Page 108 of Go Back to December

Baz pulls me closer.

Footage on the screen displays statistics about unemployment, underemployment, and the percentage of families straddling the government classification of poverty.

My hair stirs as Baz’s lips graze my forehead. I pull him so close, he must feel my heartbeat galloping in my chest.

His eyebrows lift as scenes of the café filter in. A development policy guru from the university talks about how underserved and at-risk populations require more than a paycheck to succeed.

As the boys sing on, I grip Baz’s coat, steadying myself for what comes next.

If I were a true founder—or a real hustler hell-bent on positioning myself for the Lightman—the next part of the film should include me, detailing the spark that started everything.

Instead, the announcer says that the idea for a social enterprise venture integrated within a law firm came from a partner in Blackhart & Steele’s Human Rights practice.

Baz stills. I can’t even hear him breathe.

The film cuts to footage that Lacy resurrected. Baz is leading some sort of workshop. Dressed in a custom shirt and silk tie, sleeves rolled up, he throws a Sphinx smile to the room, nodding as he scrawls something across a whiteboard.

“The legal system can be unforgiving,” Baz says on camera.

Clan Johnson turns to look at him, proud smiles shining, but Baz doesn’t notice them. His attention fixes on the screen; his arms lock around me.

As the camera zooms in, he adds, “Sometimes people need a second chance.”

In the seat next to me, Baz’s shoulders tremble. He’s accustomed to hustling behind the scenes, but I’ve put him in the spotlight.

I hope I haven’t made a massive mistake.

On the screen, there’s a collage of glow-up transformations: a munitions factory converted to an arts center; the vacant lot turned into a community garden.

The song volume rises and the boys sing about love.

Baz’ss face broadcasts shock, and my panic climbs. I’ve gambled too much with this surprise grand gesture.

As the film images build, the transitions blur together.

When I turn to Baz, he’s a blur too. Until he lifts his hand, wipes the tears from my face.

And kisses me senseless.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Iunderestimated the enthusiasm of the Oriana Lake Resort community.

People descend on us like locusts. Baz’s neighbors, clients, and colleagues are impressed with his socially enterprising idea. So many people want to shake his hand, he reluctantly releases mine.

He greets them all with that Sphinx smile. A lucky few get a hint of his genuine grin as he works the crowd with more ease than a conservative politician at a religious revival.

Alicia squeezes past a cluster of fans to get to me. She has a supporting role in my nefarious inception plans for her father, but I’m uneasy about her history with Baz. Her presence summons a fierce territorial instinct I didn’t think I possessed.

“Happy New Year, Mel. That coat is divine.” She tosses the compliment like we’re old frenemies who rivaled for the spot as top cheerleader. “I didn’t realize you were here with Baz.”

My burgeoning hustler sense warns me to be cautious and avoid answering her. “You caught the film?”

“Oh, yes. I work with the choir school. I direct their fundraising.”

As we talk about the documentary, her glance darts between me and Baz like she’s trying to work out exactly how we fit together.

“Oh! There’s Dad.”