“That was amazing,” I said as we climbed in the car.
“I know, right? We have never been that busy on a Sunday. Not since I started working here.”
“Good. I’m glad I could help.”
“You did more than help, DeShawn. Hell, you put me in a position where I might have to apologize to my brother.”
“No way. Perish the thought.” Malik’s smile was big and bright and I wanted to capture it just like this forever. A damn shame I had zero drawing capabilities.
I laid my hand on top of his on the gearshift, and he wiggled his fingers until he got his thumb out and rested it against mine.
I looked down at our joined hands and didn’t know whether I wanted to laugh or cry. When we’d been married, we used to drive like this all the time. One hand on top of the other, or fingers entwined, or one hand on a leg. And I hadn’t even realized how much I missed it, how much I missed the sensation and the memory of someone being that close to me, until now.
We drove the rest of the way home in companionable silence, then parked the car.
“Over under on the dogs making us take them for a walk tonight?”
Malik chuckled. “Lord willing, under. Bruno is not the type of dog who does cold concrete well, and hopefully he’s taught Corey the fine art of walking himself in the backyard during his master’s late nights.”
I nodded, even as I heard the scamper of feet toward the back entrance.
“They’re here,” Malik said, and winked at me. And my heart, already pounding at its cage to be set free, started actively picking the lock. I followed him and we opened the door, and sure enough, there were our boys, butts nearly wagging off. We dropped to our knees and pet our dogs, but they’d be damned if they didn’t get love from both of us before letting us up.
We followed them into the family room, and I toed off my shoes before collapsing on the couch. And immediately sat up. “Do you need me to grab a shower first? I don’t want to leave this smell of kitchen on your couch.”
Malik’s laugh was bright, but he shook his head. “You’re fine. I’d rather the smell of kitchen than the smell of Bruno, and he gets up there all the time.”
“Praise god for pet vacs,” I mumbled.
“Amen.” Malik turned the TV on, but I wasn’t paying attention. I pulled a foot up and was working my way through my nightly massage, pressing into the pads of my feet, trying to recall the shiatsu technique I learned the best I could.
“You still doing that regularly?”
Damn. I’d totally forgotten. Malik had gifted us a joint shiatsu massage class when we were still dating, because I’d been a sous chef then and constantly on my feet, and those dogs barked loud at the end of the day. It had been so damn thoughtful, I couldn’t believe it. And how I could’ve forgotten it? Beyond me.
To him, I shrugged and gave a sad little headshake. “Not as much now. I’m not on the floor like I used to be.”
“Do you miss it?”
I nodded. “Yes. All the time. But I love what I do, and that’s the conundrum.”
“I bet.” He reached over and tapped my leg, then pointed to my feet. “Let’s see how much I remember.”
I hesitated, not sure I wanted to go there. Because this caring, as much as it meant to me, had almost always been foreplay for us as well. Because I couldn’t help the way my body responded to Malik’s hands on any part of me, the way his touch loosened my muscles and brought me a sense of peace, calm, desire. Because he’d known exactly what I was doing, and would often finish his massage and go directly into a blowjob, and my dick started to thicken just at the thought of it.
“Are you sure?” My voice was so damn soft I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined saying the words.
But Malik heard it, and nodded. “I’m sure.” He patted his lap. “C’mere.”
So I angled until my back was flat on the couch, then propped up long enough to grab a few cushions before setting my feet tenderly on the very edge of his leg. Malik looked at them, then me, then snorted and scooted closer to me.
He took one foot in hand and began to press, and my eyes nearly rolled in the back of my head. “Dear god, that’s amazing.”
Malik’s chuckle was low, knowing. “I’m glad. Close your eyes and relax. You deserve this.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, but I let myself sink into the touch. Into the way it felt to have him here, with me, like this. Of his own free will and not because of obligation or necessity.
A little bark from Corey made me open my eyes. “What is it?” I tried to pull my foot away, but Malik stopped me.
“He’s just seeing you on the television.”
I craned my neck and, sure enough, there I was, a repeat of an old DCFoodie show.
“How do you like it? The shows and appearances and all that?”
I looked at him, not sure if he really wanted the answer to that or if he was just trying to be polite, but his soft smile told me he was genuinely curious.
“It’s...okay,” I said. “A lot of grunt work, a lot of retakes for something I feel should be more natural. Because for cooking, we don’t get retakes in the kitchen. But it is what it is.”
I wasn’t going to tell him the truth, that I was actively over it. But I guess something in the way I spoke hinted at it, because Malik’s next question cut straight to the heart. “You don’t want it like you once did?”
“No. I thought I did, but it’s a bunch of bureaucratic bullshit that I have no time, no interest in dealing with.”
I honestly kind of hated it. When I’d first started, when I’d first been approached as someone who could be a star, someone who could make a living making recipes, being on networks, having my own show, it’d sounded like the most amazing thing possible.
And I’d had ideas. I wanted to do the whole road trip thing, finding small gems that served great food, but I wanted to specialize it. Focus on Black communities, marginalized communities, gay communities. Communities owned by and who actively had marginalized folks on staff, in power positions.
But the executives said there wasn’t a market for it. Said that people—read: them—would consider it racist if only marginalized communities were targeted. They’d had no response when I asked whether members of those communities had called in and questioned them about their relative exclusion on other shows. It told me everything I needed to know. But my contract with Criteria specified some level of media presence, so I’d made my national idea local, doing weekly television segments and shouting out marginalized restaurants in the area.
It had been one of the things we’d fought about, my desire to have this big, national presence, warring with Malik’s desire to stay home. He wanted me to have the show, but he didn’t want to be on the road like that. It wasn’t who he was. And he didn’t want his husband to be gone for weeks on end the way he anticipated I would be. I’d tried to tell him those fears were overblown, but he was probably right. I just hadn’t wanted to admit it.
I decided on complete honesty. “I’m not sure what I gave up was worth what I’ve gained.”
Malik paused, his back going stiff. Then he cleared his throat and continued his massage. “Oh.”
I opened my eyes and looked at him. “Malik. I...”
...had no clue what the hell I was going to say, and it didn’t matter. Because Malik let my other leg fall and climbed on top of me, fusing our lips together. And I sank into it, because this was what I wanted. That feeling of Malik, his weight bearing down, me maneuvering to widen my legs so he could fit himself between them, my hand scrabbling to pull his shirt from out of his pants, to feel his skin against mine for the first time in way too long.
Malik tangled his hands through my locs to hold me in place, squeezing tightly. I hissed, then punched my hips up toward him. “You know how much I love that,” I whispered.
He looked down at me and almost tenderly ran a thumb across my forehead. “I know.”
He kissed the top of my head and I wanted to melt. Because that was the love kiss. That whatever-it-is-we’ll-figure-it-out-together kiss. The one that told me everything was going to be all right. By god, he’d make it all right.
I tilted my neck as much as possible, given Malik’s grasp on my hair, and he rewarded me with short, biting nips down my chin and along my jawline, his hands running down to the hem of my T-shirt and pushing it up and off. Could he feel the way my chest heaved? The way my heart beat, its rhythm calling out Malik’s name?
My shirt gone, Malik looked at me, a sort of reverence in his eyes, then ran his hands over my pecs. He squeezed the nipples, and my eyes fluttered closed. He knew how much I loved that. And when I gripped his forearm, he chuckled, the sound a little too knowing, before bending down and capturing one nipple in his mouth. A jolt of electricity shot through me at his touch. I thought I’d missed it before, but nothing came close to how good he felt here, with me, wanting this.
With my free hand, I found the top of his belt and held on, and he rolled his hips into me the way I needed him to do in a bed, naked. “God, I want you,” he muttered, and I nodded.
“Yes, please.”
He pushed off, holding his hands out to help me sit upright.
Then a low, rumbling growl from the left caught our attention and we turned. “What the hell?” Malik asked, then fumbled to turn on the light.
“Dear god,” I whispered, then sprinted around the coffee table in the center of the room to grab Corey. Bruno had apparently decided he wanted to sleep in his own bed tonight, and Corey was having none of it. He alternated between nipping at Bruno’s foot and on his tail, and he was the one growling when Bruno didn’t move. Bruno, bless that boy’s heart, just looked at us with the long-suffering sigh of a dog resigned to his fate.
Malik’s eyes widened, and his shoulders shook for a minute before he bent in half and started laughing. “Looks like Corey has a what’s-yours-is-mine mentality.” He raised a brow. “Wonder where he got that from?”
“You shut your mouth.” I laughed and pulled Corey away, who even now was whining and looking for all the world like he wanted to get back to Bruno. Bless him, Bruno dragged Corey’s bed closer and moved to lay half his body on it, leaving space on his own bed, and I let Corey go. He scampered over and climbed into the spot Bruno made—which was smaller than his own bed—settled down, and promptly fell asleep.
“I really am sorry,” I said once they’d settled.
And I was. Not just about Corey, but about the fact that whatever that was on the couch? Was over. Broken. Spell gone. Malik would surely go back to his rules. The ones that put very firm guidelines on what we were and were not allowed to do, so I fully expected that by morning, he’d be the worst roommate ever. I’d have to get ready for that, and I was not looking forward to the game face I’d have to put on tomorrow, to keep the words from cutting.
“Don’t be. These things happen. Now we can go back to our regularly scheduled programming.” The resignation in his voice made me look up, but he’d shoved his hands deep in his pockets, his shoulders stiff, and his expression had morphed back into that cool, unaffected look I was growing to loathe.
Of course. I’d expected it, but hearing the confirmation still stung. I smiled, but it was strained and felt brittle. “That’s probably a good idea.”
Malik looked at me, and I couldn’t tell what I saw in his eyes. Was it relief? Regret? Something else altogether? “You sure?”
I nodded. “Absolutely. Night, Malik.”
He paused with one hand on the banister. “Good night, DeShawn.”
It was honestly a little disconcerting how quickly DeShawn and I had fallen into a routine, notwithstanding my paltry attempt at boundaries. I’d let go of the dog-walking issues, but we were still supposed to cook our own meals, handle our own business. But when I woke up the next morning, sometime around seven thirty, I knew DeShawn had already taken both boys for a walk, else Bruno’s whines and scratches would’ve woken me much earlier. And since DeShawn would be at Criteria this evening, I’d return the favor. There might even be breakfast, and I wouldn’t argue if there was.
A routine. Like couples made. And I couldn’t even be upset about it.
Lord knew I wanted to be. I wanted to march in there and pretend like nothing had happened the night before. Like I hadn’t heard DeShawn’s words, his musing that maybe what he’d given up wasn’t worth what he’d received, and pounced. Just laid myself down on top of him, taken what I’d wanted from the minute he’d walked in the restaurant.
And as I climbed out of bed and handled my business before throwing on a pair of slacks and heading downstairs, the smell of waffles drifting up to greet me and get my taste buds jumping, I knew it was hopeless to pretend there was nothing there.
I reached the bottom step and the boys scampered toward me. In the kitchen, DeShawn glanced over and smiled, a shy, almost apprehensive one. The kind he’d give if he thought I was about to turn into the grumpy ogre again.
I finished petting the boys and walked into the kitchen, setting a slightly shaky hand on his back and leaning in for a kiss to his jaw. “Good morning.”
DeShawn stared at me. Stared, then laughed and shook his head. He leaned in to press his lips against mine. “Morning.” He rolled his lower lip in and, like always, I wanted to bite it. “How’d you sleep? I hope I didn’t wake you when I got Bruno.”
“Fine. Did your dog behave himself this morning?”
He arched his brow. “I’ll have you know my dog...” He trailed off and laughed. “I got nothing, don’t even know how to finish that. My dog is an absolute mess.”
I laughed and massaged his shoulder. “At least he’s cute about it.”
“And he’ll be the first to tell you.”
We stopped talking then, our conversation having reached its end, and I cleared my throat. DeShawn smiled at me, then pointed to the stool opposite the island. “Go on and sit down. I’ll have breakfast ready for you in just a few moments.”
“Waffles?”
He peeked at me, then smiled, and I wasn’t sure if it was for me or him. “They still your favorite?”
“You know they are.”
His eyes twinkled. “I know.”
I sighed and ran a hand over my face. I was breaking every rule I’d made, tearing down the boundaries I’d set to keep myself sane. And DeShawn wasn’t doing a thing to stop me.
“DeShawn,” I said, pulling his attention from the waffle maker he was staring at, “what are we doing? I know we’re supposed to be getting comfortable so we can play things up for the cameras, but this?” I gestured to the kitchen. “This is way more than that, and you know it.”
To his credit, he didn’t try to deny it. “I know. But we’ve been talking and talking about how we’re going to make this work, to pull this off, to fool these people. We were interrupted in public, and it occurred to me that maybe what we need to do is just talk to each other. About where we’ve been and what we’ve been up to for these last couple of years. And I figured the best way to do that, to ease this into it, was breakfast.”
It’d be easy to make some excuse about needing to be at the restaurant, which was technically true, James had held up his end of the lunch bargain, and our profits and expenses had both increased. But it was nothing that couldn’t wait until I had waffles. And this conversation.
I straightened up and tried to loosen my shoulders. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
“Coffee first.” He pushed a cup across from me, made in the French press I loved but never took the time for, then grabbed a mug of what I assumed was tea, because DeShawn had never drank coffee, and sat down next to me. He’d made us each two waffles, and had set out a bowl of mixed berries, a little container of powdered sugar, and the pure maple syrup I kept on hand.
I cut myself a piece of the waffle and bit into it, then put my fork down and stared at him. “What the fuck is in this?”
His grin was positively sinful. “Bourbon.”
I was halfway through my drink and snorted, fumbling with a napkin on the counter to wipe myself. “Are you serious?”
“Would I lie to you about that?”
“No.”
“I’m glad you know.”
I laughed and took another bite, then smiled at him. The DeShawn I saw on TV was such a big name, someone everyone wanted to be with or near. In his orbit. But since he’d come to stay with me, he hadn’t seemed the least bit upset about the quieter lifestyle. About sitting at home, just us and the dogs, enjoying each other’s company while the television droned on in the background.
“You look like you’ve got some serious thinking going on over there.”
I tried to shrug, but it felt jerky. “I guess I’m just marveling at how comfortable you seem here.”
He snorted. “You mean after saying for years that I wanted no part of living in the suburbs?”
“Well, yeah. That.”
He took another bite, chewed longer than I thought was probably necessary, then sighed. “I made that into more than what it was. We were younger, you know, and I thought I knew every damn thing. Thought I knew what I wanted, and I was full steam ahead with it. Turns out I’m maybe not as brilliant as I’d assumed I was.”
“What?” I teased. “You saying you made a mistake?”
“Yes.” There wasn’t even the tiniest bit of hesitation in his voice, and that caught me off guard, but he wasn’t done. “I know I said it the other day, but I meant it. I gave up a lot to get this position, this job, this cachet. And it took me away from the people I loved.”
My face was going to burst into flames. Surely he didn’t mean—
“From you. From Grandma. Hell, sometimes I wondered if I even miss Uncle Robert.” I gaped at him. He looked up and winked. “And then I realize, nah.”
And then I bust up laughing, and he joined me for a moment before going serious again. “But I stopped seeing Grandma as much as I wanted to. You and I divorced. It was like starting over, and that hadn’t been part of my plan.”
I swallowed hard and nodded. After I got my associates and left home to finish my bachelors, it’d been to get away and see some of the world before returning. Once I’d finally accepted myself, my sexuality, who and what I wanted, I’d worried my family wouldn’t approve. It was unfounded, but twenty-year-old me didn’t know that, and I slowly but surely cut them off. Tucking my tail between my legs and going back home had almost felt like going backwards. By that time, my family had written off the idea of me returning, being part of the family business. So when I showed up, sheepish, looking like a puppy that had wandered away and only returned after his disappearance made the nightly news, I’d been stunned at their open welcome. The prodigal son returning, as James had happily, if a bit surly, put it.
They’d told me I had my pick of any position at the restaurant, and I knew James was afraid I’d want his. When I’d told them I wanted to be the accountant, that I had no interest in running the place, he’d been by far the most relieved. And when I told them that before we did anything else, they had to know I was gay, I’d expected them to turn right back around and tell me I could find my own way home. Which wouldn’t have done much, since I had a car.
But they hadn’t done that. Sure, Mom had burst into tears. When she dried them, she said it was because she was so happy I felt I could finally be open with them. That had gutted me, knowing they knew I’d been hiding something from them.
And I’d continued to hide. I’d hidden DeShawn. Because no matter how open I learned to be, that part of my past was mine to hold on to. To cherish, to take and pull out and run my finger softly across when times got too hard and I needed to remember what it felt like to be loved. So yeah, I’d kept that quiet.
DeShawn reached out and laid a gentle hand on my forearm. “We’ve grown a lot, haven’t we?”
I looked at that hand, then gave in and did what I wanted. I brought it to my lips and I kissed his knuckles. “We have.”
“Would you do it again?” he asked me. “Go through everything we did one more time?”
I shook my head. “No. I’d have come out to my parents way earlier, then been by your side for everything else.”
He closed his eyes and nodded, and I reached forward to run my thumb underneath them and wipe the tears away. “Hey, no, baby. Don’t cry.”
He looked up at me, those eyes of his shimmering with wetness, that smile the same one he had when he was twenty-three years old. The one that had melted my heart.
I bent my head and took his lips with mine, then acknowledged the inevitable. I’d fallen back in love with my husband.