“Well, friend or boyfriend,” Mallory said, “I’m happy for you, Shug. Helena said he’s a cool dude. You deserve some fun, some happiness. No need to be sneaking around everyone’s backs about it. Except for maybe...”

They shot each other a knowing look and said in unison, “Sully.”

“He can’t know, Lory,” Sugar urged, pointing a finger at him in warning.

Mallory lifted his hands in defense. “I’m staying out of that one. I’ll cross state lines if I need to when that mess goes down, but record it so I can put it on TikTok. I need to get more followers.”

Sugar gave him an unimpressed look. “I need to get back to work, Lory.”

“You don’t have to do everything, Shug. You’re not Superwoman. I’ll be more than happy to do the schedule myself. I’ve watched you enough to know what to do.”

She bit her bottom lip, glancing between her computer and baby brother. “Are you sure you can do it, Lory?”

“Absolutely positive,” he assured her with a confident grin.

Sugar shot up from her chair and grabbed her purse hurriedly. “I really, really appreciate it. After you finish the schedule, I need you to—”

“Text it to all the staff,” he finished for her, his grin widening. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not just a handsome face.”

She felt comfortable leaving Mallory in charge of the restaurant for once, but she still needed to lay down some ground rules. “Do not, I repeat, do not bring your little herd of girlfriends here anymore if you’re gonna give them free desserts and cocktails until closing, Lory. My restaurant isn’t an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

He defended himself, “It was for a good cause, Shug. One of the ladies was celebrating her divorce. I was donating on behalf of Sugar Mama to a good cause.”

“Well, the only way to donate to a good cause is by giving money. So, I docked your generous donation from your paycheck,” she said with a bright smile as his grin vanished. “Don’t mess with my money, and I won’t mess with yours. Got it?”

Mallory exhaled through his nostrils, annoyed. “Got it.”

“Good,” she said, moving toward the door in rushed steps. “I’ll try to call you later tonight.”

“If ol’ dude’s doing what he’s supposed to, you won’t be calling at all,” Mallory mumbled.

Sugar popped him on the back of the head, earning an “oof” from him as she hurried out of the office.

She tried to avoid rush-hour traffic by taking the city streets, but she still growled in frustration at every red light and heavy pocket of cars. Still, she made it home about fifteen minutes sooner than if she’d taken the freeway.

Sugar parked in the garage and closed the door with a press of a button before hopping out of the car and dashing into the house. She peeled off her dress and kicked off her heels on her way to the master bathroom. She smelled like work—chocolate, cinnamon, and cookie batter—and wanted to smell like a woman, not a kitchen.

Sugar hopped into the shower as the icy water transitioned to lukewarm. It took a minute for the water to heat up, but by then, she’d already washed herself with mango-scented body wash, finishing in record time: six minutes flat.

Impressive for someone who usually spent at least forty-minute minutes in the shower.

She toweled off quickly before sitting on the bed to lotion her skin. Once done, she rushed to the dresser and pulled out the sheer pink lingerie she’d bought earlier in the week, specifically for tonight. She loved getting a heated reaction out of Chef. How he looked at her in those moments always warmed her up and made her downright soaking wet.

After slipping the bra-panty set on, she moved to the closet and searched through a mountain of stacked shoe boxes for a pair of five-inch chunky-heeled black leather boots. She called them her “spunky” boots.

A few years back, one of Lance’s old college buddies had their thirtieth biker-themed surprise birthday party. She painstakingly bought an entire outfit to fit the theme, dolled herself up to look like a chic biker chick, and went to the party, which was a dingy bar. The assignment given to Lance was to distract the birthday boy and then bring the clueless man to the bar.

After slipping on the bra-and-panty set, she moved to the closet and searched through a stack of shoeboxes for her five-inch chunky-heeled black leather boots—her “spunky” boots. She had bought them a few years back for a biker-themed surprise party for one of Lance’s college buddies. She’d gone all out, dressing like a chic biker chick for the event. But when Lance saw her at the party, he threw a fit, calling her boots “whore boots” and claiming she looked like a biker bar floozy. His words had hurt, despite everyone else at the party complimenting her and telling Lance how lucky he was. Back then, she’d convinced herself that she was the lucky one.

Now, she knew her true worth.

After finishing her boots with a relieved sigh, she escaped the closet with the shoe box and tossed it onto the bed before she resumed getting dressed.

Now, she knew better.

With a satisfied sigh, she finished lacing her boots and tossed the shoebox onto the bed before shimmying into cuffed denim shorts. She pulled on plain tube socks before yanking on the boots, then slipped into a soft pink-and-white striped halter midriff top. She completed the look with an old leather jacket she’d worn back when she first dated motorcycle-riding Lance. Rushing to the bathroom, she gave herself a rushed smoky-eye look and finished with matte black lipstick.

Then, the doorbell rang, echoing through the house, and her heart skipped a beat.

“Stick to the plan, Sugar,” she told herself in the mirror, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. “No emotions, no romance. Just pure fun.”

She made her way to the front door, unlocking and opening it slowly.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the words died in her throat as she drank in the sight of Chef drinking her in. His gray eyes traveled from her spunky boots, up her calves and thighs, to her shorts that hugged her curves and ass, then to the few inches of bare belly her midriff top showed off.

Finally, his gaze reached her face. He bit his bottom lip, cocking his head as his eyes swept over her again, slower this time, more appreciative.

Being trapped under his intense gaze was like having a bucket of hot water dumped over her head.

“Good evening,” she finally managed to say.

“Evenin’,” he replied, a slight grin tugging at his lips.

A heavy silence lingered between them as they stared at each other.

Sugar’s brown eyes shimmered with anxiousness, while his stormy gray ones brewed with tempting certainty. Nervously, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She’d given her signature bun the day off, letting her hair fall in loose waves around her shoulders.

Sugar stepped onto the porch, shutting the door behind her. She reached into her purse to get her keys, but her fingers lost their grip, and they fell to the ground with a jingle, landing at her feet.

Sugar started to bend at the waist to retrieve them, but Chef’s voice made her stop.

“Allow me,” he said, his grin widening a margin more as he squatted down to recover the fallen keys. He gazed up at her and jiggled the keys a little with playful intent before he rose back up, somehow incredibly closer to her than before.

“Are you always such a gentleman?” Sugar teased as he handed the keys back to her.

“My grandmama and granddaddy raised me right,” he answered. “It’s a part of who I am.”

She arched an eyebrow at his comment, questions filling her mind. What happened to his parents? Had they died when he was young? What was his childhood like in Louisiana? What were his grandparents like? On her birthday, Reid had asked if he had a brother, and he’d said no, but did he have a sister?

“They did a fine job,” she complimented.

“I’m glad you approve,” he said with a slight chuckle.

Sugar turned to lock the front door. She froze as she slid the key into the lock, feeling Chef’s head dip down as he buried his nose in her hair, inhaling deeply.

“Mm, you smell good enough to eat,” he muttered. “Mango?”

Sugar shuddered, closing her eyes.

“Mm-hm,” she hummed.

“I like it,” he said, his voice throaty.

She gulped, then repeated his response from moments before: “I’m glad you approve.”

Chef let out a short, rumbly chuckle. “I gotta be honest with you, Sugar. I’m very mad at you.”

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