I covered her hand with mine and squeezed once. “How’s everything on your end?”
Her eyes lit up. “I heard back from that collector in New York. The one from the Voss show.”
“The one who wanted three pieces?”
“Mmhmm. He wantsfournow. Aria thinks I should say yes, but only if I keep one back for the next solo.”
“That sounds smart.”
“It is smart. I just don’t like letting all my babies go at once.”
I smiled. “That’s because you paint from your soul.”
She smirked cockily. “And do.” As I chuckled, she added, “I got asked to be part of a panel next month; Black Women in Contemporary Visual Storytelling.”
“That sounds like some shit you should be doing.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” she asked, cheesing.
I loved hearing her talk about her work, loved the way her whole face came alive when she did, loved that she was finally getting the kind of recognition I knew she deserved. Rhythm wasn’t one of those women waiting for a man to hand her an identity. She came with vision, talent, and real substance. Being beside her didn’t make me feel bigger because she was smaller; it made me feel whole because she was fully herself.
Chef Nia came back with the final option; coconut cream cake with pineapple filling and toasted meringue.
Rhythm took one bite and pointed her fork at me. “Thisis wedding cake.”
I tasted it. Then nodded slowly. “That might be the winner.”
“Might?” Rhythm pressed.
“That’s the winner, if you want it, baby.”
Grinning, Rhythm looked at Chef Nia. “This is it.”
Chef Nia smiled with a silent clap. “Good. Because I already had ideas for how I wanted to dress that flavor up.”
The three of us spent the next twenty minutes talking buttercream finish, floral placement, tier count, Rhythm wanting something elegant but still indulgent, and me wanting whatever made her happiest as long as I got to keep eating samples.
Once Chef Nia learned of the businesses we ran, she started bringing us samples of her menu, so that we would consider her for catering needs.
By the end of it, Rhythm had frosting on the corner of her mouth. I leaned over and kissed it off before she could wipe it. Her eyes dropped to my mouth and stayed there. That same passion that had always lived between us came right back. With one look or touch, Rhythm could still make me forget where we were if I let her.
Chef Nia politely looked away and started gathering plates.
Rhythm smiled at me, devilishly. “Behave.”
“I am behaving.”
“You're thinking nasty.”
“I’m tasting cake with my fiancée. Of course, I’m thinking nasty.”
She laughed under her breath and shook her head.
And just like that, the weight I walked in with had eased enough for me to feel like myself again. That was what Rhythmdid to me. She brought me back to myself without even trying too hard.
When we finally stood to leave, she linked her arm through mine, pressed close, and looked up at me with that soft expression that only belonged to me. “You good now?”
I looked down at her, atmine. “Yeah. I’m real good now.”
