Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
Bryce
“Hospitality or Homicide?”
Iwalked in with Adrian trailing behind me like a kicked puppy. My patience was damn near nonexistent at that point.
How the hell you thirty-something years old and don’t know how to shovel a walkway?
I was still low-key pissed. I had shown him how to scoop snow four different ways. The man had the nerve to try to use a mop at one point. A mop, bruh.
I slammed the door behind us, kicking off the snow-covered boots.
“You owe me new brain cells,” I muttered, brushing snow off my coat.
Adrian didn’t say shit; he just shook his jacket out like he was proud of whatever chaos he just participated in. Then followed me to the kitchen. Once we stepped in, we paused.
Chesteria and Isis were moving around each other in sync, hips bumping once in a playful way, giggling like cousins who didn’t really like each other but knew how to keep it cute.
“There y’all go! Just in time!” Chesteria exclaimed, excitedly. “Have a seat! We got y’all some lunch!”
Adrian didn’t hesitate. “Say less. My soul was about to leave my body and go hover by the fridge,” he said, already yanking out a chair like he was starving in the wilderness.
I was more cautious, side-eyeing the countertop for clues before easing into my seat.
Chesteria and Isis grabbed the plates at the same time, like they rehearsed it.
Chesteria brought mine with her usual sass, while Isis walked toward Adrian with a soft smile and hips swaying like she was hosting a damn cooking show.
“Grilled cheese and tomato soup,” Isis purred sweetly, presenting the plate with both hands like it was gold-plated.
Adrian blinked, caught off guard. “Oh… oh, wow. Uh… thanks. Chesteria, did you make this?”
“No… we did!” Isis chirped, her eyes flicking to Chesteria to back her up.
I tensed, knowing that Isis had any partake in cooking.
“She’s right; we both did,” Chesteria confirmed, then turned to me. “Here…before you pass out from yelling at your new BFF,” she joked.
I took the plate slowly, already suspicious.
The grilled cheese was cut diagonally and toasted to perfection—exactly how I liked it.
The tomato soup was served in a mug, with a light dusting of black pepper on top, like somebody had taken their sweet, flirty time trying to make it cute and impress me.
I knew right then Chesteria had personally fixed my plate. Still, I didn’t trust it. Something was up.
Adrian caught my eye across the room. He had the same expression on his face as I did.
We both squinted.
He tilted his head.
I lifted a brow.
It was the universal “What the hell is going on?” face.
We both sat there, reading each other like a game of hood charades.
Then Adrian broke the quiet tension, frowning. “Why yo’ shit plated like you just got outta prison and the chef got feelings for you?”
We both turned toward the women. Chesteria was sitting now, casually sipping her soup like she didn’t just ambush my confusion. Isis was flipping through her phone like she didn’t just sprinkle extra thigh into that plate hand-off.
I leaned over to Chesteria, narrowing my eyes. “You said both of y’all cooked this?”
She shrugged, laughing. “Yes, Bryce. Why? Are you worried we poisoned it?”
“I’m just saying…” I said slowly, eyeing the sandwich again like it might grow legs. “I shovel snow for forty-five minutes, come in looking like Frosty the Blackman, and suddenly there’s hospitality and grilled cheese? Nah. What’s the play? What y’all want?”
Chesteria playfully rolled her eyes. “Damn… can a woman not be nice?”
“Uh huh,” I muttered, still not convinced.
Adrian dipped his sandwich in the soup like he was at a five-star restaurant. “I don’t give a damn who cooked or why. If this gon’ kill me, at least I’ll die with flavor on my tongue and no complaints on my soul.”
I just shook my head and bit into mine.
I chewed slow, squinting at Chesteria while she innocently stirred her soup.
I had to admit; it was good. The sandwich had crispy edges, that gooey middle with the right kind of cheese, and that golden brown flip perfection. Then again, I’m sure Chesteria did most of the cooking, and she knew not to serve me no bullshit.
“You did yo’ thang. This shit is good… or I’m hungry one.”
Chesteria playfully nudged me. “Don’t do me!”
“Nah, it’s good for real.”
“Well, thank you. Glad you like it. But I can’t take all the credit. Isis really did help.”
I wanted to say, help with what? Handing you the bread or watching it toast? But I kept quiet to keep the peace.
“Snow, soup, and soft-ass sandwiches? Yeah… the apocalypse must be near,” Adrian’s silly ass said.
For once, we all genuinely laughed. If it stayed that way the rest of the trip—no side-eyes, no slick shots, no petty one-liners or emotional landmines—we might actually survive this snow-in with our sanity intact… and maybe even form a friendship. But knowing us? That was a big-ass if.
***
“Blankets, Bonding & Back Then: A Gentle Night of Reminiscing”
The fireplace crackled low, casting a golden glow across the living room like it knew peace had finally found its way in.
Blankets were layered everywhere, socks were mismatched, and nobody gave a damn.
The smell of spiked cocoa and woodsmoke lingered, wrapping the room in the kind of comfort only Black folks could create out of chaos.
Chesteria was halfway into her second mug of cocoa, humming to herself like a cozy R&B auntie about to get up and dance barefoot on the tile.
I was stretched out next to her, legs kicked forward, sipping slowly on my drink and letting the warmth sink in.
Chesteria had wrapped her fuzzy throw over her lap, and without even thinking, half of it had ended up over mine too, like it belonged there.
Her elbow brushed mine every now and then when she shifted to laugh or sip, and I didn’t mind…
not one bit. Adrian and Isis were snuggled up on the other couch, not quite touching, but sitting close enough to qualify as a soft-launch situationship.
They were giving “we’re not official,” but if someone else flirted, there’d be a problem—real sneaky-link proximity.
“Alright,” Isis said, swirling her cocoa like she was about to spill tea. “Most embarrassing moment. You go first.”
She pointed her mug toward Adrian.
Adrian sat up dramatically, slapping his hand on his chest like he was on stage at open mic night.
“Aight, picture it… fourth grade, big-ass head, clean fit, fresh fade.”
We all leaned in, intrigued.
“I had this big ass crush on my teacher. Her name was Ms. Watkins. She was built like a stallion. I’m talkin’…
coke bottle shape, wore heels every day, and had a walk that made you say ‘amen’ even if you was an atheist. One day, I wrote her a letter, slid it in her desk, and told her she could check ‘yes’ if she wanted to marry me. ”
“Not the check, yes or no letter!” Isis laughed, almost spilling her drink.
“But wait, wait—” Adrian held up a finger. “I also added my mama’s phone number… just in case she needed permission.”
Everyone was laughing at that point.
“Yo!” I howled. “Nigga, you was bold, bold! And why the hell would you do that, anyway?”
He shrugged. “Young, dumb, and desperate, nigga!”
“I’m curious to know how this turned out,” Chesteria said, already bracing herself.
Adrian exhaled through a laugh. “Man… she called my mama, alright. My mama pulled up to that school in a damn housecoat, some dirty house-shoes, rolled-up socks, and one damn foam roller still in the front of her head, yelling in front of the whole damn class, ‘You trying to make me a grandmother in prison?!’”
I doubled over in laughter. “You won, man,” I said, shaking my head. “Ain’t no topping that.”
“Ooooh, yes, there is,” Isis grinned, sipping her wine like she needed strength.
“Okay, so I met this guy… fine as hell, deep voice, smelled like he moisturized with almond oil and ambition, had an 800-credit score, looked like he paid child support early, knew his blood type and his mama’s.
He even wore cufflinks to brunch, had real leather seats in his car, and didn’t ask me to split the bill—not even as a joke. I said, Oh… you’re different.”
“Ouuu. Be careful, girl. Those types of men are the dangerous ones,” Chesteria warned, side-eyeing me.
I licked my lips, slowly. “You consider me dangerous?”
She gave me a half-smirk, half-squint. “If the beanie fits…”
I chuckled and sipped my drink, letting the moment sit for a beat longer than necessary.
Isis cleared her throat, reeling us back in.
“So I’m thinking… yes, finally, he might be the one.
So he invites me to his place, naturally, and I pull out my most exquisite lingerie.
I wore this sheer, jet-black mesh bodysuit—custom, of course—with hand-placed Swarovski crystals right on the nipples.
Y’all know the one… the one that makes you feel like a Dior ad with a little sin in it. ”
Adrian shifted in his seat, tugging at his beard with interest. “Nah, I don’t. Go into a little more detail.”
Isis blushed, then continued. “So I strutted into his living room, all slow and sexy, hips swaying, saying something slick like, ‘You ready for dessert?’”
We were hanging on every word.
Isis hesitated, then covered her face for dramatic effect. “Y’all… I turned around to be extra and bent over all seductive-like. As soon as I did… I let out the loudest fart known to mankind!”
We lost it.
“Yoooooo!” I laughed.
“Isis!” Chesteria slapped her thigh.
“Wait, wait, wait! Was it silent… or was it one of them cheeks-applauding, standing ovation types?” Adrian asked.