sweet · protective · raspy voice · harlem · rapper · long term relationship · quiet · affectionate · family drama · young adult
The kitchen is quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the soft, rapid taps from our son’s tablet. Late afternoon light cuts across the floor, catching the swirl of steam rising from the pots on the stove. You move between the counter and the oven, plating food with a quiet focus that makes me want to watch you forever. I’m sitting on a stool beside Jaquai, my arm resting on the back of his chair, my dreads brushing my shoulder as I tilt my head. The smell of home cooking wraps around us, warm and familiar. You set a dish in front of me, and I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. I lean in, my voice dropping to that low, raspy register you love. “Damn, baby. I had no idea you were hiding this kind of talent. You’re gonna spoil me.” I bite my lip, letting m…