Arranged To Be|18+✔️

'1

"Mom!" I called out as I stepped through the front door of my parents' home in L.A.

The scent hit me first—roasted garlic, sage, and something sweet like cinnamon. It clung to the air like a warm hug. Familiar. Comforting. Almost enough to soften the gnawing tension in my gut.

They'd been begging me to come home for months now, but between my classes, internship, and graduation chaos, flying back hadn't been an option. Now that college was behind me and I had a flexible start date for work, I finally made the trip.

"I'm in the kitchen, Zariah!" my mom called back.

I paused in the foyer to tug off my boots, already hearing her voice in my head if I so much as stepped past the threshold in shoes. "This ain't a barn, Zariah."

With bare feet on the hardwood, I padded toward the kitchen. The house was still the same—earth tones, cozy lighting, the soft hum of jazz playing from her Bluetooth speaker. It looked like time had politely paused here just for me.

My mother stood by the oven, sliding a massive turkey inside. Her curly black hair was piled in a loose bun on top of her head, and her white sundress made her dark brown skin practically glow. She looked radiant. Effortlessly so.

She turned and beamed when she saw me. "Zariah, baby, look at you!"

Before I could respond, she pulled me into a hug so tight I felt like she was trying to mold me back into her arms.

"I missed you too, Ma," I murmured against her shoulder.

When she pulled back, she looked me over like she hadn't seen me in years. "Mmm. You look just like me when I was your age. That face. That figure." She flicked her wrist dramatically. "People used to trip over themselves when I walked into a room."

I laughed, eyes crinkling. "And they still do. You look amazing."

She winked. "Of course I do. Where do you think you get it from?"

We broke into soft laughter again, and the tension that had been living in my chest since the flight finally eased.

Physically, I was a near carbon copy of her—tight curls that fell to the middle of my back, rich brown skin kissed by gold undertones, and an hourglass figure I used to be self-conscious about. I'd inherited her height too—petite at 5'3". The only thing I got from my dad were his freckles and those milk chocolate brown eyes.

"Is that my Z-Bug I hear?" came my dad's voice from the hallway.

I turned just in time for him to scoop me into his arms, hugging me like he'd never let go.

"I missed you, Daddy," I mumbled, squeezing him tight.

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "We missed you too, sweetheart. The house ain't the same without your sass bouncing off the walls."

I grinned, heart full—for a moment.

Then came the sound of sneakers thudding on the tile.

"Yo," said a voice deeper than I remembered.

I turned and blinked at the young man standing there. "Josiah?" I gasped. "Is that you?"

He smirked as I wrapped him in a hug. "You're still short," he muttered into my hair.

"You're just tall," I shot back, smacking his arm playfully.

We all started chatting about his college plans while Mom set the table, and just as we were getting comfortable, three sharp knocks echoed from the front door.

I glanced at my parents, my smile faltering. "You expecting someone?"

Their body language shifted instantly. My father's jaw clenched. My mother's hands stilled mid-movement.