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  Seven Days To Love

  Seyna Rytes

  Seven Days To Love Copyright © 2020 by Seyna Rytes

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

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  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. The author is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

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  Falling For The Johnsons, Book 1

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. First Day

  2. Second Day

  3. Third Day

  4. Fourth Day

  5. Fifth Day

  6. Sixth Day

  Epilogue - Following Year, February 1st

  Sneak Peek: Mad Dog: Falling For The Johnsons Book 2

  About the Author

  Sign Up For My Newsletter

  Want To Be In Seyna’s Reader Group?

  Also by Seyna Rytes

  Chapter One

  First Day

  One week, just one week, and I'd be back home. With my books, my music, my personal space, and above all, peace and quiet! I keep my eyes on my younger sister's scalp, and my fingers braiding down the long strands of synthetic hair. We're in our parents' family room, Mynna sitting on a chair and me standing behind her, putting her hair into box braids. Now, that all of us kids have moved out, this has become somewhat of a family tradition whenever we meet in our childhood home. We do each other's and our mom's hair. It's like a sweet walk down memory lane: the proximity, the hours spent together, the gift of beautification...

  I try shutting out Mynna's blabbering, the same way I did for years when we shared a room in this very house. But, exactly like back then, Mynna isn't easy to ignore, with her beautiful, resonant laugh, vivacious hand gestures, and colorful tales. This, especially when she has an audience... And today, her audience is one of a kind; His Supreme Fineness, Kareem Jalloh. Lifelong best friend to our elder brother, Malik, and crush to all females on our block, without distinction of age.

  Kareem is a warm shade of café-au-lait, big and tall as a baobab tree, with the fine features of a Fulani, his mom's hazel eyes, and the gentleness and poise of an old soul. His deep voice wraps around you like a worn-in Afghan. One that's been with you through bad colds and even worse break-ups, through freezing nights and lazy naps.

  Hearing him laugh at Mynna's jokes puts a teeny, barely-there smile on my face. One I never can completely repress. It's always been like this, his simple presence relaxes me, puts me in a state of bliss and comfort.

  From time to time, I catch Kareem throwing me amused looks at my sister's expense. But I do my best not to engage.

  Mynna is "something else", as our parents put it; exuberant, full of life, fun and engaging, when both Kareem and I are of a quiet nature. We're so much alike, so close, or at least we used to be...

  For the longest time, I thought Kareem shared my feelings. Feelings of belonging, of strong attachment, and ever-growing physical attraction.

  Growing up, as my friends started getting their first kiss, first boyfriend, first time... I came to the conclusion he was biding his time, waiting for me to turn eighteen. When my eighteenth birthday passed without any change in our interactions, I convinced myself he was set on the twenty-one-year mark to make me his. Nothing again. Twenty-one years old, single, and never even been kissed… I was ashamed and found myself foolish to have waited my whole life on a man who never even said he liked me! That's when I put my big romantic dream in a box, wrapped it up tight, and buried it in a far corner of my mind. That was also when I moved out of the family home. By then, I had graduated high school and completed my undergrad’ studies. I found a nice studio apartment downtown Oakland, close to the company I was interning for, and far from our suburb, making sure to avoid going back to my childhood home as much as possible.

  I started dating at twenty-one, with no previous experience, and a lifetime belief that I was destined to one and only man. It was a total disaster. Boys my age paled in comparison to the already maturing twenty-six-year-old I was trying to get over. Their kisses did nothing for me. Their company didn't excite me, and the one who finally stirred more interest had no clue what he was doing in bed. Long story short, Kareem had ruined me both emotionally and physically for all other men, and this, solely based on my fantasies.

  I avoided my childhood home, except for the second week of February. This was our community’s tradition: every year, the Johnsons, Jallohs, and the other families of our middle class, African American neighborhood, came home for a week-long celebration of Black History Month. And this was the week I dreaded every year, torn between the joy of spending these beautiful moments with my loved ones, and the bittersweet times when I’d be in Kareem's presence. Despite everything, he was still the boy I fell for as a little girl, touched by his gentleness when my own brother, and all the other boys I knew for that matter, was a brute at the same age. Still, the teenager who tutored and impressed me with his intelligence and patience. The boy-man who'd come into my momma's kitchen dripping with sweat from a basketball game, and trigger all sorts of naughty fantasies in my hormonal mind. Still, the young man I long thought was the one for me… I'd accepted that Kareem would always have a special place in my heart, but also that he'd only ever see me as his best friend's baby sister.

  Mynna's voice pulls me from my melancholic thoughts, "Deejah, Kareem's talking to you."

  "Oh, sorry," I reply in my usual calm and collected voice when I'm, in fact, a mess on the inside. I turn my gaze to him.

  "I was saying, since your brother's not here yet, maybe you could drive with me to the Hispanic market to get the plantains?"

  That's right, the boys usually do last-minute grocery runs, and my brother's plane was delayed in Indianapolis because of the weather.

  Kareem's watching me expectantly, warm eyes searching my expression. I shake my head no and drop my gaze back to the braids.

  "No?" He asks, unsure.

  Without looking up, I answer verbally this time. "Nope" is my only response. Without any further elaboration. Eyes still on Mynna's scalp, features impassible. I can feel Kareem's dumbfounded look on me, but deliberately stay focused on my task. There was a time when he'd say jump, and I'd do a backflip, but not anymore. I promised myself. I'm untangling my heart from this mess once and for all.

  Mynna looks up, trying to make eye contact with me. Of course, my sister knows how I felt about Kareem. She dreamt with me all along, and still believes I should be waiting. She's crazy! In the meantime, she's the one with the fiancé, and I'm the idiot who's gonna die an old maid, so…

  "You sure, Deej'? My hair can wait," Mynna tries.

  "Kareem can go alone," I retort.

  Wow, where did that sassy mouth come from?! We all suck in air, and an uncomfortable silence ensues. Finally, Kareem clears his throat and adds, "You're right, I don't really need the company. I guess I'll get going before your mom finds me here." This makes me smile. My mom and Kareem's are the unofficial organizers of the festivities. They're the sweetest moms on Earth but turn into veritable dragons during this time of year.

  "Keep me posted if you hear from your brother," he adds.

  I don't look up
or answer, leaving my sister to respond, "We will, of course. You should go before they run out." She advises because this could definitely happen with the amount of plantains we need to feed all the families…

  Kareem stretches his tall frame out of the armchair. "I'll see you later, Mynie." He briefly pats her knee, then advances to me, bending his head to drop a kiss on my cheek… This, accompanied by a low, soft, "Deejah". My eyes fly up to his extraordinary ones, green and brown, mixed with a sparkle of mischief. And I catch the hint of a smile hovering over his mouth. What the hell?! Kareem doesn't kiss me goodbye. He usually ruffles my hair or gives me a brotherly hug, that's our norm. He's looking me straight in the eye, studying my expression. We're standing so close, I'm inhaling the scent of his rich, woodsy cologne. I can feel the heat emanating from his massive body. His strong torso stretching a cotton t-shirt, trunk size legs encased in faded blue-jeans, and fancy-ass sneakers at his feet. The jerk's in his Investment Banker weekend attire.

  "I shouldn't be long," he assures me. For what? I have no clue.

  "Uh… OK." I manage to say. So much for not being affected and moving on! I feel Mynna pinch my calf and slightly startle me, before shaking out of it and getting back to business. Kareem stands there for a few more seconds, before heading out.

  After we hear the front door click close, Mynna jumps to her feet and gives me huge, bugging eyes.

  "What. Was. That?!"

  I respond in the same ridiculously dramatic tone, "I. Don't. Know!"

  "Girl, I was about to make me some popcorn and plant my ass on the couch for the 'Kareem and Deejah show'!"

  "Ugh!!" I let out in frustration. And that's all I need to say. Mynna understands my entire mood, feelings, and questionings. What is he doing? Kareem has never played games or actively entertained my feelings for him. He's always been his plain wonderful self, and that's all it ever took for me to love him. Now that I've started making progress and opening myself to the idea of other men, that's when he's gonna show signs of interest? Pfff…

  Thank God, we don't see Kareem again till later that evening when the entire block is gathered at the community center for the opening ceremony.

  We celebrate our people, our community, our unity. This might be my favorite part of the festivities. The oldest member of our community, Ms. Katherina, ninety-nine years old, bless her heart, is paired with one of the youths to officiate the kick-off. With her snow-white hair, permanent smile, and wisdom beyond her ages, we couldn't dream of a better choice. Five years old, Nicole was chosen to accompany this year. She's beaming, in a fabulous tulle dress, her hair made up in gorgeous curls, shiny mary-janes on her tiny feet... The beautiful duo stands on the podium, hands joined, and Ms. Katherina recites a heartfelt invocation. After a solemn silence, followed by a chorus of amens, the room erupts in applause and cheers. Then, it's time to line up for the buffet!

  I'm standing with my sister and a couple of our girlfriends, chatting away animatedly, catching up on each other's lives. When a deep voice calls my name, a large, warm hand I'd recognize anywhere, with its strong veins, wrapping around my elbow, taking my attention away from my sisterhood… I turn around to find Kareem, staring at me with intensity. Tall and broad. Looking magnificent in a tailored suit. The midnight blue of the fabric offering an elegant contrast with his caramel skin-tone. The impeccable cut adding to his regal stature. Kareem's gaze on me is confident, a slight smile on his full lips.

  "May I please have a moment?"

  I blink, then feel Mynna give my hand a supportive squeeze. I stare at Kareem dumbfounded, sensing our friends' attention focusing on our exchange.

  "It won't take long, promise."

  I search his eyes for a meaning to this insanity. What does he want? Since when does Kareem Jalloh pull me aside for a chat?!

  I gather my courage, swallow the lump in my throat, and respond, "I'm not sure now's a good time."

  He takes my free hand into his, engulfing it in his huge paws. Instantly, I feel a wave of warmth run through my body. Neither one of us breaks eye contact. Kareem studies my expression with his soulful eyes, and I just stand there, completely out of my depth. Mynna still holds my other hand behind my back. What a strange position to find myself into, pulled in two directions; my sister's support, and the former love of my life's willingness to drive me nuts!

  "Please, Dee'," he adds softly. Mynna immediately lets go of my fingers, the traitor! I nod briefly, and Kareem smiles bright, his happy expression hitting me straight in the heart! He turns on his heels, still holding my hand, guiding me outside the noisy room, weaving through the crowd. We end up in one of the corridors, the sounds of the party coming to us muffled. Kareem pulls me in a small storage type of room, with an old wooden desk, and walls aligned with shelves. He sits atop a table, pulling me to stand between his parted legs. I watch him with the full force of my thousand questions. He then pulls an object from his pocket and hands it to me, "For you, sweetheart."

  It's a photo album. A beautiful, leather-bound photo album. I turn my questioning gaze back to his, but he simply nods towards the booklet, inviting me to open it. I begin scrolling through the pages. It starts with a radiant image of our pregnant mothers hugging each other, expression captured in a forever frozen laugh. This is the year the boys were born, when our parents first moved into the neighborhood. The next picture is of Kareem and Malik as toddlers, all chubby-faced, sitting together in a playpen. In the third picture, Kareem is holding a baby. He's looking straight at the camera, face solemn. His hands are around the little body, and I know who his precious cargo is. I own and cherish this picture of Kareem and I; he's a serious five-year-old carrying a few days old me… From then on, I'm present in every single photo. Yelling and raising my arms in support at one of Kareem and Malik's soccer games. Sitting next to Kareem in the back of the room at some party where everyone else is in animated conversation.

  As we grow, the pictures evolve. There's one of me in my pink tutu, holding a bouquet of flowers, after a ballet recital. On that one, Kareem's holding me by the shoulders, smiling proudly at the camera, my own head tipped up to look at him. Joy and adoration in my eyes... Then, I see myself ecstatic on the day of his high school graduation. I'm wearing his cap, standing behind the bench Kareem is sitting on, my forearms resting on his shoulders, smiling hugely. Kareem's neck twisted to look at me, laughing. Another favorite. We took the same pose at my own graduation, positions switched. I feel my eyes brimming with tears. As the pictures become more recent, I get even more emotional; a mixture of regret, sadness, melancholy, and eternal fondness. My heart breaks when I get to the last picture. It's one I've never seen. I can tell by our outfits and the venue that it was taken at my brother's wedding a year ago, just before I gave up on us… This was one of the stolen moments that kept me strong in my belief that Kareem and I were meant to be.

  We're both introverts, but strangely enough, we love to dance, so we used to always end up being the last ones on the dance floor. And this was one of those times. The photographer had captured a perfect moment; the empty dance floor, except for us, the mostly vacant, beautifully decorated ballroom. Flowers and drapes all around us, our bodies close, Kareem holding me with one arm around my waist, and his other hand tucking mine to his chest. Our eyes closed, his lips resting at the top of my hair. In a kiss, I never felt, never even suspected...

  When I lift my gaze from the picture, I know my face is wet with tears. And Kareem's eyes are shiny as if filled with unshed tears of his own.

  I ask, "why?"

  He looks up at the ceiling, his Adam's apple bobbing, closes his amazing eyes for a brief instant, before facing me again. "Which why would you like me to address first?"

  Oh, so it's like that? We're airing the dirty laundry. "Why now?"

  His gaze doesn't waver when he answers, "Because it's time. In fact, it has been time."

  I shakily wipe at the tears on my face, anger, frustration, and heartbreak taking over my composure, making m
y voice raise. "What are you talking about, Kareem?"

  "You know exactly what I'm talking about, Deej'."

  "No, I don't." I shake my head with vehemence. "I know, I had illusions and dreams about us for most of my life. I know I waited for you for decades!" I'm pointing my finger in his face, years of built-up heartbreak, disappointment, anger, and feelings of betrayal, exploding to the surface! "So, I'll repeat, why?"

  He's watching me intently, his beautifully cut jaw ticking. Why am I noticing his handsomeness in such a moment?! Ugh! "We were too young, Deejah." He wipes my wet cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, and I let him, too pissed off to acknowledge the tender gesture. "There was our age difference, my relationship with your brother, our family ties… too many hurdles. It never seemed to be the right time." He's boring into my soul, hazel eyes holding mine captive with fierce intensity. "Malik, your dad, mine... fuck, any man on this block would have had my balls if I'd touched you before you turned eighteen!"

  We're standing so close, I can see the tiny freckle at the corner of his mouth, the five-o'-clock shadow starting to shade his face, the myriad of colors chasing each other in his eyes. I can see the slight bent of his seemingly straight nose, the result of a bad baseball interception. We're so close, my fingers itch to touch Kareem, to just run the tips over his masculine features, and maybe the contour of his sensual mouth… I swallow with difficulty, fighting to let the words out, "What about after I turned eighteen?".

  He grabs my shoulders once more, lowering his head so that his eyes, his face, fills up my entire vision, my whole universe. "I wanted you to come to me entirely sure of us. I didn't want you to have any regrets later on, or for anyone to think I took advantage of your age or our bond."