The clanking in the kitchen woke me up from a much-needed nap. I’d been busy as hell since coming back from my trip, but thankfully, it was local business. Coco was changing me, slowly but surely. I never took naps, but I did now. She even had me taking ashwagandha. I shook my head as I headed to the bathroom to freshen up.
I smelled it before I saw it. Something rich was moving through the whole penthouse, a smell that meant somebody had been cooking since morning. A nigga had lucked up for real. Coco was a baddie, could cook like she'd been doing it her whole life, and had me reconsidering every decision I’d made before her.
I headed toward the kitchen and found Coco at the stove in an apron over a sundress, hair pinned up, one earbud in, moving between three different things at once like she was conducting something.
The prime rib was in the oven. A pot of something was reducing on the back burner. She had a cutting board full of vegetables and a separate pan for au gratin potatoes, and the whole room already smelled of butter and cream.
I leaned in the doorway and watched her for a second before she noticed me.
“You’re up,” she said without turning around.
“How’d you know?”
“You always clear your throat when you first wake up.” She stirred the pot without looking at me. “Sit down, I’m almost done with this reduction. How was your nap?”
“Changing my life. You got me getting soft, though.”
“You’re welcome, baby,” she smiled with a wink as I took a seat at the island and watched her work. She moved through the kitchen as she’d always been in it, mine first, hers now, ours somewhere in between.
“Co.”
“Mm.”
“I could've paid somebody to do all this.”
She turned and looked at me over her shoulder. “I know that Mr. Pay For Shit.”
“So why have you been in here since eight this morning?”
She turned back to the stove. “Because your father is coming to my home for the first time and I wanted to cook for him myself.” She said it simply. “This is how I do things, Lesley. Let me do things.”
I let it go. There was no arguing with Coco when she’d decided something.
“What can I do?”
“Set the table. Good dishes, not the everyday ones.” She pointed toward the cabinet on the left without looking. “And call Malice, tell him to have somebody bring up the wine I ordered. It’s downstairs.”
“Yes ma’am.”
She cut her eyes at me and gave me a warm smile.
“Do you think he’s going to like me?” she asked.
“Who cares?”
She stopped and turned to me. I looked at her and waited for her answer. Maybe before this became more than we’d agreed upon, I’d care, but she was my wife in all ways. Fuck what anyone had to say about it or her.
“Lessy, I care.”
“That nickname, Co, is gon get you fucked.”
“Be serious. Will he like me?”
“Yes, he’s going to love you, but he’s never been one to take marriage seriously after losing my mom. So, anything he says about it is coming from a place of bitterness. It’s not personal.”
“Noted.”
“Which fork goes first?” I asked from the dining room.
