What's for Breakfast?

Bonus Content: Goliath

"Derek, are you done?" I ask, fastening the strap of my silver shoe, my high ponytail falling over my shoulder.

"I am, sorry," Derek responds, marching toward me, his strides long and hasty. "Sorry. I had to check something with Dion."

I straighten my back and move over to give him space, and he easily slips his shoes on.

"It's going to be fine, Derek. The anniversary party is going to be great," I mumble soothingly. He straightens his back.

"I hope so."

Tomorrow is the first year anniversary of his restaurant, Derek's. The year has been a pretty wild ride for both of us as we've ventured out of comfort zones, with him managing his own business, while I've also started over with Nina.

For starters, Derek had struggled with invading the overly saturated food market, especially as the chosen location already had established pubs and diners. It took at least half a year before his unique Southeast Asian fusion cuisine gained popularity, but in the process he also had to give up on his I-don't-look-good-in-photos crap. Derek had become the face of restaurant.

The thing is, social media can be hellish and arguably, a problematic virtual space when left unchecked, but it's an absolute heaven for advertisements.

Six months ago, Derek's cooking video and some photos here and there had captured tons of attention. He went viral. Most of the comments were flattering, some funny, but many were definitely disturbing, not gonna lie. But it pulled some customers, even those they called 'foodies' and 'influencers' who had mentioned that the restaurant was 'instagrammable', whatever that meant. Only when I figured out it was a compliment to the interiors did I become pleased.

Even now, though Derek has reduced his online presence, we'll have some people recognize him in public, and I'll feel slightly insecure. The stares. The whispers. They get to me, and it never escapes his attention.

Derek typically seizes my hand to lock my fingers with his, or he'll give me a peck on the cheek. That's all it takes to make me privately squeal.

And tomorrow, they're celebrating the first year anniversary by throwing a party with some live music and offering discounted menus for customers.

I can't blame him. His father and his stepmom are invited, after all. It'll be the very first time they'll visit the restaurant, and Derek has been antsy because of it these past few weeks.

Derek looks at me from head to toe, his hand finding it way to my waist as he whispers to my ear, "You look so gorgeous."

I blush. "You don't look bad yourself."

He touches the hem of my long, red dress and pauses at the high slit exposing my thigh, his index finger grazing my bare skin.

"As much as I like this being on you, I definitely cannot wait to see this off you."

I giggle. "Stop it. We'll be late," I say. "This night is too important. Don't distract me."

He laughs. "Alright, alright. Let's kick Clark's ass first."

Right. Before I forget to update with you about my life, tonight is the first interior design competition Nina and I are participating in.

We have been pretty comfortable, all things considered. We have a consistent flow of clients, but most projects are small time, unlike when we were in Cosmo.

Interior design has always had a relatively small market in the country, so to increase exposure, we've joined a nationwide competition. We initially assumed that the chances to win were low, but as soon as we skimmed over the participants, Nina and I had some sort of adrenaline rush, revving us up, and we shared a similar commitment: We have to thrash Cosmo, by hook or by crook.