anywhere.

“Yes,” I whispered, my voice shaky, my body already arching toward him, craving more.

MARLON

Magnolia lay beneath me, her eyes heavy with desire, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. Her legs were spread wide, welcoming me in, her clit swollen and begging for attention, her pussy wet and glistening. I watched as I teased her, tapping her clit over and over with the thick, heavy weight of my dick, holding back just enough to drive her crazy.

“Marlon, please…” she gasped, her voice breaking, raw and desperate.

I couldn’t help the smirk that pulled at my lips, enjoying the way she squirmed beneath me.

“Not a patient girl, are you?” I taunted, my voice low and rough, barely holding back the need to dive in and lose myself in her.

Magnolia’s eyes snapped open, a mix of frustration and lust swirling in those dark, stormy depths.

“I’ve been patient enough,” she shot back, her tone edged with defiance and need. “I said I wanted you since the first day I saw you—that was two years ago. I’ve waited long enough.”

Her words hit me like a punch, all the tension and stolen glances between us coming to a head. The fire in her eyes matched the heat radiating off her body, and there was no mistaking the truth in what she said. Two years of wanting, of pushing down the desire, of pretending like every encounter was just a clash of personalities and nothing more. But now, all that tension had boiled over, and here we were—no more pretending, no more holding back.

Her confession hung in the air, thick and heavy, like the humidity before a thunderstorm. Two years. Two damn years of stolen glances, biting remarks, and tension so thick you could feel it whenever we were in the same room. And now, with the storm raging outside and all the barriers broken down, there was no more hiding behind our stubborn pride.

“You’ve waited long enough, huh?” I murmured, my voice teasing but laced with something deeper, something that had been buried too long. I dragged the tip of my dick over her swollen clit again, slow and deliberate, watching the way her hips bucked in response, a silent plea that matched the hunger in her eyes.

Magnolia’s head fell back, a shuddering breath escaping her lips as she clawed at the sheets. “Marlon, stop teasing me you asshole,” she panted, her voice cracking with impatience and desire, every word soaked with frustration.

I leaned down, my mouth hovering over hers, close enough to taste the warmth of her breath. “I’m not teasing,” I whispered, my tone dark, laced with a promise. “I just want you to feel what I’ve been holding back.”

I slid into her inch by agonizing inch, watching as her eyes fluttered shut, her mouth opening in a soft, breathless moan. She was tight, hot, slick—better than I’d ever imagined, and God, I’d imagined this more times than I’d care to admit. I paused, buried deep, savoring the way she clenched around me, the way her body welcomed me like it was made for this.

“Are you fucking serious, Maggie?,” I groaned, my voice thick with a mix of relief and pent-up lust. I pulled back, then thrust into her again, harder this time, drawing out a gasp that sent a shiver down my spine. “You been keeping this from me? Shit.”

She giggled softly, her breath shaky as she wrapped her arms around my neck, though I could feel her body tensing slightly, adjusting to the way we fit together. I slowed my movements, watching her face carefully, making sure she was comfortable, wanting this moment to be more than just the rush of passion.

"Tell me if it’s too much, Maggie," I whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. The heat between us was undeniable, but there was something more here—something tender, something that made me want to savor every second.

"I’m okay," she murmured, her voice tinged with warmth and reassurance. "I’ve been waiting for this."

"But you’ve been around here giving me so much attitude," I whispered, my voice laced with a mix of frustration and longing. With each slow, deliberate movement, I pressed deeper into her, feeling the weight of all the moments she’d pushed me away, the tension that had built between us for far too long. "Cutting your eyes at me, challenging me every chance you got," I murmured, my lips brushing against her ear, the words carrying a playful edge.

Her hands gripped me tighter, her body responding to every slow thrust. She let out a soft laugh, though her breath hitched as she adjusted to me.

"You deserved it," she whispered back, her voice teasing but full of warmth.

"That four-star review," I said, smiling against her skin as I thrusted deep.

“Oh God!” Magnolia screamed, her voice ragged, her nails digging into my shoulders as she writhed beneath me, her body begging for more even as her pride tried to hold on.

“Whole time, you wanted me. Huh?” I taunted, feeling the power shift as I pressed deeper, each movement pulling her closer to the edge.

“Yes, Sir,” she gasped, her voice barely more than a breath, but that submission, the way she surrendered to me, was sweeter than anything I’d ever tasted.

“Why would you go mess with that married man instead of me?” I demanded, my voice tight with the jealousy I hadn’t been willing to admit until now. “When I’ve been here, waiting on you?” My hand slid under her ass, lifting her up, angling her just right so I could hit that spot inside her that I knew would drive her wild. I pushed in deep, feeling the way she tightened around me as her back arched off the bed.

“Marlon!” she cried out, her voice breaking, her hips bucking up to meet me. I’d found it—her sweet spot—and the way she clenched and shivered told me she was mine in every sense of the word.

“He fuck you like this, Maggie?” I growled, my words low and rough, my pace relentless as I chased every ounce of pleasure out of her.

“No, Sir,” she whimpered, her voice trembling with need, her body surrendering to every punishing thrust. I could feel the truth in her words, raw and unfiltered—she’d been craving me all along, denying herself what she wanted most. Now, with every deep push, I was taking what had always been meant for me.

“I know he doesn’t,” I growled, locking eyes with her as tears slipped down her cheeks, a mix of pleasure and the kind of release that runs deeper than just sex. “This dick so good it’s making you cry.”

Magnolia’s breath hitched, her lips trembling as she tried to keep her composure. “You’re such an arrogant asshole,” she managed, the insult losing its bite under the weight of her desire.

I leaned in closer, the rhythm of my hips unrelenting as I drove into her, each thrust a declaration of everything I’d been holding back.

“I wanna be your arrogant asshole, Maggie,” I admitted, my voice gruff and unguarded, the words spilling out like a confession. “I wanna hear you call me that every damn day, just like this… while your body is begging me for more.”

Her back arched, nails raking down my spine as she let out a choked moan, the heat between us building, threatening to consume everything in its path. I could feel her trembling beneath me, every inch of her responding, and I knew that this was more than just a moment—it was a claim, a promise, a line crossed that neither of us would ever come back from.

“Tell me how I’m making you feel,” I whispered, my voice low and steady, my eyes locked on hers. “Is this what you wanted from me?”

Her lips parted as if to speak, but all that escaped was a soft gasp. I could see the words forming on her tongue, but the intensity of the moment held them back. I needed to hear them.

“Your words, Magnolia,” I murmured, my thumb finding her clit, moving in slow, deliberate circles as I leaned closer. “You’ve got that mouth any other time. Use it now,” I teased, my tone both a challenge and a plea.

She trembled beneath me, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Then, finally, her voice broke through the haze. “It feels so good,” she moaned, her head falling back, her eyes rolling with pleasure. “Oh, God, it feels so good.”

I smiled against her neck, pressing soft kisses there as her words washed over me, her honesty making the moment all the more powerful. The connection between us wasn’t just physical—it was something deeper, something raw, and hearing her surrender to it only made me want her more.

“I want you to feel everything,” I whispered, my movements slow and measured, savoring the way her body responded to every touch. “I want to give you more than you ever thought you could have.”

Her breath hitched, and I could feel her pulse quicken beneath my fingertips as my words settled over her. She arched into me, her body moving in sync with mine, the tension between us building with every slow, deliberate thrust. Each touch, each stroke, was a promise, something far deeper than either of us had anticipated.

“I... I never imagined it would feel like this,” she gasped, her fingers digging into my back, clinging to me like I was her anchor in the storm. Her voice trembled, but there was no hesitation in the way she moved, no doubt left in the way she responded to me.

I grinned against her skin, brushing my lips along the curve of her neck. “There’s more, Magnolia,” I murmured, my voice low and intimate. “As much as you want.”

I could feel the way she was holding on, on the edge, but I wasn’t letting her fall yet. Not until I’d taken her all the way, made sure she knew just how much she’d been missing. I quickened my pace, my thumb still teasing her clit, driving her closer and closer to the edge.

“Marlon, please...” she whimpered, her voice barely a whisper, laced with need and desire, her body arching into mine.

“Say it, Maggie,” I growled softly, leaning down so my lips were inches from hers. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

Her breath came in shallow gasps, her hands gripping me tighter as she struggled to form the words, her body already betraying the truth. “I... I want you,” she whispered, her eyes locking with mine. “I want all of you.”

With that, I knew I had her—had all of her. I kissed her deeply, savoring the way her lips melted into mine, before gently pulling out.

“I want you too, Magnolia,” I whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, my voice filled with both longing and sincerity as I pulled out.

Her breath caught as she looked at me, a hint of vulnerability slipping through the bold front she always put up.

“Then why did you stop?” she asked, her voice soft, almost like a plea.

I smiled, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.

"I’m a chef," I murmured, letting my hands explore her body like I would a new dish. "I don’t just want a sample…I want to devour. And I want to taste everything you have to offer."

Gently, I moved lower, my lips brushing over her skin like I was mapping her body, every kiss deliberate, savoring her like a long-awaited meal. Each inch of her was a new discovery, something to be appreciated in the quiet moments between our tangled breaths. Magnolia’s gasp hit the air, her hands gripping the sheets tightly as my mouth found its place between her thighs. I didn’t rush. I took my time, tasting her like she was the finest creation I’d ever crafted—something exquisite, worthy of being savored.

Her moans mixed with the sound of rain pounding against the windows, the storm outside becoming a mere backdrop to the way her body moved, the way she trembled, the way my name fell from her lips like a prayer. I wasn’t just lost in her—I was consumed by her. Every flick of my tongue, every sigh, every tremor—it was like we were caught in our own storm, the world outside fading into nothingness. The only reality that mattered was her taste, the way she pushed my head deeper, thighs tightening around me, holding me where she wanted me.

Outside, everything was chaos. But here, between her legs, it felt like everything was falling perfectly into place, the madness balanced with an intimacy that felt right, even if it was wrong in every other way. Magnolia was mine in that moment, and I was going to make sure she knew it, again and again, until she couldn’t think of anything else — anyone else.

She hovered on the edge, her body trembling beneath me, her moans rising in intensity, a symphony of need and surrender. But I couldn’t let her fall just yet. I needed to feel her break while I was inside her, to be the reason she came undone.

Without hesitation, I pulled away, her desperate whimper stirring something primal in me. I flipped her onto her stomach, gripping her hips like she belonged to me, and in one swift, fluid motion, I thrust into her, filling her completely as I took note of tattoos I had no idea she had, magnolias going down her spine. I traced my fingers on them.

Magnolia’s back arched, her body submitting entirely as I moved inside her, each stroke deliberate, every thrust a silent claim. I could feel the connection between us, deeper than the lust we’d denied for so long. She wasn’t just a craving anymore—she was everything I wanted, everything I had imagined through the months of tension, the stolen glances, the longing that had built up between us.

And now, she was mine.

But I had to be sure.

My eyes darted around until I spotted her phone on the nightstand. I reached over, still driving into her, and snatched it up. The sudden movement made her gasp, her brows knitting in confusion as she looked back at me.

“Open it,” I demanded, my tone leaving no room for argument as I held the phone out to her.

“Marlon—” she started, her voice shaky, breathlessness.

“Open it. Now.”

Reluctantly, she took the phone from my hand, her fingers trembling as she punched in the code and handed it back. I didn’t waste a second, navigating straight to her recent contacts, and there it was: Eric. If she thought what they had was a secret she was sadly mistaken - well to me at least, the careful observer.

I knew exactly who her married man was because I’d been there when it all started, watching from the sidelines. That Christmas party when I first laid eyes on her—he was right up on her, all in her face. I’d caught the way Magnolia glanced my way, but Eric kept making a scene, pushing himself into her space like he owned it. I figured maybe they were just flirting, but it was clear now that it was deeper than that.

Eric, the damn Comptroller. He and his wife had been going through some things these past few years, but lately, I’d been seeing them at Coastal Fusion, having lunch like they were working it out—sometimes with their kids in tow. I knew it was him. I knew it all along, and I wasn’t about to let this shit slide.

"What are you doing?" Magnolia asked, her voice tinged with confusion and panic, her eyes searching mine, trying to make sense of my actions.

“Making sure whatever’s between you and Eric is done,” I said, my voice cold, unyielding. I wasn’t here to play games.

“Marlon—” she started to protest, but I cut her off, my hand gripping her thigh, pulling her closer. I thrust deeper, watching her expression change as she struggled to find the words. “How did you know… about Eric…” she panted, her breath catching between words, the pleasure clearly overwhelming her ability to focus.

I leaned in, my voice low and steady. “I pay attention. I see more than you think. Now be quiet and keep taking this dick while I end this, Magnolia,” I growled, my tone rough, layered with possession and something darker.

I wasn’t just fucking her—I was claiming her, marking her in a way that would leave no room for anyone else. Especially not Eric. Whatever unfinished business she had with him was about to be over, and I was making damn sure of it. She was mine now, and I wasn’t about to let her—or him—forget it.

The phone rang twice before Eric picked up, his voice hesitant but familiar.

“Sunshine?” he answered, that pet name dripping with the kind of intimacy I’d been waiting to tear apart.

“Nah, this ain’t Sunshine,” I said, my voice calm, controlled, but laced with a simmering edge. I kept moving inside Magnolia, never losing rhythm, making sure she felt every inch of this moment.

“Who is this?” Eric snapped, suspicion and panic creeping into his tone.

“Don’t worry about that,” I shot back, glancing at Magnolia, who was caught between shock and something darker—amusement, excitement, maybe a twisted mix of both. “Just know that whatever you thought you had with her is done. And if you call her again, next time I see you with your wife, I’m telling her everything.”

“What the hell is going on? Where’s Magnolia?” His voice cracked, sounding more desperate with every word.

“Oh, you wanna see her?” I asked, smirking as I held Magnolia’s gaze. Her eyes were locked on mine, and I could see the conflict warring inside her, but when it came down to it, she was right here with me. “Can he see you, Maggie?”

“Yes, Sir,” she answered, breathless but clear, a challenge in her voice that matched mine.

"Hold on, Eric," I said, hitting the FaceTime button, knowing this was about to get ridiculous. “Make sure you pick up.”

To my disbelief, Eric’s face filled the screen. His eyes were wide, like a deer caught in headlights. The man looked like he’d just walked into the wrong Zoom meeting. “Marlon? What the hell are you doing with Magnolia?”

Without missing a beat, I flipped the camera, but instead of showing anything explicit, I focused on the subtle details—the small magnolia tattoos down her spine, unmistakably her without giving away too much. Magnolia shot me a look over her shoulder, as she laughed.

“This,” I said, trying to sound all serious, but internally, I was trying not to laugh. “This is what I’m doing.”

Eric, on the other end, clearly confused, sputtered, “Wait, is that—?”

I cut him off, flipping the camera back to me, smirking. “Yep, that’s her. Thought you should know, Eric, whatever you thought was going on? It's done. Time to move on, buddy.”

Eric’s face went through a range of emotions—shock, confusion, and, finally, frustration. “Man, what the hell is this?”

“Closure,” I said simply,

“Magnolia!” Eric shouted, his voice sharp with disbelief, but it barely registered.

Her soft moans filled the air as she arched her back, completely lost in the moment.

“You’re with the Coastal Fusion guy?” he yelled again, the frustration building in his voice. “Why would you do this? I told you I just needed a break! You’re still my girl!”

Now he was really starting to piss me off. I was really going to have to hurt his feelings.

I leaned down, positioning the camera just right propping it on a candle—so Eric could peep the whole scene. His eyes widened, and I couldn’t help but smirk, wondering why his stupid ass was still on the phone. If it were me? I would've hung up by now. But Eric wasn’t me. He was the kind of guy who thought he could have it all without giving anything real in return.

And me? I wasn’t the type to cheat, and I damn sure wasn’t the kind of man to take advantage of Magnolia like that.

“See, Eric,” I said, keeping my tone casual, “I don’t think you quite understand the situation here. She’s moved on, man. Time for you to do the same.” I lightly smacked Magnolia on the ass and smirked. “Tell him, Magnolia.”

Her voice was soft but firm as she leaned into the moment.

“I’m done with you, Eric. So done,” she said, her words almost a playful whine as she tightened around me at the perfect time.

I couldn’t help but grin, the timing too good to be true.

“Show him how you come for me, Maggie,” I demanded, my tone dark, possessive, as I drove into her harder. “Show Eric how you cream for me.”

“Yes, Sir,” Magnolia panted, her voice thick with submission, the words rolling off her tongue like a mantra she’d been dying to say. I could feel her need, her desire to prove that she was done with Eric, and I wasn’t going to let this moment pass without making it crystal clear to him.

Eric’s voice sputtered on the other end, a mix of frustration and disbelief. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

“Eric doesn’t fuck you like this, does he, baby?” I taunted, my voice dripping with arrogance as I thrust into her, each stroke making her body respond in a way that was undeniable.

“No, Sir!” she cried out, her eyes squeezed shut, her nails clawing at the sheets.

Eric’s voice broke through, weak and pleading. “Lia, you know I love you, but my wife will take half of everything! Why would you do this?” His words were tinged with fear and selfishness, the kind of cowardice that had probably kept Magnolia in limbo for far too long.

I didn’t even look at the screen as I kept my pace, unrelenting. Magnolia’s moans filled the room, drowning out his pathetic excuses. I could hear the panic in his voice, the realization that whatever hold he thought he had on her was slipping away with every second.

“Go work it out with your wife, bro,” I said, my voice cold and dismissive, letting the weight of my words sink in. “Don’t worry about Magnolia. She’s in good hands.” I shot him a wicked smirk, throwing in a wink just to twist the knife a little deeper.

And if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that motherfucker’s eyes were starting to water. Really? Tears? Pathetic.

Eric sputtered, looking like he was about to say something, but the words got caught in his throat. He knew I wasn’t just taking her physically; I was wiping out every piece of him that lingered in her mind.

“Come on, Maggie,” I growled, my voice thick with need and dominance, my hips driving into her with an unrelenting rhythm that left no room for doubt. “Let go for me. Show Eric how you come. I know he never pleased you like this. He wants to see it—let him watch.”

I could feel her surrendering, giving in to the moment, and there was no stopping it now. This was her reclaiming herself, and me, making sure there was no space left for Eric’s pathetic hold.

“Lia, I didn’t mean anything I said!” Eric’s voice cut through, frantic and pleading, the kind of desperation that only comes when you know you’re losing. “I’ll leave her, I swear! Don’t do this!”

This fool was really still on the phone. Guess he really did want to see. But his words were meaningless now, drowned out by the raw, unbridled moans spilling from Magnolia’s lips as she came apart under my touch. She wasn’t just climaxing; she was breaking free, tearing down every last bit of whatever Eric thought he still had.

Magnolia’s cries filled the room, echoing louder than any promise Eric could make, louder than his empty apologies. I held the camera on her, making sure he saw every second of it, making sure he knew that whatever fantasy he’d been clinging to was over. She was lost in her pleasure, and in this moment, there was no one else but me.

“See that?” I grunted, angling the camera as Magnolia’s body convulsed around me, her face a perfect picture of bliss. “That’s what it looks like when a real man makes her come.”

Eric was too stunned to speak, sitting there stuck on stupid, his face frozen like someone had just hit pause on his brain. It took him a few seconds to finally open his mouth, probably to say something weak, but before he could embarrass himself any further, I hung up on his lame ass. Tossing the phone onto the nightstand, I shrugged like it was no big deal—just another piece of trash I’d taken out.

Magnolia let out a laugh, shaking her head. “You really know how to hit below the belt, don’t you?”

“He made you cry, Maggie. It’s time he felt the weight of what he lost.”

“Thank you, Marlon,” she whispered, her voice trembling but not from weakness this time. It was the sound of someone finally letting go, of someone stepping into their own power.

“You don’t need to thank me. Just promise me you’ll never let anyone make you feel small again.”

Her lips parted, and she nodded, her voice steadier now. “I won’t.”

"Tell me who you belong to, Maggie," I murmured, my voice softer now, not a demand but a question, filled with sincerity and desire for her to claim her own worth.

My fingers sank into his ass as I pushed her toward the edge again, but I knew this moment had to be more than just passion—it had to be about her, about what she deserved.

Magnolia's breath caught, her body trembling beneath me, but instead of the answer I expected, she paused, her eyes opening, meeting mine with a mixture of vulnerability and strength.

“I belong to myself,” she whispered, her voice steady, even in the heat of the moment.

I felt a surge of pride and something deeper—admiration for her boldness, her claim of her own space. I smiled, my movements slowing, becoming more deliberate. "That’s right, Magnolia. You belong to you first. Always."

As another release came, it wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, something deeper than I could have imagined. I followed her, letting the intensity of the moment wash over us, not just holding her but anchoring myself to her.

When the storm of us subsided, I looked down at her, the warmth between us still pulsing in the air.

“You deserve everything, Maggie,” I said softly, pressing kisses down her back on her tattoos. “Not just to be someone’s option. You deserve to be the first choice.”

I pulled out and collapsed beside her, feeling the heat of the moment still lingering between us. Without a word, Magnolia straddled me, her body pressing against mine like she no longer needed the comfort of her bed—just the comfort of us. She gazed down at me, her expression softer now, her eyes touched by the weight of what had just unfolded between us.

Whatever was left of Eric, or anyone else who had ever made her doubt her worth, faded away. It was like she was shedding the final remnants of all that had held her back. All that remained was us—raw, fierce, and unrelenting, but this time, it was entirely on her terms.

“You’re right,” she whispered, her voice filled with a quiet but undeniable strength. “I belong to me.”

I held her gaze, my hand resting on her back, feeling the certainty in her words settle into both of us.

“Yeah, you do,” I said, my voice low, full of respect for the woman in front of me, who had just claimed her own power.

I held her tighter, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing against my chest. This was the beginning of something different—something real. No more pretending. No more walking around like there wasn’t something more between us than just two stubborn, strong-willed chefs caught up in the heat of the moment.

This wasn’t just about passion or control; it was about the unspoken understanding we had been denying for too long. We didn’t have to keep up the act anymore. The walls we’d built, the petty arguments, all of it felt small compared to what was growing between us now.

"And Marlon..."

"Yeah?" I asked, feeling that peaceful moment stretch between us, the quiet between our words comfortable and full of possibility.

"Told you I wasn’t gonna apologize," she giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

I sighed, rolling my eyes, though I couldn’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "You’re never gonna stop being a pain in my ass, are you?”

“Never,” she said, grinning as she leaned down, her nose brushing mine.

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Well, at least I know what I’m in for."

Her smile softened, but the playful glint remained in her eyes. “And you love every second of it.”

I pulled her closer, wrapping my arms around her. “Yeah,” I admitted, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I really do.”

MAGNOLIA

3 MONTHS LATER…

“Okay, so run it by me again,” Marlon pleaded, his brow furrowed like he was about to short-circuit as we stood side by side in his home kitchen, the rhythmic sound of chopping vegetables filling the air.

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. The knife in my hand paused as I turned to look at him. “The fact that you’ve lived next to Brixton Meyers for a year and don’t even know him is ridiculous, Marlon.”

He exhaled sharply, his frustration evident. “You know I don’t mind meeting new people, but Coastal Fusion keeps me chained to the restaurant half the time. You think I’ve got time for neighborly small talk in between dinner shifts?” His voice had an edge, the weight of work always pressing against him.

“You’ve never even met his wife?” I asked, incredulous. “Zara?”

He blinked at me, genuinely surprised by the disbelief in my tone. “Zara? No, not officially. I’ve maybe seen her once or twice, but we’ve never had a real conversation.”

I rolled my eyes, the smell of garlic and peppers filling the room as I stirred a pot simmering on the stove. “You’re telling me you’ve never spoken to Zara Meyers, even though she’s lived next door all this time? She’s at all the local events.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing toward the stove where the pork sizzled. "I think I met her once at the restaurant...with who you’re now telling me is the girlfriend? Is that right?" He blinked at me, completely beside himself.

"Yes," I said, trying to keep my patience. I’d already explained the situation at least twice, but clearly, Marlon still wasn’t wrapping his head around it.

“So, Brixton and Zara are married, and now he has a girlfriend?” Marlon asked, chopping an onion with more force than necessary.

“No,” I corrected, shaking my head again. “They have a girlfriend. They’re all together.”

Marlon paused, the knife hovering mid-chop as he tried to process. “So he cheated on Zara, and now they’re just all... kicking it next door?”

I let out a sigh, setting down the spoon I’d been stirring with. “No, Marlon. Zara and Ayanna met while Zara and Brixton were married, and they got together, then Brixton got involved, and now it’s all of them. It’s a poly relationship, and it works for them.” I shrugged, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

Marlon stared at me for a long moment, his brow furrowed, clearly still processing. “Having them over tonight…isn’t some kind of poly lifestyle recruitment dinner, is it?”

I burst out laughing, shaking my head. “What do you think? They’re gonna hand out brochures and try to sell us on joining their relationship?”

“I’m just saying, we’re a good-looking duo,” Marlon said, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “What if they’re tryna get a girlfriend and a boyfriend to add into the fold? I mean, I do live next door, and you’re here all the time. That’d be real convenient for them.”

I gave him a playful shove, still laughing. “Brixton does not like men that way, and I know for sure he’s not letting Zara have a boyfriend. Ayanna, though?” I paused, considering. “I don’t know about her, but knowing Brix? Not happening.”

Marlon raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider it. “So, I’m safe?”

I shook my head, smirking. “You’re safe, Marlon. They’re not trying to recruit us into what they have going on.”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Good. I was starting to feel like I had to be on my best behavior just in case.”

“Well,” I teased, “you should be on your best behavior anyway. But not because they’re scouting for new members.”

Marlon’s grin widened, his dark eyes glinting with mischief. “I don’t know, Magnolia. I might just be too irresistible for them to handle.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to keep my face straight. “Impossible, is what you are.”

Marlon winked, leaning in closer, that familiar mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “But you love it.”

“Just make sure you remember who’s who and don’t embarrass me,” I warned, though I couldn’t help but smile. “You’re a Westonberry resident now, and you need to get to know more people, not just the ones who come to your restaurant. What if you have an emergency or something? Plus, you’ll want to know Brix. He’s good people.”

Marlon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re really pushing this whole ‘get to know the neighbors’ thing, huh?”

I crossed my arms, giving him a pointed look. “Yes, because I want you to be part of the community, not just the guy running Coastal Fusion from sunup to sundown.”

Marlon glanced out the window, the ocean stretching out beyond the deck, the horizon a perfect blend of oranges and purples as the sun dipped low.

"Alright, alright, I hear you," he said, his tone softening. "I’m making the effort. Besides," he added, a teasing smile creeping back onto his face, "I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have a local legend like Brixton on my side."

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re damn right it wouldn’t. He knows everyone around here, so making friends with him? That’s like your one-way ticket to becoming Westonberry royalty.”

Marlon chuckled, finally loosening up, but I could tell my words were sinking in. There was something about Brixton, Zara, and Ayanna that made everything feel more... real, like Marlon was finally starting to see that this wasn’t just where he lived. This was home.

I reached out, grabbing his hand, squeezing it gently. “Look, tonight’s about more than just dinner. It’s about putting down roots. You’ve already done the hard part—now you just have to let yourself be here. Fully.”

He looked down at our intertwined fingers, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. I think I can do that.”

As we stood there, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, the scent of garlic and herbs filling the kitchen, I felt a shift between us. Marlon wasn’t just agreeing for my sake. He was ready to lean in, to embrace this new life we were building together. And that—more than anything—made me feel like we were finally finding our place.

“You’re gonna do great tonight,” I said, nudging him gently. “And who knows? You might even have fun with your grumpy self.”

Marlon chuckled. “I guess we’ll see.”

I chuckled, nudging Marlon with my shoulder as I stirred the sauce for our taco bar. The kitchen smelled of ocean breeze drifting in through the open windows, carrying the scent of salt. Marlon’s townhouse, perched right on the beach, had that perfect blend of modern and cozy—a place that felt like home.

Through the sliding glass door, the sand stretched out toward the water, the rising moon casting a soft glow over the waves. It was peaceful, a stark contrast to the stormy start of our — whatever this is — that started three months ago. Now, like the steady rhythm of the ocean, we were finding our own though we hadn’t put any titles on anything yet.

“Okay, so I get it,” Marlon finally said, breaking the silence. “Brixton, Zara, and Ayanna...they make it work.” He exhaled, leaning against the counter, watching me with that slow, deliberate gaze that always made my pulse quicken. “But I don’t know if I’d ever be able to do that.”

I turned to face him, meeting his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...” He hesitated, wiping his hands on a dish towel, the flicker of the kitchen light reflecting off his dark skin. “I’m all about you, Magnolia. Just you. I don’t need anyone else.”

His words hung in the air, thick and charged. The sound of the ocean faded as the space between us filled with something else—something heavier, something more. My heart raced, my chest tightening with the weight of what he was saying.

For months, we had been navigating this thing between us, uncertain of where it was headed as I worked through the residue left by my time with Eric. Marlon had been patient, giving me the space to heal, knowing I needed to do some work on myself. He understood that beneath the jabs and petty arguments we were known for around town, there was something deeper waiting to be explored.

But now, standing in his kitchen, with dinner sizzling on the stove and the neighbors coming over in just an hour, he was saying the one thing I hadn’t dared to ask for: commitment. And the way he said it, so casual yet so damn certain, made my breath catch.

“You sure about that?” I asked, my voice quieter now, the question hanging between us like a dare.

Marlon stepped closer, his hand reaching for mine, pulling me into him. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”

The honesty in his voice hit me like a wave, washing over every doubt I’d had. I leaned into him, my hands resting on his chest, the warmth of him seeping into me. His thumb traced lazy circles on the back of my hand, grounding me as his eyes searched mine, serious and intent.

“You’re it for me, Maggie,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “And I’m not sharing you with anybody.”

A slow smile spread across my face, the kind that tugged at the corners of my mouth before I could stop it. “Good. Because I don’t want anyone else either.”

Marlon leaned down, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that felt like a slow-burning promise—sweet, unhurried, yet heavy with the kind of certainty that digs deep and doesn’t let go. When he pulled back, his eyes locked onto mine, searching for something, and that slow, wicked grin spread across his face—the one that always made my knees weak, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

“I waited two years for you to even admit you were interested,” he said, his voice low, rough around the edges. “And the last three months have been... dope. Getting to know you, spending time with you.” He paused, his expression softening just a bit. “But I’m not gonna lie—I’m ready for more of you. But if you still need time—”

“I’m ready, Marlon,” I cut him off, the words spilling out before I could stop them, surprising even myself. His eyes widened slightly, but I could see the flicker of satisfaction in his gaze. “There’s no such thing as being fully healed, according to my Shaman,” I added with a chuckle. “But if you’re willing to take me as I am, with all my mess and imperfections, I’m ready whenever you are.”

Marlon let out a deep, rumbling laugh, his hands sliding to my waist as he pulled me closer. “Been ready for your mean ass.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against my temple. “All this spiritual guru stuff, though... it’s not gonna turn you into some overly nice, peaceful person, right? ‘Cause I love sparring with you.”

I grinned, shaking my head. “Just like you’ll always be an arrogant asshole, I’ll always be me.”

His smile widened, that familiar teasing glint in his eye. “So, it’s settled then,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, the air between us thick with something unspoken. “I can call Caleb and tell him I finally got a girlfriend who isn’t just my restaurant?”

I bit back a smile, playfully narrowing my eyes. “I guess so… boyfriend,” I teased, the word tasting new but right.

Marlon’s eyes darkened with something more as he leaned in, capturing my lips in a kiss that was deeper, more certain. His hand cupped the back of my neck, and the intensity of it made my heart race. When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against mine, his voice was rough and low. “I really like the sound of you being my girlfriend.”

“Me too,” I whispered, the words soft but full of truth.

We stood there, wrapped in each other, the scent of dinner wafting through the air, the distant crash of the waves outside a constant rhythm. And for a moment, it felt like everything had clicked into place, like the storm that had once raged between us had settled into something solid, something real.

Just as I finished placing the last setting on the table, the doorbell rang.

“Oh shit, the throuple is here,” Marlon muttered, a smirk tugging at his lips.

I shot him a warning look. “Please behave yourself tonight,” I begged, though I couldn’t help but laugh a little.

Marlon put his hands up in mock surrender, but his grin didn’t fade. “Zara is the wife, Ayanna is the girlfriend, Brixton is the man of the year. Got it!”

Shaking my head, I turned toward the door. “I’m serious, Marlon,” I warned over my shoulder before pulling it open.

There they were—Brixton, Zara, and Ayanna—standing on the porch, looking like they’d just walked out of a magazine. Brixton had that easy swagger I’d known since we were kids, his wide smile as familiar as the crashing waves behind us. Zara, his wife, was effortlessly cool, her dark curls framing her face as she gave me a warm smile. And then there was Ayanna, who I hadn’t met before, but the moment we saw each other, she wrapped me in a hug like we were old friends.

“Hey, stranger,” Brixton said, pulling me into a quick embrace. “It’s been too long.”

“Tell me about it,” I replied, stepping back to take in the three of them together. There was an ease between them, a fluidity that felt natural—like they just fit.

Zara smiled, stepping forward. “You’ve been avoiding us, Maggie. I’m glad we finally pinned you down for a dinner.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “It’s been a whirlwind with the B&B and Coastal Fusion, but I’m so happy y’all could make it.”

Ayanna, the girlfriend, gave me another warm smile, her energy bright and easy. “It’s about time we met in person,” she said, her voice soft but full of excitement. “I feel like we’ve been talking for years.”

We laughed together, the kind of laughter that comes easy when people click right away, when the weight of expectations doesn’t hang heavy in the air. As we exchanged greetings, I noticed Marlon standing in the doorway, watching us with that unreadable look he had—part curiosity, part amusement, always calculating something.

He cleared his throat, stepping forward with an easy smile, extending his hand to Brixton.

“So sorry we haven’t met earlier,” Marlon said, gripping Brixton’s hand firmly. “I dove right into running the restaurant when I moved here, and I’ve pretty much had my head down ever since.”

Brixton smiled, easy and genuine, like they were already old friends. “Don’t even worry about it, man. Glad to see you doing well, especially after the hurricane. I know how it is—entrepreneur life, right? Odd hours and a whole lot of ’em.”

“Tell me about it. Plus you got your hands full,” Marlon added, his eyes flicking to Zara and Ayanna.

My heart stuttered for a second, my eyes widening as I braced for the potential awkwardness, but to my surprise—and relief—it didn’t seem to phase anyone. If anything, Brixton grinned wider, like Marlon had just shared some inside joke.

“You have no idea,” Brixton said, shaking his head dramatically. “Whatever you were planning on giving me to drink tonight, make it a double.”

Zara and Ayanna laughed, sharing a soft look before Zara pulled Ayanna close, pecking her on the lips in a gesture that was both tender and casual, as natural as breathing.

“We’re not that bad,” Zara said, smiling with a freedom I hadn’t seen in her before, a lightness that made her glow.

“Like I said, Marlon,” Brixton replied, his eyes gleaming with humor as he leaned back against the counter, “I need that drink, now. Imagine having two Lia’s.”

“Hell no!” Marlon blurted, shaking his head dramatically, a playful horror in his expression that made the whole room burst into laughter.

I shot him a mock glare, hands on my hips. “Excuse me?”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, but his grin was wicked. “Babe, you’re great, but one of you is already a full-time job. I don’t know how Brix does it with two women. Man must have the patience of a saint.”

Brixton chuckled, clinking his glass with Marlon’s. “Patience? Nah, man. More like a master’s degree in negotiation and compromise.”

Marlon caught my eye, his playful grin softening into something more genuine. “I’m just saying, Magnolia—one of you is all I can handle.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help the smile creeping onto my face. “Good answer.”

As the room filled with more laughter, I realized something: we weren’t just talking about neighbors or poly relationships anymore. This was about finding balance—about understanding what it meant to truly share your life with someone, whether it was one person or two. And maybe, just maybe, Marlon was finally realizing that we were building something here that went beyond what either of us had imagined.

Marlon raised his glass, smirking. “To one Magnolia, and no more.”

The room burst into laughter, the tension I’d felt earlier evaporating like steam. Even I couldn’t help but join in, caught up in the warmth of it all. Marlon, who was usually more reserved around new people, seemed perfectly at ease, the sharp edges of his usual demeanor softened by the atmosphere we’d created.

As the laughter died down, I caught Marlon’s eye, and he gave me a look that said see, I’m behaving. I smiled back, feeling something warm settle in my chest. It wasn’t just the ease of the night or the fact that our neighbors were as effortlessly cool as I’d hoped—they were, after all, the poster family for modern love. It was the fact that Marlon, this man who had once felt like a storm, was now my steady, my anchor.

I watched Brixton and Marlon as they headed toward the kitchen, already laughing about something like old friends.

Zara turned to me, her eyes sparkling. “You and Marlon are cute together, you know that?” she said, a teasing smile playing at her lips.

I shrugged, a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. “He’s alright,” I joked. “We made things official tonight”, I blushed like a school girl.

“You look happy,” Ayanna said softly, her voice gentle but sincere.

And in that moment, I realized I was. Happy. Content in a way that felt unfamiliar but welcome. The storms that had once raged between Marlon and me had quieted, leaving something strong in their wake—something that felt like home.

"Yeah," I said, smiling at both of them. "I am."

As we moved into the dining room, the air thick with laughter and the smell of good food, I couldn't help but feel it: the sense that we weren’t just hosting dinner for our neighbors. We were building something—a community, a family, a life that was bigger than just the two of us.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt certain that this—right here, with Marlon and our friends, with all the love and chaos—was exactly where I was meant to be.

---

The End…or is it?

COMING SOON: Brixton, Zara and Ayanna’s love story.