Episode 15: Bittersweet Deal
The song ended then, and Sugar took it as a sign from the heavens. She abruptly stepped back from him, destroying his chance of kissing her.
A shaky exhale tumbled from her lips before she cleared her throat. “Your one dance is up.”
“So it seems,” he said, his gray eyes shining with subtle amusement at her attempt to resist him and take back some control.
They strolled back to the table, and he pulled out her chair for her to sit. Once seated, she glanced around the room, avoiding his gaze.
“I’m nothin’ like him, Sugar.”
She returned her attention back to him with a confused look. “You’re not like who?”
“The pathetic boy you’re comparin’ me to,” Chef said. “I’m nothin’ like him, Sugar.”
She leaned in slightly, frowning.
“You might not be like him now, but maybe you will be someday. My ex-husband, Lance, was a totally different person when I met and married him. He wanted a better life for us—for me. I felt so blessed to have him in my life. I worked my ass off to help him—to help us. Then, after years of marriage,” Sugar snapped her fingers, “he was different. Colder. Crueler. I couldn’t do anything right. Everything was always my fault. Suddenly, my existence was a burden to him.”
Hot tears welled up in her eyes as she became overwhelmed with terrible feelings from her past, but she refused to let them spill. “I loved that man with everything I had, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted children. He wanted a legacy. I tried to give him that four goddamn times, but it always ended the same way: me coming home from the hospital empty-handed, with my heart wrenched out and an empty nursery that would never be used. You could never understand that kind of loss. That kind of mourning.”
“My daughter committed suicide five years ago,” he said solemnly.
A lightning bolt of shock coursed through her, leaving her jaw hanging open at his brutal confession. She struggled to find words.
Chef continued, gently tilting his liquor in its cup. “Buryin’ her was the most excruciatin’ thing I ever had to experience. My ex-wife put aside her hate for me long enough to convince me to put down the loaded gun I had against my head after the funeral. I wanted to kill myself, so I could be buried next to my daughter. I convinced myself that was the only way I’d find peace.”
He brought the glass to his lips, draining its content. “So, yes, Sugar. I know exactly what that kind of loss—that kind of mournin’—is like.”
Once again, Sugar had misjudged him. She assumed he was one thing, and he ended up being something else entirely. Regret settled heavily in the pit of her stomach. He had lost a child he had raised and built his life around.
He smoothly cut her off when she finally gathered the courage to apologize.
“Don’t apologize,” he said. “Just know our scars aren’t very different, and I want to see every single one of yours. I want you to see every single one of mine. The question is, will you let me in close enough for that kind of show-and-tell?”
Sugar cast her eyes downward. “I don’t think I can show you all of them. I can barely look at them myself.”
“Then just show me a peek of what you’ve got. I’m a low-maintenance man, honey,” he said. “I don’t ask for much. I can survive off whatever crumbs you throw at me.”
His words made her weak. They made her want to peel off every inch of clothing so he could see her scars—physical, mental, emotional.
Why was he so adamant about pursuing her?
Sugar frowned, squinting at him, confused. “I just don’t understand why you want me. I’ve judged you. I’ve insulted you. I disrespected you in your own restaurant. I’ve rejected your interest. So, why are you still here? Why is this happening right now?”
“You showed a battered, bloodied man kindness. You helped him up when he was down. You took care of him when you shouldn’t have. You put his needs before your own so instinctively that he realized that’s how you are. You’re a giver. You give, give, give, but you never take,” he replied. “No one has ever put your needs before their own like they should, but if you let me in, Sugar, I’ll always put you first. I’ll give, and you’ll take until your heart’s content.”
His gaze was so intense that she had to turn her attention to the live band to calm herself. Her body was afire, throbbing with want—with need.
Her nerves, wired and jittery.
“I’m not some youngster who likes playin’ games. I’ve been a bachelor for eight years, searchin’ for the right woman to devote myself to,” he continued, “and my search was over the moment we crossed paths again today, Sugar Magnolia.”
Her eyelids fluttered closed as his words washed over her. Now, she was hot, bothered, and lightheaded. She needed to get out—now.
“I need some fresh air,” she blurted as she quickly rose from her chair, shrugged on her clutch’s chain strap, and hurried off as fast as she could. She burst through the club’s entrance doors, her high heels clicking rapidly against the ground as she raced down the jasmine-walled pathway that led to the bouncers guarding the path’s mouth.
Sugar rushed across the parking lot to her car, desperately fishing her keys from her clutch. She unlocked the car and flung open the driver’s side door, plopping down onto the seat with her feet still planted on the parking lot’s dark asphalt. She hunched forward and took a deep breath, trying to get ahold of her senses.
“You alright, darlin'?”
Sugar snapped her attention toward Chef’s voice and found him standing by her car’s back bumper.
“No,” she admitted truthfully. “This is a little too much for me.”
He rubbed the back of his neck for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I can be a handful sometimes.”
Sugar scoffed. “A handful? That’s the understatement of the century. What sane woman could possibly handle you, Chef?”
“How do you want to handle me, Sugar?”
“That’s a loaded question that could bring a lot of trouble.” She stepped out of her car, crossing her arms over her chest.
He grinned sexily. “Accordin’ to you, I am trouble. I think I can handle what you want to say. So, indulge me.”
Sugar raked her teeth across her bottom lip, considering him for what felt like an eternity.
“I can’t handle you like you want me to. I can’t commit myself to a serious romantic relationship. Maybe, I want to have fun in every possible way. Maybe, I want to experience new things. Maybe, I want to live an adventurous life. I have nineteen years of catching up to do. I don’t have time for heavy emotions and romantic notions. I want no-strings-attached fun,” she said. “Yes, that’s all I want. So, you say you’re a giver, but can you give me that, Chef? If you can’t, then walk away. I won’t fault you.”
She pointed at the world behind him.
Run away while you can, she pleaded silently.
“I ain’t walkin’ away,” he said as he closed the distance between them, running his fingers through his hair.
Sugar arched an eyebrow, standing her ground and tilting her head up at him as he stopped barely an inch before her. “So, you agree to my conditions, then?”
She could see the internal struggle in the gray depths of his eyes. She knew this wasn’t what he had expected—what he had wanted.
But this was all she could give.
“I’ll agree with one condition of my own,” Chef replied as he crooked a finger and caressed her cheek. Her eyelids slid shut, and she shuddered at his touch, goosebumps prickling her skin.
She breathed, “You’re in no position to—”
He interjected smoothly, “There will be no other man in your life except me. Do you understand?”
Chef was the only man she had let get this close in a very long time.
Somehow, he worked his way under her skin and made a cozy home there. She decided it was futile to protest. He had stubbornly rooted himself into her life, so he deserved to be the only one.
At least until everything went wrong.
“Yes,” she said.
