Chapter 23
Chapter twenty-three
Chesteria
“We weren’t cold, or without lights, but that day still brought things to light.”
It was officially day four of being at the cabin and day two of the power being out.
Thankfully, the generator was still clocked in and doing its damn job.
The heat was running, the fridge was humming, and we still had hot water—praise be.
And because we followed protocol, nobody got slapped with extra chores, nor was anyone walking around funky, hungry, or bored.
Bryce might’ve been a savage with a short fuse, but the man ran that cabin clean, organized, and just a little bit terrifying…
like a retired mob boss running his safehouse.
Me and Isis stood at the kitchen window like two nosy aunties peering out at the neighborhood drama unfolding below. And baby, the show was comedy gold.
Adrian was out there, flailing around with a shovel, looking like a baby giraffe attempting a man’s job.
He jerked the shovel around like he was trying to mix pancake batter instead of clearing a path.
Every clumsy scoop seemed to suggest he was digging for buried treasure—though he was clearly in the wrong damn spot.
Meanwhile, Bryce was a picture of barely controlled frustration and one gust of wind away from using that shovel as a weapon.
He paused, his eyes boring into Adrian as if he were an unpaid intern on his last warning and muttered something that looked like a prayer… or a threat.
“Lord,” I muttered. “Why is he holding it like he got arthritis in the wrong direction?”
Isis leaned in closer, narrowing her eyes with exaggerated focus. “He looks like he’s doing some kind of prison workout out there. Bryce ‘bout to knock him upside the head with that shovel.”
“He better not. That man still owes me a ride home.” I chuckled.
Bryce finally snatched his own shovel, moving with the precision of an undeniably pissed off seasoned snow samurai. “Like this! It’s not that hard!” he grunted, executing the task with the ease of someone who’d shoveled countless driveways.
Adrian watched closely, nodding as if trying to absorb every word of the unorthodox lesson.
He squinted at the technique like he needed a pair of glasses.
When he tried again, he accidentally flung a whole pile of snow onto his own boots.
With a yelp, he hopped around on one foot, shaking the ice off like he stepped on a nail.
“No, no, no!” Bryce barked, snatching the shovel out his hands with a mix of irritation and disbelief. “How many times I gotta say it?! You don’t scoop toward your damn feet! You’re not digging a grave; you're trying to clear the walkway!”
Adrian scratched his head, visibly confused. “I thought that’s what I was doing. Ain’t it all the same motion? And hell, I wanted you to teach me, as in show me, not make me demonstrate it! You know this knee of mine ain’t working at its full potential!”
Bryce stepped back, rubbing his temple like a millennial trying to explain FaceTime to a granddaddy with a flip phone. In a dramatic turn, Bryce pointed toward the cabin like he knew we were watching.
“I know y’all see this shit!” he shouted.
We cracked up.
I shook my head, a sly smirk pulling at my mouth. “You know… you and Adrian have a lot in common.”
Isis blinked, clearly offended. “Excuse me?”
I smirked, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “I’m just saying… I could see y’all together. It would make for an interesting pairing.”
I said it playfully, half-expecting her to clutch her pearls in shock, or respond with something over-the-top like, "You think me? A woman who shops at Nordstrom, vacations in Santorini, exfoliates with 24k gold scrub, gets her lashes flown in from overseas, and only dates men wielding Amex Platinums and matching socks would ever be with a man who has three kids, possible baby mama drama, no full-time job, tells lies like they’re the gospel truth, showers with Dollar Tree cologne thinking it’s Dior, and sports a tattoo of his own name on his forearm like he might forget it? Absolutely not!”
Instead, she surprised me by tapping her chin thoughtfully and saying, “Hmm, he is a cutie.”
“Let me find out our little chat has completely rewired your taste in men.”
“I wouldn’t say all that,” she replied, rolling her eyes but smirking back.
"But listen, having fun with somebody isn’t the same as building a future.
Sometimes you just need a man who can handle your present.
The real question is… how is he in bed? ‘Cause ain’t nothing worse than a fine man with stroke game that feels like he’s buffering. ”
I wheezed. “Buffering?!”
Isis nodded, her face dead serious. “All that build-up, then boom… freeze frame like a Netflix movie on a broke Roku!”
I nearly fell out. “Isis!”
She continued, completely unfazed, taking a sip of her water as if it was the finest tea.
“So is the dick giving Hulu No Ads–Smooth, premium, and worth every damn second? Netflix–Decent content, but he only got one move and keeps recycling it? Tubi–Wild, chaotic, entertaining, but zero climax, and the camera angle is always weird? Or Peacock Free Trial–Starts strong, ends in disappointment, and now I gotta wait a week?”
I burst out laughing again. “Not you creating a whole dick chart!”
“And did!” she proclaimed proudly, leaning back like she’d just completed a masterpiece.
“If I’ma let a nigga inside this golden, God-gifted, one-login-only kitty—premium access with no ads—I need to know what platform his dick streaming from.
And if it’s giving Tubi, I’m canceling my subscription mid-thrust.”
“But Tubi is free,” I called myself, reminding her, trying to wipe the smile off my face.
“Exactly! Free, chaotic, low-budget, and everybody got access! You ever watched a Tubi sex scene? It always looks like they’re practicing CPR, not fucking! I need HD thrusts, girl! If I want terrible acting, I’d just call my ex!”
I giggled, shaking my head at her vivid imagery.
Isis leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “So tell me… is he bringing the thunder or just giving scattered showers and light humidity?”
I grinned. “No worries in that department. Adrian is… well, let’s just say he’s blessed.”
Isis raised a perfectly arched brow, her interest piqued.
“But…” I added quickly, holding up a finger for emphasis, “not like Bryce.”
She perked up. “Oh, girl, let me tell you—”
"AHT-AHT!” I interrupted, raising my hand dramatically as if to erase her words from the air before they could form.
“I don't want to hear anything about how big or good Bryce's dick is. I know that man’s body like I know abnormal psychology—inside, out, textbook, and in my damn dreams—and I absolutely do not need new images trying to override the originals!”
Isis burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. “Well damn, sis! Say you got muscle memory without saying it. But my bad. Let’s change the subject.”
I exhaled, relieved. “Please.”
We both glanced outside again. Bryce had Adrian engaged in another simpler task—sweeping snow off the porch rail.
“Well, since Bryce is out there giving Adrian lessons on staying safe from winter’s wrath," I said, crossing my arms, “let me give you a 101 on survival cooking. Because if you're trying to bag a man like Bryce? Sis… you gon’ have to do more than boil water and pray over it. Bryce once told me the only thing a woman who can’t cook can make is a mistake. Harsh? I know. Now, you might get a pass with Adrian. He’s the type who’ll eat anything that’s hot, cheesy, or spelled wrong on a menu.
But Bryce?” I shook my head slowly. “That man will cut off all ties and give you zero closure over dry chicken and unseasoned potatoes.”
“Damn!” Isis gasped. “Who hurt him?”
“His taste buds,” I replied sarcastically.
Laughter filled the kitchen between us.
“Let’s fix these hard-working men a quick meal before Bryce has an aneurysm,” I said, turning back to the pantry, already scanning for ingredients.
“Wait.” I stopped suddenly, locking eyes with Isis.
“We gotta start with your breakfast skills. Saturday’s eggs got me questioning your entire childhood. ”
“I tried!” she defended herself, raising her hands in surrender.
“No, sis, you lied... boldly lied. Those eggs had a texture crisis,” I teased, laughing a little at her defensive posture.
Isis chuckled, a sheepish smile creeping across her face. “Okay, okay! So what are we making?”
“Let’s keep it simple."
My mind raced through comfort food options.
“Oh! What about grilled cheese sandwiches? Something classic, sexy… and pairs perfectly with a warm bowl of tomato soup.”
"Tomato soup and grilled cheese?” Isis mused, her face lighting up. “That’s kinda cute.”
“And simple,” I added, feeling the romance of the moment. “A little snowed-in snack that might just soften Bryce’s heart before he buries Adrian with that same shovel and leaves a love note in the snow that says: ‘You tried.’”
She nodded, clearly entertained. “Okay. I can do grilled cheese. It’s just bread, cheese, and heat, right?” “
And butter,” I stressed, giving her a side-eye. “Because if you don’t, that grilled cheese is gon’ sound like a car crash when you bite into it,” I kidded while already pulling out the skillet. “That’s why we’re making it together.”