Page 53 of A Million Shades Of Love and Betrayal

“I am!” I replied, the enthusiasm bubbling in my voice. “I’ve decided to surprise Rafael with some Jamaican food tonight. But I need your help deciding what to make. What do you think?”

There was a pause, and I could almost hear my mom’s brain whirring through the options. “Well, you can never go wrong with oxtail. It’s classic, and everyone loves it. How about you make some rice and peas to go with it? And maybe a side of mac and cheese?”

My mouth watered at the thought. “That sounds perfect. Thanks, Mom! I’ll have to go to the supermarket to get everything I need.”

“Good luck, sweetheart. Call me if you need any help. And remember, the key to good Jamaican food is the seasoning. Don’t skimp on it!”

“I won’t, Mom. Thanks again. Love you!”

“Love you too, Yasmin.”

I hung up the phone and felt a rush of excitement. I quickly changed into something comfortable yet stylish, knowing I’d run around the supermarket. I grabbed my keys and headed out, to find Elena and Carlos waiting by the front door. My guards were ever vigilant, never letting their guards down, not even when I was home.

“Good morning, guys,” I greeted them with a smile.

“Morning, Yasmin,” they replied in unison.

“I’m off to the supermarket to get some ingredients. Want to come along?” It was a question, but we all knew what their answer would be. I wasn't sure why I even asked.

They exchanged a glance before nodding. “Of course,” Elena said. “Let’s go.”

We made our way to the car and drove through the bustling streets towards the supermarket. I glanced out the window, my mind already planning out the evening. I wanted everything to be perfect.

Once we arrived, I grabbed a cart and started down the aisles, my list of ingredients in hand. Elena and Carlos followed at a distance, their eyes constantly scanning the surroundings.

“Okay, first on the list: oxtail,” I muttered. I walked over to the meat section and grabbed two packs of oxtail, chicken, and fish to cook another day.

Next, I needed the spices for the meat: allspice, thyme, ginger, garlic, and scotch bonnet peppers. I found everything easily enough, though the peppers took a bit of searching. “These will give it a kick,” I thought with a grin.

Rice and peas were next. I picked up a bag of long-grain rice and a can of kidney beans. I knew I’d need some coconut milk too, so I grabbed a couple of cans. Finally, I grabbed an array of cheese to add to my mac and cheese.

With all my ingredients in the cart, I made my way to the checkout, Elena and Carlos flanking me like a pair of watchful hawks. I thanked the cashier, and we headed to the car, the trunk now filled with everything I needed to make the perfect Jamaican meal.

Back home, I set the bags on the kitchen counter and inhaled deeply. “Here goes nothing,” I muttered to myself. I pulled out my phone and dialed my mom again.

“Hi, Mom. I got everything. Can you walk me through the dish before I start?”

“Of course, sweetheart. First, you need to clean the meat.” I listened intently as she gave me a quick run explanation of how to cook oxtail. I realized I still remembered how to make it from all the other times I watched her, but it was nice having her explain it again.

“Got it,” I said, as I began gathering everything, I would need so I wouldn't have to run around the kitchen.

“For the rice and peas, you’ll need to cook the rice with the kidney beans, coconut milk, and some seasoning. Don’t forget a bit of thyme and a whole scotch bonnet pepper for flavor—just don’t burst it, or it’ll be too spicy,” my mom warned.

I chuckled, remembering a time when I’d made that mistake before. “Don’t worry, Mom. I won’t. Thanks for all the help.”

“Anytime, Yasmin. I’m sure Rafael will love it. Call me if you need anything else.”

“I will. Bye, Mom.”

"Bye."

The kitchen was quickly becoming my sanctuary. There’s something deeply therapeutic about the rhythmic chopping of vegetables, the sizzling of onions and garlic in the pan, and the fragrant aroma of spices wafting through the air. I let my mind wander as I cooked, thinking about Rafael. I couldn’t help but smile as I thought about how much I loved sharing a bed with him. His body was warm and solid next to mine. There was something so intimate and reassuring about cuddling with him, feeling his breath against my neck as we drifted off to sleep.

In the mornings, I cherished watching him get ready. He moved with purpose and ease, his hair still tousled from sleep, his jawline shadowed with stubble. He always caught me looking, too. His eyes would meet mine in the mirror, and a soft, almost shy smile would spread across his face.

I shook myself from my reverie, focusing on the task at hand. The rice and peas were done, and the oxtail was nearly ready. I reached for the ingredients for the mac and cheese, humming a little tune as I worked. I assembled the dish and then layered the cheese and pasta, which felt like second nature to me. It was a recipe my mother had taught me, and every time I made it, I felt a connection to my roots, to the generations of women who had come before me.

As I poured the cheese sauce over the pasta, I felt strong arms wrap around my waist. Startled, I tensed slightly, but then relaxed as I realized who it was. Rafael.

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