Page 81 of Creole Kingpin
“You killed me,” she whispers, letting her head loll to the side. “I ... goddamn ... what happened?”
A chuckle falls from my lips. “You happened. Jesus Christ. You’re ... I don’t even know.” I need more oxygen before I can form coherent sentences. “Almost killed me too. But what a way to go.”
She snorts, and my lips twitch at the sound.
“Did you just snort?”
She does it again, and suddenly, we’re both laughing our asses off. That’s when I remember what it feels like to behappy.
We lie on top of the covers for a long time until the sweat on our skin begins to cool and Magnolia shivers.
“Here, I got you.” I tug the blanket out from beneath us and pull it over her body, curling mine around her to share my heat.
“You said something about food earlier, but ...” She pauses to cover her mouth and yawn. “I’m gonna need a nap after that. Just a few minutes. I’ll be ready in just a few minutes.” And with that, her entire body relaxes, and she drifts off to sleep.
I hold her for two hours, never letting myself doze off, because I want to savor every moment of her in my arms. She’s the piece that’s been missing my whole life.
Fifty-One
Magnolia
It’s dark outside by the time we make it into the kitchen. I sit on a bar stool with a glass of wine in front of me, wearing Moses’s shirt and my shorts, watching as he chops onions, celery, and bell peppers—the holy trinity of Creole food.
“You sure you don’t want help? Because I’m a pretty damn good cook these days. I finally learned.”
He glances at me from across the island, his expression skeptical, but because he’s a smart man, he doesn’t say a word. I can, however, guess exactly what he’s thinking.
“One time. I burned riceone time on a camp stovewhen the city was underwater, but I really have learned since then.”
Moses’s smile tells me he was remembering the exact same thing.
“And, yes, I admit, I would’ve probably starved after the hurricane if you hadn’t kept me fed, but really ... I’m better now.”
Moses pauses with the knife still in hand. “You want to make dinner tomorrow, you go right on ahead. Tonight, I’m cooking for my woman. You deserve it after nearly ending me in bed.”
I snort out a laugh again, something I haven’t done in ... well, fifteen years. Apparently, it’s something brought on only by Moses.
“All right. Tomorrow then. Dinner’s on me. So, what are you making? Gumbo?” I guess the obvious choice given the ingredients he has assembled.
“Shrimp Creole. My grand-mère’s recipe.”
As soon as he mentions his grandmother, I recall him telling me about her all those years ago. “She raised you?”
He nods, continuing to chop. “Most important woman in my life, God rest her soul.”
“What was she like?”
He glances up at me as I take a sip of the wine. “She would’ve liked you. She would’ve gotten a kick out of your fire. Your determination. She didn’t hold with people who expected everything to be handed to them. Which was apparently why she didn’t care for my ma much. I don’t have anything independent to go off, so I gotta assume Grand-mère was right about her.”
Moses never mentioned either of his parents before, so this revelation feels big. I won’t pry, but I want to understand the man in front of me more than anyone in my life.
“You didn’t know your mom either?” I ask the question quietly and add the last word so he knows he’s not alone.
The rhythm of the knife slows to a stop.
“Sounds like you know about that too?”
I nod. “Complications with my birth. I made it. She didn’t.”
