Coming into the office at the beginning of the day was infinitely more boring and more adult than showing up to prep for dinner service. But my mind had been burning with new recipe ideas, desserts in particular. Sure, people came to the restaurant for an entire experience, but after tasting Malik’s brownies, I wanted to do an “elevated” play on them. Something with the same brownie crust, but lighter in texture. Something that melted on the tongue like dissolving sugar crystals.
My mouth watered at the thought, and I shut the door behind me, intent on spending a few hours brainstorming. This was what got us that star. The time we took to think about what we wanted, how we wanted the entire meal to come together, testing and retesting and re-retesting, refusing to be rushed, much to the chagrin of absolutely everyone involved, before I deemed something available for circulation.
Excitement zinged through me, until I noticed an envelope, my name handwritten by someone who was clearly a lettering master. I closed my eyes and tried to think happy thoughts. But I knew inside would be an invitation to another event Christopher would pester me to attend, a place where I’d spend hours shaking hands and smiling and fielding more questions about my sex life than about my cooking.
Cooking, I could talk someone’s ears off. The rest was no one’s business, except it was unusual to have a Black executive chef, and unusual to have a starred Black chef, and gay as a cherry-topper. Recipes and cooking techniques were definitely not as interesting as my general existence. Years ago, I’d sworn I wanted this, but the reality was, most people were far too concerned about what I did in the privacy of my bedroom, and not nearly concerned enough about my actual work.
I thumbed open the envelope and pulled the card out. The same gorgeous hand lettering greeted me, and it was almost enough for me to ignore the words. No surprise, a gala in three weeks’ time. But this was a big one. They were bringing in chefs from all over the mid-Atlantic region, culminating in “a friendly cooking competition with the best chefs in the area.” That was interesting. An opportunity to actually cook. For the second time in a month. It might even be fun, but I set the card down for the moment, determined to get back to brownies.
Someone knocked on the door, then Maribel poked her head through. “I thought I saw a light on here. What are you doing here so early?”
“Playing,” I said. “I have a new dessert idea brewing, and I wanted some quiet time to think about it.”
“What, Corey not letting you get any rest at home?”
Corey was working my last nerve. All that dog did was sit and whine for Bruno. I hadn’t moved us in yet, both me and Malik deciding we needed a few days before starting on that journey, but god, Corey was all in on the larger dog. It was like he’d lost his best friend.
“Corey is being a pain in my butt,” I told her. “The dog walker came and that was frankly the highlight of both of our days.”
Maribel laughed and took a seat. “I see you got the invite, too?”
“Yeah. You and Jesus coming?”
“He hates that stuff, but I’m gonna try to drag him out with me. Depends on if we can get a babysitter.” She waggled her brows and leaned forward. “But who are you going to bring?”
I laughed, because Bel was the only one who knew my different dates had almost all been escorts. No sex, just dates. Christopher had been the one to arrange it, and it had fueled that bad-boy image he so loved. Then I closed my eyes and groaned. “Fuck.”
I’d tried to keep my voice low, but it wasn’t enough. She sat up, her face creasing in alarm. “What’s wrong, DeShawn?”
“I know who I have to bring, and I also know he’s gonna kick my ass for it.”
“DeShawn Franklin, what are you talking about?”
I massaged my closed eyes with my thumb and forefinger, then let my hand fall and stared at her. “You remember when Grandma called?”
“Yes,” she started warily. I took a breath, then told her the entire story, ending with the decision Malik and I had made.
Maribel whistled when I was done, then leaned forward and propped her elbows on the desk. “DeShawn, are you trying to tell me you’re married? As in, legally?”
I nodded. “Apparently so. And with everything going on, we’ve agreed to act like we’ve reunited, but I know he hates being in the limelight.” Hate might be an understatement. What was a stronger word? Despise? Had been willing to divorce his husband in part because of it?
“You think he’ll come?”
I shrugged. “I mean, I guess he could just stay home and I’d come solo, but—”
She cut me off. “But that won’t work, because you have a reputation and he won’t risk it. If you show up alone, it’ll look worse for your case.”
The ways that Maribel just got it, understood what I was trying to say and trying to do? Was one of the reasons our friendship was so strong. Her being an absolutely bomb-ass chef didn’t hurt either.
“I know, but I’ll still have to convince him.”
There went that little mischievous grin again. “And just how do you plan to do that?”
I laughed and shook my head. “Not going there. Suffice it to say, I’ll figure something out.”
If anything, that smile brightened before her face grew more serious. “Okay, but be real with me. How’re you holding up? With Grandma? Your uncle? Your ex who’s not an ex?”
In the weeks that’d passed since Grandma had given me her news, since I’d found Malik again, since we’d agreed to this plan? No one had asked how I was, and it took me a moment to catalog my feelings.
“Some are pretty simple,” I said. “I’m furious with Robert, angry that he’s so selfish and so entitled that he thinks Grandma is supposed to support him from beyond the grave. That pisses me off.” I leaned forward and blew out a breath. “With Grandma, I’m...” I shook my head and huffed. “Both impressed and terrified.”
“Give me more.”
“Impressed that she’s made the decision, that she’s decided how she wants to live out her days, that she accepts the inevitable outcome. Terrified because I don’t know what to do in a world without her.”
“Oh, DeShawn.” Maribel reached across the table and squeezed my hand, and I used the other one to swipe away the tears that had started to fall unbidden. “And Malik? Your husband?”
God, that word. It was the first time I’d heard it from someone else in reference to Malik, as opposed to me whispering to myself. I straightened, gave her hand another squeeze, then pulled mine away. “Maribel, he’s so beautiful. So pretty and quiet and comforting. And...”
I paused, then laughed and shrugged. “He’s everything I forgot I missed. The minute I saw him, I thought about all those late nights, when I’d come home dead on my feet. He was studying for his CPA exam, and he’d put his book down and drag me to bed and massage my back and my arms and my hands and my feet until I passed out. He’d wash the clothes two, sometimes three times to get the smell out, and have everything ready for the next day.”
Maribel smiled. “It sounds like he really took care of you.”
“He did.” At the time, I hadn’t appreciated it for what it was. He loved me through actions, and I was more a words type of man. I hadn’t thought about it until now, how deeply we’d cared for each other in our own ways.
“What do you want?” Maribel’s soft words drew me out of my reverie. “When this is all said and done, what do you want?”
“Him.” The words held no hesitation. “I want him, back in my arms. Back in my bed. Back in my life.”
Maribel smiled, then sat back and crossed her arms. “That’s what I hoped you’d say. So, what are we going to do?”
The more I looked at the numbers, the worse they got. Our lunchtime traffic had slowed to—what’s worse than a trickle? A complete standstill? And with James’s stubborn refusal to either expand access for lunch or close altogether, we were compounding an already shit situation.
Hell, maybe I needed to think about taking over as CEO, even though that would bring a shitstorm on the family. James wasn’t giving up that position without a fight, but he damn sure didn’t seem to know what to do with it.
My phone buzzed, and I swiped it off the desk, grateful for the interruption.
DeShawn: Hey, I’m heading up your way now. Meet you at the house?
Dear god, this was happening. DeShawn, and his dog, were on their way to move in with me. Not permanently, I reminded myself, ignoring the way my heart had no intention of listening. This was not permanent. This was a temporary situation until we got this case resolved, then DeShawn and I were going our separate ways.
Me: I’m stuck at the office for a bit. Swing by here? You can come through the back.
DeShawn: Sounds good.
I swallowed in air, then blew it out loud enough that I startled my damn self. DeShawn was on his way here. I checked my watch, determined to get some work done before he arrived. Closing my eyes, I shook myself, gave myself a stern talking to, then went to work. I inputted all the sales figures, reviewed all the contracts. I’d already contacted the vendors and renegotiated as many prices as I could. We were as low as we could go and still make things profitable for them, so we had to find another way.
I don’t know how long I sat there before I heard a soft knock on the door.
“Come in.”
DeShawn stepped through, Corey hot on his heels. Corey came to me immediately, and I laughed as I bent over to rub him.
“Sorry, but he gets hot in the car fast, even with the windows down and the air on, and I didn’t know how long you’d be.”
I shook my head. “No, this is perfect.”
“He misses Bruno,” DeShawn said, sitting in the overstuffed chair. Yes, he’d bought the chair as a gag gift, but he looked so comfortable in it, I couldn’t help but remember the shenanigans we’d gotten up to in it. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to pay attention. DeShawn had the smallest grin on his face as he continued. “The minute I said you want to go see Bruno again, Corey nearly ran me over to get out the house.”
That shouldn’t have been as cute as it was, but there was no denying that it was adorable.
I gave Corey a last scratch before I sat back. “Bruno’s missed you, too, boy.”
He barked, those happy, butt-wiggling barks, then padded over to plop himself in front of DeShawn.
“So,” he began, and I nodded.
“So.”
We stared at each other for a moment before he started laughing. “Are you as nervous about this as I am?”
I wanted to ask what he could possibly have to be nervous about, but my door slammed open and a furious James stood in the doorway. “You know damn good and well pets aren’t allowed,” he started, then noticed who was sitting in front of him, and nearly tripped over himself. “Chef DeShawn. I didn’t know it was you. I’m so sorry. Is this your dog?”
Oh, so now James was a dog lover? He hated Bruno. Now, Bruno was a big boy, so I wasn’t going to beat him up for that, but still.
DeShawn raised a brow at me before returning his attention to James. “Sorry about that. This is Corey, and I didn’t want to leave him in the car. Wasn’t sure how long we’d be.”
If James nodded any harder, his head would crack the fuck off. “Totally understand. Totally.” He looked back and forth between us. “So, what are you doing here?”
DeShawn glanced at me, then smiled, before returning his attention to James. “We had a few things to talk about.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You might see a bit more of me over the next couple of weeks. I hope that’s okay.”
James’s face lit up like a hot air balloon on fire. “That would be amazing. You know, I’d been telling Malik that we really needed to get a big presence here to help boost business. And you are exactly that. If you could come, do some events, do some shows—”
“James.”
The scowl on his face was not to be fucked with. “What, Malik? You want to protect this guy, wax poetic about how you loved him and all that, but he just said he’s going to be here for a while. Why shouldn’t I ask him to help when you won’t, and all you can come up with are those silly lunch ideas?”
Dear god. DeShawn’s brow rose clear to his hairline, and would have kept going if it could. But James wasn’t done. “You said we couldn’t ask him, but he’s here, and he said he’d be around for a while, so why not?”
“Did it ever occur to you that he’s here for me, not you? That he’s here because we have business to take care of, not to save a restaurant that wouldn’t be in such dire straits if the CEO had considered any semblance of renovation and expansion with the times?”
James squared his shoulders, and DeShawn chuckled. A soft, light one, just enough to remind James he was there.
“I have no problem doing a few appearances here at the restaurant,” DeShawn started, and I felt my back stiffen, “but I’d love to hear more about the other suggestions that have been put on the table.” And there it went, loosening again.
James nodded, then looked around the office, like a spare seat would miraculously appear. In his haste, he accidentally nudged Corey, who let out a low growl.
“Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry,” James said, holding his hands out in front of him and backing away.
DeShawn rubbed Corey, drawing him closer, then smiled. “Don’t worry. You’re still a stranger. I accidentally bump him all the time.”
James’s laugh was nervous, probably the first time I’d seen that emotion out of him.
“So, tell me about these lunch ideas you’ve been brainstorming.”
I kept quiet, not sure I could handle my suggestions being shot down by DeShawn with the same vigor they were shot down by James. James snorted, then made himself comfortable against my file cabinet, crossing his arms and ankles.
“Malik wants to expand beyond the sit-down,” James said, and boy, the derision in his voice was strong. “He wants to have delivery, takeout or carryout or whatever. Things that fly in the face of what Franklin’s has always been, which is a restaurant for people to sit down, relax, and take their time with their meal.”
DeShawn nodded slowly. “I understand the sentiment. I like my patrons to come, sit, enjoy themselves, too. Criteria is meant to be a full experience as well.”
If James’s smile could get any more smug, I didn’t know how.
Then DeShawn shrugged. “But the ability to sit down, make time, enjoy themselves? That assumes they have that time. For some people, what they have is thirty minutes. And I’d assume you’d want them to be able to take that full thirty minutes being able to sit down and enjoy themselves, right?”
“Of course.” James managed to look almost offended, but schooled his response again when he realized who he was talking to.
“Of course,” DeShawn repeated. “But those thirty minutes? That doesn’t have to be here, does it? Why can’t they spend those thirty minutes at their office? Why can’t they order the food fifteen minutes before their lunch break starts, know that someone will drop it off directly to them, and then use what little time they have really being able to sit and savor and enjoy their meal?”
The way James stared at him, you’d have thought DeShawn was speaking in Yoruba. “So, you think it’s a good idea?”
“Honestly? I think it’s an excellent one. This is a business district. People here are on the go, go, go, and they don’t have time for sit-down meals. They want good food, they want it fast, and then they want to get back to their jobs. I’m assuming the restaurants around here that are doing the best understand that.”
“So, what you’re saying is, I should do what Malik says?” And James was right back to sounding like the petulant little child, chef god to the stars be damned.
DeShawn smiled, that practiced one that had made him a household name. The one he’d never turned on me. “I think I would be willing to do more than one appearance here. But only if you implement at least one of Malik’s suggestions. I’ll provide the boost, you do the rest of the legwork, and we’ll give it a month to see how it goes. If it does well, I’ll do another appearance, and you try another idea. If that sounds good, I’ll get my agent on it.”
James looked like he’d sucked on the worst lemon, but he was getting what he wanted. He just hated that I was, too. He stuck his hand out. “It’s a deal.”
DeShawn smiled, shook, then turned to me. “Is it time?”
To go home. To start playing pretend.
For a second I faltered, then I sucked in a breath, and all my courage, and smiled. “Yeah. It’s time.”