Episode 22: Sweet Talk
Sugar’s first day back at work was a Saturday. She had been eager to return to the restaurant but soon realized that getting back into her old routine wasn’t easy. After three days at home doing nothing but being miserable, eating leftover chicken noodle soup, and watching TV in bed, it felt foreign to be back in charge.
The day dragged on, grueling and excruciatingly long. Three employees—two kitchen staff and one waiter—had called out sick with the same cold she’d just gotten over.
Sugar alternated between helping in the kitchen and waiting tables all day.
By seven o’clock, exhaustion weighed heavily on her. Mallory, who had arrived at the restaurant not long before, surprisingly offered to take over so she could go home and rest. She hesitated but finally accepted his offer. However, as she headed out the door, she discovered why her baby brother had been so eager to take over the evening shift.
Seven beautiful, dark-skinned women sauntered into the lobby and informed the evening hosts they were Mallory’s friends, with a special table reserved just for them.
Too tired to confront him, Sugar made a mental note to chew him out tomorrow.
After nearly an hour of suffering through rush-hour traffic, she finally arrived home a little after eight o’clock.
Sugar kicked off her high heels and trudged into the kitchen, retrieving a bottle of Moscato from the fridge. She uncorked it with a corkscrew and debated whether to grab a wine glass or drink straight from the bottle.
Feeling lazy, she chose the latter.
She went to the bedroom and took long sips of the crisp, bubbly dessert wine. After setting the bottle on her nightstand, she stripped down to her bare skin.
Rummaging through her closet, she found an extra-large, royal purple graphic t-shirt with a white wolf design. She grabbed a pair of sherbet-orange cotton panties from her dresser and slipped them on. Her hair, which she had tamed and styled back into a bun before returning to work, was wrapped in a purple and lime green silk scarf to keep it fresh.
Finally, she flopped onto the bed, reaching for the wine bottle and taking another gulp. Her phone chimed, vibrating inside her purse. She retrieved it, half-expecting Mallory to tell her the restaurant had caught on fire.
Answer It: Back to working hard, I see. Saw your car in the parking lot when I drove by earlier.
Sugar: You were just driving by? I’m impressed you didn’t come in to finally check out the competition’s menu.
Answer It: Oh, I was tempted, but what I want isn’t on the menu.
Sugar: And what do you want that’s not on the menu?
Answer It: Every single inch of you.
Sugar had been in mid-sip of wine when she saw the text, nearly choking on it. She coughed, clearing her throat as heat surged through her body—this time with no fever to blame.
Trying to change the subject, she typed a response.
Sugar: What are you up to tonight?
Answer It: Home. Bed. Comfortable.
A smile tugged at her lips. Her head grew light from the wine, and her willpower started to loosen.
Sugar: So, what kind of PJs do men like you wear to bed? LOL...
A few moments passed before her phone vibrated with another message.
Her eyes widened as she stared at a photo. It was a wide, tilted shot of Chef’s tattooed body, sprawled across his bed. He was clearly naked, though a navy bedsheet rested dangerously low on his hips, revealing a delicious treasure trail that begged to be kissed. He grinned up at the camera, one arm tucked behind his head.
The picture screamed INTIVATION in all caps, and she ached to take him up on it.
Answer It: Take a guess, honey.
Sugar bit down on her lip as she stared at the image, taking another deep gulp from the wine bottle. After a moment, she typed:
Sugar: Nice...
“Dot, dot, dot,” she narrated the ellipses aloud, her thumb hovering over the SEND button. She gathered her nerve and sent it off into the universe.
Suddenly, her phone vibrated again, this time with an incoming call.
It was him.
“Yes?” She was surprised at how calm her voice sounded.
“Just nice, huh?”
She smiled, holding back a giggle. “There you go, fishing for compliments again.”
“You’ve said your piece about me. Now, I want to see how nice you look tonight,” Chef said.
“Sorry to disappoint, but I look absolutely terrible,” she replied, trying to discourage him from asking what she knew was coming next.
“I think I’ll be the judge of that,” he challenged. “Go on and send me a pic, sweetheart.”
Sugar scoffed. “You’re bossy tonight.”
“Please, send me a pic, Sugar Hartwell,” he corrected in a husky tone that washed over her like hot water. She closed her eyes and let it seep in.
She loved how her maiden name rolled off his tongue.
“Fine.” She gave in and hung up the phone.
Settling herself on the bed, Sugar angled her phone above her. A bashful woman biting her bottom lip filled the screen. She snapped the picture and stared at it, scrutinizing every single flaw.
After a long moment, she sighed and hit the SEND button defeatedly. Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited for Chef’s response—for his reaction.
For his rejection.
Five minutes later, her phone rang again.
“Wow, that took a while,” Sugar teased as she answered. “Did you have to cleanse your eyeballs after witnessing such a horror?”
“An old bastard has to take his time appreciatin’ beauty.”
She laughed, unsure about the compliment. Though Chef often showered her with them, sometimes they felt more like lies. After years of being told she was unattractive in her marriage, it was hard to accept his words were all truth or only falsehoods.
“You look real comfortable over there. I’m more than tempted to climb out of my bed and into yours,” Chef said.
“In your birthday suit?” she teased.
“Mm,” he hummed approvingly, then chuckled: “If that’s what you want.”
“That would be... interesting,” she replied.
“Just interestin’, huh?”
Sugar rolled her eyes, a smile spreading across her lips. “Yes, just interesting, Miles Thibodeau.”
“Well, since we’re on the topic of interestin’ things, would you be interested in accompanyin’ me to a match next Friday?”
She bit her lip, feeling a strange ripple of anticipation at the thought of watching him dominate in the ring.
“So, you want me to watch you get beat up and lose, huh?”
“I’ll get a little banged up, no doubt, but I’m not gonna lose,” he assured her.
She raised an eyebrow at his confidence. “How are you so sure you’ll win? Is it one of those rigged matches you told me about?”
“No, I don’t do scams. I fight fair and square. But this match—I don’t have a choice but to win,” Chef replied, a smile evident in his voice. “How else am I gonna impress you?”
Sugar tossed her head back, letting out a pure burst of laughter. “You’re too much for me.”
“And you’re just enough for me,” he replied, his voice deepening. “So, will you come?”
Her breath caught in her throat.
“Well, I’m not sure,” she trailed off, thinking back to the parade of beauties Mallory was probably wining and dining tonight—likely on her dime.
“I can’t always trust my brother to manage the restaurant.”
“Can you trust him for just one night, darlin’?”
