Episode 35: Toasty Delight
Sugar glanced over at Miles as he filled the bathroom doorway, holding a serving tray. He stood there, shirtless, wearing only dark boxer briefs. He stepped inside and placed the tray across the width of the bathtub. Her eyes dropped to the tray, where a flute of champagne, garnished with a plump strawberry, sat beside a plate of two French toasts drizzled in whipped cream and topped with fresh raspberries and blackberries.
A plate of chocolate-covered strawberries completed the spread.
She didn’t quite know how to feel about him pampering her like this.
“Miles,” she began, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “You didn’t have to do any of this.”
“I give, you take,” he reminded her, bending down to kiss her forehead. “Take what I give you.”
He plucked a chocolate-covered strawberry from the plate and brought it to her lips. “Enjoy it, darlin’.”
Sugar gazed up at him, parting her lips to accept the offering. She bit into the ripe strawberry, a soft moan escaping her as the flavors burst on her tongue. She took another bite, finishing it. Some of the juice glistened on her lips, and he wiped it away with his thumb before licking it off.
The simple act made her heart race; he made everything look so damn sexy.
Miles backed away from the tub and sat on the closed toilet seat, his eyes never leaving her.
“You’re not going to join me?”
“I already showered while you were asleep,” he admitted with a grin. “Besides, I love watchin’ you.”
Her heart fluttered at his words.
“Sounds boring,” she said, half-joking.
“Trust me, honey, it ain’t,” he replied, his tone serious.
She smiled, cutting her eyes away, enjoying the breakfast he’d made. The French toast tasted like a memory—a blend of childhood comfort and love.
It felt personal like it was a family recipe.
“Last night, I saw a picture of you as a little boy, sitting on a diner counter with a Miles hat,” Sugar said after a while.
“What about it?” he asked.
“An older man in the photo was wearing an apron with your family name on it. Did your family own a restaurant back in Louisiana?”
Miles nodded, his expression darkening slightly. “It’s still there.”
A long silence stretched between them. “My parents.”
Sugar blinked in surprise. He always spoke about how his grandparents raised him, never mentioning his parents. She had assumed they passed away when he was young.
“You said your grandparents raised you.”
“They did,” he affirmed.
Confusion tugged at her, and he continued, “My parents had a list of priorities... that didn’t include me.”
Her gaze dropped, guilt flooding her as she realized how uncomfortable the topic was. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up something painful.”
“It ain’t a sore subject,” he said, his tone calm. “I’ve made peace with my past. They’re the ones who have to live with their mistakes.” He paused, as if debating how much more to share. “My parents were musicians.”
“Country? Rock and roll?”
“Jazz,” he corrected.
She took another bite of a chocolate-covered strawberry, understanding a little more. That explained the jazz club.
“They had a jazz band back in the 70s. My father played the piano, trumpet, and drums. My mother’s passion was singin’. They made their livin’ playin’ bars, juke joints, and restaurants all over the parishes and across the South,” Miles said. “But they didn’t want a kid, so they dropped me off at my father’s parents when I was just a few weeks old. It was the right thing to do. The only other right decision was namin’ me after Miles Davis.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “You’re named after Miles Davis, the trumpet player?”
Miles shook his head, smiling a little. “My mother was in love with Miles Davis’ music growin’ up. If she had a choice, I’m sure she would’ve married him if she could back then.”
She giggled. “I’m pretty sure Miles Davis wouldn’t have married a white woman back then.”
“She might have had a chance. My mother’s Louisiana Creole,” he said.
A pleased look of surprise splashed onto Sugar’s face. “And here I thought you were just a pasty white Cajun boy.”
“You ain’t far off, honey. Creole and German on my mother’s side. My father’s side of the family is Cajun through and through.”
“Do you talk to your mother’s side of the family often?”
“My grandmama’s goin’ on 87 next year. She’s the only grandparent I got left. I call her every Sunday to see how she doin’, and when I take my annual trip back home, my cousins always drag me down to New Orleans to get into some trouble,” Miles said with a slight chuckle, a reminiscing smile tugging at his lips.
Sugar adored the way he looked in that moment.
“What kind of trouble?” In her mind, she pictured a parade of younger women, happy to be his trouble for the night.
He licked his teeth, casting her a wink. “Not the kind me and you get into.”
“That doesn’t answer my question, Miles.” She rolled her eyes, unable to fight back a smile.
“You should come with me next time to find out yourself,” he said, catching her off guard. “Memaw would love you.”
Her heart raced, but she quickly brushed off the excitement by teasing him.
“Memaw, huh? She sounds like a force to be reckoned with.”
“She is. You two would have a lot in common,” he said, grinning.
His words made her skin tingle.
The thought of her going with him to Louisiana struck something deep within her. She couldn’t place the feeling, but she liked that he considered her as a part of his equation. But she drained the champagne flute to distract herself from the offer lingering between them.
Sugar quickly had to remind herself what type of thing this was between them. Meeting his family wasn’t something she should be doing.
They weren’t serious.
They weren’t even friends.
They were...
She was...
She didn’t know what the hell they were.
She didn’t know what he was to her anymore.
