The door stuck and then banged back against the wall, caught on the cross breeze that rushed through the house from the river. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows along the hallway, I saw that the day was slightly overcast, as if a storm was blowing in. I stood there for a moment and stretched my back a bit more, wondering if her leaving me alone in her bed meant something. With so little time left to spend together, I would’ve thought she would want to wring pleasure out of every moment the way I did.

The hardwood floors felt warm under my bare feet as I made my way to the stairs. Now that I was standing at the top of them, I could smell that strong dark roast that Darcy favored and hear her humming along with Dinah, who was asking her man to think things over. It was an old recording that made Dinah’s voice sound tinny with a bit of vocal fry, but her sorrowful, emotive voice carried the song all the same. Darcy really did love Dinah. It wasn’t music from her childhood, though, so I wondered how she got into it. I knew for a fact that she spent her formative years getting weak in the knees with SWV and leaving some young man begging while she left the club with a younger, more handsome version of Shannon MacFarland. Not for the first time, I wondered how he’d won her. They seemed so mismatched.

I was midway down the stairs when Darcy floated into view, wearing one of those silk robes that covered just enough to make a young man such as myself wonder what it was hiding. With a watering can in one hand and a coffee mug in the other, she sang along with Dinah. “I was the arm in your armor. I was the miss in your mistake…”

Holding my breath, I sat down on the step and watched her as she sang and sipped from her coffee while watering her plant babies.

I rested my chin on my hand, content to watch her at a chore that had captivated me for years. Goddamn, but the woman was beautiful. Hair wild, robe slipping from one shoulder, the hastily tied belt that barely held it closed allowed a flash of thigh when she turned toward her heirloom monstera.

“Hello, my monster,” she crooned, tipping the big metal watering can to drench its roots. “Which of your babies should we give to Brandi, hm?” She set the can down and touched the large, dark leaves as she spoke. “I know it’s tradition, but…maybe we should wait a while. She’s the cerebral type, which doesn’t mean she won’t be nurturing, but…” Darcy let the thought trail off as she stroked a finger down the center of one of the largest leaves.