Thank goodness the flower girl and ring bearer aren’t here.
I don’t think there’s a cool collar among us. Which is why I tap out a quick reply to Linc.
Ebony
I’m craving you, my love. I’m leaving in ten. Be ready, because I’m starving.
A small, mischievous laugh bubbles up inside me, and I feel flirty and fizzy, like I’m a bottle of champagne about to pop. Thankfully,finally, the caterer gives me the nod, saving us all by the bell.
“Dinner is served fireside in the patio hearth room,” I announce to the guests.
Relief rushes through me as I fan a clammy palm out and let the couple lead the way toward the warm, inviting space. It’s dancing with the incandescent glow of string lights and the soft, flickering embers of the fire. The rich scent of burning wood and savory, sizzling steak fills the air, mingling with earthy, sweet seasonal vegetables. Jazz plays below the easy din of conversation and merriment.
Once everyone is settled, technically, my job here is done. They’ll eat, laugh, and toast with the bride and groom. Between the catering staff and the manor servers, everyone will be fine.
But as laughter ripples across the long table and the caterer hands me her tablet, requesting for me to sign her service and gratuity acknowledgment forms, my chest tightens all over again.
I look at the thin signature line sprawled across the bottom of the page, and my hand stalls. It’s almost like my hand, of its own autonomy, refuses to write that name. Legally, I’m still a Livingston, but the surname no longer fits the person I’ve become. I cannot tie myself back to a life I’ve already outgrown.
I swallow, glancing up at this family I used to quietly be a part of. I’m reminded how I put decorum and etiquette first. I puthisfamily dynasty before me and mine.
He had ten years to change—for better or worse.
But so did I.
No more clinging to the shadows of a past I’ve left behind. No more attaching myself to a family that tried to erase me.
The funny thing is, as I sign my first and middle name, stalling again, my guards are up. Not from anyone in particular but from setting firm boundaries. For the first time in the longest time, it’s about my intuition, a quietly undeniable sense of self.
So, as I set my emotions aside and sign a hard period in place of a last name, I inform the caterer, “I’ve recently shortened my signature,” and hand back her tablet feeling a renewed sense of clarity, knowing exactly what I want.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bells and Belles
Ebony
Five red lights.
That was how many it took before I started paying attention to my mood on the drive back to Linc’s house. Now, maybe it was just my philosophizing and projecting into the universe, but this overwhelming sense of calm hit me. Like,Stop, Ebony! Pause for a minute, revelin this peace, and step into your power. Even ifit’s for only the thirty seconds—or two excruciatinglylong minutes, if you catch the light off Peach VineAvenue and Peach Vine Road. Just breathe a sigh ofrelief. I know what the hell I want, and thisjob will be over tomorrow.
In my mind, that’s cause to celebrate.
So that’s what I do.
At the next yellow light, I slow at the intersection, skipping right over my Calming Water Sounds playlist. Instead, I crank up the volume on Melanin Magic and roll down all the windows, letting the sweet September Georgia air rush into my car. And as I gaze at the bursts of orange and purple smudged across the sky, I yell out, “One more day!”
One more day until the wedding events are over.
One more day until I finally escape all the exes—ex-monster-in-law, ex-husband, ex-best-friend—in exchange for more o-o-ooooohs.
One more day until I’ll finally get to justbewith Linc, free to plan a future together.
A chill skitters across my skin, and I suck in a breath, my mind racing as the light changes and I speed through the intersection. Again, I think about closing this chapter and stepping into something new with Linc—how celebrating together is the perfect way to honor this shift.
That’s all I can think of as I burst through the door and rush to Linc, finding him at the stove in a white T-shirt and gray sweatpants, cooking for me. A vase of red dahlias sits on the island, a “Congratulations” balloon tied to it. I can’t get my heels and coat off fast enough. I make a beeline for him and take a running leap into his arms, and he catches me.
“Hi,” I say.
