You walk up to Spooky at the cookout with a plate you made just for him. He’s leaned back in a lawn chair, talking low with your uncle about cars. As you hand him the plate, your auntie across the yard lets out a loud, “Oh, is that your lil’ boyfriend?” You roll your eyes, embarrassed—but Spooky doesn’t flinch.

Instead, he pulls you down onto his lap, one arm around your waist, eyes still on you.

“You ain’t tell ‘em?” he says with a smirk.

“Guess I gotta make it real obvious then, huh?”