Chesteria and Isis were moving around each other in sync, hips bumping once in a playful way, giggling like cousins who didn’treallylike each other but knew how to keep it cute.
“There y’all go! Just in time!” Chesteria exclaimed, excitedly. “Have a seat! We got y’all some lunch!”
Adrian didn’t hesitate. “Say less. My soul was about to leave my body and go hover by the fridge,” he said, already yanking out a chair like he was starving in the wilderness.
I was more cautious, side-eyeing the countertop for clues before easing into my seat. Chesteria and Isis grabbed the plates at the same time, like they rehearsed it. Chesteria brought mine with her usual sass, while Isis walked toward Adrian with a soft smile and hips swaying like she was hosting a damn cooking show.
“Grilled cheese and tomato soup,” Isis purred sweetly, presenting the plate with both hands like it was gold-plated.
Adrian blinked, caught off guard. “Oh… oh, wow. Uh… thanks. Chesteria, did you make this?”
“No…wedid!” Isis chirped, her eyes flicking to Chesteria to back her up.
I tensed, knowing that Isis had any partake in cooking.
“She’s right; we both did,” Chesteria confirmed, then turned to me. “Here…before you pass out from yelling at your new BFF,” she joked.
I took the plate slowly, already suspicious. The grilled cheese was cut diagonally and toasted to perfection—exactlyhow I liked it. The tomato soup was served in a mug, with a light dusting of black pepper on top, like somebody had taken their sweet, flirty time trying to make it cute and impress me.
I knew right then Chesteria had personally fixed my plate. Still, I didn’t trust it. Something was up.
Adrian caught my eye across the room. He had the same expression on his face as I did.
We both squinted.
He tilted his head.
I lifted a brow.
It was the universal “What the hell is going on?” face.
We both sat there, reading each other like a game of hood charades.
Then Adrian broke the quiet tension, frowning. “Why yo’ shit plated like you just got outta prison and the chef got feelings for you?”
We both turned toward the women. Chesteria was sitting now, casually sipping her soup like she didn’t just ambush my confusion. Isis was flipping through her phone like she didn’t just sprinkle extra thigh into that plate hand-off.
I leaned over to Chesteria, narrowing my eyes. “You said both of y’all cooked this?”
She shrugged, laughing. “Yes, Bryce. Why? Are you worried we poisoned it?”
“I’m just saying…” I said slowly, eyeing the sandwich again like it might grow legs. “I shovel snow for forty-five minutes, come in looking like Frosty the Blackman, and suddenly there’s hospitality and grilled cheese? Nah. What’s the play? What y’all want?”
Chesteria playfully rolled her eyes. “Damn… can a woman not be nice?”
“Uh huh,” I muttered, still not convinced.
Adrian dipped his sandwich in the soup like he was at a five-star restaurant. “I don’t give a damn who cooked or why. If this gon’ kill me, at least I’ll die with flavor on my tongue and no complaints on my soul.”
I just shook my head and bit into mine.
I chewed slow, squinting at Chesteria while she innocently stirred her soup.
I had to admit; it was good. The sandwich had crispy edges, that gooey middle with the right kind of cheese, and that golden brown flip perfection. Then again, I’m sure Chesteria didmostof the cooking, and she knew not to serve me no bullshit.
“You did yo’ thang. This shit is good… or I’m hungry one.”
Chesteria playfully nudged me. “Don’t do me!”
