I playfully smacked his arm, but was still chewing, cheeks warm. “You know what? Don’t do me. That shrimp has no business being this good. Where did you find him?”
Woods finished his shrimp off, licking his fingers. “Flew him in from Atlanta.”
I stopped mid-chew, shrimp halfway to my mouth. “Wait, what?”
He smirked like it wasn’t a big deal. “I said what I said.”
“Youflewthis man out just to cook for us?”
“Mhm. Chef, tell her what’s up, bro.”
Chef Cory chuckled under his breath while wiping down a cutting board. “Born and raised in Atlanta. When I was in the joint, I started cookin’ and shit. Turns out I’m pretty good at it. When I got out, I got my shit together. Got my own private clientele now of mostly wealthy Black families, couples, rappers, and shit like that.” His energy was calm, confident, but humble.
“Wow, that’s… that’s truly amazing,” I told him, genuinely impressed.
“Thank you, miss. Used to run a kitchen in Buckhead,” he continued while putting olive oil in the cast-iron skillet. “Now I keep it simple. Fly in, cook good food, keep the vibes right, then bounce. Meet good people, too. I love this shit.”
I blinked a few times and looked between the two of them. “You killed this shrimp,” I praised, taking another bite. “You sure you’re not a magician?”
Chef Cory laughed from the stove. “Nah, just good technique and fresh ingredients.” The smell of lemon zest and herbs floated in the air, making my stomach tighten all over again as I finished my shrimp. “Dinner comin’ up in about thirty,” he continued.
Woods leaned back in his seat, relaxed, eyeing me with a look that made my pussy thump. “I’m glad you enjoyin’ yourself, gorgeous.” Again, I felt that warmth in my chest that came with him doing shit I didn’t expect.
Not too long after, Chef Cory circled back around with the main course. “Tonight’s entrée is a truffle-parmesan pasta topped with a butter-basted filet mignon,” he said, sliding the plates in front of us. “You’ve also got a citrus-herb arugula salad on the side to balance it out.”
The smell alone made my mouth water.
“Y’all enjoy. I’m goin’ to start on the cheesecake,” he added, already heading to do his thing.
“‘Ppreciate you,” Woods said, giving him a nod while going into the ridge. He poured me some lemonade and more tequila for himself.
I looked down at the plate in front of me. “Okay… this man did not come to play.”
Woods cracked a slow grin, glass of tequila in one hand, laid back and chill. “You deserve to eat good.”
I didn’t even try to play coy. I picked up my fork and slid it through the pasta first, getting a full bite with a little of the filet tucked in. I don’t know if it was the pregnancy or if the man could really cook. “This is… ridiculous,” I said under my breath, shaking my head. Everything was rich and perfectly seasoned.
Woods took a bite and just nodded once, like, yeah. Then glanced my way and muttered, “Yeah. This shit is hittin’.”
I smirked, pressing my napkin to the corner of my mouth. “Okay, big dawg.” We laughed.
We talked while we ate, the sounds of our forks against the plates and the faint music still playing low in the background. At some point, the chef popped back out to say a quick goodbye, rolling his suitcase through the hallway.
“Cheesecake all set. Kitchen clean. Y’all be safe. Merry Christmas,” he said, nodding toward me before dapping Woods up.
“Good lookin’, bro,” Woods said. “I’ll hit your line.”
And just like that, it was just the two of us again. I leaned back in my chair, shaking my head, feeling full already. “It’s wild how much changes in a short time.”
“Not really,” he said, stabbing into the fillet on his plate. “Shit changes when it’s supposed to. God’s timin’.”
I looked up at him, curious. “You couldn’t picture yourself doing this or being this way with your ex?”
He paused for a moment, chewing slowly before setting his fork down. “Nah. Shits different wit’ you. And honestly, the only time I ever seen some shit like this was in movies. I didn’t grow up around love that lasted.”
His words lingered in the air. I didn’t interrupt. I just listened as I ate.
He went on, voice low but steady. “My pops was in and outta jail. Still is. Ma held shit together best she could for my brother and me. His ass don’t even come around. Still dealin’ wit’ trauma I went to therapy for, feel me?” I stayed quiet, heart heavy but open.
