Not creepy.
Respectful.
When she tied the last knot, Mike exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours.
“You’re good,” Danny whispered.
“My mom used to be,” Keisha said, and her throat tightened. “She taught me enough to survive.”
Somebody in the kitchen cleared their throat.
A biker with a southern drawl lifted a small bag.
“Ma’am… you mind if we cook?” he asked. “We’ve got some rations. You’ve got ingredients. We can make it stretch.”
Keisha glanced at the shelves.
She’d been trying to start a tiny soul food setup out of her house—two folding tables, a hand-lettered sign in the window.
It hadn’t brought much.
But she did have beans, rice, flour, canned vegetables, spices her mother left behind like a blessing.
“Go ahead,” Keisha said. “Just… keep it simple.”
They did more than simple.
They moved like a team.
