22. Food For My Soul
FOOD FOR MY SOUL
TESSA
The restaurant is a dream—soft candlelight flickering against exposed brick walls, the low murmur of jazz humming beneath the clink of crystal glasses, and murmured conversations. Everything about the place exudes elegance and warmth, but the most decadent thing in this room isn’t the black-and-gold décor or the gleaming chandeliers.
It’s the man sitting across from me.
Saul.
Dressed in a crisp black suit and open-collared white dress shirt, he looks like sin personified. The soft glow of the candlelight sharpens the strong lines of his face—cheekbones carved by the gods, full lips that once whispered my name through a wall, and deep brown eyes that dare to still see through me.
I hate how good he looks.
I hate how my pulse flutters every time he sips his wine, how his fingers stroke the glass stem like he imagines something far more sensual.
I should be focusing on my food. Not his hands.
But my body has a mind of its own.
And judging by the way his eyes keep dropping to my lips every time I speak, his does, too.
Damn him.
The server returns with our appetizers—crab beignets drizzled with a cayenne honey glaze for me and charred octopus over a bed of white bean purée for Saul. My stomach flips when he carefully plates a piece of octopus onto my dish without me asking.
“Try this,” he murmurs, his voice like warm honey, thick and slow. “From stalking all your food porn on Instagram, I know how much you love a perfect char.”
I hesitate for half a second before spearing the bite with my fork and popping it into my mouth.
Oh.
My eyes close for a brief moment, the balance of smoky, citrus, and spice melting on my tongue. The texture is flawless—tender but with the perfect amount of snap.
When I open my eyes, Saul is watching me, his lips slightly parted, his gaze fixed on my mouth. He swirls his wine glass absently like he’s trying to distract himself.
“Good?” he asks, voice rougher than before.
I clear my throat and nod, reaching for my wine. “You’ve got a good palate.”
He smirks. “I have a good memory.”
The weight of that simple statement lands between us, thick and charged.
I swallow, shifting in my seat. “Tell me, Mr. Mensah, when did you become such a wine snob?”
Saul chuckles, the rich sound curling around me like silk. “You act like I wasn’t already.”
He gestures to my glass. “You have a glass of Louis Latour Corton-Charlemagne 2018 before you. A rare white Burgundy, aged in oak barrels, with enough complexity to complement the depth of our meal.” He leans back, assessing me. “And you have no idea how hard it was to get a bottle last minute.”
I blink, then take another sip, letting the smooth, buttery notes linger.
Damn it. It’s really good.
I glance at him over the rim of my glass. “Are you trying to impress me, Saul?”
He tilts his head, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Is it working?”
I set my glass down slowly, trailing my fingers along the delicate stem. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Saul watches me like he’s waiting for a sign, his patience both infuriating and impossibly sexy.
“Then let me keep working,” he murmurs.
The server clears our plates and brings out the entrees—perfectly seared duck breast with a blackberry gastrique for me and Saul, a buttery ribeye cooked medium-rare, plated with a bordelaise sauce, and truffle mashed potatoes.
The food is exceptional, but our tension is even more intoxicating.
I don’t know if it’s the wine, the slow, deep lilt in Saul’s voice when he speaks, or how his gaze never leaves mine, but every moment stretches tight, humming with electricity.
And then, when I think I might be able to focus on my meal, he does something dangerous.
He reaches across the table, dragging the pad of his thumb across the corner of my mouth.
I freeze.
“You had sauce,” he murmurs, his voice like gravel and sin.
Oh. Oh, hell.
His thumb lingers for just a second too long, his touch branding me, sending a hot flush creeping up my neck.
My breath stutters.
I could kiss him right now.
I should slap him right now.
But instead, I grip my fork, my knuckles tight. “Saul,” I say, my voice dangerously close to a whisper. “What are we doing?”
He exhales through his nose, sitting back in his chair like he’s giving me space to breathe. I hate that I miss his touch the second it’s gone.
“I told you,” he says, his voice softer now. “I’m making up for lost time.”
I scoff, breaking the moment before it swallows me whole. “You think fancy wine and expensive dinners will fix everything?”
“No.” He pauses, then lifts his wine glass in a silent toast. “But it’s a damn good start.”
I shake my head but can’t fight the small, traitorous smile tugging at my lips.
The meal continues, every bite punctuated by lingering glances, hands brushing too close when we reach for the same thing, and the kind of heat that builds, slow and steady, promising something inevitable.
By the time we finish dessert—chocolate soufflé with whiskey caramel—I’m practically vibrating with unresolved tension.
Saul leans in slightly, his voice dipping into something dangerously smooth. “Tessa.”
I swallow, meeting his gaze.
“I meant what I said. I want another chance.” His fingers skim over the back of my hand. “Let me take you home.”
The air between us crackles.
God, I want to say yes.
I almost do.
But I catch myself—catch the way my body is already folding into him, already surrendering.
No.
Not yet.
I straighten my spine, ignoring how my pulse trips when he licks his lips, waiting for my answer.
“I need you to answer a few questions for me,” I say, my voice steady. “And then I’ll decide where this goes.”
He nods. “I understand. But can I ask you one question first? It’s been bugging me for a while
I clear my throat and sit up straighter. “Sure.”
Okay, why did you leave LA? I thought you might return home someday, but not this soon.”
I rub my hands over my knees and bite my lip. “I was a terrible actress, Saul. Love, Unmasked was my last-ditch effort at an acting career. I’d already decided to quit the show and the business the night you proposed. Saying yes to you was a huge leap of faith for me. So, when you didn’t show up the next day, and I couldn’t find you over the next few months- I went to plan B. I opened a small bakery and catering company. Bad Mamma Jammas makes the best beignets and raspberry jam in town.”
He smiles at me and draws patterns on my right thigh with his finger beneath the table. Fresh. “I know, sweetheart, I’ve door dashed them every morning. You’re an amazing chef. Do you remember one night in the hub when we talked about opening a restaurant together one day?”
I nod. “I do remember, and it was such a sweet dream.” One fat tear falls down my cheek, and I try to keep it together but fail. “Then you reminded me that’s all it was, a dream because you left. I know you had to protect your family, but what about protecting my heart? Why didn’t you come to me sooner? I knew someone was following me, and I always felt watched when I returned home to New Orleans. That was you, wasn’t it?”
Saul nods, staring at me with no remorse and daring me to question his choice. His display of dominance turns me on when I should be furious.
I’m so fucked.
“Yes, I watched you, Tessa,” He rumbles. I had to make sure you were happy. I was determined to take care of you the same way I would take care of my wife because that’s who you are to me, my wife. “
My eyes narrow. “What do you mean take care of me?”
Saul doesn’t flinch at my question. Instead, he exhales slowly, his eyes holding mine with determination and vulnerability. His voice is low, but each word carries the weight of everything he’s kept bottled up.
“I mean, I ensured you had everything you needed, Tessa. I couldn’t be there for you, not how I wanted, but I wasn’t about to leave you to fend for yourself.” He moves closer, his voice steady but his eyes burning with intensity. “Do you think it was a coincidence that the perfect building for your catering business suddenly came down in price? Or that you got an influx of high-end clients when you needed them most?”
I blink, startled, but he keeps going, his words spilling like a dam breaking.
“I paid the lease down to a number that would make that old man happy enough to charge you a rent you could afford. I hired a PR firm to push your name into the right circles. Those big contracts? The ones that helped you expand with the Pelicans. That was me, Tessa. I made sure you never heard the word no. ”
My breath catches, but Saul doesn’t stop, his voice growing thicker with emotion. “I watched from a distance, ensuring you had everything you needed to succeed. I poured money into your dreams because I couldn’t be there to hold you when you doubted yourself. And I kept quiet because I knew you’d never take anything from me if you knew.”
He takes another step, closing the distance between us. “I ensured you were okay, even when it ripped me apart to do it from the shadows. I couldn’t be there, but I could do that much. I had to do that much. Because you deserve the world, Tessa. And if I couldn’t give it to you myself, I ensured no one else would stand in your way.”
His hands tremble at his sides, his voice breaking as he finishes. “That’s what I mean, Tessa. I cared for you the only way I knew—leaving you didn’t mean I stopped loving you. It never has.”
My heart pounds as his words hang in the air, raw and unguarded. I can’t speak or think—how do you respond to a man who turned his love into action, even when he wasn’t there to see the results?
He walks around the table and sits in the booth seat beside me, his hands trembling as they reach for mine, but I instinctively pull back, forcing him to sit in the weight of his regret. It’s too much-it’s all too much. He’s been here, watching, taking care of, loving me?
His voice cracks as he continues, his usual confidence stripped bare. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he begins, the words heavy, raw, and filled with something more profound than pain—desperation. “I’m so sorry I left you. I know I broke your heart. I broke us, and I must live with that daily.”
His piercing brown eyes lock onto mine, brimming with unshed tears, and for the first time, I see the man beneath the armor. Vulnerable. Exposed. The weight of his choices etched into every line of his face.
“You have every right to hate me,” he continues, his voice barely a whisper now, thick with emotion. “I thought I was protecting you, Tessa, and the people I love. But I was wrong. God, I was so wrong.”
He moves closer, his broad shoulders seeming smaller under the burden of his guilt. “I’ve spent every moment since thinking about you—praying for you, wishing I could go back and make it right. I promise you, if you ever give me another chance—just one—I’ll never leave you again. Not for anything, not for anyone. No matter what.”
His hand reaches for mine again, tentative, almost reverent, as if I’m something sacred he’s afraid to break. When his fingers brush against mine, the warmth of his touch ignites a flicker of the connection we once shared.
“I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you,” he pleads, his voice cracking. “I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’m worthy of you that I deserve you. Just... please, Tessa. Say you’ll let me try.”
He’s not just asking for forgiveness; he’s laying his heart at my feet, willing to be broken if it means a chance to earn my love again. And for the first time, I see it—his fear, hope, and unwavering belief that what we had is worth fighting for.
His sincerity hits me square in the chest, and all I want to do is be alone with him.
I still want him.
“Let’s get out of here,” I whisper.
He raises his right eyebrow and smirks. “Are you sure?”
I give him an eyebrow right back. “Are you? Because if you want me to forgive you.” I throw him what I hope is a sexy side-glance, “You’re going to have to ask me for forgiveness properly. You talked all that shit behind a wall, but can you deliver pleasure in person? Once you’ve satisfied my body, you can satisfy my curiosity and answer more questions. Then I will reach my final verdict.”
He smiles and kisses me again. Okay, Let’s go to my place; I need your undivided attention for what I have planned.”
I laugh. “So, you think I’ll be distracted at my place?”
He nods. “Yes, I want your focus on me, and mine will be on you. Give me twenty-four hours without interruptions; I promise you’ll never want to leave.”
I wasn’t the one that left in the first place.
“Where do you live?”
He softly squeezes my knee. “I have a cabin in the woods, thirty minutes outside town. My own little safe house.”
I chuckle. “A safe house? Why would you need one of those?” I ask, genuinely bewildered. “What, are you a secret spy on the run or something?”
He kisses me hard and ignores the question. I’m so breathless that I let him. When he’s finished, the world narrows to only him.
I have no clue how or why, but suddenly, my biggest dream is to be holed up in some secluded cabin with this man—just us, a roaring fire, and absolutely no chance of escape.
His nor Mine.
As we step out of the restaurant and into the warm, sultry New Orleans night, I pull out my phone and dial Selene. She still doesn’t trust Saul, and I know she’s waiting for my update. I can’t go incognito for twenty-four hours with a man she thinks I barely know unless I want the army to show up.
The line barely rings before she picks up, her voice sharp with suspicion.
“Well?” she demands, skipping the pleasantries. “Are you in the car with him right now? Tell me you didn’t just fold like a damn beignet.”
She knows me so well.
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Selene, I didn’t fold.”
A dramatic scoff crackles through the speaker. “Oh, please. If you’re calling me this early, you already let him reel you in. Otherwise, you would have come straight over.”
I glance at Saul, who’s waiting beside his car, hands in his pockets, watching me with an unreadable expression. He doesn’t rush me, but he doesn’t look away either.
Selene exhales sharply. “I swear, Tessa. If I don’t hear from you in twelve hours, I’m calling the cops.”
“Oh my God, he’s not a serial killer!” I groan, throwing my head back.
“You don’t know that,” she snaps. “And even if he’s not, he still left you on a stage like some tragic romance lead. Excuse me if I’m not sold on his redemption arc yet.”
I close my eyes, inhaling deeply. “I promise I’ll check in, okay?”
She doesn’t sound convinced, but after a long pause, she mutters, “Fine. But if you go missing, know I’ll tell your story on all the true crime podcasts.”
I can’t help but laugh, shaking my head. “Goodnight, Selene.”
She huffs. “Yeah, yeah. Twelve hours. 9:00 am!”
I hang up and turn to find Saul smirking at me.
“She doesn’t like me much, huh?”
I shove my phone into my bag and roll my eyes. “She just doesn’t trust you.”
His smirk softens into something almost wistful. “Can’t say I blame her.”
I swallow hard, ignoring how those words settle deep in my chest.
“Let’s just go.”