The boys all stop their chewing, looking at me as if I’ve grown a second head. When I talk about a dessert with colleagues, I’m understood, but when I explain to others outside of the industry, it’s as if I’m speaking another language to them.
“I have no idea what that means,” Isaiah says. “But it’s amazing and you should do this for the magazine.”
“I think the flavor profile is a bit too summery for the fall release of the article, but I saw the strawberries and the lemon and thought, what the heck. I’ll have some fun and experiment.”
I’ve experimented all right. Making five new desserts for the boys to try. The dark chocolate cylinder filled with a smoked hazelnut praline cream that I thought of when we were at the bakery in Boston was an instant success, and I even impressed myself when I created a mozzarella cheesecake topped with a blackberry compote.
I didn’t burn a single thing, didn’t struggle with any part of it. I was happy and excited to feed the people I’ve come to care about more than I knew I was capable of. So much relief courses through me knowing I can still succeed in what I’m best at.
“Dad, what do you think?”
The one person I want to impress takes another bite of the lemon curd. “Phenomenal. As always.”
I can feel my smile beaming under the lights in the kitchen, seeing him so proud of me. This is why I do what I do, to make sure he knows I’m doing something with my life that’s made it worth him giving up his own.
I feel better today, like I’m on the right track to getting back to where I was before all the pressure hit, and I know a huge reason for that is Kai.
The fact that he would organize this for me—no one has ever done something so thoughtful. He played sous chef all night, getting me ingredients when needed and cleaning up after I was done using a bowl or spatula. He wore the proudest grin on his face the entire time and I’ve never loved being in the kitchen more than I did with him here next to me. The only thing that would’ve made it better was for Max to be sitting on the counter too, but it’s long past his bedtime.
I was clean tonight, organized too. Nothing like I am when I bake with Max. I was more of the well-known pastry chef who helps kitchens earn Michelin stars, though I still had my tattoos showing, my septum ring in, and felt more like myself in the kitchen than I ever have before.
But the scary revelation is, I truly don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to work without Kai’s encouraging words quietly spoken in my ear or his hand resting on my lower back to check if I need anything.
Tonight was perfect. He was perfect because he always is.
And in two weeks, I won’t have him next to me any longer.
I meet him at the sink where he’s washing dishes, wanting to be wherever he is. I lean back on the counter, facing him.
“Great job, Mills,” he says, a proud smile quirking his lips.
“Thank you. And thank you for tonight. This was . . . just what I needed.”
“Feeling better?”
I nod, wanting to lean up on my toes and break my own rules, to press my mouth to his and thank him. He’s so handsome, so kind. Cares so much for his people.
I want to hide myself in his home forever just so I can call myself one of those people.
Whoa . . . no, I don’t.
“You’re pretty like this,” he says, continuing to wash the dishes I used. “Apron tied around your waist. Hair thrown on top of your head. Creative brain of yours at work. I love getting to see the polished pastry chef not so polished under her chef’s coat.”
“Well, lucky you, maybe tonight you’ll get to see what’s under the apron too.”
“Maybe?” His eyes lighten with excitement. “We’re past playing hard to get, don’t you think?”
I lean into him. “You and me, Malakai, will never be done playing hard to get.”
Bending down, he presses a chaste kiss to the top of my hair, chuckling as he does.
“Violet texted with a date for the photoshoot. Does the Friday before I leave work to have the shoot here?”
“You can do it whenever, Mills. Even if I have to go on a road trip, I’ll figure out childcare for Max.”
“You have a home game that night,” I tell him. “I checked your schedule before I offered that date. There’s something called ‘Family Day’ on the team calendar the following day. I’m not sure what that is.”
Family Day also lands on my birthday, but Kai doesn’t know that.
He swipes the sponge on the inside of a mixing bowl, not meeting my eye. “It’s an event that team management puts on for all the families to come together on the field. Every team I’ve played for has hosted one. There will be food and drinks, that kind of thing. It’s during the series against Atlanta.” He finally looks my way. “Do you think you’ll go to it?”