Receiving the silent treatment for days had Adair kissing major ass. Sabine could walk to the refrigerator, and he was right on her. She would go to the bathroom, and he’d be ready to wipe her ass for her. Couldn’t shift in bed without him asking if she was okay. He didn’t like his wife not speaking to him, so he had to do something grand. Something that made her believe he wouldn’t ever stay out late again, especially without calling.
So, he had to move different.
Not talk her into forgiveness. Not beg like a child.
Prove it.
He waited until she went to take a nap—because after a nap, she was always the nicest. A sleepy Sabine was a cranky Sabine.
Adair went downstairs like a man with a plan. Pulled open the fridge, grabbed what he knew she liked—pineapple, chicken breast, jasmine rice she swore tasted better than any other kind.
He didn’t know what he was doing exactly, but he’d seen his mama cook enough times to fake it. Pan too hot? Addwater. Chicken sticking? Add oil. Fire too high? Turn it down. Seasoning? Go heavy—Sabine was black.
Except somewhere between the oil and the heat, the whole pan flared up. Smoke shot up to the ceiling. Fast and black with loud popping from the stove top.
Thenbeep-beep-BEEEEP!The smoke alarm went crazy.
“Shit, shit—damn!” Adair snatched a towel and started swinging like he was fighting off a swarm of wasps.
Pam’s bedroom door flew open upstairs and just like that, she came stomping down in a scarf, robe, and full-blown fury.
“BOY! What in the entire hell are you doing in my kitchen?!”
Adair coughed through the haze. “I was cookin’—”
“Burnin’ is more like it!”
“I was tryin’ to—damn, Ma!” He jumped back as she yanked the pan off the eye.
“Don’t 'damn Ma' me. You done ruined my good nonstick pan, Adair. MyT-FAL! Look at this shit!”
She scraped the black gunk with a spoon. “You don’tnevertouch my cookware again, you hear me?!”
The kitchen smelled like smoke and defeat.
Then they heard her.
“...What’s going on?”
Sabine’s voice, quiet at first, floated down the stairs before she appeared in the doorway—barefoot, hair puffed and wild from sleep. She had on one of Adair’s old shirts and nothing else. Her small baby bump was peeking through the cotton, just visible enough to make him freeze.
She was guarding her belly without thinking. The way she always did now. Like her body remembered to protect it even when she didn’t meanto.
And God, she looked good.
No makeup, no effort, no filter.
Just her.
Her. And his baby.
Adair knew, right then,he was acting like a fool. Risking all of this—for what? A night out? He’d been selfish. Stupid. He could’ve lost her.
“I was tryna cook for you,” he mumbled, eyes down as he scraped burnt rice out the pan with a spoon.
Pam popped him with a dishrag. “Gimme that!Scrappin’ up another one of good pots now!”
Sabine stood by the table, arms crossed now, watching both of them with sleepy eyes.