“But…” I added quickly, holding up a finger for emphasis, “not like Bryce.”
She perked up. “Oh, girl, let me tell you—”
"AHT-AHT!” I interrupted, raising my hand dramatically as if to erase her words from the air before they could form. “I don't want to hear anything about how big or good Bryce's dick is. I know that man’s body like I know abnormal psychology—inside, out, textbook, and in my damn dreams—and I absolutely do not need new images trying to override the originals!”
Isis burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. “Well damn, sis! Say you got muscle memory without saying it. But my bad. Let’s change the subject.”
I exhaled, relieved. “Please.”
We both glanced outside again. Bryce had Adrian engaged in another simpler task—sweeping snow off the porch rail.
“Well, since Bryce is out there giving Adrian lessons on staying safe from winter’s wrath," I said, crossing my arms, “let me give you a 101 on survival cooking. Because if you're trying to bag a man like Bryce? Sis… you gon’ have to do more than boil water and pray over it. Bryce once told me the only thing a woman who can’t cook can make is a mistake. Harsh? I know. Now, you might get a pass with Adrian. He’s the type who’ll eat anything that’s hot, cheesy, or spelled wrong on a menu. But Bryce?” I shook my head slowly. “That man will cut off all ties and give you zero closure over dry chicken and unseasoned potatoes.”
“Damn!” Isis gasped. “Who hurt him?”
“His taste buds,” I replied sarcastically.
Laughter filled the kitchen between us.
“Let’s fix these hard-working men a quick meal before Bryce has an aneurysm,” I said, turning back to the pantry, already scanning for ingredients. “Wait.” I stopped suddenly, lockingeyes with Isis. “We gotta start with your breakfast skills. Saturday’s eggs got me questioning your entire childhood.”
“I tried!” she defended herself, raising her hands in surrender.
“No, sis, youlied... boldly lied. Those eggs had a texture crisis,” I teased, laughing a little at her defensive posture.
Isis chuckled, a sheepish smile creeping across her face. “Okay, okay! So what are we making?”
“Let’s keep it simple."
My mind raced through comfort food options.
“Oh! What about grilled cheese sandwiches? Something classic, sexy… and pairs perfectly with a warm bowl of tomato soup.”
"Tomato soup and grilled cheese?” Isis mused, her face lighting up. “That’s kinda cute.”
“And simple,” I added, feeling the romance of the moment. “A little snowed-in snack that might just soften Bryce’s heart before he buries Adrian with that same shovel and leaves a love note in the snow that says: ‘You tried.’”
She nodded, clearly entertained. “Okay. I can do grilled cheese. It’s just bread, cheese, and heat, right?” “
And butter,” I stressed, giving her a side-eye. “Because if you don’t, that grilled cheese is gon’ sound like a car crash when you bite into it,” I kidded while already pulling out the skillet. “That’s why we’re making it together.”
Chapter twenty-four
Bryce
“Hospitality or Homicide?”
Iwalked in with Adrian trailing behind me like a kicked puppy. My patience was damn near nonexistent at that point.
How the hell you thirty-something years old and don’t know how to shovel a walkway?
I was still low-key pissed. I had shown him how to scoop snowfourdifferent ways. The man had the nerve to try to use a mop at one point. Amop, bruh.
I slammed the door behind us, kicking off the snow-covered boots.
“You owe me new brain cells,” I muttered, brushing snow off my coat.
Adrian didn’t say shit; he just shook his jacket out like he was proud of whatever chaos he just participated in. Then followed me to the kitchen. Once we stepped in, we paused.
