Page 37 of The Cost of Love

We make our way to my car, which is already waiting outside for us. Climbing in, she relaxes against the seat like she is melting. It reminds me that she has just been on her feet for hours. The fact that she can work so hard and still only make a sliver that I do is infuriating.

My takeaway for the month would be her yearly salary, and she did way more than I did today. She won’t let me change that for her, but I can at least make it better for the people who work for me. Hopefully, once I’m done with that, I can change her mind.

“Talk to me. I’m trying not to fall asleep.” She rubs her eyes and yawns.

“What time does your shift start tonight?”

“I have to be there for 5 p.m., but I like getting there early to watch them prep. I feel like each time I learn a little bit more.”

I slide closer to her and grab her hand in mine. She looks at me for a second before intertwining our fingers.

“What is your favorite dish that the chef does?” I ask.

She takes a moment to think, her thumb tapping against my hand. “Probably the chipotle maple glazed turkey. It takes a long time, and they are constantly injecting the juices back into it. It’s so good.”

“I don’t like turkey,” I say, scrunching my nose. She laughs like I told a joke and then bites her bottom lip.

“That’s probably because all the turkey you have eaten has been dry. I used to not like chicken until I realized my mum just overcooked it.”

If that’s the reason I don’t like it, then some catering places owe us our money back.

“You would think meat is easy, but not getting it to the right temp can ruin a whole dish,” she says, looking at me. The adoration that pours out of her makes it impossible for me to look away.

“Tell me more cooking tips.”

The rest of the ride, she indulges me with information she knows. More skilled than you think someone would be with only one year of schooling, she was right on the spot when she said this is her passion.

She stops talking when we enter the building where the restaurant is. The elevator ride is quiet as well, and it’s not until we walk out onto the roof that she makes a noise.

“Alex,” she hisses, gripping my hand. “I’m not dressed to be here.”

With the floral trees and koi pond in the center, the space looks a lot fancier than it actually is. Atmospheric and poised to make you feel like you are in a garden in Japan, it has a theme.

“Look around, it’s casual, I promise,” I say, guiding her further in.

She stops staring at the arches over the tables with hanging plants to look at the guests. As promised, everyone is in simple summer clothes and jeans. She lets out a breath and stops holding my hand so tightly.

The hostess sits us down and brings over our tablet for ordering. I chose an all-you-can-eat spot so she wouldn’t feel bad indulging. I explain this to her and guarantee that the meal will be less than a hundred pounds.

This seems to put her at ease. Picking up the device, she scrolls through the options, her brow furrowing with each pass.

“I don’t know what to get. Just order for me.” She hands the device back to me.

Not knowing what she might like, I just order most of the rolls. Whatever she doesn’t eat, I will.

As they start bringing food over, her eyes light up more and more. Picking up the chopsticks, she clumsily wields them to grab some sashimi pieces. I tell her to dunk them in the soy sauce, and when she brings it to her mouth, she moans. That’s enough to have me picturing her pressed against the wall with a toy inside her. The memory quickly replaying in my mind.

I walk her through each piece and roll, explaining what everything contains, if only to stop my thought process. She tries everything, even dipping some of the pieces in the spicy mayo they brought. Not shy at all, she goes all in until some salmon slips from her weak hold and hits her shirt.

“Shit.” She dabs the spot with a wet napkin. I try not to laugh as she looks around like she is worried people are staring at her.

Giving up, she puts her head in her hands. “I’m a mess.”

“It’s fine, Chanice.”

“Honestly, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner. I eat like a child.”

I look at all the crumbs and small puddles of sauce on her side of the table. She follows my eyes and then buries her face in her palms again.