Page 112 of Forbidden Fruit
I’m in my room, completely immersed in designing my clothing line. Sketches are scattered across my desk, my pencil moving almost on autopilot as I lose myself in my thoughts. The soft hum of creativity is comforting, but it shatters when my phone rings, pulling me back to reality.
I hesitate, glancing at the screen. For a moment, I consider letting it go to voicemail. Then I see the caller ID: Abby. My heart skips. Excitement floods me, and before I know it, I’m grabbing the phone.
“Hi! Hello… Hi!” I blurt out, my voice practically bubbling over.
“Hey, baby sis, how are you?” Abby’s voice greets me. But something about it feels… different. She doesn’t sound sad or angry, but there’s an unfamiliar tone I can’t quite place. Is itthe pregnancy?
“I’m okay! How about you?” I reply, my cheeks aching from the grin spreading across my face.
“I’m great,” she says quickly. “I’m actually busy, so I can’t talk long. I just wanted to say that I miss you, and… I’m really sorry.”
Her words catch me off guard, leaving me momentarily speechless.
“Abby, no,” I finally manage. “I’m the one who should apologize. I’m the one who wronged you, and I promise, I’ll never do something like that to you again.”
She sighs softly, the kind of sigh that says there’s more she wants to say but won’t.
“We have a lot to talk about,” she says after a pause. “And we will, when the time is right. For now, I just wanted to say that I love you, Blair. I love you more than you’ll ever understand.”
The words hit me like a wave. I pull the phone away from my ear for a second, double-checking the name on the screen. Is she dying or something?
“I… I love you too,” I manage, my voice shaky with emotion. “And thank you for reaching out to me.”
“Anytime. Bye, my love.”
“Bye,” I reply, and the call ends.
For a moment, I just sit there, the silence of the room amplifying the racing of my heart. Did that really just happen? Overwhelmed by the happiness swelling in my chest, I decide to celebrate in the best way I know how: with food.
I head to the kitchen, pulling chicken breasts from the freezer to thaw while turning on my favorite playlist. As music fills the air, I sway to the beat of Beyoncé’sSorrylike no one’s watching.
Today is a good day, better than I could have imagined.Abigail’s finally called, and even though she didn’t outright say she forgives me, this is more progress than I ever thought’d happen.
As I cook the pasta and prepare the broccoli, a sense of contentment envelops me. For the first time in what feels like forever, things seem to be falling into place. Just as I’m about to slice the chicken, a knock at the door interrupts my musical bliss.
“Coming!” I call out, pausing the music and quickly washing my hands.
I glance through the peephole and freeze.Calvin. Calvin is here. Standing on the other side of my door.
My mind races. What is he doing here? Shouldn’t he be on his honeymoon? Does Abigail know he’s here? Is this some kind of test? What do I do?
“Peach, please let me in. I have some explaining to do,” he pleads, his familiar voice muffled. My eyes squeeze shut at the sound of that nickname.Peach. I thought I’d never hear him call me that again. I’ve missed him, God, I’ve missed him. His voice, his presence… everything.
But I don’t answer. Maybe if I stay quiet, he’ll leave. Except he already heard me call out earlier. Damn it.
“I didn’t marry your sister,” he blurts out, the words detonating in the silence like a well-aimed grenade. Against my better judgment—though, have I ever had any when it comes to him?—my fingers find the lock.
I open the door but don’t linger. Instead, I turn on my heel and head back to the kitchen, pretending like his presence is nothing out of the ordinary. Washing my hands again, I resume cutting the chicken with sharp focus, each slice more deliberate than the last. Normalcy is my only defense now.
“Thank you,” Calvin says softly, his voice almost toogentle, like he’s afraid of the space between us. “Here. I brought these for you.”
I can’t stop myself. I glance up to see a bouquet of white tulips, so pure, so fucking innocent, held in his hands. My chest tightens, the familiar ache spreading like wildfire. Forgiveness. But it’s not just the white tulips. Nestled in the center is a single red tulip.
My brow furrows as the word swirls in my mind. True love, the message couldn’t be clearer. And yet… it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. It can’t matter.
He shouldn’t be here.
“Baby,” he says, his voice raw with something I can’t quite place, taking a step closer to me.
