Episode 29: Sweet Victory
Her ex-husband’s wife approached the sinks and turned on the faucet. “Look, Sugar. This whole situation is compli—”
“Don’t,” Sugar cut her off. “I don’t need or want to know. It’s none of my business, and I don’t want it to be mine. Alright?”
Mariah clenched her jaw, eyeing Sugar like she was trying to sniff out ill intent or hidden truth. “Fine with me.”
“Good,” Sugar said, giving a curt nod. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
She walked to the restroom door and opened it but paused, looking over her shoulder. “By the way, Mariah, if I see you disrespect someone again like you did tonight, I will not hesitate to beat your ass down. So, you better watch your mouth.”
With that, Sugar left the young woman alone in the restroom to contemplate her words.
She returned to the same spot Chef had left her, knowing he would find her easily when he was ready. She struck up a good, lengthy conversation with Gizzard about her parents while he served drinks to the thirsty patrons.
“Here comes the man of the hour,” Gizzard announced with a proud grin.
Sugar glanced over her shoulder to see Chef, now fully dressed, making his way toward the bar with his duffel bag. Gizzard offered him a glass bottle of beer.
“On the house from yours truly,” Gizzard said with a wink.
“Appreciate the thought, but I’d rather crack a cold one at home with good company,” Chef said, his eyes locking on Sugar as he spoke. She bit down on her bottom lip, trying her hardest to act unaffected by his words while her mind spun, imagining what ‘good company’ might mean for the night.
Gizzard grinned and winked. “Sounds like a plan. You two enjoy yourselves.”
The older man walked off to tend to more customers. Sugar and Chef went outside, stepping into the thick, humid air. An annoying ring echoed in her ears after being surrounded by the constant roar of the crowd. She crossed her arms over her chest as they walked side by side.
“Congratulations on your victory,” she said, unable to keep the smile off her face. “Color me impressed.”
“I’ve won plenty of matches over the years, but impressin’ you is the victory I’m most proud of,” Chef replied, flashing her a sexy grin before licking his lips.
Sugar giggled, shaking her head. His words made her feel warm and fuzzy inside.
“Thank you for inviting me tonight,” she said. “It was fun.”
“You talkin’ like the night’s over, and it’s time to say goodbye. It’s not,” Chef said. “The night’s far from over, Sugar. You know that, right?”
Her heart raced at his words.
“I know,” she admitted.
“Good, ‘cause I’m gonna take you home,” he replied.
————
The Mustang cruised down a lonely county highway, weaving through the countryside. They were ten minutes from the city limits and thirty from the Docks. Country homes, farms, and thick woods dotted the moonlit landscape. Sugar had always wondered what kind of home a man like Chef returned to each night. Though she hadn’t seen his house yet, driving through this peaceful countryside felt like another piece of the puzzle that was him.
It made sense.
He was a Southern country boy, raised that way since the day he was born.
Eventually, Chef slowed the car and turned onto a gravel driveway that led through a small patch of woods. At the end of the driveway sat a beautiful one-story ranch house on an impressive stretch of land that seemed to go on for acres.
“You live here alone?” she asked, blinking in awe.
The car came to a stop in front of the house. “Mostly, but not entirely. I get visits from old friends and family a lot. They’re usually just passin’ through, stayin’ a day or two.”
“Sounds like a revolving door,” Sugar said.
“It can be,” he admitted. “But I don’t mind. It’s nice not walkin’ into an empty home all the time.”
Sugar bit her bottom lip before she said, “Well, your home won’t be empty tonight.”
His gray eyes locked onto hers. “You’re right. It won’t.”
————
About seven minutes later, Sugar was sitting on a comfortable couch in Chef’s living room while he was in the kitchen, fixing them some drinks. He returned to the room with a glass of white dessert wine, offering it to her.
“Thanks,” she said with a weak smile as she accepted it.
She cocked her head at him when she noticed he didn’t have a drink for himself. “Nothing for you?”
“I’m gonna go take a quick shower,” he replied with a slight grin.
Can I come too?
She took everything in her not to say those four little words.
“In the meanwhile, make yourself at home,” he encouraged.
Sugar nodded. “Thanks.”
When he left the room, she quickly gulped down her wine and shot up from the couch to pour herself another glass. Once her glass was refilled, she wandered through the front of the house, drinking in the details of Chef’s life. Pictures adorned the walls.
One photo caught her attention as she stood in the hallway outside the kitchen. It showed a cheerful, curly-haired young boy sitting on a diner counter, his hands raised in the air. A chef’s hat was cocked on his head, and behind the counter, an older man—likely his grandfather—grinned proudly. The man wore a crisp white apron with a bold black cursive logo that read Thibodeau’s.
The realization hit her. The child in the photo was Chef. He couldn’t have been more than four or five years old.
So, being a restaurant owner was in his blood.
