Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 161615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 539(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 539(@300wpm)
Another photo came through.
This one made my heart squeeze so hard I had to sit down on the edge of the bed.
It was Grandma in her living room, standing next to her old record player—the one that still worked, the one she refused to replace with "any of that digital nonsense."
And she was dancing.
With one of the yakuza.
Oh Grandma. . .
My heart warmed.
The man had his hand carefully placed on her waist, and he was doing his absolute best to follow her lead. His face was concentrated but smiling—the expression of someone learning something new and loving every second of it.
Behind them, the other men were watching. Some were clapping.
One had his phone out, clearly recording.
Another was attempting the same moves on his own, his footwork not quite right but his effort undeniable.
Grandma: Taught them how to do the Stroll and the Hand Jive this afternoon! Played Smokey Robinson and Marvin Gaye. That sweet boy Taka—the one with the scar on his chin—he picked it up FAST. Got some natural rhythm in him somewhere. He’s definitely Black. Maybe a great-great grandmother. I told him that you two will have to meet. The others need work but they're trying bless their hearts.
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, not even realizing I'd started crying until I felt the wetness on my cheeks.
Grandma: They didn't know who Marvin Gaye was, baby. Can you BELIEVE that? I had to educate them. Put on "Let's Get It On" and watched their eyes get big. Then "What's Going On" and now they want me to make them a list of songs to listen to. I told them I'd write it all down tomorrow.
I laughed again, imagining hardened yakuza soldiers sitting in a Charleston living room getting a musical education from a seventy-two-year-old Black woman who believed good food and good music could fix anything.
She wasn't wrong.
Another text came.
Grandma: When Smokey came on singing "Cruisin'" that big quiet one—I think his name is Daichi—he closed his eyes and just LISTENED. Really listened. When it was over he bowed to me and said "beautiful." I about near cried.
My chest ached.
These men—these dangerous, deadly, loyal men—were sitting in my grandmother's living room, eating her food, learning her dances, listening to her music.
And they were loving it.
Grandma: I told them next week I'm making gumbo. You should have seen their faces light up. They don't know what gumbo is! But they trust me now. As they should!!
I typed back with trembling fingers.
Me: Grandma, I love you so much. Thank you for taking care of them and showing me this.
Grandma: Taking care of THEM? Baby, they're taking care of ME. Fixed my fence, painted my porch, went, got me some groceries, and now they're learning how to two-step. I'm having the time of my life. Shirley over there next door is jealous.
The last photo came through.
It was a group shot—all the men standing together in Grandma's front yard with the newly painted porch in the background.
Grandma was in the center, absolutely tiny compared to them, but somehow still commanding the entire frame.
Every single one of them was smiling.
One was holding up a Tupperware container like a prize.
Another had his arm carefully—respectfully—around Grandma's shoulders.
And in the corner of the frame, I could see the edge of Mrs. Shirley's curtains pulled back.
Grandma: Aren't they handsome? I told them that my granddaughter is single and pretty. I know you met someone there, but until he puts a ring on your finger, you’ve got options.
I let out a long breath and smirked. “Not with the Dragon, Grandma.”
Grandma: Grandma's got to go to bed. Dancing wore me out. These old hips ain't what they used to be. Love you.
Me: Love you more, Grandma. Goodnight.
I set the phone down and pressed my hand to my chest.
Thanks, Kenji for making sure my grandmother was protected, and. . .giving her an awesome time too.
A smile tugged at my lips.
Let’s hope my grandmother doesn’t take away your soldiers and adopt them.
I got into bed. . .still smiling and feeling that comforting warmth. The silk sheets were cool against my skin, and I let myself sink into them, imagining they were Kenji's hands sliding over me.
My body was still wound tight from the night's events, and beneath the fear, there was a hunger for Kenji.
I thought about touching myself.
Just to take the edge off.
Just to release some of this tension coiled in my core.
My hand drifted down my stomach, fingers tracing the waistband of my pajama shorts. I could picture Kenji watching me do this—those dark eyes burning as I pleasured myself for him.
No.
I pulled my hand away.
I wanted Kenji here when I came. Wanted to feel him, not just imagine him.
I’ll wait for the real thing.
Before I pulled up the blankets over me, I caught sight of the fantasy book.