My fiancée is thoughtful that night as we wind down for bed. She still doesn’t speak as I pull her into my arms and flick off the light. Finally, I broach the subject of my own thoughts in the darkness.
“What would you think of cooking again?” I ask. “Professionally.”
Peony’s eyebrows jump. She thinks for a moment, and then says, “I want to, I do. But I don’t know how to get back in. I feel like I might have ruined my reputation.”
I comb my claws through her long hair. “What if you didn’t need to do all of that? What if you started your own restaurant?”
She freezes under my hands. “What? How?”
“You receive an angel investment and buy a location. Weremodel it to suit your purposes, and then you develop a menu.” It seems simple enough to me.
“Really?” Her tone is disbelieving. “You’d buy me a restaurant?”
“Why not? It would be a solid investment. You know how to do it.”
She’s quiet for many long moments, but I don’t rush her. Eventually she says, “Wow. My own restaurant. I could come up with my own branding, my own menu, my own seating arrangement. Design my own kitchen.” Her tone turns dreamy. “Rupert, that’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”
I hug her tight. “Then you should have it.”
Peony is especially tender as we lie on our sides and I make love to her in the darkness, reaching around to stroke her clit with every long, languid thrust. She comes surprisingly easily, her squeezing, clenching finish pushing me over the edge. I stay seated inside her, simply relishing the perfect feel of her around me, until my cock is hard and ready to go again.
I will show my Peony every bliss until our time on this plane ends.
epilogue
. . .
Two years later
peony
“Order up!” I shout, sliding two plates onto the pickup shelf. My front-of-house manager, Emerald, appears out of thin air to fetch the plates and carry them out to the diners. I’m already working on the next ticket, barking out orders to my sous chefs as I prepare a shallow bowl of sea bass ceviche.
“Hey, Peony.” Emerald is trying to get my attention. “They’re here.”
“Already?” It’s early in the night, only eight, and we don’t close until nine-thirty.
“Rupert said not to worry. They’re going to order dinner and then wait for you to finish.”
The rest of my shift passes quickly, as it always does when I’m working in the kitchen. It’s like service starts, then you blink once and it’s over. I get lost in the act of creating, of crafting each dish to please a diner whom I’ll never meet.
Though occasionally someone will ask to give their regards to the chef, and then I get to say hello to a table full of people gushing over my food. There’s no greater compliment than a happy customer.
When we’re finally done and the crew is cleaning up the kitchen, I take off my chef’s whites and toss them into the laundry so I can scurry out to the dining room. Rupert, Dad, Kellen, and Ignacio are all locked in conversation at their table, the remnants of their dessert scattered around them. Kellen and Ignacio haven’t tied the knot yet, but they always sit side-by-side with their hands linked, and I don’t think it’s that far off.
To my great pleasure, Kellen, my dad, and Rupert have become fast friends, though they don’t have much in common. We host everyone often, typically at the restaurant, when I try out new recipes that I’m thinking of adding to the menu. I change it out every season, which is an immense amount of work, but I like that I always have something fresh and exciting to offer my customers.
“Peony!” Rupert calls out. They all get to their feet as I join them. Rupert kisses me with gusto, then Dad hugs me, giving me a radiant smile. Kellen shakes my hand, like he always does, while Ignacio hugs me, too.
“I liked the new dinner menu,” Dad says as we all sit back down. “And the passion fruit entremet for dessert was to die for.”
My face heats with pleasure. “Thank you. I can’t take credit for that, though. That was all Roberto’s idea.” My new pastry chef is a marvel and a wonder, and I’m so lucky I found him.
“I, personally, enjoyed the savory custard the most,” Kellen says. “Wasn’t that mentioned inThe New York Timespiece?”
I stare at him. “The what?”
Rupert’s smile takes over his face, revealing his fangs. “You haven’t seen it yet. I was going to surprise you.” He shoots a look at Kellen, who pretends to be embarrassed for mentioning it too soon. Then he produces a square cut of newspaper from his pocket.
