[Sequel to Vanilla]
Seven years later, childhood sweethearts Vanilla Julian White and Leroy Cox reunite in the City of London for an unlikely reason. The latter-once a burning flame unfazed by the wind-had, since a couple of years ago, left the heat...
A/N: SO. Because I'm such a fan of making others as hungry as possible, I'm here to terrorize you with images of food. Above is a close replica of Leroy's third dish (except the dip here should be replaced with creamed shishito peppers, which would look more like an herby, creamy pesto with a paste-like consistency). And right below is his first dish, in case you're hearing about stuffed chicken wings for the first time hehe.
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Still currently working my way through the manuscript while slogging it off at work ;v; Thank you for all the kind birthday wishes in the previous chapter. As always, I love reading your hilarious and heartfelt comments. They never fail to make my day.
Enjoy the chapter!
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[Leroy]
I like dinner.
I tend to think of it as the one final go at making someone else's day. Because sure, you could start things off great with breakfast, but whatever the fuck happens between that and the rest of the day—school, work, a twenty-minute lunch, life, people—could bring anyone down to their knees at the end of the daily grind.
Dinner was the reward, preferably spent with the one person you shared a space with.
That person does not need to exist. It also doesn't need to be just one person. And it also doesn't need to be a person at all. Dinner was the end-all; it was knowing the day was coming to a close. And in a couple of hours, would start anew.
A good dinner chases down the bitterness of a day.
To be the chef behind this meal is an honor. It means to see the workings of a day in the eyes of the one you cook for; to have those eyes tell you the events of the day and find comfort in the sharing. In the meal they are having.
Now that's something I wouldn't mind seeing for the rest of my life. Does it explain the seat I have permanently reserved in my head? Not really. Will I ever English the fuck out of my feelings? Probably not.
All I knew—all I could see in the moment he sat in that seat meant for him—was that the honor was now mine.
I was the chef taking in the events of this morning through his eyes and the one final chance he was giving to a day that wasn't his.
"Run us through your menu, Chef Cox." Amelia rejoined as soon as my VIP took his seat. "We're all dying to know what you have in store for us. I take it that this seat is open?"
