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readingaddict1290 · 1 month ago

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The Vine Between Us (2)

Summary

Annie left the Mississippi Delta with a broken heart and a full-ride scholarship, determined never to look back. Now a celebrated professor in Chicago, she’s called home to care for her mother—and the last thing she expects is to run straight into him.

Elijah "Smoke". Her first love. Her first everything.

He disappeared the summer after graduation, leaving only unanswered calls and a goodbye she never got. Now he's back in town, running a moody, magnetic blues lounge with his twin brother, playing late into the humid Southern nights like he’s pouring his soul out just for her.

Annie wants to hate him. She wants to forget the way he made her feel. But one look from those stormy eyes, and she’s seventeen again—burning, aching, and lost in the man he’s become.

He left without a word. But now? He wants to finish the story they never got to end.

Characters: Annie x Elijah " Smoke" Moore (Modern AU)

Themes: Angst, Fluff, Mention of Abuse, Vulgar Language, Sexual content & more...

Chapters: PART (1)

A/N: Thank you for all the love on the first chapter! I really do appreciate it! Feedback is very much welcome, and if you would like to be added to the taglist, just let me know. Enjoy!

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The air seemed to settle, but Annie felt anything but steady. Her stomach churned. She gripped the red basket tighter, her knuckles pale against the handle. Pearline said something, but it sounded like it was coming from underwater.

“Elijah,” she murmured, not as a name, but a wound. One that hadn’t fully closed in nine damn years.

Pearline leaned on the cart. “Annie?”

Annie let out a short breath that didn’t feel like relief. “He looked right at me, Pearline. Like he hadn’t disappeared. Like he hadn’t left me without a goodbye or a damn word.”

“You never talked to him since?”

Annie scoffed, tossing a box of cornmeal into the basket like it had offended her. “Not once. He didn’t write. Didn’t call. Nothing.”

“I thought Stack sent you letters?”

“He did. Two. That’s it. Told me they enlisted. Said they left the next morning after graduation. But Elijah? Nothing. Not even a ‘I’m sorry.’” Her voice was rising now, emotions climbing up her throat. “We were kids, yeah, but I loved him, Pearline. I thought he loved me. He let me plan out our whole summer together, let me sit there talking about the future like we had one—and all the while he knew he was leavin’.”

Pearline looked at her gently. “Maybe it was hard for him to say goodbye.”

Annie gave a sharp laugh. “You don’t ghost someone you love because it’s hard. You show up. You explain. You give them something—a note, a moment, a goodbye kiss, I don’t care. But he gave me nothing. He took the boy I loved and vanished like it never happened. And now he’s just… back. Lookin’ at me like we’ve only been apart a season.”

She paused, swallowing hard, then added, “You know what the worst part is?”

Pearline shook her head.

“I waited. For months. I’d check the mailbox like a fool. I'd look out the window every time a car slowed down. Mama thought I was sick. And then Stack’s second letter came. Told me Elijah got quiet. Said he wasn’t the same. Said to move on.”

Pearline touched her arm. “Have you ever written back?”

Annie shook her head, eyes glassy. “What was there to say? ‘Thanks for the crumbs?'"

The two stood in silence for a moment, the hum of the freezer aisle filling the space between their memories. Annie blinked away the sting in her eyes, gathering herself again.

“I don’t care how good he looks now,” she said tightly. “I buried him nine years ago. I’m not digging up bones.”

Pearline didn’t argue. She just nodded, pushing her cart toward the register. “Well… if you change your mind, I hear The Cypress Lounge got the kind of ghosts that sing when you listen real close.”

Annie watched her go, the ache still pressing against her ribs like old bruises. She wasn’t ready to see him again—not like that. Not when all she wanted to do was ask why and hit him in the same breath.

The screen door creaked open as Annie followed her mother up the front steps, grocery bags tugging at her fingers. The sun had started to drop, casting long shadows across the porch. Cicadas buzzed in the trees, a lazy hum that made the evening feel heavier somehow.

“You gon’ pout all night or help me put these greens in water?” Mama asked, setting her bags down on the kitchen table with a soft grunt.

Annie didn’t answer right away. She moved through the kitchen like she was underwater, setting things down without care, her mind still circling the moment Elijah’s eyes locked on hers in Bo Chow’s. Nine years, and he hadn’t flinched. Like he expected her to still be there, standing still.

“I saw Elijah,” she said finally.

Her mother didn’t look surprised. “I figured. Ruby called me from the parking lot. Said she spotted you at Bo Chow’s, lookin’ like you seen a ghost.”

Annie’s eyes narrowed. “Of course Ruby nosey self did.”

“She was just picking up some turnips, and saw you ducking behind cereal like a sinner hiding from the deacons,” her mother said, with a knowing look. “Said he looked good, though. That was her exact phrasing—‘that boy aged like a mahogany tree and shame on him.’”

Annie scoffed. “Of course she’d notice that.”

Her mother started unpacking the collards, her hands working with muscle memory. “You still mad at him?”

Annie let out a bitter breath. “Mad? I was ruined, Mama. He left me like I was nothing. Like we were nothing. Didn’t say goodbye, didn’t even call. Just disappeared with Stack and never looked back.”

“Stack wrote you.”

“Elijah didn’t.”

Her mother nodded slowly, rinsing the greens. “You were young. So was he.”

“That’s no excuse. He could’ve told me. He owed me something.”

Her mother set the colander down, turning to face her. “You right. He did. But maybe he didn’t know how to face you. Maybe leaving was harder than you think.”

Annie shook her head, eyes starting to sting again. “Then he shouldn’t have let me dream about a future he never intended to give me.”

Her mother walked over and cupped her face gently. “You held on too long, baby. You let that silence become your whole story. Maybe now’s your chance to write a new ending.”

Annie pulled away, blinking back tears. “I’m not interested in happy endings. Not with him.”

Her mother didn’t press. She simply kissed her forehead and returned to the sink, humming an old blues tune under her breath. Annie stood still, the weight of the past pressing against her chest like a stone.

Later that night, after the greens were cleaned and stewing low on the stove, Annie sat on the porch with a glass of sweet tea sweating in her hand. The crickets were out now, and the breeze carried the soft scent of honeysuckle from the side of the house. Her mother was rocking beside her, shelling peas into a bowl like she always did when she wanted to talk without pressing too hard.

“You hear from that teacher fella lately?” Mama asked, keeping her eyes on her hands.

Annie took a sip, not looking her way. “Nah. I let that go.”

“That’s what, the third man this year you done ‘let go’?”

Annie gave a half-shrug. “It wasn’t working.”

Mama smiled faintly. “It never does when they start talkin’ forever, huh?”

Annie’s jaw tightened just a little, but she didn’t respond.

“They don’t measure up?” her mother asked lightly, but the words had weight.

Annie looked out at the yard, where the porch light barely touched the overgrown grass near the fence. “It’s not about measuring up. I just... don’t feel it. Not like that.”

Her mother was quiet for a moment, and then said, almost to herself, “You felt it once though. All the way through.”

Annie’s breath hitched just a little, but she forced herself to stay still. “That was a long time ago.”

Her mother nodded slowly. “Mm-hmm.”

Another beat of silence.

“I’m not hung up on Elijah,” Annie said suddenly, a little too fast. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I ain’t say his name.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Her mother looked over at her, warm eyes sharp with knowing. “You’ve had good men, Annie. Kind ones. Smart ones. Ones who wanted to build something real with you. But you run every time they open that door.”

Annie looked down at her glass. The ice had melted.

“I guess I just ain’t the buildin’ kind.”

Her mother didn’t push. She never did. She just kept shelling those peas, soft click-clack sounds filling the quiet.

But Annie knew. She knew her mother saw the space inside her heart where Elijah’s ghost still lived. The part of her that had never healed right. Like a broken bone that fused crooked—strong enough to carry on, but always aching when the weather changed.

And no matter how much she denied it, or how many smiles she forced through new dates and fresh starts, that pain had made her cautious. Distant. Every time love reached out, she pulled away just enough to keep from bleeding again.

Her mama let the silence sit a minute longer before dropping another shell into the bowl and saying, like it was nothing more than a passing thought, “You know… Stacks used to light up like a Christmas tree whenever he saw you.”

Annie blinked, caught off guard. “Stacks?”

“Mmhmm,” her mother nodded, a little smile playing on her lips. “Even when y’all were just kids. Always hanging around the house askin’ where you were. But Lord, he was too busy chasin’ every girl with good hair and fast hips.”

Annie huffed a dry laugh. “Yeah. Stacks flirted with anything that moved. He was always trying to charm his way outta trouble.”

“Still, that boy looked at you differently,” her mama said softly. “Not like the others. And not just ‘cause of Elijah either.”

Annie shook her head, lips tugging upward despite herself. “Stacks was just a clown. Sweet, sure, but not serious. Not back then.”

Her mother gave her a sideways glance. “Maybe not. But you never did give him the time of day.”

“That’s because I only had eyes for one person.” The words slipped out before Annie could catch them, and she immediately regretted it.

Her mama didn’t press. She just reached for another pea pod, her voice gentle. “Funny how you still talk about Elijah like you seventeen.”

“I don’t,” Annie said, too quickly.

“Mmhmm,” her mother replied, which was her polite way of saying yes, you do.

Annie sighed and leaned back in her chair, watching the porch light flicker like it was thinking about giving up. Her heart felt tight in her chest, the weight of memories pressing in. She thought she’d buried that chapter of her life deep enough that even her mama couldn’t dig it up, but somehow all it took was one encounter at Bo Chow’s and her world was unraveling.

And now her mother was talking about Stacks like he might be an option, as if Annie still had something left to give.

“Stacks was always a better talker than Elijah,” her mother added, almost sly now. “At least he wrote.”

Annie didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Because her mother was right. Stacks had written to her, twice. Letters that came months after they’d vanished. Words that tried to explain what Elijah never did.

Her mama set the bowl down, wiped her hands on her apron, and turned to face her daughter. “That boy left a hole in you, baby. I know that. But I also know you never let anyone else even try to fill it.”

Annie looked away.

Her mother hesitated, then smiled faintly. “You remember how you used to love to walk barefoot in the greenhouse?”

Annie’s brows lifted. “Of course.”

“I saw you one night. Slipping out through your window. I got up to get some water, and there you were, tiptoeing like you were a spy or somethin’.”

Annie blinked. “You never said anything.”

“I didn’t have to. You were lucky it was me that saw you. If it had been your daddy...” Her mama shook her head, laughing under her breath. “He liked Elijah, sure. But he was no fool. He knew Elijah was still a boy—and boys have eyes, especially for girls they ain’t supposed to be out with that late.”

Annie’s cheeks flushed with memory. “You knew all this time?”

“I knew more than you thought. I remember the way you used to come home glowing like the moon had whispered secrets in your ear. And I knew it was only a matter of time before that boy either broke your heart... or tried to keep it.”

There was a long silence between them.

Annie finally whispered, “He didn’t try to keep it. He just left.”

Her mama softened. “He was young. Didn’t know how to be honest. That’s no excuse, but it’s the truth. And you’ve been holding that silence like it’s yours to carry.”

Her mama looked at her long and deep. “You may not owe him a second chance, Annie. But you do owe yourself a real one.”

After dinner, Annie helped her mother clear the table, both of them moving in a quiet rhythm honed by years of coexisting in the same modest kitchen. The clink of plates and the soft scrape of forks filled the silence between them. Her mother wiped the last of the crumbs into her palm and tossed them into the trash before speaking.

“Why are you so quiet over there, child?”

Annie gave a half-smile. “I’ve just been thinking.”

Her mother didn’t press. She knew Annie well enough to let her thoughts settle on their own time. But when Annie leaned back against the counter and said, “I might go out for a little bit,” her mother stopped rinsing the sink.

“Where to?”

“Pearline said she might stop by Cypress Lounge tonight. Thought I’d catch up with her.”

Her mother slowly turned off the faucet and dried her hands on the dish towel. “The lounge?”

Annie gave a small shrug. “Yeah.”

“Hmm.” The sound carried meaning. Not quite judgment, but not surprise either.

Annie rolled her eyes with a teasing smirk. “And yes, I know who owns it.”

Her mother raised a brow. “Stacks and Smoke. That ain’t no secret, child.”

“They’ve probably done well with it,” Annie said, unsure why she felt the need to defend them.

“They always knew how to hustle,” her mother replied, her tone neutral. “Still... walking into their world again ain’t like passing through the produce aisle at Piggly Wiggly.”

Annie chuckled despite herself. “I’m not going there for them, Mama. Pearline will be there. It’s just a lounge. I’m grown.”

Her mother didn’t argue. She just gave her that long, knowing look that seemed to see through the years and right back to the girl who used to sneak out late at night to meet Elijah behind the Greenhouse.

“Well,” her mother said finally, “if you’re going, fix your hair. And don’t let that boy’s dimples undo all your common sense.”

Annie laughed. “You talking about Stacks or Smoke?”

Her mother smirked. “Don’t play coy. We both know which one made you lose sleep.”

Annie shook her head and grabbed her purse. “Good night, Mama.”

“Be safe, baby.”

As Annie stepped outside into the warm Delta night, the weight of memories pressed on her chest, but so did the thrill of seeing Cypress Lounge not as a symbol of the past, but a place where she might reclaim a little piece of herself.

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The Cypress Lounge pulsed with rhythm, low and thick like molasses. Laughter drifted out with the smoke, but Elijah was known to most as Smoke leaned against the brick wall out back, cigarette glowing between his fingers. The night air was heavy with humidity, but the quiet outside was a relief from the blues buzzing inside.

Only Annie and the elders ever called him Elijah.

He hadn’t heard his name said like that in over a decade, and somehow it still felt like it belonged to her.

He took a long drag, exhaled slow.

“You thinkin’ about Annie?”

Stacks’ voice broke the silence like a gentle elbow to the ribs. His twin brother, same face but always a little brighter around the edges. Stacks wore the same face, but with mischief tucked into the corners of his grin. Always had. Even now, older, sharper, wearing a tailored vest and easy charm, he was still the same boy who cracked jokes in the middle of a storm.

Smoke didn’t answer right away.

Stacks didn’t need him to.

They’d always understood each other without saying much.

But the truth was, yes. He was thinking about Annie. Hell, she never really left his mind. Not when they left town, not during all those long years in the military, not once in the ten years since.

He hadn’t said goodbye.

He hadn’t sent a letter.

He just disappeared.

It was the one thing he regretted. Even now.

Stacks had written to her. Twice. Checked in. Explained what happened, best he could. But Smoke? He hadn’t had the guts. Not because he didn’t care, but because he cared too damn much.

And now she was back.

Of course she’d still be beautiful. Of course the moment he saw her it’d feel like the world flipped upside down.

Stacks knew the history. He’d known it even back then.

He’d had a crush on Annie when they were just kids. Everybody knew it. But even at ten years old, Stacks had seen it. That look in Annie’s eyes, the one she only gave Smoke. And for all his wild boy charm, Stacks never got jealous. He just smiled, teased them both, and let it be.

Because if there was one person in this world Stacks would never betray, it was his brother.

And Smoke knew that. Always had.

Growing up with their father, who was mean and drunk more often than sober, had taught him how to anticipate pain. He’d learned how to take a hit before it landed. Learned how to stand between Stacks and a swinging fist, how to bite his tongue and swallow his screams. His father never touched Stacks. Smoke made sure of that.

Maybe that’s why he clung to Annie so hard back then. She was soft in a world that was bruised. Her laugh made things feel normal. She believed in him when he barely believed in himself. She saw past the fists, past the scars, past the silence he wore like armor.

And God help him, she was still the only girl who ever made him smile without trying.

He hadn’t seen that smile in the mirror since he left.

He didn’t know what it meant now that she was back in town, or whether he even had the right to say her name anymore.

Smoke crushed the cigarette beneath his boot and rubbed a hand down his face, like maybe he could wipe the memories away. No luck. Annie lived behind his eyes now. Every part of this damn city held her name in it.

Stacks leaned beside him, silent now, eyes cast toward the alleyway like he was watching for ghosts.

“You ever think about what it’d be like if we never left?” Stacks finally asked, voice low, thoughtful.

Smoke didn’t answer right away. Instead, he watched the shadows stretch across the bricks, thick like ink in the heat.

“All the time,” he muttered.

“You ever regret it?”

Smoke tilted his head back. “You don’t?”

Stacks shrugged. “Some days. But I think we needed to go. To survive. Pops was gettin’ worse. I don’t think we woulda made it much longer.”

Their father’s anger used to thunder through the walls late at night. A bottle always in his hand. Hands that were too quick to swing. Smoke had learned early to stay ten steps ahead of him, not just for his own sake—but to protect Stacks. If it wasn’t for Smoke, Stacks would’ve taken the worst of it. That’s just who their father was.

So they hustled. Ran the streets before their voices even cracked—fixing radios, selling bootleg tapes, flipping whatever they could get their hands on just to put food in the fridge. They had dreams, sure, but hunger and fists didn’t care about dreams. They cared about survival.

One day, Smoke decided enough was enough. The military wasn’t just an escape—it was the only road that looked like it led out.

But it cost him Annie.

“She was mad,” Stacks added, voice softer now. “She wrote me back once. Told me she was done waiting.”

“I deserved that.”

“She cried in that letter, Smoke. You know how hard it is for a girl like Annie to admit she cried? She trusted you. And you disappeared.”

Smoke clenched his jaw, pain flickering behind his eyes. “I was gonna write. Every day, I meant to. But I didn’t want to give her false hope. I thought if I just cut it, it’d be easier for her.”

“You were trying to protect her.”

“Yeah. And I ended up hurting her more.”

Stacks gave him a look, one brother to another. “You gonna let her keep thinkin’ you didn’t care?”

Smoke turned his head, eyes sharp. “No.”

“You still love her?”

Smoke didn’t even blink. “Always did.”

Stacks cracked a smile, no jealousy in it, just understanding. He had known, even as a kid, that Annie was always looking at Smoke—even when she was standing right beside him. And he couldn’t be mad. Not when Annie was the only thing that ever made his brother smile like that.

Then he clapped a hand on Smoke’s shoulder. “Then you better fix it, big bro. Before someone else steps in.”

Smoke stared into the night, jaw tight. “She ain’t the type you just win back with flowers and apologies.”

“Then don’t give her that. Give her truth.”

Stacks stepped away, voice trailing off. “We’ve got a club to run. And you’ve got a woman to face.”

Smoke stayed where he was, staring at the stars, the weight of memory flashing in his mind. It was a memory of when he first spoke to her.

Smoke wiped down the kitchen counter, scrubbing at the sticky ring left by a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey. Their father had stumbled in late the night before, angry and mean with nothing in his pockets but excuses and the sharp stench of regret. Now he was passed out in the back room, door wide open, mouth hanging slack.

Smoke tossed the rag in the sink and let out a breath. The walls felt like they were closing in.

“Yo, come on,” Stacks called from the hallway, already halfway out the door. “We hittin’ Mr. Gary’s before it gets packed.”

Smoke grabbed his white t- shirt, slid it on, and followed his twin into the humid Mississippi morning. The sun was bold overhead, baking the pavement, making everything shimmer like heat was trying to erase the whole town.

Stacks bounced down the sidewalk, full of energy, snapping his fingers and breaking into a loud, off-key rendition of the Ying Yang Twins.

“Wait 'til you see my—”

“Stacks,” Smoke warned, glancing around.

Stacks just laughed. “What? I’m sayin’. That song go hard. You just mad you ain’t got the vocals for it.”

Smoke shook his head, but there was a smirk trying to creep in. As usual, Stacks was showing out, dancing and spinning a coin between his fingers like the world had never hurt them.

They turned the corner near 12th and saw Mr. Gary’s ice cream parlor just ahead, the old hand-painted sign barely hanging on. The scent of sugar and waffle cones drifted out into the street like an invitation.

Stacks slowed. “Yo. Yo. Ain’t that the girl from math class?”

Smoke followed his gaze.

There she was.

Annie.

She was sitting outside the shop on the bench, one knee up, licking a grape popsicle like it owed her money. Two thick braids framed her face, and an old Saints jersey hung over her cutoffs. She looked like she belonged on a whole different planet—cool, unbothered, sharp-eyed.

“She new,” Smoke murmured. “Moved here from Louisiana.”

“She fine,” Stacks corrected, grinning. “Watch this.”

He sauntered ahead with all the charm he could muster, chest puffed like he was walking into a music video.

“Hey there,” he said smoothly, leaning against the bench. “You in our class, right? I’m Stacks. You probably noticed me already.”

Annie didn’t even blink. “Only thing I noticed was somebody always talkin’ when the teacher tryin’ to speak.”

Stacks froze, smile faltering for half a second. “Dang. That’s cold.”

“I’m from Louisiana. We say what we mean,” she said, then looked past him. “Your brother the one that don’t talk?”

Smoke, still a few steps back, raised a brow. “Sometimes.”

Annie gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “Good. I like the quiet ones. They don’t waste your time with nonsense.”

Stacks laughed too loud. “See? She like you already.”

Annie cut him a look. “Boy, don’t flatter yourself. I ain’t said I liked either of y’all." Smoke walked up beside his brother, unsure of what to say.

Annie turned to him. “You got a name or you just go by ‘Shadow’?”

“Elijah,” he said, voice quiet. “But everybody call me Smoke.”

Annie licked her popsicle, then said, “Smoke, huh? You look like you don’t play around.”

Stacks jumped in. “He don’t. Always got that serious face like he solving algebra in his sleep.”

Annie stood up, brushing crumbs off her jersey, and walked between them like royalty on a mission.

“Well, nice meetin’ y’all. Don’t be weird next time.”

And just like that, she was gone, her braids bouncing with every step.

Stacks let out a low whistle. “Man... she really just...she got attitude.”

“She got presence,” Smoke corrected, still watching her walk away.

Stacks looked at his twin and shook his head. “You catchin’ feelings already?”

Smoke didn’t answer.

Stacks grinned. “Me too."

Elijah brung himself back to reality as he heard Stacks calling his name from the side door of the lounge. He wasn’t the boy Annie used to sneak off with to the greenhouse under moonlight. He was the man who left without a word, but he was ready to write his wrongs.

TAGLIST:

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @uzumaki-rebellion @brattyfics @chrisevansmentee @margepimpson @blaqgirlmagicyallcantstandit @bigjh @est1887 @tadjoa @thickmadame

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readingaddict1290 · 1 month ago

Text

The Vine Between Us

Summary

Elijah "Smoke". Her first love. Her first everything.

Annie wants to hate him. She wants to forget the way he made her feel. But one look from those stormy eyes, and she’s seventeen again. Burning, aching, and lost in the man he’s become.

He left without a word. But now? He wants to finish the story they never got to end.

Characters: Annie x Elijah " Smoke" Moore (Modern AU)

Themes: Angst, Fluff, Mention of Abuse, Vulgar Language, Sexual content & more...

Chapters: PART (2)

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Annie guided the rental car slowly down the winding gravel road, watching as the wild, familiar landscape unfolded around her like an old love letter—creased at the corners, worn with time, but still humming with truth. After years of Chicago’s sharp wind and steel-gray skies, Mississippi felt like a fever dream she’d been trying to forget.

She rolled the window down. The air was thick with magnolia, turned soil, and the faintest burn of distant woodsmoke. Summer here always carried the weight of something sacred and forgotten. Cicadas buzzed a low lullaby through the trees, and Spanish moss hung like secrets from the branches.

The past was stitched into everything. The way the breeze moved through the fields, the angle of the sunlight as it dipped behind the old church steeple in the distance. This place didn’t change. It waited.

Her mother’s house stood stubbornly on the edge of the fields. Its porch sagging, paint peeling, the garden unruly and overgrown. Honeysuckle and jasmine curled up the columns like offerings, scenting the air with wild sweetness.

And just beyond the clothesline and the crooked birdbath sat the old greenhouse—her grandmother’s pride, her mother’s joy, and Annie’s first taste of magic. Once, it had been a wonderland of heirloom tomatoes, hot peppers, and lemon verbena, the windows fogged with life and labor. Now, it was a glass skeleton swallowed by ivy and time. One panel was cracked, another missing, and vines crept through the seams like nature reclaiming what was hers.

Even in its ruin, it stood like a memory refusing to be forgotten.

She hadn’t been home in nearly nine years.

Annie stepped out of the car, adjusting her wrap blouse and brushing the travel from her thighs. She was tall, solid, striking—a woman who took up space with quiet grace. Her brown skin glistened in the heat, and her dark curls, loosened by the humidity, tumbled freely around her shoulders.

The screen door creaked open.

“Annie?”

Her mother’s voice carried out like a memory. She stood in the doorway, frail but radiant in her own way—wrapped in a floral housecoat and a pink scarf tied neatly at her nape.

Annie swallowed the sudden emotion rising in her chest. “Hey, Mama.”

They held each other on the porch for a long moment, their bodies pressed together in the kind of embrace that says everything words can’t. Her mother smelled like lavender, cooking oil, and love.

“You smell like city,” her mother murmured, pulling back with a soft smile. “But your heart still beats Delta.”

Annie laughed, eyes misty. “Something like that.”

Inside, the house hadn’t changed. The wood floors creaked the same way, the photos on the walls—sun-faded and reverent—watched her pass like quiet witnesses. A fan turned lazily in the corner, and gospel music played faintly from the old radio.

Her mother moved slower now. “I’m fixin’ your favorite tonight,” she said, reaching into the fridge with a frown. “But I forgot the buttermilk. You mind runnin’ into town?”

“Of course not Mama.”

Her mother smiled. “I want this meal to welcome you proper. Cornbread and catfish, greens and all.”

She lingered, her eyes drifting through the kitchen window toward the back of the property. Beyond the tangle of overgrown grass and wilting wildflowers stood the greenhouse—leaning slightly now, but still there. Stubborn. Waiting.

She stepped out onto the porch, the boards groaning under her weight. Heat shimmered across the yard. And with it came the pull of memory.

She remembered the way the crickets hushed as they crept through the backyard, their bodies close, movements careful, the house behind them dark and still. Her parents were fast asleep, the old box fan in their window humming loud enough to cover the sound of the creaking porch.

“Elijah,” she had whispered, pausing in the dew-kissed grass.

“You sure they won’t wake up?” he whispered back.

Annie turned, grinning, barefoot. “Not unless you knock over Mama’s canning jars again.”

“I was thirteen,” he muttered, mock offended.

“You were clumsy.”

“You were bossy.”

She rolled her eyes, and he followed her like he always did.

The greenhouse door had groaned on its hinges when she pulled it open. Inside, the air turned warm and wet, filled with the sharp green scent of tomato vines and damp soil. Moonlight spilled through the foggy panels, casting a ghostly glow across the rows of plants. The place was overgrown, wild with summer—grapevines tangled overhead, basil thick at their ankles.

“Feels like a jungle,” he murmured.

“It is,” she’d said, tugging him deeper inside. “A jungle we built.”

They had spent whole summers in that greenhouse, helping her grandmother weed and plant, falling asleep on burlap sacks, eating strawberries straight from the vine. It had been their hideout. Their secret. Their sanctuary.

Annie had sat down on an overturned crate, the hem of her nightgown catching on a nail. Elijah sat beside her, knees touching. Close—too close. His scent mingled with the smell of night: soap, soil, and something citrus just beneath it.

“I still think about that day,” he’d said, voice low. “When you kissed me in here.”

Her breath caught. She had been fifteen. He, just a few months older. It was midsummer, sticky, and loud with cicadas. She had leaned in, sunburned and barefoot, pressing her mouth to his before either of them really knew how to do it. He tasted like watermelon and nerves.

They had laughed. And kissed again.

“I remember,” she whispered now, alone in the yard.

The greenhouse stood still, a skeleton of memory wrapped in ivy. Annie swallowed thickly, fingers brushing the wooden frame. She didn’t open the door. Some things were too sacred—or too dangerous—to disturb just yet.

With one last look, she turned back toward the car. The keys jingled in her hand. She had buttermilk to buy. And no idea that Bo Chow’s Market held more than groceries. It held the beginning of everything she thought she’d left behind.

Bo Chow’s smelled like hot grease, bleach, and forgotten secrets. The kind of scent that clung to linoleum floors and lived in the cracks of old ceiling tiles. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a yellowish tint over jars of pickled okra, canned peaches, and family-sized boxes of instant grits. The air was cool, but not fresh—more like recycled and reheated across decades.

Annie pushed open the front door, greeted by the metallic chime of a bell that rang like an old church warning. She stepped inside and was instantly swallowed by the hush of small-town routine. A red plastic basket swung from her arm as she walked, heels clicking softly across tile floors worn smooth by generations of tired feet.

She moved quickly, head down, aiming for the dairy case.

Milk. Eggs. Out.

She didn’t want to linger. Not here. Not now.

But then she heard it.

That voice.

Low. Warm. Smooth like molasses poured over whiskey.“Bo, you barely can handle this place since Grace went to visit her people. She only been gone three days.”

Annie stopped mid-step. The chill from the freezer case crawled up her spine and wrapped around her neck like cold hands.

Every muscle in her body tensed.

Elijah.

Smoke.

Time folded in on itself. Her fingers gripped the basket like it was an anchor. Her breath caught in her throat—shallow, sharp, and instinctive.

She didn’t need to see him to know it was him.

The way he dragged out vowels like he had all the time in the world. That same sleepy southern rhythm that used to whisper down her skin at midnight.

She ducked into the cereal aisle, heart hammering. A box of Honey Smacks nearly toppled from the shelf as she backed up too fast.

And slammed into someone.

“Damn! Girl, you always been clumsy.”

Annie spun around. “Pearline?”

Pearline stood there with one hand on her hip and the other gripping a can of green beans, her face a perfect mix of amusement and mild judgment. “I knew I was gon’ run into somebody today, but I ain’t think it’d be you.”

“I—I'm sorry, I just—”

Pearline leaned in, eyes narrowing playfully. “Don’t even bother lyin’. You heard him, didn’t you?”

Annie nodded, barely breathing. “Yeah.”

“Well, sugar, you too late now. Look.”

Pearline tilted her chin toward the counter.

Annie followed her gaze—and the breath left her lungs.

Elijah stood at the register, framed by the buzz of the lights above and the dusty glass doors behind him. He looked older. Sharper. Not the boy who used to sneak through her bedroom window smelling like night rain and bourbon. No, this was a man now. Solid. Weathered. Still dangerous.

He wore a black tee that clung to his chest and forearms like a second skin. Faded jeans hung low on his hips, and his boots were scuffed and worn, like they’d seen too many miles of regret. His dark brown skin caught the fluorescent glare, highlighting the strength in his jawline, the fullness of his beard. That mustache he used to trim with a razor’s edge was thicker now—more defiant.

But it was the eyes that undid her.

Still deep. Still unreadable. Still pulling at something under her ribs.

Her skin flushed under the weight of his stare. The blouse she wore suddenly felt too thin, her denim skirt too snug. She was exposed. Unraveled. Every part of her remembered him. And she could feel it—he remembered too.

She whispered, “Elijah.”

Her voice cracked like old wood.

His eyes softened for a breath. “Annie.”

Her name sounded different in his mouth. Like something sacred. Or maybe something buried.

She didn’t move toward him. Didn’t dare. The floor between them was heavy with everything they never said.

Then the front door blew open with a gust of hot Delta wind.

“There he is!” Stack burst in like a Sunday sermon—loud, smiling, and just a little too proud. “Come on, man, liquor drop comin’ in hot!”

He stopped dead when he saw her. His grin widened.

“Well hot damn. Look what the Delta blew in.”

Annie was bracing herself when his arms swept her up into a quick hug. “Stack,” she murmured, a half-laugh catching in her throat. The kind that masked the shake in her hands.

“You look like a cool drink on a hard day,” Stack said, eyes twinkling. “Where you been hidin’ that smile?”

“Trying to stay outta trouble.”

“Well, you came to the wrong place for that, baby girl.”

Her eyes flicked past him, to Elijah. Still watching. Still quiet.

Still burning.

“You oughta come by the lounge tonight,” Stack said, still holding her hand. “Me and Smoke got The Cypress lookin’ right. New lights, cold drinks, and our cousin Sammie singin’ like he just got kissed by God himself.”

“Lil Sammie sings now?”

“Sure do. Boy done grew outta his onesie and into a voice that’ll make your knees buckle.”

Pearline laughed behind her. “He ain’t lyin’. That boy good.”

“You should come see,” Stack said, brushing a thumb gently across Annie’s wrist. “Come for the music. Or the hush puppies. Or… you know—unfinished business.”

Annie stiffened. Her gaze flicked to Elijah. He didn’t look away.

“I promised my mama dinner tonight,” she said finally, her voice cool again. Measured. “Can’t break a promise.”

The air between her and Elijah changed.

Thickened.

His jaw ticked once. Hands slid into his pockets like he was holding himself back.

“Then we’ll let you be,” Stacks said, throwing a look at his brother. “We don’t want Mama Jean mad at us.”

Elijah nodded slowly. “Good to see you, Annie.”But the way he said it wasn’t polite. It was personal. Intimate. Like he meant it all the way down.

She held his gaze. “You too.”

And then they were gone.The bell over the door jingled once, then nothing.

Silence wrapped around her again, pressing heavy on her chest.

Pearline stepped close, resting a hand on her elbow. “You okay?”

“Hell no.”

Annie’s eyes lingered on the door like it might open again. Maybe it wasn’t too late for all the things they never said, but was Annie ready to unpack her resentment.

TAGLIST:

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @uzumaki-rebellion @brattyfics @chaneajoyyy

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readingaddict1290 · 2 months ago

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Some after "Sinners" reading material if you're interested in Black American and Indigenous History (and the immigrants who came over, too). I put in the Jones-Rogers book too so y'all won't think the 58% had no serious role in shaping the horrors of America.

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readingaddict1290 · 2 months ago

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that's literally his baby

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readingaddict1290 · 2 months ago

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If I could retweet this a thousand times I would!!! 👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾

Y'all have to admit they mammified Annie, made Pearline look like a jezebel, and then literally had Mary looking like some holy woman who was just in love and made some misguided decisions. They had Annie with barely any makeup and her hair all over her head, and they had Pearline slinking all over the stage after freshly cheating on her husband (which they constantly referenced). With Mary, they made it seem like she had no choice in her marriage and wanted "freedom" and Stack. At the end they got what they wanted and while we're supposed to see Annie and Smoke as the winners or whatever the message that the freedom and happiness is in the afterlife is nothing new, especially in the black community.

I think people are projecting the mammy image onto Annie because of their own personal anti-Black programming (which every Black person globally is raised with under white supremacy), and mainly because they don't know what the mammy image/trope truly is. Lemme help you.

The mammy trope/mammification of Black women is a desexualized image that is set in a purely domesticated role. They tend to be darker-skinned, full-figured, stripped of agency, and are often at the service of whiteness. They are never viewed as the love interest or having an erotic bone in their body. The ONLY thing Annie has in common with that definition (care of Merriem-Webster and my own university education as a Social Science/Black & Native Studies graduate) is dark skin, and a full-figure. Dassit. Ain't no mammy nowhere in her. Is she nurturing? Yes? A pillar of her community and protecting it with Hoodoo (which I practice myself)? Yes. Does she care for her man and look out for other people? Yes. But all that comes from a love of her people in the service of Black people, not whiteness. Did you not see them back shots and Smoke clapping his wife's cheeks? Mammies don't do that because that is not their function in stories. Also, Annie wore her hair in the actual style women with that texture of hair did in 1932. It wasn't all over her head (I'm smelling self-hate vibes and anti-natural hair energy). And why for the love of god would she have make-up on doing her Hoodoo work in all that heat? She was gorgeous without make up. I don't think the plantation stores sold Maybelline cosmetics that Annie would need for her customers. Maybelline didn't accept wooden nickels or plantation script for money either, so...whatever. Lol.

People can call Pearline a Jezebel all they want, but that doesn't change the fact that Sammie loved her his entire life, named his club after her, and remembers her fondly for being part of the best day of his entire life. Plus, Christianity thinks any woman with agency is a jezebel spirit, so that holds no weight for me personally cuz I don't give a fuck what a woman does with her pussy, married or not. Most men are trash anyway, so a beauty like that stepping out to a juke, oh, her husband had to be a 1932 joy-killer. Also, do we even truly know Pearline was married? Many women traveling the chitlin circuit in those days as an entertainer often pretended to be married (even wore fake rings) to protect themselves in seedy environments around men and the judgmental Christians. Whether she was married or not doesn't matter because Sammie was smitten, and that's the love of his life in the movie. Period. She didn't rub up on nobody else but him, and stayed by his side until the very end.

Mary was hoeing, jezabelling, tragic-octorooning and what not. She was not a holy woman because she acted selfish, entitled, and just as colorist/anti-Black woman as Stack (her not saying anything against Stack calling darker Black women "field bitches" is a choice. She knew her place on the colored hierarchy). That's why a lot of Black folks are cracking jokes about her saying she would beat up every "bitch" in that place, knowing she would get curb stomped had she said that to another Black woman's face in that juke. Personally, I don't see Mary as a winner because she and Stack will forever have to stay in the shadows and are cut off from the ancestors. They are the lesson of all that glitters ain't gold & stop inviting everybody to the cookout. Their life is so unappealing that Sammie didn't even want to become like them because life hadn't really changed that much from 1932 (especially with the L.A. Rebellion happening in 1992 all because of white racism/white supremacy). So while you may think Annie and Smoke didn't have the happy ending we would've preferred (being alive together), it is a horror movie and folks die, so being with the ancestors and ALL your family for eternity is a win in my eyes, compared to being stuck with no connection to anyone except another bloodsucker who didn't give you a choice to become disconnected from your people.

But that's the beauty of art, we can all have our own takes and interpretations. However, Annie wasn't a mammy. That's a personal issue for people who believe that. People gotta unpack the self-hate projection onto a Black woman character that didn't present that way to many of us who appreciate what she represented culturally as a Hoodoo practioner in 1932 America. That was a warrior/healer/lover.

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readingaddict1290 · 2 months ago

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readingaddict1290 · 2 months ago

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some fucking resources for all ur writing fuckin needs

* body language masterlist

* a translator that doesn’t eat ass like google translate does

* a reverse dictionary for when ur brain freezes

* 550 words to say instead of fuckin said

* 638 character traits for when ur brain freezes again

* some more body language help

(hope this helps some ppl)

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readingaddict1290 · 2 months ago

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In Your Arms Tonight by Uzumaki Rebellion

Pairing: Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Annie Moore

Warning(s): 18+, Explicit Sex, Unprotected Sex, Adult Language, Speculative Elements

Summary: Annie has been asked by her estranged husband Smoke to provide hot food for the opening of his new juke joint in Clarksdale. After seven years apart, their passion and love for each other hasn't waned, but Smoke learns the hard way that leaving his wife alone for a long stretch of time doesn't mean other suitors haven't been chomping at the bit to be with her in his absence.

Word count:

youtube

"Somebody take me

In your arms tonight, alright

Somebody take me

In your arms tonight…"

Miles Caton – "I Lied to You"

Oh, he was mad.

Big mad.

Full lips all bunched up in a pout. Eyes more narrow than a sewing needle stitching a hemline back in her house. Fingers gripping the rolled tobacco cigarette tight.

Annie Moore watched her estranged husband Elijah "Smoke" Moore pretend to act unbothered on the second-floor, looking down at the mighty fine juke joint he and his twin Stack cobbled together in a day.

That big nigga was fuming up there, all on account of Beau Willie approaching her for a plate of fried catfish, and her mama's red rice recipe carried all the way over from Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

There was plenty of fish to fry, pots of greens to stir, fried potatoes to season, and plenty of people to buy plates and eat them in Club Juke.

Annie wiped her brow with a folded towel next to the fryers and pretended not to notice her man hawking her from above. She gave Beau Willie two big slices of white bread with hot sauce, and pointed out the Irish beer, and Italian wine available to purchase with it. Her best friends Millie and Alberta helped cook and serve, and they all tapped their feet to the music swirling throughout the transformed sawmill. Two of Millie's older daughters stood nearby, watching and learning, and every now and then, the women would let them cook a batch of fish and sell some plates. Grace Chow the grocery store owner, also helped serve and sell liquor while gossiping with them.

"That man keep starin' at you, he gonna have his eyes fallin' outta his head," Millie whispered.

Grace giggled. Annie rolled her eyes and popped the cap of Beau Willie's beer with a bottle opener for him. Handed him the drink.

"There ya go, Beau Willie. You enjoy all that and come back for more when you ready," she said.

"You know I'll be back for your cookin', Annie. Every time," Beau Willie said with a voice deeper than the Mississippi River.

Brawny and handsome, Beau Willie worked the cotton fields like most of the colored people inside the juke. He was her first boyfriend. The first boy to ever kiss her, because of Smoke being too chickenshit to tell Annie that he wanted her first.

Delta Slim belted out some tunes on his harmonica and tickled the piano keys, and Lloyd Allen played the lead guitar. The dancing crowd added the extra percussive beats. Preacher Boy Sammie stood next to the legend and played along with his guitar respectfully, not trying to outplay his elders, just keeping the rhythm steady with his strumming. A fiddler and two sibling banjo players waited offside for their turn to perform.

Annie served a few more plates and propped herself next to Grace against the counter filled with liquor bottles and high-priced hooch. She rightfully assumed Smoke and Stack stole all that shit. Smoke came to her house with pockets so fat and full of cash that she knew he'd been up to no good again. Wasn't no need to question or fuss with him about his criminality. He was going to do what he wanted.

A soft shiver went up her spine.

Lord, that man put it on her earlier that day! Twice. It was like old times with them. Argue and fight, and then fuck the disagreement away.

An undercurrent of disappointment simmered in her blood for his abandonment of their marriage after the loss of their baby. He begged her to run off to Arkansas with him after they robbed several banks in Clarksdale, and she refused to leave their baby behind in the ground they buried her in. That gravesite was holy, and she didn't want to leave her kin behind either. Smoke grew bitter about his pain. Selah, their baby girl, had meant everything to him. He couldn't wait to be a father and the first time he held her, the tears wouldn't stop flowing. They never stopped flowing after her death.

Annie did all she could when Selah grew sick. Asked every ancestor she knew by name and then some for help, wrung her hands with High John the Conqueror root as she beseeched God to grant her one holy favor: save her daughter from a too soon homegoing.

It wrecked Smoke.

He turned bitter, surly, and prone to drinking all day and night. The resentment in his eyes when she could cure ailments in other people, but not her own child, festered like an infection full of pus in his spirit. He said not one word to her, even though she sensed that negative energy clinging to him.

Her sorrow buried itself in her chest and she stumbled around each day numb for many months. They were not good to each other. He got it in his head to leave, like going away would banish Selah from their collective memory. She cursed him out. Beat her hands on his chest. How could he up and leave their child? Who was going to take care of her grave? Talk to her? Let her know they loved her beyond the veil of life?

He didn't skip off in the night when he left. That big gorgeous man looked Annie straight in her face and told her he couldn't stay. If he did, he feared he would turn into his father. A sullen, abusive man.

"Go on then," she said, "You scared to handle your feelings like a man, then leave. I'll stay and honor her and make a life with this pain."

He winced, and she turned her back on him, prepared an herbal remedy for a customer who was due to come by that day.

Smoke left her.

She had the community's support and sympathy. Built a business using the conjuring and medicinal skills she learned from her grandmother and Smoke's mother, Taiwo, both Hoodoo women. Taiwo nurtured her growth of knowledge until her passing two years ago. Annie stayed rooted in her power and fierce determination to keep her people thriving in Clarksdale.

She snuck a sip of the good hooch and squeezed her eyes shut from the burn that scorched her throat.

"Ooh, wee! That is some strong corn liquor," Annie gasped, patting her chest.

Millie cackled and sipped it like a pro, the moonshine sliding down her gullet like water.

"I don't know how you do that," Annie said with wonderment on her face.

"Y'all can't be drinking up the supply," Smoke said.

Annie jumped at the sound of her husband's voice. He'd moved in stealth down from the top floor to the main one. Grace wandered off to check on her husband, Bo.

"You ain't paying enough to be worried about me taking a drink when I want one," Annie joked.

"Thought I paid you in other ways that ain't got nothing to do with cash money," he teased, sliding his tongue across his top lip.

Millie smirked and lifted freshly cooked fish from the fryers and dumped them on some paper to drain. Annie wiped her hands and called one of the teen-aged girls over from the back to take over her spot.

"Where you going?" he asked.

"Going to mingle and let people know we got a hot batch ready. Why you stressing me?"

"As long as you're doing that and not flirting with customers."

"Flirting with who?"

Annie put a hand on her hip. Eyed him up and down.

Smoke glanced around. The crowd wasn't paying attention to him.

"Summa these menfolk might have some amorous intentions toward you that they shouldn't," he said.

She slanted her head and waited for him to continue. He snuck a glimpse of her chest. Annie wore her good bra tonight. Her breasts sat high like mountain peaks and looked voluptuous in her new velvet green dress with the few sparkly sequins she sewed into it. She gave enough cleavage with her beads falling down the center of her breasts guiding inquisitive eyes to the Promised Land. Green was Smoke's favorite color on her. Every man watched her work the floor all evening looking like a Hoodoo queen.

Her heavy hips and high riding backside cast spells on other men as she passed them by, and that worried Smoke in that sexually charged environment. Just because they made love hours ago didn't mean he had her safely tucked in his pocket. And he knew that. He'd been gone much too long to think other men hadn't plotted to scoop her up. It was one thing for her to be out of sight/out of mind while he was up north and not faced with other suitors pursuing her. Quite another to witness it full on in person. That's why he chased the back of her dress every chance he got when she went to wandering in the juke.

His reconciliation with her was still tenuous. By his facial expression, she knew he was having flashbacks of sticking his thick dick in her deep, gushy pussy, and he worried that some other man would dare to wet his dick in it, too. It kept him on his toes. Territorial. He'd already shot two men who tried to steal his liquor when he first arrived in town. If a man tried stealing his wife's pussy…there'd be a funeral in the morning.

Smoke didn't answer her question any further about flirting and cut his eyes away from her face. She slunk around him, draped her arms across his shoulders from the side, and stared up into the brown eyes he once gave their baby girl.

"What you worried about, Elijah?" she purred playfully.

"Ah, woman, get on and handle your business."

He tried to act nonchalant, but his eyes darted back and forth to clock anybody waiting to approach her when she moved away from him.

She kissed his cheek and sauntered off, glancing back to catch him watching her. Sure enough, three other men did the same, grinning at the seductive way she swung her hips. They looked elsewhere when Smoke turned their way, going in the opposite direction of her.

"How you folks doing? We got some fresh fish hot and ready. Some Creole potato salad, too! Don't be shy about getting seconds or thirds…hey Earline! I love that dress on you! Shake it, sis! Casper, let some other fellas get a chance to dance with her…hey Ora Lee! I ain't seen you out in a long time, girl!"

Annie circled the extensive building interior. Smoke's twin brushed past her on swift legs with Mary tailing him in her expensive pale satin dress. The juke stayed turned up, with Delta Slim leading the charge. People drank, ate, and had a damn good time.

Smoke stayed watching her, and she decided to ruffle his feathers.

"Oscar, don't you owe me a dance?"

She tapped a man's shoulder, and he showed all his teeth, so happy to hold her hand and swing her out on the floor. Her left arm casually rested on his slim shoulders, and he loved the feel of her near him.

"Aw, Miss Annie, I been waiting all night for a chance to dance with you."

He was only a couple of years older than her, searching for a wife, and he'd been pestering her to go out even though she told him she was still married…for seven years straight. With no word from Smoke, she started keeping company with Oscar briefly two years ago, but the bones she threw after their third picnic date told her they were not evenly yoked. They also told her Smoke wasn't dead. And if he wasn't dead, he was bound to come home someday. She let Oscar down easy, but he never gave up hope. He dated around, but yearned for her still. It showed in the way he held her while they danced. Annie kept it short and chaste.

"Thank you," she said.

"Why you running off, Annie? You think I'm scared of that runaway husband that showed up out the blue?"

She grinned.

"I got more fish to cook and some money to make," she said.

"Don't be shy coming my way again," he said, winking at her.

His buddy had a different idea.

"Nigga, you oughta be scared. Them Smokestack twins ain't to be tested if you want to stay healthy. You ain't hear about them fellas that tried to steal from Smoke today?" his buddy said.

Annie slipped away from the conversation and checked on Smoke, who still stood up high overlooking the railing. Lips poked out again, but he wasn't taking the bait.

She returned to her post after using the privy outside and washing her hands. Stack's trickster self found himself caught in the middle of a heated conversation within a circle of young women who didn't look happy with him.

"What I miss?" Annie said.

Alberta nodded over toward Mary, who sipped a glass of wine at the far end of the food table, watching Stack like he'd vanish into thin air if she didn't keep her eyes glued to him.

"Stack called those ladies field bitches, and they heard Mary say she'd beat up every one of them over him," Alberta said.

"Oh, Lord," Annie sighed.

One woman wagged her finger in Stack's face and spoke loud enough for Mary to hear.

"Her mama was a field bitch too!"

Millie went over to help get the argument under control. Stack looked somewhat remorseful, but maybe it was because the darker Black women were lighting his ass up. They didn't play that shit.

Alberta inched closer and lowered her voice.

"You see that gal right there? The one fussing the most? She's Grace Latimer's niece. Her sister Jessie left town seven months after Stack left. He was messing with her and Mary at the same time. They say she had two of his babies. Twin girls. Her people carried her off to Pittsburgh and got her married up quick. They were too scared to confront Stack about it. Now that's a rumor, so don't go telling folks you heard that from me."

Annie studied the young woman cursing Stack out.

"Does he know he has children by Jessie?" Annie said.

"Like he would care if it's true. He a rolling stone, that one. I wouldn't be surprised if he got a heap of babies all over the states the way he sweet talks women out they drawers."

Annie glanced over at Mary again. She stayed watching her great love with twisted lips and heat in her eyes. Annie felt bad for her. It made her wonder about Smoke. Were there babies out there in Chicago with his last name attached to them? No, she would've known. Felt it. Her small bag of bones would've told her as well. She prayed for that man to come back home safe, and he did. Took him a long time, but she had him back for herself.

Stack smoothed over the argument, apologized, let the women have free drinks on him, and they rolled their eyes and went about their business partying. He shuffled away to join the rougher men gambling with their Chinese guests in a back room, his gold-rimmed teeth gleaming. Mary huffed loudly, then flounced off into the crowd.

"Whew, I don't want that kinda love coming after me," Millie said, "She sticking to him like a haint in the graveyard."

"She shouldn't even be here," Alberta interjected. "He keeps telling her to go, but she won't leave. What if that sheriff come 'round here to check this place out and they see her? Ain't enough bribery money in this world to keep them crackas from killing him or us if they think she white. Her too. God rest her mama's soul, but she ain't doing us no good being here," Alberta said.

"She knows, but she don't care," Millie said.

Annie fixed plates quietly.

"Annie, maybe you should talk to her. She listens to you. She your play cousin anyway," Millie said.

"Ain't nothing I can say to her that will change her mind. Y'all know I'm married to Stack's other half. I loves me some Smoke, so I know what she's feeling inside. Can't explain it to y'all what it's like being in love with a Moore man. They cut from a different cloth."

"Oh, so they be up in them guts having y'all speaking tongues then," Millie teased.

Annie guffawed and grabbed onto her friend's arm to hush her. The women laughed together and Annie sighed afterward.

"All they got is this one night," Annie said. "We're safe enough in here with our people. Stack gotta decide what he gonna do with her on his own is all I'm saying. I'll talk to her in a little bit. But we got work to do."

Annie supervised the cooking, fanned herself, and chatted up the patrons buying liquor. She couldn't stop grinning at everything and everybody. The festive atmosphere hadn't been in Clarksdale like that for years. People needed the release from toiling in the fields and their troubles.

She took another walk to cool off. The sweat between her breasts and thighs got to her. She fanned herself down in a corner and gazed at the dance floor where folks stomped feet and threw hands up in the air.

The scent of tobacco wafted near her nose.

Smoke found his way next to her. He handed her a small mason jar half-filled with wine. He held another for himself.

"For a job well done," he said.

They clinked the jars together, and she sipped the white wine. He did the same after tossing his cigarette. The sweet liquid tasted good. Not too dry, nor overly sweet.

"You look beautiful, Annie. I meant to tell you that before we got here…but we got busy and…"

"Thank you," she said.

He took their empty jars away and handed them to a young man walking past and asked him to drop them off over at the liquor table to be washed.

"Would you like to dance, Mrs. Moore?" he asked her.

"I would love to, Mr. Moore."

A faint perceptible smile turned up one side of his mouth. She delighted in the rare sight of seeing his dimples. One would think only Stack had them with the lack of smiles Smoke gave freely. So stingy.

He threaded his fingers with hers and purposely walked to the center so everyone would see they were together. The strut in his step gave away his pride at having her by his side. If other men didn't take the obvious hint that she was back with her husband, the gun openly displayed on Smoke's side would deter them.

When he pulled her in close for a down home slow drag, her breasts rested on his wide chest where they were meant to be. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and those muscular ones of his circled her waist. He'd taken off his tweed jacket and the heat from him gripped around her as tight as his arms. They rocked their bodies together and his eyes latched onto hers.

Smoke didn't need words to speak what he felt. He snaked his hips and pressed into her tight.

Love looked right into her eyes through him. So raw and intimate. She almost had to turn away from his intense gaze.

"Baby, you're the finest woman in here," he whispered in her ear.

He let the tip of his tongue swipe the shell of her ear and spoke her name slowly, like an incantation. The hair of his mustache tickled her face the way she remembered, and he rubbed on her Rubenesque shape. Smoke loved him some full-figured women and although she had been a slender teenager when they first met at a church revival gathering, he took one look at her mother and saw the future of what Annie would become. It probably helped that she'd grown plump round titties already, but he'd zeroed in on her like a hummingbird to nectar.

His prediction came true. She filled out in the hips and rump. Her breasts turned buxom. He became an ass man and a lover of big tits.

Smoke liked how snug they were against him in that moment because his dick already poked at her through his trousers. She slid a hand down and palmed that third leg.

"Hey, now," he said, looking around.

"You think your dick the only one hard out here?" she said.

He lowered his hand on her waist and slapped her ass.

"Play around with me, woman, and I'm liable to take you in a room upstairs and bend you over again. You want me to make another big mess inside you?"

Annie covered his mouth with her hand, shushing him.

He pulled it away.

"What? You can talk dirty to me, but I can't give it right back to ya?"

She threw back her head and beamed, feeling tingles all over from the raspy tone of his voice. He gently placed his lips on her neck and sucked on it while stroking her bare arms. His fingertips ignited her flesh and when he finally kissed her, she didn't hesitate to slide her tongue against his. Her heart thumped with the excitement of their lips touching and fired off sparks everywhere on her body. When the man started lifting and separating her ass cheeks, kneading them like he had biscuits to make, she had to shut him down, or else he'd take her right there on the dance floor.

"I gotta get back to work, Elijah—"

"Mmm hmmm."

She pulled his hands away from her backside reluctantly. He slapped her rump again playfully.

"When we get back home, I'll get them big legs around me again," he teased.

He grabbed onto his dick and showed her the bulge ready for her. She waved a hand to shoo him away, but he held her from behind and pressed his temple against hers, swaying to the music. He gently tugged on the soft abundance of her belly and held it while putting his tongue in her ear again.

"You my woman, understand? My wife."

"Yes."

He patted her rump, and she meandered over to the food, playing with her protective haint blue beads, and giving herself time to collect her thoughts about Smoke. She grinned until her cheeks hurt; her husband's touches still lingered over the skin of her arms and midsection.

"Love looks good on you, Annie," Millie said.

Annie patted her friend's hand and calculated the amount of food left to cook. Plates were moving, but the liquor not as quick while folks danced. They would have to lower prices on the booze. Smoke wouldn't like that. The man wanted to make a profit, not break even…or worse. Surveying the crowd, if Club Juke could maintain its current capacity week after week, they would be alright.

She checked the trays of uncooked fish left. Not enough. Millie and Alberta noticed it, too. There was a tub of extra fish on ice in Smoke's truck.

"We need to get the rest from the truck…Hampton, come help me bring the fish in," Annie asked a young man standing idly by the table watching the dancing.

"I can get it for you, Annie," Beau Willie said.

He tossed a bottle of Irish beer into a waste bin.

"That's alright Beau Willie, Hamp can help me—"

"I got it," he said.

He headed out the side door, and Annie followed. She paused at the door's threshold and glanced over her shoulder. Smoke and Stack spoke to each other on the landing of the stairs leading to the second level.

She slipped outside and the balmy fall air felt hot and sticky on her skin.

"The truck's over there," she said, pointing.

He ambled over and she followed behind him.

A crow sat on the truck. Annie stared at it. The bird's eye shine announced its presence. It was odd to see a lone crow like that at night. Normally they did communal roosting hidden away. They preferred safety in numbers, and the anomaly of seeing one crow wide awake and watching her sent Annie's intuition into overdrive.

A pale white moon attracted her attention, and she turned to look at Club Juke in its entirety, surrounded by dense trees. The music bubbled out from it, and so did all the laughter inside. They were isolated from everyone in Clarksdale. The sawmill was the perfect property to buy.

The crow kept watching her.

It stretched its wings with a couple of loud flaps and then settled into observing her and Beau Willie. She touched her beads. The crow seemed familiar to her, like from some dream she had recently, one that woke her up in the middle of the night panting. Smoke had been in the dream with her. It had been so real that she could smell his skin and the cigarette smoke on his clothes. The crow spoke to her like a friend in that dream and told her not to worry. Her man was coming home soon.

Annie shook her head. Focused on the task at hand.

"It's up in there, Beau Willie," she said.

He pulled the tarp back and climbed onto the truck. He picked up the heavy tub of fish Smoke bought from Bo Chow and left it on the edge before jumping down on the ground.

"Thank you for helping me," she said.

"No problem, Annie. Always happy to help."

Beau Willie peered at her with softness in his deep-set eyes. Recently widowed, he cared for his four young children with his mother's help. His grown face still held the boyish charm she fell for as a teenager.

"Annie, can I ask you something personal?"

"What?"

"Is he staying for good this time?"

Annie wiped the back of her neck and turned to head back. He clasped her hand and held her in place.

"I'm not tryin' to be disrespectful to your husband. We both know who he is and what he does. You deserve better, Annie. Someone who won't run out on you when things get tough or even when bad things happen. I loved you first. He stole you from me—"

"Nobody stole me, Beau Willie."

"Then why him? Huh?"

"You and I were so young when we dated. You had plenty of girlfriends after me and married a good woman—"

"They weren't you, Annie. I've had you in my heart for a long time. If he doesn't stay this time like he didn't before…then give me a chance to rekindle us. I can give you a family already. I work hard…look after my kin. I ain't never stopped loving you. Even when you chose him over me, I held you here…"

He touched his heart.

"He's my husband. What you want, Beau Willie, is what I caint give. Maybe…maybe if Smoke never came back…maybe if he'd been killed or thrown in prison and stuck on a chain gang for life…maybe if something like that happened…our bond would be broken. But that man is a part of me and planted so deep in my soul that there ain't nothin' that you or any other man in that juke can say to change my mind different. I would walk through hell with him. Do you hear me?"

"He already put you through hell, Annie. Left you all alone, for all those years—"

"But he back now," she said, shifting her weight onto one foot.

She hated Beau Willie in that instant. He had the audacity to bring out the niggling twinges of doubt into her mind about Smoke.

The click of a revolver behind them snapped them to attention.

"You heard her, Beau Willie. I'm back now. I suggest you take that fish into the juke and stay the fuck away from my wife," Smoke said.

Beau Willie blinked rapidly and stepped back from her.

"No need to have that out, Smoke," Beau Willie said.

"Why not? I come outside and see another man propositioning my wife to leave me, and what am I supposed to do? Let that shit fly? I should blast holes in you right now, but I got a business to run. Pick that fish up, nigga, and go."

Beau Willie glared at Smoke. He didn't dare look at Annie again. Smoke aimed the gun at the man's head.

"I can take you out clean or painful. Your choice," Smoke said.

Beau Willie lifted the metal tub of iced fish and trudged back into the juke.

Smoke holstered his gun and faced Annie.

They stared at one another in silence.

"How much you hear?" she asked.

"Everything."

Her tongue worried the roof of her mouth as her eyes welled up.

"You really staying, right?" she said.

"You let that nigga get in your head?"

Annie closed her eyes. Tilted her head back slightly so no tears would fall.

"I'm staying," he reassured her.

She nodded her head once, afraid the knots in her stomach would find a way to take root in her chest.

"You believe me, dontcha, baby?"

"Like you told me back at my place. I believe what I can see," she said.

She left him outside and returned to the makeshift kitchen to oversee the cleaning of the fish. Smoke did his rounds on the floor, and she fought the anxiety of worrying about him and his plans. Her grandmother always told her people showed you who they were, and she could believe in what Smoke did. Not what he said.

Delta Slim beckoned for Sammie to take center stage with pride in his voice. The young man was finally getting his chance to sing.

"Tell them who you are…" Delta Slim said.

Sammie shyly and sweetly introduced himself, and Annie couldn't help but smile at how precious he was to the Moore family. He was her family, too, and he glanced at her briefly. She nodded her head for him to show the world his gifts and Sammie started singing something he never shared before and the hairs on her neck and arms raised up.

Immediately, a tunnel vision warped her reality and Annie pushed out her breath to keep herself from having a panic attack and passing out.

Sammie.

His guitar.

Annie stared at the walls as Sammie wailed out the blues with Delta Slim perched on stage like a proud Poppa. She could see the people shouting and encouraging Sammie to let loose, and when he held a long note, his voice ripped through the ceiling and Annie sensed there were more people in the sawmill than the ones she could physically see. Some unseen entity darted past her skin, touching her like bird wings fluttering in the air. High above, perched on a rafter, the crow from outside gazed down at her. The surge of power in the room engulfed the entire juke.

Smoke looked in her direction, just as shocked by the music and Sammie's voice and also by the triumphant way the people danced. Grace and Bo also twirled in time to the blues music that wrapped everyone in a cloak of revelry and freedom to be who they be.

Annie gasped, wildly overstimulated by the unseen. She touched her the top of her head, feeling the sensation of an overwhelming presence.

It freed her.

She locked eyes with Smoke far across the room and he strode forward, zigzagging through the crowd on a direct path to her. The weight of Sammie's music slowed everything in her mind down and her husband's movement seemed even slower. She moved from around the counter and lunged for him, pushing through sweaty people, needing to get to her man.

Smoke reached for her, and she cradled his face.

"I need you. Here with me," she said.

"I ain't going nowhere."

Their lips crashed together, tongues battling to subdue the other in a frenetic exchange of energy and desire. He entwined their fingers and pulled her through the crowd, heading for the stairs. The music had risen to a crescendo that vibrated on her skin with an intensity that should've burst into flames.

Smoke pulled her up the stairs and into a room that he used for himself, that he planned to make his office if the juke proved profitable. He slammed the door shut behind them.

He spun her around and helped her take off her dress, unhooked her bra, and pushed her onto an old cot covered in a coarse blanket. Smoke undressed quickly, and the music rose through the floor.

"Somebody take me…in your arms tonight…!"

Sammies mature voice thundered below them.

The only thing Smoke had on was the mojo bag she made for him and his metal dog tags from the war. His dick pointed at her and dripped pre-cum. He barely gave her time to pull off her panties before his erection parted her slick labia and sank into her.

"Oh…Jesus!" Annie shouted.

Her man was down in that bottom.

He cradled her breasts and stretched his mouth around her areola, sucking to his heart's content. She wrapped her thighs around him and he gave her more of the deep dick she'd been craving for seven years.

"This is my pussy," mumbled into her ear.

The weight of him smothered her in scorching heat and his steady heartbeat.

He dropped to his knees and spread her legs, licking his wide tongue against her labia, giving extra tender care to her clit. Daddy was hungry and made her a sopping wet took his time until there was nearly a puddle under her.

"Turn over," he said, helping her move into the position wanted.

She placed herself on her hands and knees. He plunged his tongue inside her entrance and she squealed. Rubbing on her ass, he stood and inserted that thickness between his legs back into her, grunting and cussing up a storm. Her pussy felt exquisite to him by the sounds he moaned out. She was as hot and gushy as he wanted. He angled himself so he could watch her titties hang and smack together with each powerful thrust. Annie was so wet that her pussy sounded like it was having its own conversation taking his dick in the small room.

He climbed on the cot with Annie and pulled her onto her knees. She spread her thighs wide. He took back shots, holding her arms behind her, and Annie's tits bounced like crazy, forcing throaty moans from him. The pounding of the rhythm below them matched the pounding Smoke gave her pussy. The frenzy of his dick going in and out pulled lustful cries of pleasure from her lips. He palmed her breasts and rolled his fingers across her big nipples.

"You coulda been getting this pussy all the time," she said.

He clutched onto her tits, squeezing them, before gripping her arms tight, delighting in her titties shaking and arousing him more.

Annie squeezed her walls around his girth and he shouted her name.

"Pussy so good…Annie…"

She took control and pulled away from him.

"Whatchu doing? I need that shit…" he gasped.

She pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him. Her thighs spread and wedged against his hips. Her breasts rested on his chest. He fondled them and stared up at her.

"I love you, Elijah. I never stopped loving you. All these years…I never once wanted any man the way I wanted you."

He thrust up, and she snapped her eyes closed. He stretched her like no other, and it felt incredible.

"Elijah…"

He thumbed her clit, allowing the slick wetness from her pubic hairs to coat the button every man wanted to push on her since Smoke had been away. She lowered her head and kissed him. His lips were so fluffy and soft against her mouth. The taste of her pussy there pleased him. He licked his lips as she tasted herself.

"I love you…hear me, woman? I love you. Don't let one of these niggas get killed tryna take you from me."

"No one can take you from me."

"You sure?"

She stopped moving.

"You think I'd want anyone else?"

She spread her hands on the wide planes of his chest. Traced two fingers down the path below his belly button of soft hairs that led to the wild pubic bush surrounding his dick.

He didn't answer, trusting the sincerity in her eyes.

"All I ever wanted was you…just you, Elijah. And when you left me…"

He lifted himself to face her and held his hands around her waist and backside.

"Shhh…shhh. Don't cry, Annie. Baby, please…I don't ever want to make you cry again. I promise."

He kissed away each teardrop that fell from her eyes. The soft pecks built up her confidence in him and she breathed easier. His voice stayed soft.

"I told you I missed you and wanted to be with you…I also want us to try for a baby again. Build our family," he said.

"You do?"

"Yes. That is…if you want that, too."

She hugged him tight.

"I do…I do!"

She wept so hard her eyes blurred. Smoke gave her one of his rare smiles, and her heart nearly burst with joy.

Annie rocked on him, pleasuring herself and him. Smoke held her breasts and sucked on her nipples.

"Oh…damn…Elijah…you're making me…oh Jesus!"

Annie came hard, and it rocked her world. Smoke massaged her breasts and watched her face transform with the rapturous climax. He grazed his teeth across a nipple and she shuddered, exalting in the sensations cascading all across her skin.

"We can try for a baby right now," he said.

He flipped her back over onto the small cot and she yelped as he tossed her legs over his biceps.

"Will you let me put another baby in you, Annie?"

"I sure will," she said gasped, nearly out of breath.

His dimples melted her. He got down to business, too. Touching her skin all over, kissing her throat and whispering words of love in her ear. He licked on her nipples and stared at her fullness.

"Touching you is like touching the beauty of the night sky, Annie. You my jewel…my most precious thing in this world. Without you…I ain't fit to live."

"Hush now…"

"Nah, I want you to hear me."

"I want you to show me."

He grinned and pumped that thickness into her slowly, letting her feel every inch. Her mouth parted, and he pressed his forehead against hers.

"Ooh…Elijah…baby…"

Her pants came faster, and the groans from him aroused her to new heights. He hunched over her and every muscle flexed for her. Their sweat mingled and his strokes curled her toes. He lowered her legs and thumbed her clit, watching his dick go in and out. His lips poked out and his face carried a serious expression.

She recognized that look.

He was about to cum.

"Annie…baby…I'm getting close…"

She fondled her own breasts, and it created more tension for him. His eyes darted from her pussy to her tits. The way his eyes narrowed, she knew it was going to be a big load.

"Annie!"

"Yes!"

"I'm cummin'!"

He threw his head back and roared her name, his thumb faithfully rubbing her clit until she spilled over into a new release. His dick throbbed inside her and she matched the pulses squeezing her walls around him to milk every drop of cum.

"Fuckkkk!"

His hoarse cry drowned out her whimpers of pleasure. Her pussy kept throbbing around him until the last surge of her orgasm quieted down enough where she could move again.

"Elijah?"

His eyes watered. Tears fell down on her. The tone of his voice trembled.

"I'm sorry, baby…for everything…"

"My love…it's okay…you're here with me…we're here together," she said.

"I can't give you back those seven years…"

"Shhh…stay with me here…in this moment… in the right now."

He twisted his head to the side in shame. She pulled it back to look at her.

"We here," she said

He kissed her forehead.

Smoke snuggled around her until they were in a tight spoon together. He played with a breast and listened to her breathing calm down. The music below them kept going and Annie didn't want to leave his arms ever again. She shifted her position, and Smoke rested his head on her breasts. Stroking his hair gently, she snatched that tiny moment of peace for themselves, forgetting about everything and everybody in the juke.

Annie cleaned herself up as best she could with the buckets of water Smoke brought up from a well out behind the juke. No one paid attention to him or questioned why he needed to tote water and clean rags upstairs. He cleaned himself up, too, and they rejoined the dancing below.

She floated.

Making love to him grounded her and pushed away any doubt.

He was going to stay with her.

She hoped they had conceived a little one. Lord knows he put enough semen in her over the course of a day to open a whorehouse. She laughed at the thought.

Smoke made his rounds, checking in on everything before he slipped his hand over hers to dance one more time.

She nuzzled her face against his cheek, pulling an open smile from his face. It was such a shock that even Delta Slim had to look twice to make sure it was real.

She hooked her arms around her husband's neck, swayed with him in time to the music and their own internal rhythm. Part of his mojo bag peeked out from his vest. She touched it. Early that morning, she had fed it, prayed over it, recharged it with her love and that of her ancestors to protect him.

"Blood of my blood…bone of my bone…," she whispered.

"You putting a root on me, woman? I told you… I'm home for good. Forever," he said.

"Forever ever?" she teased.

"For always."

"Ashe," she affirmed.

"What that mean again?"

"And so it is."

"I like that."

"Me too."

"Annie?"

"Yes, Elijah?"

"I love you."

He kissed her softly. Kissed life back into her.

The music played on, and for a few hours, it did seem like forever.

A.N.:

Wanted to put out a short Smoke/Annie fic to practice getting Annie's voice for another fic. I plan to write more about these two. How they met. Had their first child etc. This short is connected to my "Choose One" longer fic. You may recognize a speculative figure lurking in the story if you've started reading "Choose One." Enjoy!

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