On Mondays, Sugar came to the restaurant early. Well, she always came there early everyday, but not as early as she did on Mondays. She arrived there no later than eight o’clock regardless of the fact she spent the weekend attempting recover from her thing with Chef and attempting to return to her normal routine of being a restaurant owner with a hefty list of responsibilities. Last night was unusually busy for a Sunday evening and she didn’t get home until nearly four o’clock in the morning. So, she currently operated on barely three hours of sleep, but the caramel latte she always got from a coffee shop along her usual route was an energy booster and a guilty pleasure all rolled into one.

Today was a special Monday for her as she would be conducting interviews. After much nagging from her parents and siblings, she finally—and very reluctantly—decided to hire a manager and an assistant manager. She had posted job ads on various job-hunting websites at the beginning of last week after having a mental breakdown from Mallory’s constant complaints about her workaholic habits.

He reasoned that hiring a management team would make her life easy tenfold and while she stubbornly agreed with him, she also determined her baby brother’s eagerness was due to her no longer giving him any mercy with his tardiness and absences since the restaurant opened.

After too many months of leniency, she now punished him where it mattered most: his bank account. At first, she was apprehensive about docking his pay because she feared he would view her as some sort of micromanaging cold-hearted dictator who was indifferent towards his monetary struggles. However, she had to remind herself that she had spoiled Mallory by letting him get away with too much and she needed to right that wrong. His paycheck now reflected the hours he put in and he wasn’t exactly pleased about that.

Smaller paychecks meant having to put necessities over luxuries and his little tribe of lady friends. If she focused less on managing and more on being an owner then he probably thought he could get away with his little antics and if that was what he truly thought was going to happen then he was sorely mistaken.

She sauntered into the restaurant lobby after locking the door behind her, sipping on her latte. She punched a code into the security alarm system to neutralize it and flicked on the light switches along the way as she ventured through the dining areas, into the kitchen, down the hallway, and toward her office. She had one scheduled interview at nine o’clock, which was perfect because the restaurant didn’t open until noon. The interview was for the head management position.

She kept herself busy with scheduling and ordering bulk ingredients from her handful of trusted vendors. About ten minutes before nine, she made her way into the lobby to wait for the interviewee, but was pleasantly surprised that the woman was already waiting at the door.

The interview went fairly well and Sugar was pleased with the interviewee’s twenty-three years of experience in the restaurant industry with six years included as a manager. Margret, the interviewee, also had a nonsense attitude, which was a perfect weapon for Mallory’s foolery.

At the end of the interview, Sugar led Margret back to the lobby, unlocking the entrance door.

“We’ll keep in touch,” Sugar said with a warm smile as she shook the woman’s hand.

“I look forward to hearing back from you,” Margret returned and then she was out the door.

Sugar gave the woman a wave as she stood in front of the glass door while she locked it once more. The office phone behind the lobby desk rung. She walked over to the desk, rising on the tips of her toes as she reached over the high desk to retrieve the corded phone from the hook.

“Thank you for calling Sugar Mama. How can we make your day sweeter,” Sugar answered kindly.

“Oh, I can think of a few things,” an all-too-familiar voice drawled.

Her heart fluttered twofold in pace.

She could hear from the background noise that Chef was in his car driving somewhere.

“W-w-why are you calling the restaurant,” she asked, hating how she stumbled over her words.

“You’re not answerin’ your cell,” he answered. She heard him turn off the ignition, get out of his car, and shut the car door.

“I was busy conducting an interview for a management position, so my phone was on silent,” she returned.

“And how did that go?”

“It went quite well actually,” she admitted. “She made a very good first impression. I think she’d be a great manager, but I don’t want to get a little too ahead of myself. I have a few more interviews scheduled throughout the rest of this week and next week. I want to give everyone a fair chance before I make my final decision.”

“Did I make a good first impression this weekend?”

“You’re,” she paused, “different. That’s different.”

“Is that so?”

“Mm hm,” she hummed.

“You wanna know what else I am?” The delivery of his words was a little huskier than before and sprinkled with amusement. She curled her finger around the spiraling phone cord as she hung on his every word.

“Mm hm,” she hummed once more, a little too eager for her liking.

“Standing at the door,” he replied.

Sugar blinked in confusion, her eyebrows scrunching.

Suddenly, three knocks against glass filled the air, startling her. She snapped her head towards the entrance door a few feet away, widening her eyes slowly as she absorbed the sight of Chef standing on the other side. He ended the call and slid his phone into a back pocket of his jeans. She placed the phone on the hook and nervously went over to the door, unlocking it.

As she did it, her confused eyes stared right into his unfaltering gaze. She hadn’t seen him since he dropped her off at her doorstep the morning after she shared a bed with him.

She opened the door slowly and gave him a quick once-over. He wore a fitted Marine Corps t-shirt and faded gray jeans. Dark shades were propped up on his head. Why did he always look so damn…gorgeous? The only odd thing about him was a sole pink tulip in a bouquet plastic sleeve that he held in his left hand.

“What’s that?”

“It’s for me,” he said with a slight grin. “I wanted an accessory to bring out the color of my eyes. Do you like?”

She rolled her eyes at him, unable to stop the smile from spreading across her lips. “I love it. You have an impeccable sense of fashion.”

“I’m glad you approve,” he said, clearly entertained by their conversation. “It also doubles nicely as a token of appreciation.”

Sugar blinked. “A token of appreciation?”

“Mm hm,” he hummed deeply, his grin widening a fraction or so. “You see, this tulip reminded me of something you gave me that was pretty and pink.”

Her body warmed up so quickly that she had to swallow back the overwhelming urge to fan her face and neck with her hand.

“Oh,” she said before clearing her throat. “I would say that’s very considerate of you, but I have a gut feeling you’re lying to me about why you brought the flower.”

“More of a half-truth,” he admitted. “I’m a bit old-fashion. My grandmama would redden my rear-end if she found out that I paid a gorgeous woman a visit emptyhanded.”

“Your grandmama taught you well,” Sugar said as she accepted the tulip and briefly brushed her nose against the smooth pink petals, inhaling the sweet fragrance.

“You gonna invite me in?”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you going to cause trouble if I do?”

He held his hands up in good faith. “I promise I’ll be a good boy,” he paused, “to the best of my ability, of course.”

Chef then added, “Plus, how can you say no to a face like this?”

Sugar bit back a smile, attempting a stoic face. “Believe me, it’s easier than you think.”

That was a lie.

That was a big fat damn lie.

She took a step back, widening the entrance door for him to come inside. Chef grinned, nodding his head in gratitude as he made his way into her restaurant—her sanctuary. She closed the door and locked it.

“So, where’s a kitchen counter to sit you on? I’m absolutely famished.”

Sugar froze, heating up at his question. However, she successfully shot him narrowed eyes over her shoulder even though she felt the exact opposite.

“It’s a joke, honey,” he assured with a chuckle. “Well, it’s a half-joke. I’m quite versatile. It doesn’t have to be a counter.”

“Chef, I have a lot to do.”

“Then why did you let me in?”

That was a good damn question that she didn’t have an answer to at first until her brain recalled her visit to Sully’s office.

“Because I need to talk to you about something,” she paused for a moment. “My twin brother has invited you to an annual gettogether of ours. He wants to meet you.”

Chef arched an eyebrow. “Do you want me to go?”

Sugar casted her eyes down and exhaled. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“What you want always matters,” Chef said as he came to her, lifting her chin so she could look him directly in the eye. “Don’t think any different.”

“Then…yes and no.”

The right corner of his lips quirked upward slightly at her indecisiveness. “That doesn’t help our situation much, honey.”

She moved away from him and spoke to him with her back facing him. “Yes, I think I want you to go, but then us being there would imply that we are together as a couple and we’re not.”

“Would it be such a bad thang if your family thought we were,” Chef questioned as he came up behind her, wrapping his strong tattooed arms around her waist. She melted against him almost immediately.

“But we’re not,” she reminded him. “That was the agreement, Chef. We’re not together. We’re just…us. Two separate entities that get together when we have an itch that need scratching. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.”

The words felt odd in her mouth as if she were telling a lie, but she desperately wanted to believe it.

Chef dipped his head to brush his lips against her ear. “Your scratches are still on my back, honey.”

She closed her eyes, savoring his smooth deep southern voice.

“Chef,” she whimpered.

“How about this, darlin’? Let’s go to this little gettogether and play pretend. You pretend to be my mine and I’ll pretend to be yours. It will be a little dirty secret of ours,” Chef proposed in her ear. “What do you say?”

There was something deep inside of her that didn’t want to pretend, but she pushed the urge down. She couldn’t get her heart involved in this. Sully was right. She loved too hard and the more she thought about it, Chef seemed like the kind of man she could fall in love with. The kind of man she wanted to fall in love with, but her heart—her head—wasn’t in the right space.

“That might be a good idea,” she trailed off.

He chuckled sexily. “I’m glad you approve. When is this weekend getaway?”

“We leave June 30 and come back July 2,” she said. “Will you be able to stay away from your restaurant for that long?”

“Gizzard, Ethan, and Donna can manage just fine without me,” he assured. “The real question is will you be able to stay away from your restaurant that long?”

“By then, I should have a manager and assistant manager hired.”

Chef shook his head slowly. “That doesn’t answer my question, honey. This restaurant is like your baby. You can never stay away from it too long even if you had some management staff.”

“I’ll just have to learn to stay away,” she admitted before she broke free from his arms and turned to face him. “Speaking of babies or at least the act of making them, we need to talk about something, Chef.”

He arched an eyebrow, cocking his head. “Yes?”

“We didn’t use,” she paused, trying to find the right word, “protection any of those times we were together.”

He stroked his beard with a thoughtful expression on his face. “You’re right. We didn’t use condoms. I guess we were caught up in the moment.”

“We were being stupid,” she said.

“We were having fun,” he corrected.

“Having fun like that can have consequences,” she countered.

Chef arched an eyebrow once more. “Are you worried gettin’ pregnant?”

The tone of the question suggested that he wasn’t worried or didn’t care about that possibility. It was as if he considered it and accepted it that potential outcome. That itself worried her even though her getting pregnant was highest form of unlikely. 

“First of all, I can’t have children,” she said, “and second, the consequences I was talking about are STDs.” 

She hesitantly asked, “You’re…clean, right?”

“The only thing dirty about me is my mouth, honey,” he assured, a slight grin on his lips. “But I can get tested to ease your mind.”

She eyed him for a moment. “I believe you.”

“But do you trust me?”

Sugar bit her bottom lip for a moment as she considered his question. “I’m…getting there.”

“At least, I know I must be doin’ something right,” he said.

She fought back a smile and cleared her throat. “Are you heading to work?”

“The good thing about being an owner is that you get to pick and choose when you want to come in. I wanted the full Sugar Mama experience,” Chef paused, “aside from the one you gave me this weekend.”

She rolled her eyes sharply, but her cheeks burned at his words. “If you want the full Sugar Mama experience then you’ll have to wait outside until we’re officially open at noon.”

He glanced at his silvery wristwatch. “You don’t want to entertain me until then? I’m easy to please.”

Sugar crossed her arms over her chest. “It depends on your definition of entertain.”

“I’ll let you decide,” he said.

She eyed him for a long moment before she sighed heavily, “Fine. Follow me. I’ll give you a tour.”

She sauntered quickly out of the lobby and into the dining area, he followed closely behind her and caught her hand, bringing her back to his chest. “Slow down, darlin’. We ain’t in a rush.”

He let go of her hand and trailed his calloused fingers up her arm gently. Goosebumps prickled onto her brown skin and she let out a tiny breath at the sensation he was making her feel.

“This is the, um, dining area,” she uttered distractedly.

“I see you have a piano over there,” he said. “Do you play it?”

“Sometimes, when no one is…h-h-here,” she answered, once again distracted as he kissed the side of her neck.

“I want you to play for me,” he whispered against her neck, his breath fanning against sensitive flesh there.

Sugar shook her head slowly and pulled away from him, giving a nervous chuckle. “I haven’t played for someone in a very long time.”

“You know my philosophy on being the first,” he reminded her. “On being your first.”

“I know your philosophy quite well,” she said, “but I’m not sure if I’m ready to play for an audience yet.”

“How about I play for you first then you play for me?”

Her eyebrows shot upward as pleasant surprise rippled through her. “You can play the piano?”

“It was the one thing my father and I could…bond over,” Chef admitted.

It all made sense now. Now, she understood why he was so curious about what instrument she played when they played that questions game at the jazz club. Now, she understood why he stared at her fingers for as long as he did when she admitted to him that she played the piano.

He was a pianist too.

She considered his proposal for a moment before nodding her head. “Fine, I’ll do it, but only if you go first.”

He gestured towards the grand piano sitting on the raised platform in the center of the dining area.

“Ladies first,” he said with a wink.

Sugar batted her eyelashes at him sweetly as she walked towards the piano. “Such a gentleman.”

However, she yelped as she felt his hand smack her ass to hurry her along. “I ain’t that much of a gentleman, honey,” he assured with a wink.

She stepped onto the platform and sat down on the piano bench.

He sat down too.

Immediately, his fingers went to the black and white keys and began to play the beginning notes of Libertango with crisp skill, but there was an improvised flourish to his performance. An odd thrill coursed through her veins at watching him play at the flawless look of ‘getting lost in the moment’ that etched across his handsome bearded face. Wanting to be apart of it, Sugar placed her fingers on her own set of keys and played along side him, relishing in the challenge of keeping up with his improvisation of the composition piece.

All her life, she did everything the proper way, but she did it with a passion. She never improvised a composition in her life, but Chef was making her do things she never wanted to do before. She bit her bottom lip hard and closed her eyes, allowing their melting quick-paced harmonies to consume her and remind her how much she loved the piano. The euphoria of it all was utter perfection coursing through her bloodstream. When it was over, her heart throbbed violently in her chest. She peeled her eyelids open and gazed over to Chef, which looked at her right back boldly as he always did.

Quickly, she cleared her throat and fixed her eyes on a patch of bricked wall elsewhere. “Your father taught you well.”

“He was a stringent teacher,” Chef replied as he took ahold of her chin and directed her attention back to his brilliant gray eyes.

Chef leaned in, the tips of their noses brushing against each other. “You’re bad for my heart, Sugar,” he breathed. “If I gave it to you, you’d break it, wouldn’t you?”

Her eyelids slid shut and bit a corner of her bottom lip for a moment.

“Probably,” she whispered breathlessly—helplessly.

He growled as he swooped in to kiss her hungrily. She cradled his bearded face with her hands, submitting to his dominance. He ripped his lips away and kept them busy by trailing his lips along her cheek and down the column of her throat, licking and nibbling along the way. Sugar squeezed her eyes shut, relishing in the pampering attention. She ran her fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair as his lips landed back on hers and his tongue slid back inside the home of her mouth. After the kiss ended, she looked at him completely dazed.

However, she gathered the courage to snap out of it—as best she could—and she stood up abruptly and stepped off the platform. She cleared her throat, smoothing her hands over her knee-length turquoise sheath dress nervously. “Let’s resume the tour.”

She showed him the kitchen facilities, the wine cellar, her office, and she even showed him the spacious empty banquet room upstairs.

“We have an engaged couple that has booked this room for a wedding ceremony in December. They will do the ceremony up here and then they will have a reception downstairs. We have the wedding cake and desserts covered, but we’re working hand-in-hand with their caterer,” Sugar said, her voice echoing throughout the banquet hall. “It will be Sugar Mama’s first wedding and if all goes well, Sugar Mama will not only be a premier restaurant for desserts but a premier venue for weddings.”

She swirled on her heels to face him. “So, from one business owner to another, what’s your honest opinion?”

Chef glanced around the room quite impressed. “It’s a sound business strategy to penetrate other lucrative industries like the wedding industry. You could generate enough revenue to open up another location and expand your empire.”

As he spoke, his voice echoed off the walls.

Sugar giggled, shaking her head. “Oh, no. This place is my sanctuary. I don’t want to go anywhere else.”

“There’s nothing wrong with thinkin’ big, honey,” Chef assured.

“And there’s nothing wrong with staying small. Size isn’t everything, Mister Thibodeau,” she said teasingly as she approached him, tapping a finger against his chest.

Chef arched an eyebrow, his signature grin spreading across his lips. “Depends on the situation.”

Sugar rolled her eyes and fought a smile. “It’s time for me to open up the restaurant.”

“Shame. The fun was just getting started,” he said as he watched her move past him and back to the door leading to the stairwell. They made their way back downstairs and found themselves back into dining area through metal door. At the entrance doors, some of her staff were waiting for her.

“Find a seat anywhere you’d like and I’ll have someone get you a menu,” she told him as she sashayed towards the lobby to unlock the doors. She was greeted with a chorus of good mornings.

“Victoria, there is a special guest sitting in your section. Make sure he gets top-tier treatment,” Sugar told a beautiful waitress with black-and-green box braids as the woman entered the restaurant. Victoria grinned at Sugar and gave her a two-finger salute.

“I’ll treat him like royalty,” the waitress assured.

Soon, the lunch crowd trickled its way inside and daily operations of Sugar Mama was in full swing. She slipped into her manager shoes, beelining between the kitchen, her office, and the dining area. Occasionally, when she was in the dining area gauging customer satisfaction, she caught sight of Chef indulging one of her desserts and drinking cocktails from the bar. Victoria kept her word in treating him like royalty and some of the other waitresses wandered out of their sections to ask if he needed anything. As she stood behind the server’s station, she heard girly gossip about how hot Victoria’s customer was.

The gossip made Sugar roll her eyes, but it amused her greatly.

Darren, one of her receptionist, came into the server’s station looking for her. “Erm, Ms. Wallace?”

“Is something wrong, Darren?”

“There is a party of six that wants to be seated,” Darren answered nervously.

Sugar arched an eyebrow at her receptionist’s nervousness before briefly glancing around the dining area to see a few seating options available for a party of that size, but the best suited one was directly by Chef’s table. “We have plenty of room for that. You can seat them.”

“There’s a bit of a problem,” Darren returned. “Your, um, ex-husband is with that party.”

Sugar’s eyes widened at Darren’s words. She closed her eyes and shook her head in disbelief, letting out a nervous laugh.

“I’m sorry. What did you just say?”

“Your ex-husband is here,” Darren repeated.

“I see,” Sugar said, clearing her throat. “Thank you, Darren.”

Sugar sauntered to the lobby with her heart beating violently in her chest.

This was not good.

This was not good at all.

Lance and Chef—her past and present—in her restaurant at the very same time had to be some cruel joke.

“There she is,” Albert Wolford, her ex-husband’s superior, replied chipperly and widened his arms for a hug. A false look of pleasant surprise eased across Sugar’s face as she walked into her restaurant’s lobby and saw her ex-husband, his boss, and four unfamiliar businessmen.

“Albert, it’s good to see you,” she said as happily as she could as she walked straight into the older man’s arms. As she hugged the man, she shot Lance a deadly glance in which he smirked at her.

The hug broke apart and she plastered a fake smile back onto her lips.

“Time has treated you well,” Albert complimented with a wink.

“Divorce has treated me well,” she corrected him jokingly that caused him and the other four businessmen to erupt into a fit of hearty laughter. Lance let out a forced laugh a few seconds too late. A laugh she knew all too well and she relished in the sound of it.

He didn’t like her little jab and she hoped it stung.

“Lance has been nagging me for months to pay Sugar Mama a visit. He says the desserts are the best in town,” Albert said.

Sugar smiled sweetly at her ex-husband and placed a hand on her chest as if flattered. “That’s so sweet, Lance. No pun intended, of course.”

That earned her another chorus of laughter.

“Well, gentlemen, if you follow me, I’ll get you seated and you’ll be well taken care of by my wonderful staff.”

She swirled on her heels and marched into the dining area with the small army of men in tow. Immediately, she remembered that the only spot suitable for six was a table directly to the left of Chef. She gestured to the table.

“Victoria,” Sugar said to the waitress as she was about to walk away from Chef’s table.

Victoria froze and looked to Sugar. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Please, get six menus for these gentlemen,” she ordered politely.

“Absolutely,” Victoria replied before she went off to complete the task.

Sugar turned her attention back to the table of businessmen. “Victoria will take great care of you.”

“Won’t you sit down and join us, Sugar? Catch up on old times,” Albert requested. “I need to entertain our special guests with a few good stories.”

Sugar wagged her finger at the sixty-something-year-old white man. “I’m not very good at working and playing. The only one who is an expert at this is Lance.”

“Ho, ho, ho! That’s a good one,” Albert laughed heartily, slapping Lance hard on the back. “How could you let a woman like her get away, son?”

“I picked my cage’s lock,” Sugar assured teasingly with a wink.

“Then he should’ve invested in a better lock,” Albert returned with a chuckle.

Lance chuckled, but his eyes were cold. “Anyone that knows me knows that I only invest in things that are worth my time,” he replied as he turned his attention to the sharply dressed men that sat around the table. “As a matter of fact, I invested a pretty penny into this restaurant to help kickstart it.”

Sugar’s hands balled into fists, her fingernails digging into the soft flesh of her palms as she listened to him sprout lies so smoothly with his snake tongue.

“You invested wisely, Lance,” Albert commended.

Just then, Victoria returned with an armful of menus and handed them out.

“Why are you such a fucking liar, Lance,” she snapped before she could stop herself.

Everyone at the table, including Victoria, gazed at her in utter shock except Lance whose facial expression was blank. Then he suddenly broke out into an amused laugh that resulted in the other men to laugh hesitantly.

Lance rose from his seat, towering over Sugar.

“Sugar, you can’t hog all the credit and what have I told you about sampling the wine before noon? Let’s go back to your office so you can sit down and rest. Victoria, get a glass of water for Ms. Wallace,” he said as he gently put his hand on her arm, but secretly squeezed it tightly—like old times. For a moment, she thought she was still his wife and her heartbeat raced as she realized what would happen next.

She glanced around the dining area and noticed that she was garnering attention from her staff and customers. She needed to leave before this situation got out of hand. Not wanting to make anymore of a scene, she let him lead her away from prying eyes. He escorted her towards her office to keep up the charade, but his hand gripped her arm tighter and tighter. Once they were in the hallway, she tried to yank her arm of his grasp, but he was too strong.

“You think that stunt you pulled back there was cute,” Lance hissed.

A voice stopped them both. “I thought it was.”

Sugar and Lance halted in their steps and turned to the owner of the voice. Chef sauntered over to them.

Lance’s brows scrunched together in confusion. “And who are you exactly?”

“A good friend,” Chef said.

“That’s not a name,” Lance returned, narrowing his eyes.

“You should’ve been more specific with your questions,” Chef tossed back, smirking. “Now, you can let go of her now. I don’t think she needs your assistance any longer.”

Lance’s grip tightened on Sugar’s arm. She was frozen and trapped inside of her own body—her own head. She was unsure of what to do or say, so caught up in painful memories of the past that she felt like she was having war flashbacks.

Chef took a step forward and cocked his head. “Are you slow in the head or do I need to knock you against a wall to put some sense into you? Let her go.”

Her ex-husband cocked his head in return, eying Chef for a long moment as if his brain were piecing together a puzzle. Then it clicked inside of his head and the revelation was written all over Lance’s face.

“You’re the motherfucker who hung up on me twice,” Lance growled, letting Sugar’s arm go and moving closer to Chef.

“And you’re the motherfucker that called pathetically called his ex-wife twice,” Chef returned coolly, unmoved by Lance’s aggression.

Lance only grew angrier. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’m the man who’s fuckin’ your ex-wife,” Chef said boldly. Lance’s head jerked back in utter shock as he shifted his gaze between Chef and Sugar. Reaching into his jean pocket, Chef pulled out his cell and offered it out to Lance as he continued, “If you gotta problem with that then you can phone a friend who actually gets a fuck ‘cause you ain’t gonna find one here.”

“You’re about to use that phone to dial 911. You don’t know who the fuck you’re messing with,” Lance growled.

“I’m messin’ with a little boy who needs to find a stump to fit his rump somewhere before he gets knocked on his ass,” Chef replied with a smirk.

Sugar needed to end this now before Chef made good on his word. She knew he was capable making Lance swallow blood and teeth with little effort.

Rubbing the sore spot on her arm where Lance grabbed her, she said as calmly as possible, “Alright, this conversation needs to end right n—“

“Shut your damn mouth. It’s finished when I say it’s fin—”

Sugar nearly jumped out of her skin as Chef grabbed Lance by the throat and rammed him into a wall.

Lance struggled out his threat. “Get…your…hands…off…me…you…piece of…shit!” .

Lance wheezed and grabbed at Chef’s hand, but as Chef’s grip tightened.

“Don’t you ever talk to her like that again,” Chef growled menacingly. “As a matter of fact, don’t talk to her ever again. Don’t bring your pathetic ass around her again. If you see her on the street, cross the street to get to the other sidewalk. She wants you gone. Ain’t that right, Sugar?”

She hadn’t paid attention to the question. Too absorbed in the reality that Chef was hurting the man who hurt her. Chef was defending her honor. “W-w-what?”

“Do you want him gone?”

Sugar looked between Chef and Lance before she uttered breathlessly, “Yes.”

The answer felt so good on her tongue. The three-letter word gave her a shot of adrenaline—a boost of confidence and courage.

“Good.” Chef smiled at her proudly. “Now, c’mere.”

Hesitantly, she walked over to them.

“Slap the fuck out of him,” Chef ordered.

“What,” Sugar and Lance replied in unison, looking at Chef as if he sprouted four heads and grew a pair of horns.

“I said slap the fuck out of him,” Chef repeated. “A goin’ away gift from you to him. This is your one and only chance to show him how much you’ve changed. To show him how selfish you are.”

Uncertainty clouded her face.

“He ain’t gonna bite ‘cause he knows that I’ll knock his teeth down his throat if he tries anything stupid,” Chef assured with a grin.

Chef released his throat and Lance took a desperate gasp of air.

Sugar stared at Lance, a rapid buildup of pain and anger ready to burst out of her as she thought about everything she had given him and everything he had taken away. As she thought about him abusing her physically, mentally, and psychologically. As she thought about how he brought her down and made her feel like she was a waste of existence.

“Shug, come on. This man is bad news and crazy as hell. I know we’ve had our differences but—” Lance’s head snapped to the side as she slapped him with everything she had. The slap sliced across the air sharply. Before her ex-husband could properly react to what just transpired, she backhanded him across the face forcing his head in the opposite direction. Just then, Victoria was walking down the hallway with a cup of water that Lance had requested therefore stumbling into the intense act of restorative justice. She backed away slowly before she went back to where she came from.

Sugar then kneed him in the balls after getting into a rhythm of issuing punishment. Lance toppled over and crumbled to the floor, holding himself as he groaned aloud.

“You want to invest in something worth your time, Lance? Invest some time in your own life and stop trying to sashay your ass in mine,” Sugar ranted. “Now, I’m going to give you three minutes to collect yourself off my damn floor and get the hell out of my restaurant. Do you understand me?”

When he didn’t answer right away, she kicked him in the stomach. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” he hissed in pain. “Yes, dammit, yes!”

“And don’t forget to tip your waitress,” she said before stepped over his body and sauntered towards the kitchen to resume her role as a manager.

In her wake, she heard Chef chuckled deeply to Lance, ”I guess you ain’t slow in the head after all.”