Sweet Heat

by Zuri Day

  Marvin nodded. “I’ll do that.”

  “Good.”

  He got out of the car. “Thanks, Abs.”

  She winked. “See you later, handsome.”

  Marvin walked to his car almost in a daze. Naomi had told him to watch out for Abbey, and now Abbey had just told him to watch out for Naomi! He wished it hadn’t, but what Abbey said made him think about Naomi in a different light. What if Abbey was right, and Naomi was just coming on to him to try and get the advantage? What if she’d warned him about Abbey so he’d put up a wall and not listen to something Abbey found out about her? But what if Naomi was right and Abbey was just trying to block what she saw happening between the two of them? He thought he’d been cool with his feelings toward Naomi, but maybe to someone like Abbey the attraction had been obvious. If someone like Abbey could tell he was feeling Naomi then Naomi had to know, too. And what if there was an ulterior motive, as Abbey believed? What if all of Naomi’s flirting was just a game to try and catch him off guard, maybe get him kicked off the show?

  By the time he pulled into the Soul Spot parking lot, Marvin had made a decision. He was going to keep the atmosphere friendly between him and Naomi, but not take the attraction to another level until after the contest was over. At least, that’s what he thought. But when an image of Naomi’s luscious backside rose up in his mind’s eye, Marvin’s determination wavered. There were three more weeks to the competition, and if she lost, Naomi might not want to be with him. Marvin honestly didn’t know whether or not he could take that chance, or wait that long.

  * * *

  Turns out Naomi was sharing similar feelings in another part of town.

  “I need to just do him and get him out of my system.”

  Naomi paced the narrow section of exposed carpet in Kristy’s living room, the rest of it covered with furniture, boxes and knick-knack-filled baskets. She hadn’t calmed down since leaving Marvin last night.

  Kristy watched her cousin with slightly concerned, slightly confused eyes. “Why are you treating him differently than other guys? You see something you want, you go after it. That’s the Naomi I know. This one here”—Kristy waved her hand at her still pacing cousin—“all nervous and unsure of herself? I don’t know who she is.”

  Naomi walked over to the couch where Kristy returned to folding clothes. She removed a stack of towels from the cushion and placed them in a basket, picked up a decorative pillow—the other item in her way—and plopped down on the well-worn seat. A stack of clothes on the middle cushion fell to the floor. Naomi didn’t notice.

  Kristy did. “Dang, Nay. Look what you did!”

  Naomi bristled at her cousin’s sharp tone. “Don’t bite my head off. It’s just a pile of clothes.” Shaking her head, she reached toward the pile. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but it needs to come out. You were bitchy while in Vegas and now it seems the bitch is back.”

  “She never left.”

  “What’s the matter? Gary still mad that you went to Vegas without him?”

  Kristy shrugged. “I don’t care about him, and the man I really want doesn’t care about me.”

  “I told you to quit being a side chick. If a man can’t take you out in the daytime, your ass shouldn’t take him in at night.”

  “Mind your business,” Kristy replied, in a more cordial voice. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “If you say so.” Naomi continued refolding the clothes that had fallen, and in the silence that followed, rearranged her judgmental attitude, too, before changing the subject.

  “I really like Marvin.” There. She’d finally said it. Honestly, the truth felt kind of good rolling off her tongue. “The first time I’ve felt this way in a long time.”

  “I can see you being attracted to him. But you’re sounding like he has you whipped, and to hear you tell it, y’all haven’t screwed.”

  “We haven’t.”

  “Then you don’t even know the man.”

  “That’s just the thing, Tee. I feel like I do. It’s crazy, but from the moment we met it was like we’d known each other forever. I was attracted to him, but he got on my nerves. In a good way, though. Like someone you like so much you can’t stand them at all. Even when we’re arguing it’s almost fun. A challenge to see who can one-up the other. He has that magnetic kind of energy, where everyone likes him.” She frowned. “And I mean everyone.”

  Kristy looked up. “He’s got a girlfriend?”

  “He said he didn’t. But he’s got a bunch of women who want to be his girlfriend. I can tell that just by what’s happened already.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like that girl at the Spot, the one whose attitude was shitty toward us because she likes him. And then there’s this coordinator who was his teacher in culinary school trying to push up on him. I really don’t need the extra aggravation. I should just ignore him, and focus on winning the contest.”

  “There you go. Leave him alone, simple as that.”

  “Leaving him alone isn’t simple at all.”

  “Girl, which one is it? You want him and then you don’t want him. You can be with him and then you can’t. Make up your mind!”

  “I want to be with him, but I don’t know if I should. Doing so might mess up my chances of winning the contest. But then after I win he might not want to be with me, and I’ll never find out if the dick’s good or not.”

  “Then go on and be with him, Nay. That’s the only way you’re going to find out.”

  Kristy huffed as she stood and balanced a large stack of towels in her hands before heading down the hallway to the linen closet.

  Naomi watched her retreating back, mad at her cousin’s nonchalant attitude. Kristy made it sound so easy. “He probably isn’t even that good,” Naomi mumbled. “Probably walking around with an enormous ego and an itty-bitty ditty.”

  A howl from the hallway.

  “Oh, you heard that?”

  “I sure did.” Kristy retraced her steps down the hallway and entered the kitchen.

  “Tee-hee!”

  “Hey, cuzzo, you want a margarita? I can’t make you call Marvin, but I can get you drunk.”

  Naomi slid off the couch to join Kristy in the kitchen. Getting inebriated sounded like a safe option. Curing a hangover was much easier than nursing a hurting heart.

  9

  The next morning, Marvin rolled out of bed around ten a.m. and after a quick wash-up headed for the kitchen. On Sundays that was usually exclusively his mama Liz’s domain. But his parents were gone. They’d spent the night with Anita at a casino in Palm Springs. Today it was just the boys. It had been a while since he’d cooked for all of his brothers, and even though he’d been over a stove for almost ten hours the night before, he was looking forward to preparing their meal. Known for using them as guinea pigs to test out new recipes, today he planned to stick with American breakfast classics—eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, grits, pancakes, and homemade biscuits. Something for everyone.

  Marvin placed a tray of thick-cut bacon and another one of sausage into the oven, poured olive oil into a cast-iron skillet, and pulled out a jumbo bag of prepared hash browns from the freezer. He grabbed green peppers and sweet onions from the vegetable bin. After placing those contents on the counter, he scrolled through his iPod library for Tupac’s Greatest Hits. Bobbing his head to “California Love,” he’d just begun dicing the onion when he heard someone at the door. Halfway to the hallway, he heard jangling keys and knew it was his baby bro, Barry. He opened the door and offered a quick shoulder bump before returning to the kitchen and his task.

  “Dang, bro!” Barry followed Marvin and the tantalizing aromas. “You’ve got it smelling good in here!”

  “I’m just getting started.” Marvin finished dicing the onion, tossed the pieces into the oil, and reached for the large green pepper. “What, that fine chick you brought over to Byron’s house don’t feed you?”

  “Yolanda’s skills are used to handle a different ki
nd of appetite.”

  The brothers continued to banter back and forth, with Marvin continuing to work his cooking magic and Barry wanting to “test” every dish removed from the stove. By the time Douglas, Byron, and another sibling, Nelson, arrived, everything was ready. Marvin set up the food buffet-style on the kitchen counter. He filled a bucket with ice and set out cartons of orange and apple juice. The men grabbed plates and piled them high, grabbed their drink choices, and found seats to chow down.

  “I hope the food is to your liking,” Barry said after swallowing a bite. “Not the best I’ve cooked, but—”

  Nelson delivered an elbow jab to Barry’s arm. “Shut up, Negro! You didn’t cook anything. You can’t even boil an egg.”

  “He can’t boil water,” Byron added.

  “I’ll tell you like I told Marvin about my girl Yolanda. My skills are put to better use in another room in the house.”

  “What?” Doug asked. “The bathroom? Cause you are definitely full of—”

  “Not while we’re eating!” Byron interjected.

  The brothers laughed. Barry appeared unfazed by the good-natured ribbing. “Back off, fellas. Jealousy is an ugly thing.”

  Marvin spread jelly on his biscuit. “Yeah, well, so is your face!”

  Another round of laughter as the siblings enjoyed Marvin’s food and each other’s company. These brothers and best friends had teased, argued, and fought with each other all of their lives and were closer than they’d ever been.

  “This is good, Marv,” Nelson said, after shoveling in a forkful of cheesy eggs and following them up with a bite of jellied biscuit. “You really should open up your own place.”

  “Hey, speaking of having your own, how’s that contest going?”

  “I don’t want to jinx it, Byron, but so far, so good. In a few weeks the dream of having my own spot just might come true.”

  “How is the winner determined?” Doug asked.

  Marvin explained the process. “The final ten will go head-to-head and be taped for television.”

  “When will it air?” Barry asked.

  Marvin shrugged. “Whenever it does, I’ll be on it.”

  Doug reached for a napkin, then poured more apple juice into his glass. “Who’s your competition so far?”

  “Nobody,” Marvin confidently replied. “No, for real, there are a few in the game who will give me a run for my money. A few executive chefs who’ve run award-winning kitchens. This Cordon Bleu–trained hotshot that claims to have cooked in kitchens all over the world. Naomi thinks she’s competition, but she isn’t.”

  “Naomi’s the one you’re digging?” Byron asked.

  “What makes you think that?”

  Doug answered. “Because she’s the only one you mentioned by name.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Marvin replied. But the smile on his face more than suggested that Byron was right. “Naomi’s cool. But she’s also competition. I don’t know if dating her is a good idea.”

  He also told them what Abbey said and asked them what they thought.

  Nelson spoke up first. “I don’t know, bro. Sounds like your ex-teacher might have her own agenda, blocking you from Naomi so she can have you for herself.”

  “Which may not be a good move either,” Byron said. “Because what if the situation goes south with her? Either of the women could try and sabotage your chances.”

  “Or try and mess you up because you don’t hook up,” Doug suggested.

  Barry slapped Marvin on the back. “Don’t worry, Marv. I know you’re not used to handling multiple females simultaneously, but I’m going to help you out. Stay friendly with both of them, but don’t sleep with either one until after the show is over. Then make the choice of who you want to be with. Simple as that.”

  Marvin had to acknowledge that Barry made a lot of sense. Now wasn’t the time to make enemies. Abbey was someone Marvin knew he could handle. He could always use the excuse that she was his teacher and might be again, plus they’d always been just friends anyway. Naomi was different. He was attracted to everything about her, wanted to be with her. Not giving in to the temptation to do so wouldn’t be simple at all. In fact, he’d learn sooner than later, it would be damn near impossible.

  10

  The weekend passed quickly and the following Tuesday, his day off, Marvin relished sleeping in. He’d worked the previous ten days straight, two of them double shifts. The extra hours would net him more money, but little else. Even the amount he’d make with the extra hours was little more than a starting salary at other more high-end establishments. Marvin had been at the Soul Spot for three years, basically doing a chef’s work on a line cook’s pay. The Spot was a good restaurant. Still in business after twenty-five years, which was good for the food industry. But the regulars were getting older and dying, and young people hadn’t been as attracted to the food or the space. That’s one of the main reasons Donald had hired Marvin, after the father who’d founded the restaurant died. Donald had given Marvin leeway. Made big promises. Donald had promised that in two years, Marvin could take the lead. That he’d never wanted to cook in the first place and was glad someone with Marvin’s passion and skill had come along.

  Marvin had been thrilled at the prospect and gone right to work. Updated the menu. Suggested affordable décor changes. White paint covered dark brown tables and booths. Bright orange and yellow accents replaced somber navy and maroon. The all-black ensemble was switched out for comfy jeans and brightly colored T-shirts emblazoned with a logo Marvin had had designed for free. He worked hard, even on off days, envisioning a place to work at for the long term and a kitchen he’d one day run.

  That was the first twelve months. Business increased. Accolades abounded. But not everyone was happy. Along with the shift in colors and menu choices came a shift in respect from Donald to Marvin. Donald had the title and the family name, but people came to Marvin because he had the answers. Marvin was the real boss.

  “Hang in there,” Janet had told him. “Donald will be gone in another year.”

  That was two years ago. The only things left were Donald’s promises and regular raises. Unfortunately, Marvin’s passion for the Soul Spot had also left the building.

  But on this day off, Marvin woke up smiling. He was weeks away from being able to deliver a message to Don-wannabe-Juan, one he’d bitten back too many times to count. I quit. A few more challenges, a few more eliminations, and he’d be on the way to living the dream of having a business of his own. Bolstered by that thought and remembering his brother’s advice to stay focused, Marvin rolled out of bed and bounced into the shower. Since the first round had focused on appetizers, entrées were the obvious assumption for round two. Competitions like these were known to throw in an unexpected twist or two though, so nothing was certain. His plan was to prepare so that he could handle whatever the judges threw at him. Whatever came up.

  Dressed in black jeans, a black Raiders tee, stark white Jordans and mirrored shades, Marvin jumped into his SUV and headed to the nearest mall and Kitchen Etc., his favorite store. On the way he thought about Naomi and her savory slices, then flipped through his mental Rolodex of specialties and pondered how he could prepare them in a way to stand out among the other chefs. Unique pairings was something that always went over well. A smart use of spices or a new take on an old dish garnered high praise and high points. His mind churned on options both savory and sweet. He thought about the bacon-in-dessert craze over the past few years—in ice cream, cupcakes, cookies, scones—and wondered how it would work with yams, one of his favorite root vegetables. By the time he arrived at the store about ten minute later, Marvin had half a dozen or so ideas to work on for the upcoming show.

  For sure he knew he needed a cooking thermometer. One of the ideas on the trip over was a sweet-potato puff, a cakey-type ball rolled in powdered sugar and pecans and having some type of unexpected, gooey center of deliciousness inside it. Perhaps one that included bacon or some other unusual savory-sweet
pairing he’d not yet thought of. He waved away the enthusiastic salesclerk’s offer of assistance, found the thermometer aisle and picked out a couple different ones based on prospective use. He continued to browse, checking out the latest culinary gadgets. More than once he’d found a trendy new device that inspired a dish and hoped that today might be one of those times. Entering an aisle with chef’s knives and a variety of other cutting devices, he stopped when a stainless steel mandoline caught his eye. He picked it up, inspected the super-sharp cutting edges, and thought about sweet-potato chips with a savory dip. The way his thought process had been the past week, he was pretty sure that whatever the challenge, a sweet potato would be at the center of his culinary creation.

  His peripheral vision caught someone’s movement as they entered the aisle. Before he could look up, a familiar voice sounded.

  “Are you following me?”

  He looked over at Naomi, looking like a sweet and spicy dish herself—baby-doll-style mini barely covering smooth, thick thighs. Wedge heels that showed off strong calves. Cleavage taunting him to take a plunge inside. Abbey’s warning and his brother’s advice flew straight out his mental window.

  “More like the other way around.” Marvin’s smile came slow and easy as he moved toward her. “You walked into my aisle.”

  Naomi looked around. “Oh, really, because I don’t see your name anywhere.”

  “But you saw me, though, and came running.”

  “Oh, that’s what happened?”

  “Looks like it.” He enjoyed a blatant once-over. “Got all dressed up, too, I see. With that short dress showing off those juicy thighs and sweet-looking melons trying to escape from your prison of a bra.”

  Naomi took a step closer. “Are you concerned that they might get away, volunteering to be the warden that puts them back in their cell?”

  “There you go, playing with fire again.”

  “I like it hot, darling. If anyone runs from the heat, it will be you.”

  Marvin’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the luscious lips from which those challenging words were issued. Lips he could imagine crushing with his own, and doing other things in other places.