Violet kneeling on a chair in front of his kitchen cabinets, rows and rows of spices lined up in front of her. A Karamel Kitty song blasted from her phone speaker, and his mom’s old wool quilt lay across the arm of the couch. The show she liked about the wealthy Black wives who lived in DC or something was playing on the television. He had no idea what he’d just walked into, but the sight of her creating slight chaos in his space caused an unexpected feeling of warmth to expand in his chest. He had to remind himself that he shouldn’t get used to coming home and seeing her there.
