Page 1 of Love Delayed

Prologue

When Things Took an AwfulTurn

I went back and forth between my camera and the prep area in our spacious kitchen as I set up my camera to record another cooking video for my YouTube channel. I loved cooking and have been cooking since I was a young kid. That night, I felt inspired to share my stuffed chicken alfredo pasta shells. I had less than four thousand followers and was driven to make more dishes to grow my channel. Usually, Marcus would be home to film my episodes, but he was still out celebrating with family and friends. It was the night after the grand reopening of the hotel he had inherited. Of course, I was happy for him, but I had hung out with him and his crew too much the night before and was partied out.

Depleted from the busy week and long-ass day, I decided to call it a night and go home to relax. However, after showering and pouring myself a glass of wine, I felt a burst of energy. So, instead of flopping down in front of the television, I decided to get started on a recipe I had finally perfected. I didn’t know where I got my passion for cooking; maybe it was because I loved to eat.

After filming, I put away the dinner we would enjoy the next day and cleaned up the kitchen. Once I refilled my glass, I settled on the sofa to wait for Marcus. We both graduated with our bachelor’s degrees a year ago, and his family now felt ready to give him possession of his first newly renovated property. A chef at heart, I constantly regretted my career choice. I allowed my mother, the dictator, to overrule my decisions by convincing me that culinary school could wait. Listening to my parents, I gave up on the dream I had since I was a little girl.

I remember bouncing into the house with a flyer for a baking competition. I was about eleven years old and wanted to make strawberry cupcakes. I had never made anything other than blueberry cupcakes, my daddy’s favorite, but I tweaked the recipe myself and was sure my cupcakes with a strawberry cream cheese center would win. Classic cupcakes had swirled icing and decorated occasionally with sprinkles. I wanted to surprise the judges with a creamy center they would have never expected.

“Momma! Momma! I need to go the grocery store!” I yelled, calling out for her as I rushed through the front door, waving the flyer. When I realized she was in the kitchen, I quickly dashed inside. “The community center is having a bake-off, and the winner can win a hundred dollars. I want to crush it,” I said, pushing the paper into her midsection.

“Slow down, child, and let me read this.” Momma took the flyer and scanned it with her eyes. Once she finished reading it, she looked at my face lit up and said, “Okay, but you better not waste our hard-earned money, chile.” Then, with a tender smile, she added, “And you betta crush them cupcakes.”

I bounced up and down with excitement. “I will. I promise.”

Momma took me to the store and purchased all the ingredients. When we got home, I mixed up a small sample for us to test, adjusting my measurements just a little. Then we bit into the most perfect strawberry cupcakes the south side of Chicago had ever tasted.

Later, I helped my mother prepare dinner. Or more likeIprepared dinner since I constantly suggested ways to improve the meal.

“Why don’t you just cook then, missy,” Momma said, stepping away from the stove.

I didn’t hesitate. Instead, I moved my tiny step stool closer to the stovetop and got to work. When I finished, my mother gave me a proud smile after her taste test.

“Wow, ZeeZee, this is good. You’re a better cook than Momma,” she said, pulling me into a tight hug. “But can you please let your father think I did this?” she asked with a loving smile.

“Of course,” I replied, smiling back at her, and she gave me a wink.

Later, I went on to win first place in the cupcake competition. From then, I cooked ninety percent of our meals, always looking online for recipes and whipping up my own signature dishes. By the time I turned sixteen, I was cooking for our family gatherings and had created sauces and spices that I sold at the local flea market and functions.

It felt so natural because I was living out what I was called to do. Things collapsed when it was time to talk about college. Culinary school was the only thing on my mind, but my mother didn’t share my dream. I sat arguing my points to my parents to the point where I lost my voice, and I finally gave in. I let them convince me that a business major would offer more financial security for my future. Well, it was mainly my mother because my dad had very few words to say. She convinced me that having a business degree would take me to limitless places that being a cook could not. Close to seventeen at the time and naïve, I trusted that my parents knew what was best for my life. So, I agreed to major in something that would benefit me in the long run versus pursuing something I loved.

Fast forward to the end of what would have been my perfect beginning. I graduated and got an office job but felt empty in the workforce. I yearned for the kitchen. All I wanted to do was wake up and to cook something that would satisfy the stomach of others and put a smile on my face. Not experience the dread I felt every morning when my alarm went off. I hated going into a job that had me––a college graduate––in an essential entry-level position. Marc provided us with a nice living; therefore, I could have quit. I worked mainly because of my student loan debt due to going to college to get my degree, and going back to school and accumulating more student loans was crazy. Still, the fact remained that I wasn’t fulfilled.

While sitting at my desk at work, thinking of what I would make for dinner, I jotted down a list of items I’d have to get before going home. After my shift, I grabbed my things and quickly headed for the bus stop. After a short bus and train ride, I was at the local grocery store two blocks from our place. I stuck to only buying a few items, not wanting to be weighed down on the short walk home with items I could get later with Marcus’s car. When I got home, I was surprised to find him there.

“Hey, you. You’re home?” I said as he rushed over to help me with the bags.

“Yes. I finally got my operations manager trained and won’t have to work sixteens anymore if I can help it,” he replied, placing the groceries on the island.

“Well, I wish you had told me because you could have picked me up from the store.”

“Sorry, babe, I wasn’t thinking,” he said, then came around to kiss my forehead and pull me into his arms. Tilting my head up, Marcus pressed his forehead against mine, something he always did. “How was your day?”

I exhaled. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I replied, resting my head on his chest.

“That bad?” he inquired.

“No, the work is easy, but I sit there daydreaming all day about cooking and baking. I rush through my daily tasks just so I can write ideas for new creations in my notebook.”

“It’s only been a little over five months. Give it more time, babes. You’ll get into a groove, and when you do, you won’t think about cooking so much,” he told me, then pulled back to give me a quick peck on the lips.

I opened my mouth to speak my truth about not wanting to think about cooking so much. However, I knew he was tired of hearing that same old song four or five times a week. So, I just hung my purse and jacket on the hooks near the entry door and then headed to the bedroom to change into something more comfortable. I took a few moments to shower because I knew I’d want to relax after cooking and cleaning the kitchen.

During dinner, we had nonstop conversations about everything. Afterward, I cleared the table, and Marcus volunteered to clean things up for me. Of course, I didn’t decline his offer. I took my refill of white wine to the living room, set it on the end table, and went to my work bag to pull out my laptop before getting cozy on the sectional. I went to my favorite YouTube creators’ channels and watched their cooking videos until Marcus joined me.

Happy that he was home early, I did not stop him from doing all the things he knew to do to make me cum. Our bodies had a certain rhythm, always in sync, and I loved when we made love. Marcus knew how to please me; there was never a time he didn’t. Although I hated to face the next day, I went to sleep with a smile because, other than my career, all was good in my life.

---