Chapter 6: The Cure
1035 Words
(Tunde’s POV)
I knew something was wrong the moment I saw her get off the bus.
I was standing by the window of my office on the second floor of The Garnish. It was 9:00 AM. I usually watched the street at this time. I told myself it was to check on deliveries, but I knew the truth. I was waiting for Amara.
Usually, she marched down the street like a soldier going to war. She would have her chin up and her bag swinging. She looked ready to fight the world.
But today was different.
She stumbled out of the Danfo. She looked small. She was wearing a thick hoodie even though the morning sun was already warm. She walked slowly, dragging her feet. She leaned against the wall of her shop to unlock the door.
She looked like a ghost.
"Is she sick?" I muttered, pressing my hand against the cool glass.
I watched her disappear into the dark shop. I waited for the lights to come on. They didn't. I waited for her to come out and set up her chalkboard sign. She didn't.
Ten minutes passed.
I was about to grab my keys and cross the street to check on her myself when my phone buzzed.
SpiceGirl: I am officially out of commission. The rain won. I think I’m dying.
I stared at the phone. My chest tightened.
It was the rain. It was because she was out there with me in the storm, fixing that stupid gutter. I had gone home to a hot shower and AC. She had probably gone home to a cold apartment and a long commute.
Guilt hit me hard.
I typed back quickly, asking for her symptoms. When she said she was on the floor hugging her knees, I was halfway to the door.
But I stopped.
If I walked in there right now, what would happen? She would yell at me. She would tell me to get out. She was proud. She wouldn't want her "enemy" seeing her weak and shivering on the floor. She would reject my help just to spite me.
I needed a different way.
I looked at her next message.
SpiceGirl: Pepper Soup. Catfish. Point and Kill... I want enough pepper to burn this fever out of my system.
I smiled.
"Say no more, neighbor."
I turned around and marched into my kitchen. My staff was busy prepping for the lunch rush. The sous-chef, Marcus, looked up.
"Chef? Do you need the station?"
"Move," I said, grabbing a fresh apron. "I need the live tank."
I went to the back where we kept the live catfish. I picked the best one. I didn't let the junior chefs handle it. I killed it, cleaned it, and chopped it myself.
I put a pot on the high-heat burner. I didn't use my fancy French stocks. I used water. I reached for the local spices I kept in a special jar—Uda, Ehuru, Uziza seeds. I toasted them quickly to release the oil.
"Chef, that is a lot of pepper," Marcus noted, eyeing the handful of dry chili I was crushing. "Is a customer trying to punish themselves?"
"It's medicinal," I said. "And don't touch it."
I cooked with focus. I tasted the broth. It was fiery. It kicked the back of my throat. It was exactly what she asked for.
I added the scent leaves at the very last second so they stayed green and potent. I ladled the soup into my best insulated container—the one that kept heat for six hours. I packed a bottle of water and a side of eco (agidi) just in case the pepper was too much for her.
I called Samuel.
"Run this across the street to Madam Amara," I ordered. "Tell her I cooked it myself. Tell her it is urgent."
"The lady at Baba's Pot?" Samuel looked confused. "But Chef, you guys are fighting."
"Just go, Samuel. Before it gets cold."
I watched from the window as Samuel crossed the road. I watched him knock. I saw the door crack open. I saw Amara take the bag. She looked terrible, even from this distance.
I waited.
Thirty minutes later, my phone buzzed.
SpiceGirl: You won’t believe this. My annoying rich neighbor just sent me the exact soup I asked for. Maybe he’s a wizard.
I laughed out loud in the quiet office.
Wizard.
If only she knew. I wasn't a wizard. I was just a man who was dangerously obsessed with the girl next door.
ChefX (Me): Or maybe he just has good taste. Did it help?
SpiceGirl: Yes. It was perfect. I hate that I have to be grateful to him.
I leaned back in my leather chair. The guilt in my chest loosened. She was okay. She was eating. She hated being grateful, but she was alive enough to hate it. That was good.
I looked across the street. I saw her lock up the shop and get into a taxi. She was going home to sleep.
"Get well soon, Amara," I whispered.
I turned back to my desk. I couldn't focus on the spreadsheets. I was too busy planning my next move.
She was grateful now. Her guard was down.
When she came back, she would be confused. She would be suspicious. I needed to distract her. I needed a way to get close to her without her realizing I was courting her.
I looked at the menu on my desk.
Next week was the street food festival.
"Perfect," I grinned.
I picked up my pen and circled the date.
The Blind Taste Test.
She thought she hated my food? She thought I was just a fancy chef who didn't know flavor?
I was going to prove her wrong. And I was going to hold her hand while I did it.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD