9. Tyson

Chapter 9

Tyson

P earl’s wrapped itself in Christmas magic. Garlands draped the windows, twinkling white lights lined the ceiling and the scent of Rose’s famous sweet potato pie mixed with pine from the decorated tree in the corner. Jazz music flowed through hidden speakers - Nat King Cole singing about chestnuts roasting while my attention was on the fire pit on the back wall.

Warmth rushed over me as I strolled past the entrance. The restaurant stayed closed on Sundays except for family dinner, but tonight, extra chairs crowded the tables. Rose had invited the whole crew—cousins, aunts, uncles, and, of course, Autumn.

She stood at the dessert counter arranging Christmas cookies with my grandmother, her hair pulled back in a loose bun, wearing that green sweater I’d predicted—the one that made her brown skin radiate and brought gold flecks to her brown eyes. My steps faltered. I’d seen Autumn consistently over two decades, and still, the sight of her knocked me sideways.

“There’s my boy.” Rose wiped her hands on her apron and came around the counter. I bent down to hug her, and she squeezed me tight. “You’re late.”

“By two minutes.”

“Late is late,” she smiled, patting my cheek. “Go help Autumn with those cookies. Lord knows that girl can’t bake to save her life.”

“I heard that,” Autumn called over her shoulder. “And I’ll have you know these store-bought cookies look amazing on this platter.”

I crossed to her, sliding an arm around her waist and dropping a kiss on her temple. A greeting we’d shared a thousand times, but tonight it felt different. Everything felt different since that morning I’d woken up holding her.

“Need help?” I asked though I kept my arm where it was.

“I need you to tell your grandmother that arranging cookies is a legitimate skill.”

“A vital one,” I agreed solemnly. “Critical to the success of any dinner party.”

She elbowed me in the ribs. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I’m always on your side.” The words came out lower, with an air of sentiment that warmed me from the inside out.

She turned in my arm, looking up at me. “Are you okay?”

“Perfect.” I pinched her chin. “You look beautiful.”

A blush crept across her cheeks. “It’s just a sweater.”

“It’s never just anything with you.”

The moment stretched between us, charged and unfiltered. Then Aunt Marie burst through the kitchen doors with a tray of mac and cheese, and we eased apart.

“Tyson! Come taste this and tell me if it needs more pepper.”

The next hour passed in a blur of family arriving, dishes being passed, and Rose directing traffic like a five-foot-two general. I kept finding reasons to touch Autumn - a hand on her back as we moved chairs, our fingers brushing as we set the table, my knee pressed against hers when we finally sat down.

“Little David,” Uncle Mack pointed his fork at my cousin, “when are you gonna tell your mama about that ticket?”

David choked on his collard greens. At sixteen, he thought he could hide anything from his mother, but news traveled fast in our family.

“What ticket?” Aunt Marie’s head snapped up.

“No ticket,” David said quickly, shooting Uncle Mack a betrayed look.

“The one you got for racing that Honda Civic down Cottage Grove,” Uncle Mack continued, clearly enjoying himself.

“You did what?” Aunt Marie's voice rose an octave.

“In his defense,” I cut in, “that Civic was pretty slow.”

“Don't encourage him!” But Aunt Marie’s lips twitched. “Besides, you were worse at his age with that motorcycle!”

“The one he tried to hide in my garage?” Rose shook her head. “That boy came over every day for two weeks straight to ‘help with the books.’”

“I was being charitable,” I protested.

Autumn snorted. “You were being sneaky. And terrible at it. Your shirt ripped when it was caught on the handlebar.” She shook her head and tsked.

“And he tried to convince me he’d torn it playing basketball,” Rose cackled.

“The boy was wearing dress shoes!” Uncle Mack wiped tears from his eyes.

Laughter cruised around the table as I leaned into their memories of me and my motorcycle, but at the other end of the table, my cousin mouthed, “Thank you,” and I winked. I didn't mind taking the attention off him. I knew all too well how it felt to be under the gun. But I didn’t miss Uncle Mack’s yelp when David kicked him under the table and mumbled something unintelligible.

“Autumn, baby,” Aunt Marie said once everyone had filled their plates, “how’s your love life? Any special men I should know about?”

“Marie,” Rose warned, but Autumn laughed.

“Actually, I had dinner with someone a few weeks ago. A lawyer named Marcus.”

My fork scraped against my plate. The entire table went quiet.

“A lawyer?” Uncle Mack raised his eyebrows. “Well, well.”

“It was just dinner,” Autumn said quickly. “Though he did ask me out again.”

“And?” Rose asked.

“And... I haven’t answered yet.”

I stared at my plate, remembering LaMont’s words about Marcus planning that second date. About Autumn forgetting she ever wanted me, and I tried not to swear.

“Why haven’t you answered?” Aunt Marie pressed.

Autumn shifted in her chair. “It’s been a whirlwind of activity with the Benefield Project, so I’ve had no time to think about it. Marcus is nice, successful, and does great work in the community. I’ll respond soon enough.”

“He sounds like a great guy,” Aunt Marie said, laying it on thick.

“He’s... nice,” Autumn repeated.

Rose sat her fork down. “Nice is good — if you’re talking about banana pudding.”

The table erupted in laughter. I glanced at Autumn and caught her already looking at me.

“I’m just messing with you, dear,” Rose stood. “Tyson, can you help me get dessert?”

I followed her into the kitchen, where she rounded on me the moment the door swung shut.

“Twenty years,” she said, hands on her hips. “Twenty years I’ve watched you love that girl. And now some lawyer in a fancy suit is gonna swoop in because you’re too scared to speak up?”

“Grandma—”

“Don’t you ‘Grandma’ me. That girl belongs at this table - not as your friend, but as your everything. And you belong with her. So, when are you going to stop this charade?”

I leaned against the counter. “I can’t risk losing her.”

“You’ll lose her anyway if you don’t get your act together.” She pulled a pie from the warmer. “Now take this out there and figure out how to keep that chair next to yours filled with the right person.”

“Can I say something?”

She folded her arms, and I smirked.

“I know you love your restaurant and it’s the heart of this town, but at any time when you are ready to retire – rest. You don’t need to work another day in your life.”

Her face softened and she reached out and cupped my cheek.

“I know that baby. How many times are you going to tell me I’ll be taken care of?”

“As many times as it takes. I don’t want you on your feet forever.”

“And I won’t be. But for now, I love this space and the joy my food brings to people. Trust me, you’ll be the first to know when I’m ready to sit down.”

I nodded. “Okay. I’ll allow it,” I teased.

She smirked and pushed me out of the kitchen.

When I returned, Autumn had moved to the window seat - her favorite spot. The Christmas lights cast patterns across her face as she stared at the snowy street.

“Hey,” I said, sitting beside her. “It’s my turn to ask you, are you okay?”

A small smile quirked the corners of her lips. “I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

She turned to me. “The first time I came to Sunday dinner.”

I smirked. “Sophomore year of high school. You were wearing overalls and had paint in your hair.”

“You remember what I was wearing?”

I remembered everything about her. “I do. Rose took one look at you and said?—”

“Finally, someone to appreciate my sweet potato pie properly,” Autumn mimicked. “I’ve never missed a Sunday since.”

“Because of the pie?”

“Because of this,” she gestured around the room. “The family, the love, the way Rose treats me like I’m hers,” she paused. “The way you’ve always made sure I belonged.”

My hand covered hers, our fingers intertwining. “You do belong, Autumn. Then and now. With all of us. With me.”

She met my eyes, and something heartfelt passed between us. “Ty...”

“Come with me,” I stood, pulling her up. “I want to show you something.”

I led her through the kitchen to the back office, where Rose did the books, and I’d learned to count money as a kid. Christmas lights were here, too, strung around the window frame.

“What—” Autumn started, but I turned, backed her against the desk, and gripped her neck, crushing my mouth into hers. For all the resolve I had, I’d grown tired of my own excuses. My tongue parted her lips, and twenty years of yearning poured into our mouths’ caress.

And she kissed me back.

Her hands slid up my chest to my shoulders as my tongue swept across her tongue. She tasted like Rose’s sweet tea. I lifted her onto the desk, stepping between her thighs, one hand tangled in her hair while the other gripped her hip. I ached with need, and fire grew inside me as our kiss deepened and became hungrier.

Autumn made a small sound in the back of her throat that nearly broke my control. I kissed down her neck, breathing in the floral scent of her skin.

“Ty,” she purred, “what are we?—”

The door opened. “There you two are, I need help with the— oh!” Rose stopped short, then smiled wide. “Never mind. Take your time.”

She backed out, closing the door behind her, but the moment had shifted. Autumn pressed her forehead to my chest, breathing hard.

“That was...”

“Intense,” I finished. “Sorry for the interruption.”

She laughed shakily. “Maybe it’s a sign.”

“The only sign is that I should’ve done that years ago.” I tilted her chin up. “Autumn?—”

“There’s Marcus,” she whispered.

“There’s us,” I countered. “There’s always been us.”

Voices in the kitchen reminded us where we were. Autumn slid off the desk, her body dragging against mine, causing sparks to flame my libido. She straightened her sweater with trembling hands.

“I should,” she gestured vaguely at the door. “Uh.”

“We should talk about this.”

“I know,” she touched her lips, still swollen from my kiss. “But not here. Not now.”

I caught her hand before she could leave. “Promise me something?”

“What?”

“Don’t say yes to that second date. Not until we talk.”

She stared at me for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay.”

I watched her slip back into the kitchen, my body still humming from her touch. Through the door, I heard Rose’s laugh, Autumn’s voice joining in, and the sounds of my family—our family—enjoying their Sunday together.

I’d spent twenty years convinced I couldn’t risk our friendship for something more. But standing there with the taste of her still on my lips, I realized the real risk was letting her go.

It was time to show Autumn exactly what she meant to me. What she’d always meant to me.

And I wanted to do it before Christmas.