Violet: Please tell me you’ve got your new recipes locked in and you’re back on track in the kitchen? Also, the Food & Wine photoshoot is happening next Tuesday. They’ll be at the house at 6 a.m. to set up.
Me: Finalizing those recipes tonight. Kai planned a whole thing for me. It’s really sweet. And Tuesday doesn’t work.
Kai has a road game.
Violet: Can’t you stay back from one? I’m sure he can handle one trip on his own. This is important.
Me: No, I can’t miss it. How’s that following Friday?
Violet: I’ll check with the shoot coordinator. Chef Maven asked me what day you’re planning to be in California. Can I confirm that it’s the 1st? You’ll be starting your drive from Chicago on Sunday the 29th, correct?
Me: Right. In two weeks.
Violet: Thank God. The food world is missing you, Miller. I have an inbox full of emails from food bloggers wanting to interview you about your little summer hiatus, not to mention I’ve already added another year of consulting gigs onto your schedule in the past couple of weeks!
Me: Great. Can’t wait.
Violet: Your sarcasm is loud and clear, but you’re blowing up right now, Chef. This is exciting. It’s only the start of it all for you. See you in two weeks!
“That’s the one,” Isaiah declares, pointing to the final plate I put in front of him.
He’s deemed every single one of my desserts as “the one” tonight.
Cody moans around a mouthful, Travis’s eyes go wide, and my dad is simply wearing a proud smile as he has all night. I’ve found myself looking for his approval first before checking in with everyone else.
“What’s that one?” Isaiah takes another mouthful before going in for his third bite, but Kai knocks his spoon out of the way to fill his own because he hasn’t had the chance to try it yet.
I wipe my hands on the towel that’s draped over my shoulder. “That is a lemon curd glazed with strawberry. That slight shock you feel on your tongue is a homemade pop rock, paired with a rosé sorbet. There’s also a bit of Voatsiperifery pepper in there which is a peppercorn that has a bit more herbal and floral notes to it. It’s typically reserved for cooking, but I think it pairs well with the lemon.”
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?”
He doesn’t have to say it, but I know he’s never had anyone there for him at one of these events. I would guess Isaiah had always been too busy with his own season that they couldn’t be there for each other, and yes, this year he’ll have his son, but he’s also going to have me.
“I’m sure your dad would want you there,” Kai adds.
His tone is casual, easy, and detached, just the way I’ve asked him to be, but he shouldn’t be detached when it comes to asking for someone to finally support him.
Hand on his forearm, I trace my fingertips up the thin skin on the inside. “I’ll be there,” I say with conviction. “For you.”
I don’t miss the way his eyes soften before drifting back to the island to check on his teammates and coach, reminding me that they’re here, and maybe wondering why I’m suddenly okay with a bit of PDA.
I lean my head on his bicep, hand wrapped around his arm to hold him while he washes the dishes, forgoing my rules for the moment. “Thank you for tonight.”
He leans his cheek on my hair. “I’d do anything for you, Miller.”
