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I create a playlist for every book I write. But it's been especially meaningful creating playlists for the books in the Love & Music Suite because the stories revolve around characters in the music industry. 

 

“Never the Right Time” by Janine inspired the title of the book and aptly describes the years since high school when the timing was never quite right for Ced and Nikki. 

 

“Here” by Kenyon Dixon ft. Susan Carol and “Waiting on You” by Jon B. ft. Tank perfectly expresse Cedrick's feelings. 

 

“Back to Love” by Robert Glasper, SiR, and Alex Isley is a top tier collaboration by three of my favorite artists. And the song perfectly captures Nikki and Ced's feelings as they contemplate the fate of their relationship. 

 

I adore the song “Hello” by Aqyila. It's an anthem for a person in the process of healing and finding themselves again. And Cleo Sol's achingly beautiful song “Know That You Are Loved” is like a much-needed hug.

 

There are twenty-one songs on the playlist. Scan the QR code or click the graphic above or the button below to check out the complete playlist on YouTube.

 

 

“Does this dress make my ass look big?”

 

I stare at my reflection in the mirror of my suite at the Waldorf Astoria in Buckhead as I scrutinize every detail of my floor-length burgundy gown. It’s the last of five dresses I hauled here on my flight this morning. If I don’t pick one soon, I’ll be so late for the gala I might as well stay here and binge-watch episodes of Insecure. But I didn’t fly all the way from Los Angeles to Atlanta not to go to this thing.

 

I arch my back, offering my younger sister, Avionne, a profile view.

 

Avi is supposed to be helping me pick a dress for this masquerade ball, a fundraising gala for my old high school: Peachtree School of the Arts. But she’s clearly over my wardrobe crisis. Her bejeweled fingernails fly over her phone’s keyboard as she taps out a message, presumably to her boyfriend, Dell. A huge grin lights up the face that looks so much like my own.

 

We’re near carbon copies of our mother with our dark-brown skin, almond-shaped eyes, full lips, and high cheekbones. Her nose is wider than mine, but that’s only because I had a little work done on it back when my career first took off. And while Avi is wearing long blond box braids, I usually wear my hair in an asymmetrical pixie cut. Then there’s the matter of the weight I’ve put on during my existential crisis the past few years.

 

“If you pop it out like that, it’ll look like you’re smuggling in two hams—no matter what you’re wearing.” Avionne barely glances up from her screen. “Besides, that ass is bigger. But it looks good on you, sis. So stop stressing. No one expects you to look the way you did when you were in KLN-3 and Kaliyah’s dictator daddy was starving y’all to death.”

 

I ignore my sister’s mention of the once-popular girl group I was in for a decade and the lead singer who ditched us six years ago. Kaliyah is the talented international superstar she was always meant to be now, while LeNae and I are still fumbling in the dark, trying to adjust to our new reality.

 

Avionne is pissed on my behalf, and I get it. The way we were treated by Kaliyah’s dad—a man I’d considered a father figure—wasn’t exactly fair. But Kaliyah was one of my best friends—practically a sister. So I’m happy for her. But that doesn’t preclude me from being the tiniest bit envious of how her career has blown up while mine has faltered.

 

“Could I please have just one night where I don’t need to think about the group, Kaliyah, or her dad?” I plead with my spitfire baby sister.

 

“Of course.” Avionne finally stops her typing and glances up from her phone. “I’m sorry. You’re right. This is your night to get out and have a good time. And you deserve it.”

 

“Thanks, sis.” I prop a hand on my waist and strike my best pose. “Now, what about this dress? I’m not sure the cut or color are right for this event.”

 

“For this event?” Avionne snickers. She tosses her phone onto the sofa and walks over to me. “Let’s be for real. This isn’t about finding the right dress for this event. It’s about finding the dress that’ll knock your high school boyfriend on his ass. How long has it been since you’ve seen Cedrick? And we’re not counting last year when your ex-fiancé strutted in like a peacock and showed off that rock he bought you. I mean when was the last time you two smashed?”

 

My baby sis is nothing if not unfiltered and direct.

 

“Three years ago.”

 

Guilt gnaws at my gut and burns a hole in my chest. Ced and I have always been there for each other—even when our careers took us in different directions and we weren’t together. I’m the one who allowed my former fiancé to destroy our friendship.

 

“My opinion hasn’t changed.” My sister holds up the sparkly silver one-shouldered, sequined dress I tried on earlier. The asymmetrical hemline falls well above my knee. “I told you an hour ago this is the one. She’s giving sexy, sophisticated, alluring… and she’s not trying to hide those banging curves. She’s celebrating them. Ced won’t know what hit him. Bet.”

 

Avionne’s not wrong. The dress looks damn good on me, but it’s showing more skin than I normally would at a black-tie charity ball.

 

“Everyone else will be wearing floor-length gowns,” I object.

 

“Which is exactly why you’ll stand out in this little number.” Avionne holds the dress up against her body and extends a leg.

 

I study my reflection in the mirror, then glance at the other formal dresses I’ve tried on. “I don’t know, Avi…”

 

“You asked me to help you get ready tonight because you wanted my advice. If you’re not going to take it, why am I here?” she whines, then adds a dose of guilt for good measure. “I have a fine-ass man at home who is patiently waiting for me right now, and he misses his pooh bear.”

 

“Are we really at the pooh-bear stage in the relationship?” I roll my eyes, and Avionne narrows hers. Then she says the thing that brings everything into perspective.

 

“You have one shot, Nikki. After this… who knows when you’ll see Ced again?”

 

My heart aches as the reality of her statement hits me. I miss my friend more than words can say. I can’t leave without attempting to make amends. If the silver disco ball dress will help me do that, I’m in.

 

“Okay.” I turn my back toward her. “Help me out of this.”

 

My sister gives me a quick, reassuring hug from behind. Then she helps me out of the delicate chiffon dress and into the silver one.

 

I have to give it to Avi, I look and feel amazing in the dress made by Milan Daniels—an up-and-coming Black fashion designer I met while I was touring with KLN-3.

 

“Now we take the look up a notch with these.” She hands me my Badgley Mischka silver peep-toe sandals. “Your hair looks amazing. Now let’s get your makeup done, so we can both get out of here.”

 

Once I’m all dressed, Avionne does my makeup. When I stare in the mirror again, I’m certain I made the right choice. But my heart is beating a mile a minute. I’m both thrilled and terrified about the prospect of seeing Cedrick Brown again.

 

 

                                                                     ❖

 

 

As we pull up to the St. Regis Atlanta hotel, a wave of anxiety rolls up my spine and I nearly double over from the twisting in my gut.

 

“This was a mistake.” I turn toward my sister, who’s in the driver’s seat. My face and neck are warm, and I feel like I’m about to break into a cold sweat. “I shouldn’t have come here. Take me back to the hotel.”

 

My sister heaves a sigh, puts the vehicle in park, then turns toward me. “Look, bitch, you know I love you. But you’re driving me up a wall today. We both know how determined you were to come here and talk to Ced tonight. What you sacrificed to make it happen. You’re just scared, and that’s okay. Because aren’t you the one who told me that some of your best decisions were things you did despite being terrified?”

 

“I did.” I heave a sigh. “Who knew you were listening?”

 

“Of course, I was.” Avionne squeezes my hand. “Mom has made a few questionable decisions in her lifetime—like our sorry-ass dad. But she always said that I should listen to my big sis, and I took that to heart.” Avi places a hand on her chest. “Now it’s time for you to take your own advice and get the hell out of my car, so a sister can get some.” She dissolves into laughter, and so do I, alleviating a little of the stress.

 

Avi kicks me out of the hybrid SUV I bought for her birthday last year. I’m lucky she at least stopped the vehicle before tossing my ass out so she could go hook up with her man.

 

I take a deep breath as I approach the registration desk. It’s comforting that this is a masquerade ball. After adjusting the mask to ensure it’s still in place, I relax the tiniest bit. Nearly half my face is hidden behind an exquisite, custom-made mask adorned with Swarovski crystals, pearls, silver beading, and an ornate white feather. A silver silk ribbon holds the mask in place. Still, there’s no hiding my identity when I check in.

 

“What a gorgeous mask!” The woman behind the desk beams. “Name, please.”

 

“Anika Hart.”

 

“Nikki Hart?” the woman, whose name tag identifies her as Lisa, proclaims too loudly for my comfort. “Of course! I should’ve recognized you—even with the mask. We’re so glad you could join us this evening.”

 

Lisa hands me my name tag, seating assignment, auction bidding information, and a gold fabric swag bag with Save Peachtree School of the Arts Gala printed on it in the school’s signature forest green. Everything is going pleasantly enough. But before I walk away, she whispers behind a cupped hand, “Please tell me there’s a KLN-3 reunion in the works.”

So much for my night off from thinking about the group and the fact that LeNae and I are pretty much invisible outside of it.

 

“No plans in the works, but you never know what the future might hold,” I recite my practiced response with a genuine smile. It keeps fans hopeful without promising anything.

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed,” Lisa whispers conspiratorially. “Enjoy your evening.”

 

I nod with heartfelt appreciation. While the anxious introvert in me hates dealing with the question, I’m grateful that our fans care about the group and want more from us. That’s a gift I’ll never take for granted.

 

Thankfully, there are few people in the lobby, and Lisa is the only person manning the registration desk. When I step inside the Astor ballroom, I’m blown away by the sumptuous, elegant decor. I walk through artfully designed balloon arches in the school colors: peach, green, and gold. Then I peruse boards featuring Peachtree’s famous alumni ranging from visual artists and dancers to musicians and actors. I’m honored to be among them.

 

I exchange smiles and casual greetings as I search for my table. I’m hoping my seat is near the back, so I can dip if I need to. Instead, I’m assigned to table two near the front of the room. A sense of dread starts to take hold of me. I search for a member of the event staff to see if I can switch my seat to a less conspicuous table.

 

“Excuse me… hi.” I catch the arm of a young woman wearing an event staff sash. She’s young. Probably a current Peachtree student. “I was wondering if it’s possible to⁠—”

 

“Nikki Hart?” She reads my name tag, then bounces on her heels excitedly. “Oh my God! I can’t believe I got to meet a real live member of KLN-3. Like an original member. Wait until I tell my mom. She loves you guys. You know, my audition song for Peachtree was ‘Love You Down’ because it’s one of my mom’s favorite songs.”

 

 

“That’s awesome,” I say. “About this seating arrangement… it looks like I’ve been assigned to table two⁠—”

 

“One of our VIP tables.” The girl—Angel, according to her name tag—beams. “Happy to take you there.”

 

“That’s very kind of you, Angel. But I don’t actually want to go there.”

 

“Would you like to go to the auction area first? Or maybe to the restroom?” Angel whispers the last part as she glances around. “Scoping out the bathroom is the first thing I do whenever I go somewhere. You never know when you need to⁠—”

 

“No,” I say a little too abruptly, and her eyes widen.

 

I feel awful. I know Angel is trying very hard to be helpful, and I appreciate that. She has no way of knowing I’m in a panicked, downward spiral.

 

I’m aware that my low-key, freaking out on the inside, yet expressionless on the outside demeanor can come off as distant or even cold, like I don’t care. Nothing could be further from the truth.

 

If anything, I care too much about everything. Injustice in the world. Everyone else’s feelings in any given situation. How I’m perceived by others. Whether I’m considered ‘likable’ enough.

These thoughts constantly cycle through my brain. Like an old, staticky radio I can’t turn off, though my anxiety meds help turn the volume down.

 

“What I’m trying to ask…” I try again with a big, bright smile. “Is there any way I can swap my seat for another? Perhaps one closer to the back.”

 

“You want to switch seats?” Angel’s eyebrows scrunch and she blinks as if she’s personally insulted by my rejection of a place at the esteemed VIP table. “I’m not sure that’s possible. The event is completely sold out.”

 

“I understand there aren’t any extra spaces.” I broaden my smile and speak slowly, hoping to stem both my rising panic and hers. “But maybe someone wouldn’t mind exchanging places with me?” I say hopefully.

 

“Um… well… We’d need to speak with one of the event co-chairs about that. But I think they’re both backstage right now because the program is just about to⁠—”

 

“It’s okay. I’ve got it.”

 

My shoulders tense when I recognize the deep, gravelly voice I’ve missed so much. The voice that often kept me company so I could drift off to sleep alone in a strange bed in some strange city.

 

“Cedrick?” I turn toward him, my throat suddenly dry.

 

“Oh my God! EtCedEra!” Angel squeals, her arms flailing. She draws in a deep breath. “I mean… I love your work. You’re like the hottest producer in the game right now.”

 

Her breathing is shallow and rapid and her voice wavers as she tries to keep it together in the presence of a man she deeply admires.

 

That makes two of us, babe.

 

My hands are trembling. It’s suddenly hard to take a full breath. But Ced still hasn’t spoken to or acknowledged me.

 

“Thank you… Angel.” Ced reads her name tag and flashes the kind smile I’ve missed so much. “That means a lot. Truly. But as for Ms. Hart, I can take it from here.”

 

“But she wants to…” The girl glances at me, then back at him again. “I’ll let you two work it out. I’ll be over there if you need anything.” Angel makes her way to the other side of the room.

 

She’s probably grateful my unusual request is no longer her problem. I don’t blame her.

 

I shift my attention to Ced. He’s more handsome than I remember. 

 

Cedrick Brown wouldn’t exactly qualify as a short king, but no one would describe him as being tall, either. In these four-inch heels, he’s only a little taller than me. He’s got a fresh-from-the-barber-shop fade. His perfectly trimmed beard connects with his mustache. His flawless chestnut-brown skin tells me he treated himself to a facial with his haircut.

 

Ced smells like heaven, and I recognize the scent. It’s a pricey cologne I picked up in Paris for his birthday while KLN-3 was on tour.

 

He waits until Angel is out of earshot before those mesmerizing dark eyes meet mine. His expression is stoic, but I recognize the disappointment in the eyes that are usually so glad to see me.

 

The awkward silence between us is killing me. But before I can open my mouth to launch into the apology I came here to make, Ced speaks first.

 

“Wow, it’s like that, Nikki? You’re hassling the event staff to avoid sitting at my table?”

 

 

 

Ced is calm and reserved, but I hear the hurt in his voice. Knowing I’m the cause of it absolutely destroys me.

 

I came here to make amends with one of my oldest friends. But ten minutes into my arrival, I’ve just made everything worse.