“I love you.”
That softened her in the way I liked.
I sat beside her instead of across from her because I preferred being close when I could. Chef Nia came out from the kitchen right then, wiping her hands on a black apron with her logo stitched on the front.
“Sincere, this is Chef Nia,” Rhythm introduced.
I stood and shook her hand. “Pleasure.”
“Likewise,” she greeted. “And don’t worry, you made it just in time. We haven’t started the good stuff yet. I’ll be right back.”
She disappeared again, and a few minutes later, she came back with the first tasting tray.
There were little slices set out on pretty plates with gold forks and water glasses to clear the palate.
Chef Nia set the first plate down. “We’re starting simple. Brown butter vanilla bean cake with fresh strawberry compote and whipped mascarpone filling.”
I took a bite. Then looked back at the cake. “Yeah, that’s good as fuck.”
Rhythm’s eyes widened in agreement as she swallowed her taste. “Right?”
Chef Nia smiled, like she already knew she had us.
Next came lemon cake with raspberry preserves and cream cheese frosting.
Then almond cake with praline crunch and salted caramel buttercream.
That one almost made me cuss.
Rhythm closed her eyes when she tasted it. “Oh, this isfye.”
I pointed my fork at the plate. “That might be the one.”
Chef Nia brought out the next round as Rhythm made notes of the flavor profile, texture, frosting finish and tier layout of each piece.
She took wedding details as seriously as she took curating an exhibit, which was probably why I trusted her to make all this beautiful.
Because even though me and Rhythm were always together, moments like this still stood out to me. Watching her locked in, building our wedding detail by detail with that same artistic mind she used on her work, reminded me how far we had come. She was mine, and she would soon be my wife. We had already made it through the hard conversations, fear, uncertainty, and learning each other. Now, being with Rhythm felt like breathing with intention, like home with purpose.
“You’re quiet,” she mentioned, glancing over at me.
“I’m eating.”
“You’re staring at me.”
I tried not to blush but failed at that shit. “That too.”
Chef Nia excused herself to get one more option, and Rhythm leaned back in her chair. “How’d your meeting go?”
I wiped my mouth. “Heavy.”
Her face shifted to concern immediately. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Just needed to get away from it.”
She reached under the table and laid her hand on my thigh. “Well, you came to the right place because this banana pudding cake is healing.”
I laughed as I leaned over and kissed her cheek, in appreciation of Rhythm knowing when to press and when not to. She could read my face, know I was carrying something, and still give me enough peace to ease my stress without forcing me to unpack it before I was ready.
