I do the sign for “Thank you,” touching my chin and dropping my hand. When the kids were young, before they could talk, we taught them a few basic signs. It’s been years since I used it, but it was our shorthand in meetings, across crowded rooms. Josiah’s smile glitches just the tiniest bit. No one would notice, but I do because even though we aren’t married anymore, I’ve had years to learn the physiognomy of this man’s features. After a pause so slight it’s almost undetectable, he signs “You’re welcome.”
I’m still smiling when Vashti walks up beside him, tugging his sleeve. For just a second, he doesn’t look away. My smile starts to fade, and Kassim tugs onmysleeve, reminding me aboutMaddenand Jamal. Deja’s back on her phone, her bottom lip slightly poked out. It was nice while it lasted, and even though the song has ended and the droplets are already drying on my skin, I hold that moment of joy close. When I look back to the DJ booth, prepared to sign to Josiah that we’re leaving, the spot where he and Vashti stood is empty.
He’s already gone.
Chapter Four
Josiah
I’m awakened by a warm tongue stroking across my skin like velvet.
I pry one eye open, dragging myself up from the pillows and thread count that dreams are made of to glare at the edge of the bed. Otis, of course, has pulled back the sheet with his teeth and is licking my foot like he does every morning.
“Dude, seriously?” I glance out the window, where the sky is still lavender tinged with pink, barely kissing dawn. “Can’t we sleep in a few more minutes?”
The pitiful whimper at the foot of the bed becomes a whine. I know this drill. If that bladder gets any fuller, he will escalate to a full-on howl.
“Shit.” I sit up, slide my feet into the leather slippers Deja and Kassim gave me last year for Christmas. I know Yasmen probably chose them because they bear the mark of the practical luxury she’s good for, but they’re still from my kids.
“Replacing the onesyoumangled,” I remind Otis, who doesn’t look repentant in the least. I tap his head on my way out of the bedroom, and he follows me down the stairs and out the front door. Any hope I had of ever shaking this dog died long ago. He demonstrated his tenacity the first night I slept in this house.
The divorce wasn’t quite final, but I needed a place to live. Instead of finding another tenant for Aunt Byrd’s house, I moved in here. Of course, we all assumed Otis would stay with the kids. They walked him, fed him, played with him. I provided a roof over his head and the occasional acknowledgment of his existence.
I was considering the huge TV mounted on one of four blank walls, not even bothering to turn it on because who cares about Netflix when your life has been incinerated and everyone you love lives two streets over now…when my phone rang. It was jarring in that newall by myselfquiet I hadn’t experienced since before I married.
Yasmen’s name and face flashed up on my screen. And for one wild moment, my heart banged in my chest. Had she changed her mind? Realized our divorce was a horrible mistake? As irrational as I knew that line of thinking was, I answered the phone with a pulse that refused to stop leaping.
“Yas, hey. Everything okay?”
You need me? You want me? Should I come home?
“I think Otis wants you.”
It was the most disorienting thing she could have said to me at two o’clock in the morning.
I cleared my throat. “Sorry. What?”
“O-tis.” Yasmen broke it down into small bites I could digest. “He won’t stop howling. He’s standing at your side of the bed resting his head on your actual pillow.”
“What the hell? Why?”
“Gee, Si, let me find my human-to-Otis dictionary and ask him. I don’t know why, but no one is sleeping tonight until you come home.”
Not exactly the way I envisioned her invitation to come home.
“I’ll be right there.”
He couldn’t wantme. Because why? But sure enough, soon as I entered the kitchen through the garage, Otis stopped howling, stood on his hind legs, and licked my face.
“Dammit, Otis,” I spat. “I have told you I am not that dude. Don’t be licking my face.”
He panted at my throat, huge paws pressing so hard into my chest I could barely stand under his substantial weight.
Yasmen leaned one shoulder against the kitchen doorjamb, lines of fatigue sketched around those pretty lips. A silk robe strained across her breasts, the tight belt emphasizing the fullness of her shape. My dick had swelled at the sight, and just as I was thanking God my T-shirt covered my erection, Otis nudged my shirt aside like some dick-detecting narc canine scenting cocaine.
“Otis,” I snapped, pulling the shirt back into place. “Stop.”
“I think at least tonight,” Yasmen said, exhaustion patent in her voice, “maybe he sleeps at your place and we figure it out tomorrow.”