Chapter 11 #3
Surprisingly, the smell floating through the air now wasn’t drama; it was chili…
well, almost. I was still at the cutting board, humming low, slicing up bell peppers and onions, ready to become somebody’s reason for smiling again.
The chili hadn’t even started simmering yet, but the prep alone had the cabin smelling like a cozy Sunday.
Snow fell steadily outside, as it started frosting the windows and covering the trees like nature was trying to hush the world.
So it was the perfect day for something warm, thick, and spicy.
It smelled like real love in the kitchen, not that ‘fumble your way through a Pinterest recipe and burn water’ type of love Isis tried to serve.
The homemade cornbread I had planned to make later would be comforting with zero struggle.
There was no Jiffy box in sight, because I actually cared about people’s taste buds.
Bryce walked in, sniffed the air, and rubbed his hands like a man fresh out of jail.
“Chef Hollis is back in the kitchen like old times. Hell yeah. I know that’s about to be good.”
I didn’t even look over; I just kept slicing and gave him a little shoulder. “As long as you know.”
He leaned on the counter. “I do. But let me find out you making it just ‘cause I’m here. You know Chili is my thing… especially yours.”
I shook my head, moved over to the stove, and poured in the tomatoes, onions, and green peppers.
Then I grabbed the wooden spoon and let it all fall together—chili powder, smoked paprika, cumin, a hint of cinnamon, a pinch of sugar, garlic and onion powder, crushed red pepper flakes, two bay leaves, and a dash of cocoa powder—just enough to make the beef feel expensive, then stirred it down in the Dutch oven.
“I just feel a little generous today… and a little pity for your tag-along,” I finally responded, popping the lid halfway on.
Turning to face him, I lowered my voice, but kept my eyebrow arched in curiosity.
“I’m honestly curious, though. What do you really see in her? She’s pretty, yeah… but I’ve never known you to go for looks alone. You always wanted someone with a solid head on her shoulders, not just a pretty face and a social media filter. Depth, discipline, and goals—that used to be your lane.”
Bryce leaned back against the counter, arms crossed casually over his chest, one eyebrow cocked in challenge.
“How you know my type?”
I smirked. “Because I was your type.”
Bryce chuckled deep, low, and familiar in a way that stirred something I didn’t want stirred.
"Was?” He took a step closer, his voice dropping an octave, filled with a teasing intensity. “Still is. And you weren’t just my type, Chess; you were my only one. That’s why you got chosen."
The air got thick, warm, and heavy with something old and dangerous; memories swirling like ghosts around us.
I cleared my throat, attempting to break the tension.
“Mm-hmm. But seriously, how did you end up with a girl who can’t cook, Bryce?” I scoffed, shaking my head in disbelief. “You’re the same man who used to eat a third plate of lasagna and then ask what’s for dessert. Be for real.”
The irony was too rich to ignore; a jab that both amused and stung.
He smiled, the corners of his mouth turning up without a trace of denial.
“And don’t you dare try to flip it back on me by saying, ‘How did you end up with a dude like him?’” I mocked, deepening my voice to mimic him in a way I knew would make him laugh.
Bryce displayed a wide and satisfied grin, as if he was proud to be predictable. “You know me well, huh?”
I shrugged, a small laugh escaping. “Bryce, we were together for ten years… I know you too well. Knowing you, you would’ve thrown in,” I paused for dramatic effect, thinking of something off the wall that he’d say about Adrian.
“A nigga who probably thinks hot dog water is gourmet soup and considers changing the oil in his car to be self-care.” I chuckled. “I can hear you now.”
We shared a laugh.
“Nah, facts, though,” he agreed, chuckling along.
“But you don’t have to ask me. Trust me,” I said, my tone turning serious as I strolled over to the sink, splashing a bit of water to wash my hands. “Since arriving here, I've been questioning everything, and I'm quickly realizing I made a huge mistake.”
He nodded. “But on some real shit, I didn’t know or even cared if she could cook. Again, that should let you know I’m not that invested... not beyond what was convenient.”
I had to respect his brutal honesty.
I shook my head, grabbing a dish towel from the rack. Turning to face him fully, I folded my arms, giving him my undivided attention.
“Convenient is gonna get you salmonella one day,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood with a grin.
“But thanks for staying,” I expressed, my tone more sincere that time.
“It’s not snowing that bad, so someone like you definitely could’ve made it out of the city without any issues.
So what’s the real reason you decided to stay? ”
“For you.”
He kept it real. No hesitation.
“I didn’t trust leaving you here with that nigga; not on some jealous shit, just for your safety,” he further explained. “You shouldn’t have to keep looking over your shoulder when you’re supposed to be unwinding… assuming that’s why you came here.
I fell silent. My chest tightened for a moment, but not from emotion; it was from the stark truth behind his words.
“I’ll be back,” he announced, breaking the quiet.
“Wait! You’re really going out in this weather?” I asked a little too worried, and he picked up on it—as I knew he would.
Bryce chuckled softly. “You sounded as if you’d actually miss me if I did.”
I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Just basic concern, you know?”
Bryce smirked knowingly, fully aware of the slight tremor in my voice that betrayed any attempt at nonchalance.
“I’m just stepping outside,” he clarified.
“We need some wood for the fire and some extra supplies just in case it gets real bad later.” Bryce jerked his chin toward the living room.
“I’m taking ol’ boy with me too. This should be a breeze…
considering that he’s a carpenter.” Bryce paused, an amused expression creeping onto his face.
“But I’m still not convinced about his skills, so the jury is still out on that for me. ”
I snorted in response. “Let’s hope he’s not a fraud like your little friend ‘Chef Boyar-NO!’”
Bryce burst out laughing. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough. But maybe Isis needs to come in here so you can teach her a thing or two.”
I waved him off. “Maybe tomorrow she can redeem herself. I think the stove is still crying out for help in three different languages.”
Bryce chuckled on his way out. “You wrong.”
“No, I’m correct. She’s out of cooking commission until further notice.”
“Say less, Chef Hollis. I mean, this is your kitchen.”
He left out grinning… and that’s where he messed up.
It wasn’t even the words; it was that slow, confident, shoulder-rolling, muscle-shifting walk that only certain men possess; the kind that whispers stroke game dangerous and handle with care.
That was Bryce.
Bryce didn’t just walk with good dick energy; he moved like he trained it, like it had passed state exams, had a five-star rating on Yelp, and been approved by a higher authority.
I bit my lip in a salacious manner.
We ain’t even made it to the blizzard, and my coochie has already declared a state of emergency. Lord, send salt for the roads and a mop for my thighs.
I shook off the moment and looked away before I got caught mentally bent over. I refocused my thoughts on the bubbling pot of Chili on the stove. The rich aroma filled the air, blending with the distant howling of the wind.
Adrian has already embarrassed himself once.
If he wants redemption, he better go out there and chop that wood like his next meal depends on it, and with a possible storm closing in, it just might be.
He better not roll back in here with not no “mahogany veneer panel” wood either.
I’m talkin’, real wood… survival wood… warm-a-cabin-so-we-don’t-freeze type of wood.
Because if Bryce returns all sweaty and looking good, hefting a whole tree over his shoulder while the “carpenter” strolls in looking winded with one twig talkin’ bout, “The wood was too wet. This all I could get.” I’m collecting his masculinity like a suspended driver’s license, and telling him, “You’ve been caught operating tools with no experience.
Your man privileges are officially revoked pending further examination. ”