Run For Your Knife

Author's Note: The Danforth is the historic Greek district in Toronto. Also, it is very difficult to make a living doing online sex work alone, and what happens in this story should be taken as the exception and not the norm.

Tashelle Brathwaite's lungs burned and her thighs threatened to explode. It felt like she was all but dragging her body through the longest stretch of Lakeshore Boulevard she'd ever run, and this was her fourth Toronto Marathon.

Just hammer another nail in my coffin, she silently cursed what seemed like the thousandth person to jog past her, although a part of her knew she was probably closer to the front of the pack. Most parts of her didn't even know what hour it was; just that she'd soon be reaching the designated cheering station and then the finish line.

BRATHWAITE, a massive, colourful placard off in the distance shouted, telling her the ordeal was almost over, as her dad and brother were waiting there for her. Austin also said he'd show up with a surprise, and Tashelle hoped to god it was a cooler full of electrolytes.

Every inch of her dark oak skin glistened, and her bounce-crochet ringlets bobbed atop her head as she turned the corner onto Spadina Avenue—and then broke into a grin upon seeing that Austin had made it. But his parents were there too, and she'd only met them twice.

What is he... why is he...

Even her brain was out of breath, or maybe it was hallucinating because Tashelle swore her boyfriend was trying to climb over the barriers onto the path... and now he was holding his arms out...? She nearly fell over as she looked behind her, her bearings off kilter while she wondered if he was alerting her to some danger coming up from behind. But then she turned back toward him and stopped, mortified.

No, she thought, unable to decide which part of this was the worst. The fact that he was down on one knee or the fact that she was losing seconds.

"Tashelle Brathwaite," he started above the roar of the crowd. She looked to her right and noticed a TV news crew coming toward them. Then Austin took out a ring box and opened it.

Oh, helllllls no, she averred, gently shaking her head and gunning it toward the finish line just 200 metres away. She wasn't even sure anymore whether she was running toward it or away from Austin, but she was sure she was going to be told what was what by everyone in her life real soon.

"Six hundred-and-sixth!" her brother, Viv, exclaimed when her results came in. He gave her a hug and a sports drink, then turned her away from where their dad and Austin's family were standing across the crowd.

"I can cover for you if you want to make a run for it," Viv told her. "Pun totally intended."

"And why should I do that?" Tashelle managed to get out between gulps. Austin was visibly distraught and his parents looked like they were trying to dissuade the news crew from sticking around.

"You snubbed your boyfriend's proposal in front of half the Toronto Marathon."

"Viv, I'm not gonna get into how I'm so exhausted I think I'm gonna die," she said. "I'm not gonna talk about all the people I watched throw up on the street over the last few hours. What I am gonna ask is, why does anyone expect me to manage someone else's feelings 10 minutes after I just finished a marathon?"

"Tashelle, you've been dating this man for a year-and-a-half," Viv tried, "and you're talking about him like he's some fling?"

"He's been dating me for a year-and-a-half, and he didn't know what a huge moment this is? Even flings would have been more considerate!" As if right on cue, Austin approached them, his parents and Tashelle's dad in tow.

"I can't believe you did that to me," he spit out. She could sense a few eyeballs were turning toward them, even in the ruckus of celebrations at the finish line.

"Austin, let me ask you something," she redirected him, unphased. Her fatigue from the race removed any effort she could have made to filter her thoughts. "What would you have thought last year at your law school graduation, if I'd gotten down on one knee after you were handed your degree? Right on the stage?"

"I—what does that have to do with anything?"

"Would you have been thrilled? Or would you have been put off that I was taking that moment you worked so hard for, and making it about myself?"

Their conversation fell away below the roar of those flanking their loved ones as they crossed the finish line. Tashelle waited for an answer, not looking at her dad either because she knew after years of experience he'd be taking Austin's side.

"You embarrassed me in front of thousands of people," Austin persisted.

"You made me lose seconds off my time and would have made me lose minutes more if I'd stopped. For an event I've been training months for, and run every year for the last four years."

"Tashelle," her father's baritone Jamaican lilt cut in, "you can't do this to a man, dear. It was important to you, yes, but his parents are here too. Do you expect him to just stand here and take this?"

"No, papa, I expect him—and you—to stand there and blow it out of proportion." She took another swig of her drink and wiped her brow with the towel Viv handed her. "About 14,000 people run this marathon every year on average. Do any of you, except Viv, know where I finished just now? Do any of you care?"

"Tashelle, maybe it was an error in judgment for Austin to pick today when you're obviously so distraught." She knew Austin's dad was trying to sanitise how his son had fucked up, but all she really wanted was an apology or an acknowledgement that she'd finished 606th out of 14,000 runners, and she wasn't hearing it.

"Distraught?" she repeated. "Sir, I was distraught when he stopped me on the track. I'm over this now. Austin, you just showed me you believe one of the most important and difficult things I could do should take a backseat to an everyday thing you decided to do."

"You're seriously telling me women get proposed to every day?" The race was looking like a walk in the park compared to whatever this was.

"Actually, yes, but they get proposed to during moments that are just about them and their relationship. You wanted everyone to stand up and clap for you." She caught the eye of the news reporter who was hovering nearby, clearly hoping for the human interest story of the year. And before she could stop her hand from waving her and the cameraman over, Tashelle was already watching herself do it.

"So it looks like you just had a doubly amazing day!" the reporter exclaimed as the camera's red light went on. "We're live on NewsPlanet Toronto," she announced to her audience, "at the scene where one of the runners just accepted a proposal in the middle of the race." Tashelle could see the horror in her little brother's eyes and the confusion among everyone else, but it was happening.

"Actually, no, I placed six-hundred-and-sixth and ran a personal best!" she bellowed with just as much enthusiasm above the crowd. "But my boyfriend failed to see how huge that is for me and almost ruined it so I am breaking up with him right now and taking myself out to dinner!" Viv's hands were on his face, her dad's hands were atop his head, and the reporter's free hand was on her chest.

"Austin, you're never going to see me as your equal. I wish you a great future, but I'm not going to be a part of it." She then waved excitedly into the camera with an exaggerated grin and flounced off to a water tent to grab another sports drink.

"You are completely out of your mind and dad is pisssssed," Viv joined her a few minutes later, as she knew he would. "They're begging NewsPlanet not to air what you just said."

"Dad's not that pissed."

"Trust me, he's pissed."

"Remember the time we were at his friend's place and he introduced us and said he wished I'd been a cop like him but instead I chose to be a 'professional asswipe?'"

"How could I forget?" Viv shook his head, unimpressed with how he always fell into the pattern of being the buffer between his father and sister. "You chugged your drink in front of everyone and said, 'well, dad, I guess the wipe doesn't fall very far from the ass!' And then I got you to the car and drove us the hell outta there?"

"Which I expect you to do today as well." The only different thing about this moment was that there was a sports drink in Tashelle's fist instead of a daiquiri. "But on that day, dad was pissed."

She supposed it was partly her fault as well—getting her hopes up when she saw him in the cheering section earlier. For a fleeting moment, it seemed like her father was there to support her in what she wanted to do and what she was good at.

If that had been the case, she would have forgiven him for humiliating her at that party for being a videographer. She would have even forgiven him for divorcing her mother, but maybe there was nothing to forgive there. After all, Tashelle and Viv's mom was living her best life with their stepdad in Montreal.

"Imagine I did get married but I chose to have Norris walk me down the aisle instead of dad?" Tashelle's eyes glowed fiendishly. She attributed her light, almost exhilarated emotions to the post-race high. She'd probably crash at some point, but not right now.

"I'm going to hold off on imagining that hellscape to ask you something," Viv closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Did Austin do something to you?" The siblings took a glance back to where their dad was still talking with Austin's parents, then Viv followed Tashelle's casual stroll toward the parking lot. "I just want to make sure. You're way too relaxed about this. Did he step out on you or something?"

"Life lesson, my boy," she said, reveling in the cool breeze bathing her skin. This was definitely the post-race high getting out of control.

"It doesn't have to be a single, big, terrible event. What Austin just showed me is what he wants our life to look like. He gets the achievements and I'm supposed to be happy with what he thinks I deserve. Dad was upset because he also thinks that's what a wife should be doing. The moment I suggested we should be cheering for each other, it didn't compute?"

It briefly flickered across her mind the days of celebration she'd planned for Austin when he'd gotten his law degree, and then again after he'd joined his firm.

What he'd appreciated even more was the nights of epic fucking that had followed those days. It was sad he wasn't the type of man to reciprocate, but better she found out now rather than after 10 years and two kids.

"I get it," Viv nodded. "But you kicked that race's ass today and you deserve a party for that. At least let me take you out tonight." It was sweet, and she was relieved Viv would turn out differently from their dad and Austin. But too much had already happened that day and she needed to decompress.

"I love you, and I definitely want to hang out in a few days," she told him as he unlocked his car and held open the door for her. "And I am so thankful for you. But despite how I may seem now, I'm not thrilled this is how it ended with Austin. I need to chill alone for a while."

"Maybe you should keep your promise to the news lady and take yourself out to dinner," Viv said, starting the car.

"Probably. The last thing I wanna do is cook." Tashelle opened his navigation system and started punching some buttons. "What are those Japanese places called? The ones where the chef is right at your table and does all those tricks while making your food?"

***********

Goddamn road closures are gonna block an ambulance one day, Xander cursed as he flew down his third city block, his knife bag clinking against his side. He meant to make a smoother entrance through the restaurant's back entrance but tripped on the 2-by-4 his boss used to prop open the door on hot evenings.

"Gamόto," he growled. "Fuck" would have worked just as well, but it was second-nature to curse in Greek.

Sliding into the staff washroom, he splashed his face with cold water, just about catching his breath on the way to his locker where his apron and double-breasted coat hung.

"Barely made it again, eh, Niko?" If ever there was a voice that made Xander's eyes automatically roll back far enough to see his brain, it was this one.

"For the last time, Albert, it's Nikolaidis," he flatly stated as he stuffed his mop of dark curls into his pleated chef's toque. "And yes, my streetcar took a detour because of the marathon so I ran the last five blocks."

"Well, if you lived any closer than The Danforth—"

"Okay, fuck off."

"Calm down, baklava," his colleague laughed. Xander had requested umpteen times to not be scheduled on the same shift as Albert Yoshida, who'd been a thorn in his side since he'd started here three years ago. With his luck, they'd be stationed at nearby teppans.

"Well, I guess we're even," Xander concluded as he slipped on his coat. He waited for Albert's raised eyebrow before continuing. "You think I'm some kind of intruder because I'm the only chef here who's not Japanese, and I think you're only here because you came out of your dad's dick."

"I think you're an intruder because this is a family-owned restaurant, and you're the odd one out," Albert frowned.

"Well, maybe you should ask your dad why he decided to own a restaurant when he couldn't make enough chefs 30 years ago." Xander hated dragging Mr. Yoshida into a fight with Albert since he owed him a lot, especially the chance to toss knives around while cooking and get paid for it. But he was already drained and this wasn't even his whole night.

"Let's just say I would never apply to be a chef at a family-owned souvlaki place."

"You totally should!" Nothing would have made Xander happier than not having to cook at the same venue as this guy. "You want to make moussaka, I can hook you up at my aunt's place. And yes, it's on The Danforth."

He couldn't wait to get onto the floor and prep his orders.

He smoothed the black fabric of his chef's coat and grabbed his knives before going out into the dining room to cut some vegetables and ready his station. It was still early and therefore slower than the rush he was used to on a Saturday evening. Within minutes, he'd set up his usual bottles of wine, soy sauce, salt, pepper, and vinegar.

The tension in Xander's shoulders melted away as the handle of his chef's knife melted into his palm. He descended into the rhythm of chopping the requisite bell peppers, broccoli, and zucchini, then prepped his meats.

"Here we are," the hostess seated his first patron 20 minutes later. He automatically reached for his order slip, his gaze still on the cart.

"Irasshaimase," he greeted her in the traditional Japanese manner, while making sure he had all his tools straight. "So you've got the bangin' shrimp appetizer and the chicken yakisob—" Xander nearly choked on his own spit as his eyes drifted up. Having to face Alvin first thing had made him believe this night was going to suck, but the absolute nymph sliding onto the raised stool before him was another sign altogether.

She wore a backless dress that shone like maraschino cherries and fell only halfway down her muscular thighs. Black ringlets bounced around her heart-shaped face, and strappy gladiator heels clung to her legs and settled themselves onto the ledge that framed the table.

"Is it... is it supposed to smoke like that?"

Xander looked at her like he'd forgotten where he was standing until he noticed it.

"Skatá," he mumbled as he tried to calm down his overheating teppan. If he was being completely honest, the stove wasn't the only thing overheating. Maybe he was wrong about his night turning around.

"Look, it's my first time so I'm like an evangelical on her wedding night," the nymph tried, her coal-black eyes amused. "I got nothin' to compare this to. Do your worst. Flip a shrimp over to that other guy's grill, I'll clap no matter what." Xander couldn't help but let a grin slip out, despite trying to regain his composure.

"Sorry," he apologised, as he fanned away some excess smoke. "I'm usually a lot more focused." That other guy is partly the issue, he thought, glaring across the dining room as Alvin set an onion volcano alight and pushed it across the grill with a wide chunk of zucchini. "I'm Xander, by the way, and I'll be your chef tonight."

"Is it normal to get a table all to yourself?" The nymph smiled a smile made of pure sunlight and outstretched her hand. For safety's sake, Xander walked around the table and lightly held her fingers. "I'm Tashelle. And I had a lot of exercise today so I'm sort of recovering. I want more tricks than food."

"Who doesn't?" he smiled, spreading out several jumbo shrimp between them. "And no, getting a solo table isn't normal. We're usually booked solid but we're in the wrong neighbourhood for the marathon route this year. The food truck people are gonna make out like bandits, though."

"Yeah, that marathon is a bitch to everyone," Tashelle knowingly nodded. Xander peered at her.

"Wait a second," he took out a couple of eggs and spun them on the heat before picking one up with his spatula. Without blinking, he tossed the egg up a few times on the spatula, then let it land suspended on the utensil's side.

"You didn't run in that, did you?" he asked, taking in Tashelle's delighted reaction. Her shy smile gave it away. "You ran in that thing? You ran over 42 kilometres today? Did you finish?"

"Baby, I always finish."

Xander almost singed his sleeve.

"Okay, not always," she went on, unaware of her accidental innuendo since she was mesmerised by what he had going on the teppan. It was likely she was paying more attention than he was to his work, as he was having trouble tearing his eyes off that red dress. Of course she was an athlete. Virtually no one but an athlete or a mannequin could pull off such an unforgiving outfit.

"I used to do half-marathons and worked my way up, but I'm 30 now so I'm looking at a day I won't be able to do this anymore."

"I think my neighbour ran in a half-marathon," he offered. "She started running after she had her third kid when she was 36, and said it was just to get out of the house." The egg had oozed and solidified enough on the heat, so Xander chopped it up and flipped it. Then it was back to the shrimp.

"Her husband and kids are at every finish line. So you never know," he said, shooting the shrimp with a spray of vinegar and a shot of seasoning.

Support like that must be nice, Tashelle rued. But she didn't have a moment to think about Austin again before Xander set up a bed of lettuce and bean sprouts on a plate off to the side. Sliding his spatula beneath the shrimp, all it took was a flick of his wrist for the critter to fly through the air and land on the greens. Xander forced himself to concentrate so he could also land the rest of them, but he was distracted by Tashelle's little squeals.

"You are phenomenal," she said, slowly shaking her head.

"Well, I won't be doing that with the egg," he smiled. He could feel his face getting hot and it wasn't because of the stove. "What, uh, what rank did you come in? Do you know?" He chopped up the egg, rolled it in some seasoning, and arranged it around the shrimp. This part he could do in his sleep. What he was really worried about was sounding like he knew nothing about running, which he didn't.

"Where did I place? Six-oh-six."

"Six hundredth?" This girl was a serious athlete. Xander's eyes kept drifting toward the entrance because there was no way she'd be at a fancy restaurant like this without someone joining her, especially not tonight. Especially not dressed like that. "I'd be bragging for the rest of my life if I'd even come in six-thousandth."

"You don't have to keep doing that," she interjected just when he halved a lemon and squeezed it over the shrimp dish. She was more subdued now than when she'd come in, and he wasn't sure if he'd done something wrong.

"Sorry?" He handed her the plate and watched for her approval as she dug in. When he spotted the blissed-out sigh he'd been looking for, he turned toward his cut of chicken.

"You don't have to keep looking at the door. It's just me tonight." Dude, at least make an effort to hide the pity off your young-George-Michael-looking face, Tashelle thought. It hadn't occurred to her that Xander was actually staring at her in disbelief and not pity.

Do not ask her if she's single, idiot, he scolded himself as he poured hot water over his bowl of yakisoba noodles, then spun his cleaver in the air a couple of times before lowering it like a guillotine atop the chicken. He was used to performing tableside knife tricks but he wasn't used to splitting his focus between doing those tricks and wondering what his patron's deal was.

"You haven't seen it, have you?" she went on, snapping Xander out of his own head. "You haven't been on the Internet since you started your shift tonight?"

What in the world is she talking about? he wondered, quickly stirring soy sauce, oyster sauce, mirin, Worcestershire sauce, and sugar in a little bowl.

"I, uh, I was running when my boyfriend tried to propose to me on the track, and I... I just kept running." Xander's lip curling up at the corner encouraged her to keep going, when she was sure that as a man, he'd have recoiled in horror at what she'd done.

"It gets worse. A news crew tried to interview me post-race, and I dumped my boyfriend on live TV." Xander's disbelief deepened on his face as he turned the chicken strips over and plopped some shiitake mushrooms on the teppan. Tashelle took another bite of her shrimp.

"If there was ever a time I wanted to turn off my stove and run to the Internet, it's right now," he finally said.

"Well, once the clip aired, I posted it to my own YouTube channel—don't ask me why, I've made a lot of unhinged decisions today—and it's, uh, it's starting to make the rounds." Tashelle cringed, not knowing why she was being so open with this chef she'd just met when everyone knew the person you were supposed to spill your guts to was your hairdresser.

"Are you making all of this up?" he asked as he poured a bit of oil and added onions, carrots, and cabbage. In response she pulled out her phone and readied the clip.

"For when you're done."

"I don't know where you work, but I can't watch videos while I'm on the clock," he smiled, tossing the veggies with the noodles, seared chicken, scallions, and his sauce mix. She was almost done her appetizer so he figured he'd plate the main at just about the right time.

"That's all I do at work," she said. "I edit video and write headlines for TV news. But I also put myself out there as a freelance videographer for extra work."

"And you're a trained marathoner too." That dumbass dropped the ball so hard, he laughed to himself.

"Look, I'm just going to play the video," Tashelle said as he plated her chicken yakisoba and served it to her, "and if your eyes happen to wander here, oh well."

Xander took out a scouring pad and some water, scrubbing the dark spots across the teppan until it matched the rest of the silver surface. And with one eye, he relished how Austin got his ass handed to him for minimising his now ex-girlfriend.

Lifting a strip of chicken to her lips, Tashelle carefully monitored Xander's face, relieved when his mouth opened up into a wide grin. As least one person seemed to think she'd done something right.

"I don't want you to think I'm saying this so you'll come back and eat here again," he started, "but I know guys like that. Those guys want a traditional marriage, but they don't want it with a traditional woman." Tashelle raised an eyebrow.

"My aunt Fillys runs a Greek fourno over on the Danforth—like a sweet and savory bakery but they also do souvlaki and—" he shook his head.

"Sorry, never mind the food. She was briefly engaged in her 20s to a man who sounds like your ex. He wanted her because she was carefree and independent, but he also wanted to squeeze that out of her." Xander shrugged and took out a dry cloth now that the teppan had cooled down a bit.

"It makes no sense. There were plenty of villages where girls were raised to stay home and have babies, but that wasn't enough. Anyway, I was told she dumped a pint of beer on his head at an ouzerie in Athens the night before their wedding and left Greece six months later." Tashelle almost choked on her caramelized onions, looking at him in disbelief.

"I'm serious. You did good. You're going to show this video to your kids one day and they'll get to see how to dodge a bullet in real time."

Tashelle hadn't realised how much stress she'd been holding in her chest until that moment, but Xander verbalizing it brought forward an unexpected wave of emotion.

"Geez, I'm sorry," Xander said upon seeing her bring the back of her hand to her eye. "I was really trying not to say the wrong thing."

"No, no, you... you said so much of the right thing I wasn't ready for it," she smiled. "You're astoundingly talented, by the way," she added, pointing to her food with her chopsticks. She needed to talk about something else before her mascara ran down her face. "I've always seen on TV that chefs like you flip food right into people's mouths, though."

"Oh, no, I don't do that," he vigorously shook his head.

"Is it because—I'm sorry, you just catapulted five shrimp onto a tiny saucer from three feet away. I've seen Olympic shooters with worse aim."

"No, it's..." And here came the phobias. "It's gross. I can't tell you while you're eating."

"My younger brother and I used to aim our farts at each other. I can handle it." Even six hours ago, Xander would have thought the probability of talking about farts with a smokeshow of a woman that night, would be near zero.

"Okay, there's always my fear about it being a choking hazard," he started, before dropping his voice and leaning in, "but there's also the urban legend about one Benihana chef or another flipping food into someone's mouth, having it trigger their gag reflex, them throwing up right on the teppan, and the heat cooking their vomit."

Tashelle stared at him and blinked twice while chewing. He was sure he'd repulsed her and cursed himself for not holding back. Finally, she swallowed her mouthful.

"Did the chef turn the vomit into a little heart, though?"

Xander let go of his cleaning cloths and turned right around to cover his face while he laughed.

"I'll tell ya one thing, people would definitely pay a monthly subscription for content like that," she added. She reveled in watching his guffaws subside, his face flushed and happy, as an idea started to form in her head. All the same, he was secure in the job he had, and she didn't want to seem pushy.

"Is this the end goal for you?" she changed track. "Or do you want to own this place one day?" Xander immediately thought of the coronary Albert would have if he ended up owning what his rival had always considered his birthright.

"It's a family business," he shook his head no, "but not my family's business. Even if it weren't, I'd want more freedom. It's a bigger thing in the States than it is here because of the weather, but I actually always wanted to own a food truck." She looked interested so he kept talking while she ate, and he cleaned.

"I know there's a tonne of them downtown, but virtually none out in the suburbs. And there are soooo many business parks in the suburbs that don't have a mini-mall close enough to walk to, especially not in the winter. If you time it just right between 11:30 and 2, you could make a killing while hitting two or three stops just a few kilometers apart from each other."

"We-ell," Tashelle considered her words, "everything you've done here while cooking my dinner was so fascinating that I believe people would pay to see it." Xander furrowed his brow.

"I mean... people are already paying to see it," he answered, confused.

"No, people would watch you cook on their screens at home, and pay a monthly subscription to keep watching you cook," she slowly explained. "Even if they never get to taste your food."

"You, my dear, are easily impressed," he smiled. "No one would even watch that on YouTube, never mind—what do you mean 'subscription?'" She couldn't mean—no, there had to be something else on the Internet that she was referring to.

"You know, Fansly, FanCentro, OnlyFans..."

"Homemade porn sites?" he leaned in and whispered.

"A lot of those creators do adult content, yes," she steadily continued, "but a lot of them don't. But more people would not only watch you cook, but... I mean... if you wanted to cook wearing less than you're wearing now..."

Tashelle couldn't tell whether Xander's face was pink from the heat of the teppan, or if she'd offended him. She let out a small sigh of relief, however, upon finally seeing his modest smile.

"That... uh, that's probably the best job offer I've gotten that I never applied for," he reasoned, "and I'm very, very flattered, especially since it came from—" The hottest woman I've ever seen up close. "—a guest I had the pleasure of cooking for." Xander took a beat to regroup.

"But I've got a great thing going here, and I wouldn't want to split my focus." And I would probably scald myself if I had to cook with a camera in my face. Luckily, Tashelle didn't look surprised, although she seemed a touch disappointed. She cleaned her plate and leaned both forearms onto the table, likely unaware she was giving Xander a tempting view into her cleavage.

"Well, I have to say this was the perfect meal after a grueling day," she told him, "so thank you. But if you ever change your mind about going through with my idea, we could go 50/50 all the way. Think about it, even as a side-gig. I'll come by again some time to follow up."

Thinking about her, her idea, her dress—fuck, especially that dress—was all Xander did the rest of the night, throughout the other meals he cooked for other guests. She was definitely bold in a way he'd never had the courage to be his entire life, and it was already a proven fact he could talk with her for hours.

Maybe if he saw her again, he'd attempt asking her out, he contemplated. Could this Internet thing be something he'd try with her on the weekends, if only to see her again? Xander kept turning it over as he cleaned up, closed up, and hung up his uniform for the night. Stepping out the back door while lost in thought, he tripped over the 2x4 doorstop again.

I should do her Internet porno cooking channel just so I never see that fucking piece of wood again.

***********

Tashelle had said she'd stop by to watch him work, but Xander didn't know whether she'd been serious. Nonetheless, he tried to secure the teppan station with a clear view of the front door as many nights as he could, hoping he'd spot her again.

He couldn't take her up on her offer, that much he knew. It made no sense to quit his chef's job for some pie-in-the-sky idea that could get him evicted the very next month. Just when he was chopping some spring onions a week after he'd first laid eyes on her, he heard it.

"Okay, fine, 60/40."

"That's tempting," he smiled as a strange sense of relief settled into his chest, "but I still don't think I can—"

"Oh, sorry, I'm the 60." All she needed to do to make him accidentally draw his own blood was smirk like that. She took a seat at his table and he was thrilled to get to cook for her one more time.

"You mean I'm going to be the load-bearing beam, you're just going to stand there with your phone and watch me and then you get 60 percent?" Xander hadn't realised how much he'd missed her until just now. Tonight, she was in a ribbed blouse and denim skirt, her ringlets still threatening to escape their clip fastened at her crown.

"Tell me you don't know anything about post-production without telling me you don't know anything about—" she stopped as he spun his spatula around his long fork, then threw each to the opposite hand and spun the fork around the spatula. "Nevermind. You don't need to know anything about post-production."

"So how does this work, anyway?" he asked as he grilled a slice of avocado and a slice of zucchini to one side while starting on her Agedashi tofu.

"I told you, I think people would subscribe to watch you cook."

"I'm serious!" Xander laughed.

"So am I." Tashelle was still smiling but it was clear this was now a business proposal. She explained how internet content subscription worked, what he'd have to do, and how she would help him.

"It's not just for porn," she lowered her voice while he carefully arranged the tofu in a bowl and drown it in the sauce he'd just prepared. "Although you'd probably make a lot more money in that—"

Tashelle stopped as the hostess approached with a second patron, a man with a shaved head, at their station. Xander knew he wouldn't be lucky enough to have her alone again, but he'd hoped they'd have a bit more time before anyone else showed up.

Then he saw it on the man's jacket. There was a moment of hesitation that followed the initial shock, but he couldn't stop himself.

"Sorry, you can't sit here," he blurted out before the hostess left. She twirled around, not sure if she'd made a mistake, which is when Xander pulled her aside. "Sofie, what are you doing letting that guy in here?" he whispered. He was trying his best to not be an asshole, because Sofie had only been on the job for a couple of months. And her deer-in-the-headlights gaze told him she had no idea what he was talking about.

"Didn't you see the iron crosses on his jacket?" Clueless. "The SS pin?" The next table was glancing in their direction, and even Albert threw him a look from three stations over.

"The... the pin on his collar that looked like two lightning bolts?" Sofie stammered.

"He's a Nazi, Sofie." It was obvious she wasn't familiar with the symbols. "I don't think we should be serving him."

"Should I seat him elsewhere?" Sofie was clearly nervous, but probably more so for her job. "He asked to be seated with you."

"Probably because I'm the only white-passing chef here."

"I always thought you were Middle Eastern."

"Thank you. Anyway," Xander was getting increasingly nervous at the Nazi sitting by Tashelle, "can you tell him we won't serve him here?" Sofie flinched.

"I don't think I can just kick him out like that."

"What's the problem?" the man called over. Xander had been trying to be discreet but it didn't look like that approach was going to pan out.

"You're a Nazi," he turned and replied in his regular tone. "That's the problem. Get out."

"I already pre-paid for this dinner, and I'm just trying to celebrate my birthday."

"Do it elsewhere. We'll reimburse you." Xander's voice was stone and he'd completely forgotten Tashelle was right there. But now she looked visibly uncomfortable.

"I'm not causing any trouble. What's your problem?"

"You're a Nazi." Suddenly, the entire restaurant's eyes were on him. "And then what? You bring a friend? And then another friend, and you tell us you're still not causing any trouble? Then this place is your local Nazi hangout?"

"You're making too much of this, man. I just want dinner."

"No. Every two generations we forget we can't give you people an inch or else we blink and you've taken—"

"Xander." Mr. Yoshida's small, iron fingers gripped his shoulder from behind. "Take a break. I've got this."

His mop of curls spilled onto his forehead as he pulled off his hat, making it to the back with two quick strides. He ripped open his coat and fanned the lapels over his chest.

"Xander," Albert burst into the locker room.

"Albert, please, I—wait, did you call me by my name? What happened to 'baklava?'"

"Listen," Albert smiled wryly, "What you just did took balls, and I'll vouch for you no matter what my dad does. I gotta get back out there." He paused. "This changes nothing between us."

This night couldn't get weirder, Xander decided. Even if the Nazi got kicked out, he was chagrined at the idea of having ruined everyone else's dinner. He needed some air.

"Gamόto!" he snarled as he tripped over the 2-by-4 plywood again, kicking it into the door as he all but fell into the alley.

"What does that one mean?" a small but musical voice asked him from the other side of the dumpster. Tashelle?

"It means... fuck... like a general exclamation in Gree—you should be inside finishing your dinner," Xander was probably more surprised at her greeting him behind his workplace than he'd been at first spotting the Nazi.

"My parents probably would have said 'blood fire' as a general swear in Patois," she told him. "Like, 'ahhh, blood fyah, di car jus lick di goat!'"

"I can't..." To his surprise, Xander began to giggle. "Hitting goats with vehicles is a real problem where my parents come from as well. There should be an international committee for this."

"If you're wondering," Tashelle said after their laughs subsided, "I asked for a refund for the rest of my meal because I was not going to be in the same place as that guy. Other people also started getting up. He looked pissed. There's a situation going on in there right now."

"Good, but it's not enough. I don't understand this concept of politeness and manners no matter what," he started, knowing he was about to rant. "Those motherfuckers should be afraid to go outside, nevermind strutting down the street proudly dressed like trash."

Tashelle put a fist under her chin, propping that elbow up with the other hand.

"Okay, I know, the last person I need to lecture is a Black woman—"

She nodded emphatically, her face threatening to grin at any moment.

"—but why do people forget this stuff happened? I could pass for white—"

"Really? I thought you were Middle Eastern."

"Yeah, thank you." This night was more bizarre than a fever dream. "I thought I could pass for white but it was drilled into me that those people occupied Greece for four years. They executed 70,000 people and forced 300,000 more to starve to death. Nazis would snatch food out of children's hands. I don't know if I overreacted in there—"

"You didn't. I would have slammed his face onto the teppan and let it sizzle."

"... Oh." Xander was not only taken aback but a little turned on. "I don't know if I handled it badly," he tried to recollect himself, "but the thought of people being forced to starve, whether it was my people, or the Irish, or Indians by Winston Churchill—"

"Not many people know that bitch engineered the Bengal Famine and had the gall to call it a famine," Tashelle interjected. "Which is a very English thing, seeing as how that's how they engineered the Irish Potato Famine." There was no doubt about it, he was definitely turned on.

"Even the way they're starving people in Palestine right now while the world shuts its eyes and does nothing... as a chef, this is the thing that makes me the most angry. We have plenty of food for everyone and we're deciding we'd rather let people die because we want to control them and their land."

"Gosh, I wish I recorded this part too instead of just standing here and being a good friend," Tashelle mumbled. Xander raised an eyebrow.

"This part too? What do you mea—?"

"Xander," Mr. Yoshida called over the creaking of the door as he pushed it open. "Can I see you inside?" His eyes met Tashelle's and she nodded at him with a little smile before turning to leave.

"I'm sorry," Xander said first, the very moment he stepped into the owner's office.

"No, I'm sorry any of this happened," Mr. Yoshida replied. "Sofie genuinely did not recognise the symbols this guy was wearing, but it may not have mattered. He made his reservation online so we couldn't even tell him we were fully booked when he showed up. The problem now is that he's threatening to sue us and take this to the press."

"Let him." Albert firmly said as he strode in and shut the door. His longtime rival being on his side meant this was definitely a fever dream. "What's he going to say, 'I'm a racist piece of shit so I'm sure everyone watching my pasty, shaved head will think I deserve to eat at a place run by a bunch of goo—'"

"Albert!"

"He's going to defame us anyway, dad! You can't fire Xander!"

Albert's voice reverberated against the walls of the tiny office, and then there was thunderous silence.

"That's what he demanded?" Xander asked quietly. "Either you let me go or he causes you problems?"

"We'll deal with it," Mr. Yoshida said.

"No. No, you won't. I quit."

"Xander—"

"Mr. Yoshida, I think of you like a father figure, and you gave me a massive opportunity here. And you're also going to give that opportunity to another young line cook. Tomorrow. When you start looking for my replacement."

The older man's face was full of regret but his son's simmered with rage.

"Albert," Xander took out a slip of paper from his now-ex boss's desk and scribbled an address on it. "If you ever want to learn to make an authentic spanakopita..." Albert pursed his lips and shook his head, "... and not just that frozen shit I know you buy from the FreshMart," Xander considered it a triumph when a bitter little laugh escaped Albert's lips, "drop by my aunt Fillys's restaurant. No jacket required—"

"Stop it, man, this is bullshit."

"Maybe, but everyone here except me gets to go on with their day tomorrow like normal. That's probably the best outcome we can hope for," Xander shrugged. "I know you're not the touchy-feely type so I'll just say, you were definitely not the person I hated most here tonight."

He packed up his knife bag for the last time and headed out the back, laughing ruefully when he tripped over the 2-by-4 plywood if for no other reason than it'd be the last time he did that as well. Then he saw the shadow.

"Tashelle?" he called out to the figure by the dumpster. He hadn't expected her to be waiting all that time for him.

"Nah, I'm not your girlfriend," a much lower voice called back. "But you ain't a bad-looking guy. You could do a lot better, ya know?"

The Nazi.

"You got what you wanted. Get the fuck away from here." Xander backed up far enough that the plywood was right by his feet.

"Really, what is your problem, man? You could have shut up and cooked tonight, but you decided to start a whole fuckin' fiasco." Maybe he didn't need to reply, Xander thought to himself. Maybe that was the key to getting out of this alley and going home.

"Then your girl didn't know her place and made the whole thing worse," the Nazi went on. "Tell me I'm wrong about how you were making googly eyes at that loud, little n—"

Crack.

"Finally found a good use for this stupid doorstop," Xander muttered over the other man's crumpled body, hoping he'd shattered his shoulder with that hit. He wound up again, wielding the plywood like a baseball bat.

"You know what the French used to do to your kind?" he said, just as his opponent staggered to his knees.

Whack.

"They'd shoot you in the street and push your bodies into the Seine," Xander answered himself. Got 'im the back this time, good. He aimed his third shot for the man's shin.

"Dutch girls lured you parasites into the woods pretending they were into you, then executed your asses. Gotta say, we lost our way since the '40s."

Snap.

"Oh damn, sorry, got the ankle instead, my bad," Xander puffed.

"You goddamned psycho!" the Nazi hollered, rolling on the ground in agony.

"You're the one who thinks people with melanin should be wiped off the earth, motherfucker."

Xander aimed for the man's ribs, then his arms, before finally easing up. Both men panted and Xander wobbled back to lean on the wall. Jesus Christ, what am I doing? he asked himself, never having gotten into a fistfight in his life. Then, he gathered himself again, stood over the Nazi, and lightly put his foot on his chest with a confidence he didn't actually possess.

"You can go to the police," he began, his voice eerily low. "But just know that you're a Nazi, and I apparently look Middle Eastern. I was just defending myself." He tossed the piece of wood toward the restaurant's back door as he walked toward the street. "Oh yeah, happy birthday."

***********

It was a surreal feeling riding his streetcar route, shaking with adrenaline and fear. But he was never going to see that guy again, and with any luck, neither would anyone at the restaurant. Every bodega and bus shelter ad he saw on his route home—he'd be seeing it for the last time after three years.

Over the next few days, Xander all but forgot about the Nazi but only because he had to hustle to find another cooking job. He contemplated taking up smoking again, more than he wanted to admit. He also contemplated working for his aunt Fillys but something about that conjured the image of a jackal with its tail tucked between his legs, sauntering back to the pack after failing to survive on its own.

And again... the Nazi. That asshole had to keep entering his thoughts, filling him with worry at being charged with assault with a deadly weapon. Or attempted murder. It hadn't even been a week so the police could come knocking on his door any day now.

It was day five when he finally buckled, tied a bandana to hold back his curls, and walked to the nearest convenience store for a pack of smokes. If he was going to wallow, he was going to wallow. He was eyeing his old brand when his pocket buzzed.

"Hey, it's Tashelle. Sorry for calling you like this... I got your number from Mr. Yoshida. I hope that was alright."

Xander just stood there in front of the counter, at first stunned but then suddenly aware of the line forming behind him.

"Hello? Hello?"

"Uhh, yeah, hi, Tashelle... sorry, I just—" ... want to see you more than anyone in the world and I can't believe you took the effort to track me down. "—I just stepped out. Everything okay?" It briefly crossed his mind that the Nazi had tracked her down.

"Everything's great!" The music in her voice put him at ease, as it always had. He left the store and stood outside under the canopy.

"So, hey, are you free any time soon?" she asked. "I have something to show you."

It would have been the best kind of fever dream if this went the route of a porno and 'something to show you' was thinly-veiled code, Xander thought as he cleaned himself up the next day. He sure wished it had been code when he saw her in the coffee shop, wearing a green miniskirt. You are killing me, being all legs and no floor like that.

"Okay," she began after retrieving a latte for herself and an espresso for him. "Umm... I did something, and I'm hoping you won't be mad at me." Xander raised one eyebrow, bewildered as to what she could possibly do that he'd be upset with her.

"I didn't expect it would get out of hand like this," she said, opening her phone and turning it toward him.

"You're a Nazi," he saw himself loudly announcing in the middle of the restaurant the other night. Is this what Tashelle had been doing while he'd been making a scene? "And then what? You bring a friend? And then another friend, and you tell us you're still not causing any trouble? Then this place is your local Nazi hangout?"

She paused the video.

"I know it wasn't ethical to post it without asking you, but Xander... it was so bang-on and people needed to hear—"

"Hold on... is this number correct?" He pointed below the video. "Did a million people really watch this? It only happened six days ago."

"That's the other part," Tashelle said, pulling something else out of her purse. "It's been seen that many times, and it's still going. Now, the channel already paid me," she went on, opening her chequebook and handing him a pen, "and I remember promising you everything we did together would be 50/50. I just need you to fill in your name."

He stared at the number in front of him. This was next month's rent.

"I'll pay you your half next month as well when those numbers come in."

Xander was dumbfounded, not only because of the amount but because of the possibilities. A million people had seen this clip, and Tashelle had clearly captured not just him but also the Nazi. From a police perspective, anyone posting appreciative comments below the video could have beaten the guy up.

"You are so incredible, you know that?" he told her in a low hush.

"I was hoping the money would soften you up," she smiled as he penned in his full name. Tashelle brushed it off, but that flippant compliment pierced her in a way she didn't expect. Not after a lifetime of being told she wasn't good enough by her dad, and then being shown by her ex that she was only valuable to him as an accessory. She tore off the cheque and handed it to Xander.

"Now, do you want more of where that came from? Because my understanding is that you don't have a current opportunity to toss knives around and get paid for it."

"You're not serious about that."

"I am! And I don't see why you shouldn't be serious about it as well. You've got a chunk of change in your hand. Give it a chance for a bit, and then look for work at another restaurant if it doesn't seem like it's going anywhere in a few weeks."

"Wait, what if the Nazi sees this? Could he sue you?"

"As my grandmother would say, 'Dat bumboclaat ediat can kiss mi raas.'" Xander shook with laughter, oblivious to how her full focus was on his face. "By the way, 'bumboclaat' literally refers to either menstrual pads or toilet paper and it's a really vulgar swear in Jamaica so you can't use it at work. As my grandpa once found out the hard way." It was fun game with a sweet reward, making him smile.

"You should have called the video that instead of—" Xander peered at the screen again. "Whoa, 'Hot Chef Cooks Nazi in Toronto'?" Tashelle's face grew warm.

"You have to name these things well enough so people will click," she weakly tried to explain.

Xander smirked at her, but then he looked to the ceiling, deep in thought. Tashelle reveled in how the sunlight streaming through the window lit up his mossy green eyes but tried not to make it too obvious.

"Okay," he finally sighed. "I'll do it. I don't even know what 'it' is or what you have planned, but I'm in."

"Do you have everything you need to cook the way you want at your place? It's okay if you live with someone else, as long as we can film there. Otherwise, we can use my place."

He nodded, and then she let him input his address on her contact list. His fingers shook a bit as he was nervous but excited, wondering if this gamble with a woman he'd just met would get him in trouble.

But one thing he knew for sure was that he'd regret walking out of this coffee shop if he turned her down, thereby turning down any chance to see her again. Plus, it wasn't like he was getting up and going to work.

"Okay, here's what we're gonna do," Tashelle announced, making it clear there was a plan ready to go the moment Xander told her he was in.

"We'll put your content on a free, online video sharing platform that bans anything..." she searched for the right word, "... salacious. We can use my account, which already got a tonne of followers from your one video. People are probably looking for more of you."

Salacious? Xander wondered. But he couldn't hold the thought before she barreled on.

"When we start off, we're also going to put the same vids on an internet content subscription service, plus some extra footage. I guarantee we'll be making a tonne more money off the latter, but from what you said the other night, you need it proven to you that people will subscribe. Once it's obvious I was right all along, we'll move exclusively to the subscription platform."

"Hold on, this video of me telling off the Nazi made us twice this amount," he pointed to his cheque, "and you're saying it'll make more. So why the need for the subscription thing?"

"That's a viral video. The odds of that happening even once are astronomical."

"Didn't your video of you dumping your fiancé go viral?"

"Not the way yours did! And people were mainly pissed at me, saying I was a bitch for embarrassing him like that."

"What?" Xander was aghast. "He throws a wrench in something you've been working on for months, and expects you to stop what you're doing in front of the whole world and pay attention to him? And you're the bad guy? Maybe he shouldn't have been such a self-centered prick."

Tashelle was used to being approached, hit on, flirted with—the works. Most women in their 20s and 30s were used to it. What she wasn't used to was what Xander kept disarming her with, and what made her stop every time it happened—the repeated quips of respect. He was still oblivious though.

"And all these losers yelling at you like you need to give two fucks about their opinion? The closest thing they're ever going to see to a vagina is a jar of marinated mussels." He kept scrolling, grimacing at the screen while she tried to suppress how she likely had a full-fledged crush on him. "Ugh, can I—how do you reply to these things?"

"Xander." Her voice came out in a low purr even she didn't expect, as she took her phone from his fingers and put it on the table. "Even if we shoot videos on weekends, we can schedule them ahead of time, and you can still find a normal job."

She wasn't quite sure whether she could convince him to do the videos just wearing an apron and his boxers, but baby steps.

"If this goes the way I think it will, you may even have enough to fund that dream of yours," she added, only to be met with a question mark on Xander's face. "You know, driving around and making sandwiches for corporate stooges?"

Oh wow, she remembered the food truck thing. She'd already bowled him over a long time ago but everything she said simply added to it.

"I don't want to ask too much of you," Tashelle finally attempted to broach the subject, "but if that's our goal, we can't be afraid to get more salacious than a regular cooking channel."

"You keep using that word," he pointed out. "What do you even mean by, 'salacious?'"

***********

"I'm not wearing this." It was a hard statement, muffled by Xander's bedroom door. He should have taken it out of the bag Tashelle had just handed him, before going to his room.

"I have other ones," she said on the other side of the door.

"But you thought you'd try for this one first?" he asked as the door swung open. He held up an apron featuring the oiled, shredded torso of a guy who clearly spent way too much time at the gym. And at his waxer.

"Okay, what about this one?" She picked out a plain, red apron from her bag that said, Caution: Extremely Hot. Xander wrinkled his face. "This one?"

"It says, I Rub My Meat For Two Minutes!"

"I thought it was funny!"

"Would it be funny if it were the other way around and I had you in an apron that was..." Xander drifted off, consumed by the visual of Tashelle wearing an apron and nothing else, leaning against the counter with that criminally-exquisite ass pointed at him. "Never mind. What I'm wondering is, is this project supposed to be about cooking or objectifying me?"

"I'll be completely honest with you—both, but a bit more of the latter." Xander sighed but Tashelle rushed on. "People sell their bodies and labour every day for a pittance. But as soon as it's sex work and it holds a good chance of being paid about the same or more as a cashier or waitress, we all lose our minds?

"Guys go to war for the interests of oil companies and lose limbs out there, but somehow only this is 'selling your body?' At least you'll make more and won't risk dying."

"What if my mom sees this??" he protested, knowing deep down she was right. Still, he was much too shy to strip on camera. What he'd done off-camera with past girlfriends was another story altogether. "What if prospective employers see this?"

"Then you'll know they're pro-sex work because they subscribed." Xander put his hands on his hips and Tashelle tried another tactic. "What if prospective employers see this as an audition, and you blow them away with how knowledgeable and experienced you are? While also being charming? What could be wrong with that?"

Xander was quiet for a moment, then took the Caution: Extremely Hot apron out of her hand and walked wordlessly toward the kitchen. Tashelle considered it a victory.

His kitchen was organised and spotless, a magnetic knife strip against one wall and a utensil rack against another. The range and exhaust fan had been recently scrubbed, and Tashelle smiled to herself upon noting how he'd done an extra level of cleaning for this project.

"Pick your fighter," he ordered her, opening up a drawer with several vegetable and paring knives. Tashelle looked up at him, surprised, but selected a large, bright red chef's knife. "You've already set up, right?" he asked, gesturing to her lighting equipment. "If I have to wear this apron, I'm putting you to work." He passed her some beefsteak tomatoes and a grater in a large bowl.

Xander had decided to keep this first video simple and just focus on a few different ways to make eggs. But it wasn't working out the way he planned.

"Balls," he exclaimed when he tried for the second time to drop an egg into his pot that was at a rolling boil. It tumbled right off his spatula and onto the range.

"Don't you mean, gamόto?" Tashelle smiled as she lowered her camera and he moved to clean the goopy yellow mess off his flat top.

"Very good on remembering the literal Greek translation for fuck," he commended her while scrubbing. "Balls is actually arhídeea, which is how I'll be cooking today."

"Xander, forget all this other stuff is here. Forget anyone who's going to watch this," Tashelle advised. "People bring cameras to the restaurant, don't they? Like, they film you cooking for their anniversaries and stuff?" He nodded.

"Pretend it's just me and I'm recording my friend cooking." She readied her camera again. "Now, what are you making for me?"

For you, he thought, a new, easier of level of focus settling into his brain.

"I'm making tamago sando," he started, "which is an egg sandwich snack that can be found at almost any corner store in Japan." He talked directly to Tashelle, trying to mentally erase the camera she peered at him through. "You start by poaching three eggs," he said, effortlessly letting them roll off his spatula and into the simmering water.

"Hold on," Xander interrupted himself, "are you going to wait for them to boil and and—" Tashelle vigorously shook her head no, her eyes still viewing him through the camera lens. "Like I said, you're just cooking, and your friend is over here, totally spellbound by everything you're doing. Don't worry about the edits, love."

Love. Moreso than the damn camera, her relaxed, sweet nature was probably what was damning his concentration straight to hell.

He peeled the eggs then readied four slices of buttered shokupan, narrating everything he was doing according to what Tashelle asked him. By the time he added sugar, sea salt, ground black pepper, and milk to the mashed eggs, he'd forgotten the camera was there.

"Remember, the first rule of cooking is you taste at every step," he told her. "Even if you've made the dish 10 times before, you still taste at every step."

Then he paused. What he was thinking of doing next could either be a really, really bad idea, or a really, really good one. Fuck it, he thought, and unzipped his jeans.

"Xander, what?" Tashelle exclaimed, her face perfectly illustrating how her mind was blown.

"We're doing this so we might as well do this," he said, slipping off the apron strap just enough to tear his shirt off. "But I refuse to do this without my boxers or an apron," he averred. "Safety first."

If he hadn't been so quick to turn back to the tamago sando, he would have noticed Tashelle placing the camera on the counter for a minute while her hands stopped shaking.

"So this is something I learned in my training," Xander said as he cut the crusts off the sandwich and plated it beside some greens and cherry tomatoes, "but next we're going to make something I learned growing up." He returned Tashelle's smile from behind the camera. This wasn't work at all.

"Kagianas or strapatsada is the perfect summer breakfast to have outside," he explained as he moved a quarterplate of cubed feta cheese into the foreground, as well as the beefsteak tomatoes Tashelle had grated earlier.

About an hour later, he was setting the table for lunch with the dishes he'd just made, while Tashelle collapsed her lighting equipment.

"I can't believe you cracked a raw-ass egg into the rice," she slowly shook her head at thinking of how Xander rapidly stirred the tamago kake gohan for their final segment.

"Try it," he confidently offered her a teaspoon of the dish. "I told you, you have to furiously beat that thing in there, then the hot rice coupled with the air from the mixing motion will—" Her mouth was suddenly on the spoon he'd held out, and he wished to god as their eyes met that it was his fingers between her lips instead of a fucking utensil.

"Mmmm," she hummed as she took the spoon from him. "It's delicious, but what I really want to try is the Greek eggs." Xander set a plate across the table from his and sliced off the lion's share of the kagianas. "Eat to your heart's content," he said. "I'll have whatever's left."

"Are you sure?" Tashelle took a bite and would never have thought before that moment that tomato, feta, and eggs would be as blessed a trifecta as they were.

"Kagianas was the first thing I learned to cook when I was 13," he said, enjoying how her eyelids fluttered shut in bliss. He pushed out thoughts of making them flutter in bliss when his cooking wasn't involved. "I wanted to make it for breakfast when my Aunt Fillys brought over a guy to meet the family. He was a chef."

"Really? So is that how you got started with cooking?" Xander smirked. This probably wasn't the right story to tell her.

"Uh, no. This isn't one of those tales where I met my mentor as a kid and he inspired me. This guy, uh, he was convinced I made it wrong, and he chewed me out in front of everyone. I don't know if he was trying to impress my aunt or something, but he wouldn't stop going on about how there was too much feta or something."

"Was there?"

"If there was, it was my aunt Fillys's problem," Xander grinned. "This was her recipe and she'd taught me how to make it. Anyway, I know I probably shouldn't have, but when he wouldn't stop berating me, I put my middle finger in his face—my mother was horrified—and went to my room."

Tashelle croaked out a laugh, imagining the hell there would have been to pay if she'd done that in front of her dad at 13. Despite how she'd been similarly reamed out in front of a crowd while growing up.

"Not too long afterwards," Xander continued, "my dad came into my room and said that right after I'd left, Fillys had stood up and apologised. To the family. For bringing home such an asshat."

"And then she told him your kagianas was perfect and to get the fuck out?" Tashelle finished. Xander nodded, a smirk at the corner of his mouth while he chewed his tamago sando. It was a foreign concept to have such a supportive family. Her mom had always been sensitive and caring, but it couldn't make up for her dad being such an authoritarian.

She'd pack for their trips back to Jamaica, get the passports and tickets ready, clean the house before they left so they wouldn't come back to a mess, make sure everyone had meds and clothes in their carry-ons, and get gifts for all the relatives. Then, two hours before they had to leave, Tashelle's dad would complain she'd packed his bag wrong, and then settled into The Bad Mood that lasted until he got to his mother's house in Kingston.

"What are you thinking about?" Xander snapped her out of her cursed nostalgia. She looked up at him, silent.

"How there's the exact right amount of feta in here."

"What were you really thinking about?"

"How you're not cold yet in that apron."

"It's summer, and standing in front of a stove helps," Xander swatted her response away. "I'm serious. You went somewhere else just now." He took the final bite of his tamago sando and speared a cherry tomato while waiting for her response but it never came.

Tashelle scrunched her nose as she picked up her camera and turned away from the light flowing through Xander's kitchen windows. She was going to roll back the footage and re-watch it, he surmised, because that's what always happened when she did that adorable face-scrunching—

Stop it, fucker, he caught himself, alarmed. This girl might help you get out of the hole you've dug. You don't have a job and maybe another month's rent, and that's it. Don't say anything creepy and don't get too personal like you did just now.

"You haven't been thinking of names have you?" Tashelle asked out of the blue.

"Names?" Like for our unborn children? Fuck. Again.

"For the channel." Maybe it was her break-up or maybe she really was a consummate professional, but Xander couldn't imagine a lot of women being able to keep eye contact with him while he was only in boxers and an apron.

"Just spitballing here..." Her eyes turned toward the ceiling and she was suddenly lost in thought again. "Knife Lessons? Knife Coach? You know, like life lessons or life coach? Knife Imitating Art? Knife After Death? Knife or Death Situation?"

"Hold on, who exactly dies, again?"

"You're right," she turned her huge eyes back up toward the ceiling. "It's a Hard-Knock Knife? Knife of the Party? Happy Knife, Happy Life?"

"Wow, you really do write news headlines, don't you?"

"There was a nature story once about baby right whales being spotted off the coast of Newfoundland, and I begged them—begged them—to let me name it, 'You're Whalecum.'" Despite how delicious he looked in that apron, his laugh in that moment made him hotter than the pans cooling on the stovetop.

"The wit takes some time to start flowing but I'll come up with it, trust me. Knife Is But a Dream? Knife's a Bitch and Then You Die?"

"Again, who's dying here?" Xander smirked. "And I would never call any of my beautiful knives that."

"You would never be so cutting, huh?"

God, that grin again. Tashelle picked up her camera case and started to pack up her equipment before this talk about work morphed into something else. Before she left the kitchen, however, she made sure to wash Big Red and carefully place it in the drying rack.

"In case I don't get to work with that one again, tell my knife I love her."

***********

"I knew you didn't literally mean 'a few days' when you said we'll hang out in a few days, but I didn't think you meant almost three weeks either," Viv said as he dropped his shoulder bag and surveilled his sister's kitchen table, then gravitated to the dish of kedjenou in the center. He dipped his finger in the sauce surrounding the West African-style chicken drumsticks.

"Nevermind, you're forgiven." Then he went for the dome-shaped mound of red-tinged rice sitting nearby. "Mmmm... girl, is this—" he stammered with a mouthful of jollof, "—if you're going for a new career as a chef, I will back you all the way."

"Ugh, at least get your own plate before putting your spoon back into the—" Tashelle tried.

"No, this is all mine," Viv pulled the bowl toward him and sat down. "What is this anyway? When you said come over for lunch I thought we'd go out for burgers." He glanced toward her kitchen for signs of takeout containers but didn't spot any.

"That," she pointed to the tomato rice, "is jollof, and this," she pointed to the chicken, "is kedjenou. Um, I have to give you a lot of background before I arrive at how you got to the point where you're stuffing your face."

She explained how she and Xander met, the Nazi, the subscription cooking channel—watching her brother's face turn stranger and stranger by the time she finished.

"So we thought we'd cook here today and he just left a half-hour ago, which is why everything is still hot. He wanted to try one-pot West African dishes that people can make at—"

"Tash, it's okay, it's me," Viv cut her off. "Actually, I should say, it's me, and you are not going to prank me like you did when we were kids. You took the cartons to the dumpster before I got here, didn't you?"

In response, Tashelle retrieved her tablet from the kitchen counter and queued up Xander's first video full of egg dishes. Now Viv's face contorted in disbelief.

"Holy shit," he said as a couple of grains of rice escaped his mouth.

"God, you're gross! Finish being a little piglet first and then we'll talk." Tashelle made herself a plate using some of the plain rice Xander hadn't needed, plus a good chunk of meat and sauce from the kedjenou.

"Tash, this man doesn't need a stove to cook. He just needs to stand near some raw ingredients and sszzzz!" Viv vibrated like an electric shock was shooting through his body. "You seriously met him by accident? And now you're filming pornos with him?"

"He is in an apron and boxers, and no pizza delivery guy shows up to fuck him," Tashelle deadpanned. "There are grannies on paid subscription platforms, teaching people how to crochet winter gear for babies. This is a cooking show more than anything, and we're already making more on this site than we would have if we uploaded it for free."

She stopped the video and went back to her account dashboard, a satisfied smirk crossing her face upon watching her little brother's eyes bug out when he spotted the numbers.

"It's only been up for a few days, too," she added. "And after you leave, I'm going to edit the one we just filmed. I'm aiming for two videos a week if I can manage it around work... oh, and if he lands another job."

"Sis," Viv quickly did the mental math, "he's poised to make thousands from maybe three or four videos, even if they do worse than this one is doing. So do you, considering I'm accounting for you splitting the income."

"And this is why you're the golden child." Tashelle was truly proud of her brother, irrespective of how their dad's favouring him risked damaging their sibling relationship. Viv never let it go to his head; instead, choosing to manage their dad as needed as opposed to growing close to him. "There you are, on the brink of being a chartered accountant, and here I am, directing pornos."

"Still got those headline-writing skills, I see," Viv said, scrolling through the account. "Run For Your Knife, huh? The perfect channel name for aspiring home cooks and serial killers alike."

"Hey, I'm the runner, he's the knife guy—it works."

They both looked up and around her apartment while still seated, as if to locate where the sudden buzzing they heard was coming from. If she'd been better at keeping her guard up, she wouldn't have smiled upon seeing the texts from Xander.

So my rival from Mr. Yoshida's restaurant hooked me up with an interview, he'd typed. I thought that guy hated me.

Was it that serious-looking dude at the next station? she responded. Sometimes it just takes some space before people can become friends.

Being friends with Albert is pushing it. Just gonna try to ace the audition here first. It's not teppanyaki but I still get to cook. Wish me luck.

"You know, if this food wasn't so fire, I'd be a little miffed at being ignored for Hot Chef," Viv piped up. Tashelle was irked to admit she'd almost forgotten her brother was there.

"How'd you even know it was him?"

"You went all melty-face at your phone, like he's Peter and you're Wendy."

"Okay, first of all, we have a friendly business relationship. Secondly, Peter pitted Tinkerbell up against Wendy, treated her like a maid and nanny for the Lost Boys, and let the mermaids almost drown her while he laughed. So Xander and I are definitely not—"

"Look, I am not puritanical like dad," Viv gently cut in. "Business partners bang all the time! Especially when they're making pornos together!" Tashelle sharply inhaled in a failing effort to slow her racing pulse. "I guarantee you—you were a 10 to Austin's 6. Post pics of you and Hot Chef on your socials! Rub it in that you won the break-up while he's out there paying for sad-ass lap dances."

"Viv—"

"Do a video where he makes a bunch of those cutesy bite-sized pastries and then you come out from behind the camera and eat them off his abs."

"Viv!" Tashelle didn't know what her brother had been watching, but she wasn't going to ask questions she didn't want the answers to.

"I know part of your job is to project where you think a venture is going to go, but all that means is, it hasn't happened yet. He's on a job interview right now, and being a chef is grueling work. What if he doesn't have the time or energy to keep filming with me on the side and this whole thing fizzles after two videos?"

If Viv was used to projecting how and when something would be a success, Tashelle was used to projecting how and when it would ultimately end. Xander was a goldfish—bright and beautiful, and mesmerizing to the point she could watch him in his natural element for hours. But it was wise to not get too attached.

"That's even better," Viv calmly replied, to her bewilderment. "He gets a job, you already have a job, and you can date like normal people. Hell, you could also film whatever happens next but you probably wouldn't put all that on the Internet." He polished off the last two bites of his jollof. "Or who knows, maybe you will."

"Dear god in heaven..."

"In which case, my earlier estimates of what you would pull in were way too conservative."

She would be best served if she tried to pretend her brother hadn't been encouraging her to bang her business partner, she decided several days later when she was due to meet Xander at his apartment.

"I have news!" he announced when he greeted her in the visitor's lot. She first spotted him as she turned the corner, ruing how he was probably the only man who could look smouldering while leaning against an ugly brick wall of a Toronto low-rise built in the '70s.

"I got the job, but that's not the best part," he went on. "I thought it would be lunch and dinner, like most places, and that would have meant we could only see each other on weekends because you have a day job."

See each other? No, Tashelle thought, he just wasn't choosing his words well because he was excited. It wasn't the 'see each other' Viv had been nudging her toward.

"But, it's actually just breakfast and lunch." Xander hauled her tripod over his thick shoulder and Tashelle suddenly wanted to be that tripod. "I have to start getting up early, which is going to be a bit of a bitch at first because I've been showing up for noon shifts for years, but this place closes—closes—at three." He was as animated as a toddler who'd just found a bunny in his backyard.

I have to be ovulating, Tashelle reasoned as she followed him into the elevator. Austin talked about law firm stuff all the time and it was the most boring shit ever. She didn't like one bit that Xander's excitement right now just made him all the more adorable.

"Can you believe it, three! In the afternoon!" He unlocked his door and held it open for her, tripod still on the opposite shoulder. "And it's a fancy breakfast place, like all crêpomelettes, and skillets, and so many Benedict dishes, holy crap." Finally, he caught his breath.

"I'm sorry, I got carried away," Xander said, resting the tripod against the arm of his couch. "But it did inspire me to come up with easy but unusual breakfast ideas people can make at home. Oh, and you know what? I'm gonna wear the jacked-abs-guy apron if you still have it."

"Look who's come around to Jacked Abs Guy," Tashelle approved.

"You told me you had news too," Xander stepped toward the kitchen while she rummaged around the bottom of her shopping bag. "Oh yeah, one entire segment is just going to be slicing and arranging fruit in interesting ways, so you're probably going to do a lot of cuts to speed it up. We can talk while I'm doing that."

She smiled to herself at the way he'd observed how she'd edited the previous two videos, despite her not explaining the process to him. As a demographic, male creators had a fair shot at bringing in subscribers if they had a niche subject. Not only did Xander have that; he was the perfect fantasy for career women who wished they had a sweet, gorgeous man cooking for them. As their messages reflected.

"I need you to do something more when it comes to managing the channel," she started, "but with your new job, I don't want to overwhelm you. Especially since you're popular." She pulled out her phone in response to the quizzical look Xander shot her.

"These," she told him, "are your messages. I've been answering the ones that are pretty basic, but there are some that are more, um, personal."

"'Why don't you take off those boxers and show us dat sweet ass,'" Xander read out loud. "Wow, that's crazy because that's exactly what the owner at the breakfast place said." Tashelle stifled her laughs.

"'Show us something with sausages,'" he read another message. "One particular sausage.' Ugh, sorry, lady, but bratwurst just isn't my thing.'"

"Okay, this is what I need you to do," Tashelle told him. "Answer your messages! Some creators get so many of them that fans will leave a tip, essentially paying you to talk to them. I've looked at some of the numbers and those tips add up."

"You want me to flirt with a bunch of strangers on the Internet?" he confirmed. Tashelle hesitated for a moment. Maybe he was appalled at what she was suggesti— "I've been doing that for free since I was 14 and now I get paid to do it? Hells to the yes!"

"Speaking of getting paid to do it," Tashelle said as she located the Jacked Abs Guy apron in her beach bag, I have your cheque from the West African dishes video." She handed both the apron and the money over to him, pleased at the low whistle he let out.

"Tashelle, are you sure?" he asked. "You're sure you're taking your cut?"

"I told you 50/50 all the way, didn't I?" she replied. "I even had my accountant brother look over the numbers, and he said he'll do all our math for us as long you pay him in jollof."

"I'll mix him a bathtub full of jollof," Xander replied, still incredulous at the amount on that cheque. At this rate, he'd actually have savings to boast of. He was still wondering a half-hour later while slicing fruit, whether he could renovate his parents' bathroom in a few months.

"Think we'll actually be able to retire one day?" he queried as he stood at his kitchen table, his front covered in the Jacked Abs Guy apron.

"You keep doing what you're doing," she mumbled as she got a few close-ups shots of a cantaloupe goose he'd put together, "and I think we may either be able to retire, or in a really good place to prep for the apocalypse."

"You know what?" Xander said, as though he was hit by an epiphany. "I should have been thinking like you all this time." He put down his knife, rinsed his hands, then yanked down his boxers.

Holy fucking hell. Tashelle's hands began shaking again and she had to rest the camera down and turn around, her fingers gripping the hem of her shirt.

"What?" Xander playfully asked. "Look, you told me being all salacious brings in the big bucks so what the hell am I still clinging to modesty for? This is what the ladies who messaged me wanted!"

"Xander, I can't... I can't turn back around," Tashelle was embarrassed to admit, having never dreamt the scenario where she'd be the prude.

"Aw, come on, the apron's so long you can't even see anything! Besides, the melon goose is right in front of my junk."

"Xander..." She wasn't even discomfited so much now, as she was amused. Soon, the nervous laughter transformed into cackling so hard she was barely able to catch her breath.

"I'll turn right around and you can get the money shot of my ass, how's that?" Xander grinned. Then he held his knife in front of his apron, pointing downward, legs apart. "Think Marylou from Florida will appreciate this pose?"

"Stop it," Tashelle gasped. "Oh my god, I created a monster."

Xander stuck to it, however, and only wore the apron for the rest of the shoot, even as he put together his yogurt harvest snap, arranging blueberries and strawberries around a bowl of granola, bran flakes, and yogurt.

"Hit it with a generous drizzle of strawberry sauce," he said while lining the middle and then dotting the rim of the bowl, "and you're done. If this isn't filling enough, try it with toast and maple syrup, or even try a dollop of English cream. You can dress this baby up however you want."

Tashelle smiled at how confident Xander had become in front of the camera, questioning whether he'd even need her after a while. It didn't take a lot to teach oneself a video editing program, and most creators filmed alone. This, she reminded herself, was why it was wise to not get too attached. People changed fast enough to cause whiplash.

As Xander was dismantling the fruit goose to pack some of it for her to take home, Tashelle took apart her lighting equipment.

"Imagine what we could do in a few months," he told her. "Meeting you was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me."

"Sweetie, you could do all this by yourself in a few months," she smiled. It wasn't a malicious or anxious statement in the least, which was part of why it threw Xander for a loop.

"W-what?"

"Most creators do this on their own. You won't need me in a few months."

"Tashelle, are you saying you want to stop filming with me?"

"No, it's just... you won't need me to film with you." The weirdest part was definitely how casual she was about looking forward to the end of this, Xander observed. Especially without any prompting.

"I don't know where any of that came from," he started, "but as soon as you're out, I'm out. That's the end of Run For Your Knife."

"You'd still have your fancy breakfast nook job."

"Sure, but I'm not my dad and I'm not going to get up at 4 a. m. forever. Even if I do get to leave at three." He pressed the lid on the storage container, unbothered by how he was having this serious conversation with his business partner while he wore nothing but an apron.

"You came up with an idea and no one knows where it came from or what the rationale was behind it, which was fine when we started this channel. But you owe me an explanation as to why you're talking about ending it now." Tashelle zipped up her lighting bag and clasped her hands together.

"Xander, nothing lasts forever."

"We're only on our third video, for chrissakes."

"You could easily do this without me!"

"Actually, I can't. Because it's easy to talk to you behind the camera, watching you smile and respond to what I'm telling you about the food. It's not easy to talk to a tripod." She stared at him, her mouth inching toward a scowl, but he didn't care. "If you ever want out, that's fine. But you're not allowed to make unilateral decisions based on what you think I want, or what you think is good for me."

An argument wasn't how Xander wanted to end their session today, especially when he was still only wearing the Jacked Abs Guy apron when Tashelle left. He put his clothes back on, wiped down the kitchen and table, and logged onto their account to do his homework.

Any chance you do private events? one person had messaged him. It was nuts that she left a $20 tip just for him to reply back, but that was probably nothing for rich folks who could throw private events.

Sure, but only in the Toronto area, he answered. To his surprise, the lady popped right back with a response.

What if I flew you out to Vancouver?

"Lady, this is the 21st century, grown-up version of 'if you get in the white van, I'll give you candy,'" he said to himself. He took a screenshot of the message to send to Tashelle, then remembered he may have to give her some space.

That's a tempting offer, but I do have prior commitments at home, he tried.

No girlfriend though, right?

Xander heaved a long sigh and let his head fall back on the couch. Yeah, no girlfriend, no matter how abysmally in love he was with the woman he wished were his girlfriend. Hating himself for caving so fast, he switched to the texting app and attached the screenshot.

Help, he simply wrote. It was about 10 minutes—enough time to tell him Tashelle didn't want to talk to him. But then, the buzz.

Tell her no girlfriend. It sucks, but women like this want to think they've still got a shot with you. Tell her you have a sick dog and you can't be away from him. He chuckled to himself at how Tashelle seemed to have an answer for everything.

See? he typed. I told you I can't do this on my own.

***********

Tashelle, to Xander's relief, never again brought up the end of Run For Your Knife, not through the rest of that summer, nor into autumn. It was a weird way to think about it, but he'd always felt that the longer something negative was left behind in the past without coming up again, the safer he was. Like he'd been able to outrun it.

It wasn't just the discussion about the end of their channel he was trying to outrun. It was also whether the Nazi he'd beaten to a pulp would decide to charge him, or find out their channel was a success and blackmail him or...

It was the one thing he'd tried time and again to confess to Tashelle. He knew she wasn't the type to open up to him—or really anybody—but she was still the one with whom he could hash out anything without worrying about being judged.

Regardless, they were into mid-October, and he didn't want to rock the boat in any sense. He was making more money each month than he'd ever seen before in his life, and his day job only made up a fraction of it. Today, like most of the days he tended to earn the most, he was waiting in the visitor's lot of his building for her, anticipating the moment she rounded the bend and waved at him.

She pulled up just after a couple of minutes of him standing out there, and the butterflies inside him fluttered again. Xander opened the trunk of Tashelle's car, only to find a couple of badminton racquets and a jug of windshield wiper fluid.

"Are we... it's either we're not filming today or you've totally forgotten what your part of the job is." He knew her well enough by now to know she had something planned, and it was going to be epic—which both scared him and excited him at the same time.

"There's only one way I can describe how you look right now, and it's mischievous," he said. "Tell me this doesn't involve me getting naked in front of my neighbours out here."

"Don't be nervous, we're just going for a walk," she calmed him. Well, not really, because he swore he felt a jolt shoot up his arm as soon as she took his hand and guided him out of the parking lot. It was sunny and mild despite it being so close to Halloween, and the perfect day for her to be wearing that plum, off-the-shoulder knit sweater that looked it was crocheted right onto her body.

It was also the perfect day for a warm soup or a maybe a stew... is that where she was taking him, he wondered as they meandered into a lot after having walked three city blocks. They could have gone out to lunch after filming or even eaten what he had—

And then he saw it.

In the corner of the side lot they now stood in was a bright yellow food truck with cartoon chickens painted across it. In fat, bubble letters by the canopy was, Jerk It? Let Me Work It. In parentheses below was, (Put my wing down, cook it and reverse it).

"I thought of the name," Tashelle beamed as she let go of Xander's hand and approached the food truck, just as an older man with black-and-white stubble stepped out, his face lighting up as soon as he saw her. Xander's brain was swarmed with questions.

Is that... is that her dad? he wondered. He'd gotten the impression she wasn't that close to her father, but who was this man, and more importantly, why were they at a jerk chicken food truck that was obviously not open?

"Norris, this is Xander," she introduced him. "Xander, this is my stepdad, Norris." A woman about Norris's age stepped out of the truck, and Tashelle spoke up before Xander could ponder whether this was her mom. "This is Jeaneane, Norris's cousin."

"You didn't tell this poor boy anything, did you?" Norris flatly observed. "Look at his face. He barely knows where he is, let alone what we're doing here."

"I was trying to make it a surprise. If he's not interested, no worries," Tashelle replied. "I just wanted him to have first dibs."

"Oh my lord, let me tell him before I feel any more sorry for him," Jeaneane said. "Young man, I understand you're a chef? And you have it in your mind to one day run a food truck?"

"Uhh..." Xander looked between Tashelle and her family, suddenly consumed by whether they had seen his videos where he was cooking with his ass hanging out.

"Here's the deal. I've run this truck for 10 years, worked at Caribbean eateries for about 30 years, and been cooking for almost 50 years," Jeaneane continued. The math alone blew Xander's mind because it's either Jeaneane had started cooking when she was 10, or she'd found the secret to flawless skin.

"I am now ready to retire, and the topic of me selling the truck came up at Norris's birthday party a couple of weeks ago. That's when your... business partner... here begged me not to call a restaurant broker just yet, because she knew a guy. As long as we're being candid, if I'd known her 'guy' looked like you, I would have said a lot of things to her I didn't think to say until really just now."

"Jeaneane, that's... can we talk about numbers for a private sale?" Tashelle tried to divert the chat from where she knew it was going to go.

"Yes, but first, what are you doing, girl? Even if you two are just friends you could have posted selfies online and let that idiot Aaron—"

"Austin."

"Self-absorbed prep school ass woulda been pissed you traded up." Jeaneane suddenly seemed to remember Xander was blushing right in front of her and redirected her train of thought.

"Anyway, surprise! Norris here owes me lunch so you kids take a look inside and we'll be across the street." She handed Xander a folder just before taking off with her cousin. "All the costs are in here—the truck itself, overhead, painting, maintenance. Take your time thinking about it. I eat slow."

Tashelle missed the sly smile Jeaneane flashed him, but Xander burned bright red upon seeing it. His partner was already halfway through the door when he stumbled in.

"You're really a powerhouse, aren't you?" he asked. "Not even a, 'hey, Xander, I have a relative who might be selling her food truck, you interested?'" Tashelle looked up at him from the charbroiler as if the thought had never even occurred to her. She bit her lip, realising she might have made a mistake.

"You think I'm controlling. I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"No," Xander made it over to her in three quick steps.

"I really just wanted to make it a surprise instead of working today. I know where they're having lunch, we can just give Jeaneane back the—" She finally stopped when she noticed Xander vigorously shaking his head.

"Sweetie, I'm not accusing you of anything. I was telling you you're amazing. Not telling you that you messed up."

"Oh." Tashelle nodded but she knew she'd messed up. Xander didn't know what had just happened, but he was chagrined to have inadvertently sucked the life out of the room. "This is still a huge decision and you just got a job you really like. I really am sorry. You must have prepped a few meals for our session today and I should have given you noti—"

It hadn't clicked that he'd been standing close enough to kiss her until it actually happened. Tashelle's jaw trembled as his mouth covered hers but it only took seconds for her to melt against him.

"There," he breathed against her cheek when he finally let her go. "I didn't give you notice either. We're even." She managed a little nod as her fingers tightly gripped his biceps. Until he wrapped his arms around her and talked in a peaceful hush against her ear.

"I don't know why you keep thinking passing comments sound like criticisms, but there is almost nothing I've found in the few months we've known each other that I can criticise you about."

"Almost?" His heart matched up with the pulsing in her neck until it felt like they were beating in sync.

"Well, your cutting technique is atrocious," he admitted. "I keep telling you, you have to curl your fingers in or risk losing those pretty fingertips." His hand found hers and gripped it tight, right before bringing it up to his lips.

Tashelle was frozen in fear, not because she didn't want this. No, she was hungry for it, and she especially wanted it with Xander. She just didn't know where it was going to end, and that was the frightening part. The unexpected part was that Xander felt her bristle and immediately backed off.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he stammered, stumbling backward toward the opposite counter. "I thought you knew how much I—I mean, that doesn't matter, you don't feel the same and I shouldn't have misread this so badly."

"Xander—"

"I mean, no one has ever done for me what you've done," he mumbled, now pacing. "I come from a super-supportive family and even they haven't—of course, no one's the force of nature you are—you know what, none of that excuses what I just—"

He was sure she would slap him, if not deck him outright, and he braced himself against the cold, metal counter. Only for her to drag him downward by his collar and grace him with the softest, wettest kiss.

"Do you just wanna fuck? Like, we just do this and then go back to work?" she breathlessly asked as she broke away from his mouth.

Gamόto.

There were so many ways answering this question could go wrong, and Xander suddenly felt like he was trying to solve a quantum physics equation. He had to be honest.

"Um, no. That's not what I want. I... I just want you. All of you. I want to keep working with you and I also want to watch you run your next marathon. And I want to meet more of your family—well, maybe not your dad." She smiled, but there was a twinge of pain at the corners of her mouth.

"I dunno, maybe your dad too? Whatever it is you want." He regrouped, holding her close again but no longer worried about saying the wrong thing.

"If you're not ready to get close to someone again, we can just leave all of this in the truck and walk. But I think I wanted this with you that night I got lucky enough to have you alone at my table. I didn't feel like I was working at all that night. None of our videos in the last five months have felt like work. I feel like I'm stealing, making all this cash while spending time with—are, are you okay?"

Tashelle quickly touched the corners of her eyes and tried to break out of his arms, but he wouldn't let her this time.

"Look, I know you think your dad's something of an asshole, and Aaron's an asshole—"

"Austin."

"Yeah, Aidan, sure." He was glad to hear a tiny giggle vibrate against his chest. "But I am already your biggest fan. Even if you don't want to start anything with me, I'll still be your fan." Then he finally let her go. It didn't matter anymore if she didn't want to be with him, as long as she'd still let him be in her life.

"If you ever change your mind, you know I'm easily found."

"How about right now?" she asked, making his head spin. But she was already reaching for her bag and the folder Jeaneane had handed them. "Gimme your keys. I'll meet you at your apartment."

"It's a 10-minute walk."

"I can make it in two," she smiled. It was a boast, because the truth was she wasn't sure if she'd fall flat on her face the moment she left the food truck. Xander had turned her legs into jelly, so she started out carefully, but was in a full jog that morphed into a sprint by the time she was at the corner.

All that training finally came in handy, she thought as she took the fire stairs two at a time up to his floor. Xander was nowhere near as fit as she was, she figured while heading into the bathroom. So she had a few minutes.

Meanwhile, Xander needed the crisp October air to clear his head. As he bumbled out of the food truck and made a mental note to call Jeaneane later, he also haphazardly tried to figure out what the hell had just happened.

He simply couldn't resist her today, not after she'd taken the trouble to expedite his dream—something he didn't think he even had a shot at for another five years, minimum. Xander had either had female friends or lovers, but never anyone who had been both. Never anyone who had fed his soul the way Tashelle did.

He ambled through his unlocked front door, then noticed the half-open bathroom door and the sound of his shower. Oh, no, she is not. But her plum sweater and jeans on the counter proved that she was.

"God, you're slow," she teased him from behind the curtain. "You getting in here or what?"

"Tashelle," Xander swallowed the lump in his throat as his pants felt tighter than ever, "Remember when we agreed you can't just make unilateral decisions without stopping and explaining them to me? I'm confused as fuck over here." She turned off the shower.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm really bad at this," she began.

"Yeah, no shit."

"You really know how to break down my walls." Through a shower curtain was probably the weirdest way she could have had this conversation with him, but it somehow made it easier. "When I asked you if you just wanted to fuck, I was hoping you'd say yes, and we could get it overwith."

"Feeling super special right now, I gotta say."

"Stop making me laugh!" She was starting to get cold and she just wanted him on her side of the curtain. "I understood after watching my dad all my life there was more risk than reward to being in a permanent relationship. Then I met Austin and changed my mind.

"Then I swore after Austin to never get fooled like that again. But then there you were, being supportive and sweet, and yes, making me a tonne of money while absolutely none of it felt like work. It's been five months and you haven't let me down once. You've always taken my side and cheered us on as a team, even when you could have done the channel on your own and kept 100% of the revenue."

"Tashelle, I can't even flirt with horny MILFs in the message chat on my own, we've established that. I cook and throw knives around. You're the brains behind this operation." Tashelle smiled despite beginning to shiver. She put her hand up against the shower curtain, and he matched it with his.

"I was willing to keep you at arm's length while maybe just sleeping together. But you... you kind of broke me down when you said you wanted more. So... you've got it."

"I've... got it?"

"All of me. I am scared shitless but you've got me if you still want me."

He nearly tripped over his pants as he scrambled to toss them on the floor, and she turned the shower back on. The wind left his lungs as soon as he pulled back the curtain and his eyes beheld the water cascading down her insane body.

"Jesus Christ, it's like someone drew you," he groaned. He tried to gather her in his arms but she turned so he was standing beneath the warm water. Then his heart nearly stopped as she fell to her knees and gulped down as much of his cock as she could manage.

"Tashelle," Xander's voice broke as his palm automatically braced against the shower wall. "Baby... fuck, your tongue is magic." He thought his knees would buckle as she eased back his foreskin and gently lashed at his frenulum, firmly gripping his shaft with one hand while her other hand squeezed his ass.

Some part of him knew she was teasing him, but there wasn't enough blood in his head to both talk and keep standing under his own power. She's gonna make me... but I don't want... not like this... but maybe I can go twice... shit, with a woman as incredible as her, maybe...

Before another half-thought could flicker across Xander's mind, Tashelle was soaping both of them up, then nudging him out of the water's path to rinse herself off. While he was covered in suds and sporting the biggest hard-on of his life, she gave him a flirty smile and flounced out of the shower. A few beats passed before it hit him.

"Oh, you are gonna get it," he yelled out while reaching for his towel. Tashelle knew he wasn't kidding because there was a different kind of fire in his eyes when he found her in his bedroom. He walked her back to his bed, then covered her with his weight and drowned her in kisses.

Tashelle's cheeks ached by the time he let her come up for air, which he only did because he had already moved toward her nipples. Her head reeled as he sucked long and hard on each sensitive peak, her inner thighs now slippery. But then he was on his way there as well.

"Remember what I said while we were filming the very first video?" he murmured, pushing his curls back. "The egg segments?" He hovered above her, gently kneading her breasts with the pads of his thumbs."

"Umm... your aunt's boyfriend was a prick?"

"Close," Xander smiled while shifting his weight down. "The first rule is you taste at every step."

A moment later, his tongue was frolicking inside her, and Tashelle couldn't do anything except gape at the ceiling while he held her legs apart and licked. He was driving her higher and higher up that crest, unrelenting until she crushed his pillow in her fists and screamed.

She fell back in a daze, her ears buzzing, only faintly aware of the silky material encircling her ankles.

"Baby?" She would normally be alarmed if a man started tying her up their first time together, but oddly, this didn't feel like their first time. Not when it came to how much she trusted him.

"Is this okay, lover?" he asked. "I just wanna make sure you don't move until I'm done with you."

"I'm not going to survive this, am I?" she slurred as he secured her to the posts at the foot of the bed.

"Oh, you will," he kissed her mouth, his heart floating as she buried her fingers in his hair. "I'll take good care of you, love."

The gentle swirls that surrounded her clit at first grew stronger and stronger, and Tashelle was routed by a second climax within seconds. She was on the verge of sobs by the time Xander was sure he'd get her to a third, so he went easy on her and tenderly kissed her inner thighs. Then he released her ankles from the bed posts.

"Tashelle," he growled into her hair, "I want you to come for me. I want to fill you up so bad."

"Mmmm, yes," she whimpered against the light stubble on his face, her jaw shaking.

"Say my name, beautiful," he whispered as he pinned her wrists down and pushed in. He not only filled her but seemed to stretch her in a way his aprons had hidden astonishingly well. He drew out a bit and then thrust back in, causing her to squeal while her legs writhed in response. Xander thought he'd lose his mind upon hearing that one squeal alone.

"Xander," she tried again, having no clue what she was going to say after that. It wasn't feasible for her to keep her thoughts straight when he kept rubbing the tender spots inside her that even she hadn't known were there.

He finally let her wrists go and she took the opportunity to wrap her forearms across his upper back. It was like trying to hold on to a bucking bronco when he started moving, but only if that bronco had the most adorable curls and stunning green eyes she'd ever seen in her life.

She almost never came this way but Xander was forcing her to climax now. He was daring her to hold off, while knowing that asking her to do so was impossible. Tashelle bit her lower lip and gasped every time he pushed into her, ultimately clawing at his shoulders when she simply couldn't take it anymore. And Xander knew.

"You can try, babygirl," he gave a lopsided grin at her quaking jaw and eyes squeezed shut. "But I'm not going to stop, you hear me? I'm not going to stop." The pressure exploded inside her, and true to his word, Xander didn't stop thrusting.

He knew he'd done well when Tashelle wailed against his collarbone, her thighs shaking on either side of his, her nails digging into his biceps. He paused to kiss her quivering lips that remained parted in the pure shock of how he'd just ravaged her.

"I wasn't sure how long I could last after tasting that delicious clit," he breathed against her temple. To his surprise, she wrapped her legs across his lower back.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to let you last," she lazily smiled. And then, his cock was suddenly in a vise. Tashelle reveled in watching Xander at her mercy as she tightened again and again, gradually turning it into a steady pulse. He grimaced and looked down at her, only to see her defiantly staring him in the eye like she was challenging him to stop her.

It wasn't even a minute of her gingerly squeezing his cock that Xander was banging his fist against the pillow, swearing and whimpering. Finally, he buried his face against her neck and let her hold him while he pulsed and emptied himself inside her.

She dropped little kisses all over his face and held him longer while he rested on top of her. As his body calmed down, Tashelle stroked his back and dragged her toes up and down his legs. She knew Xander was finally going to say something when she heard him draw his breath in.

"Should I... should I text the Vancouver MILF back and let her know I have a girlfriend now?" He involuntarily shook because she was shaking beneath him, gently chuckling and playing with his hair. On his way back from the bathroom a minute later, she noticed him looking for his phone.

"If you want to take a pic for Austin, yes, totally, we should do that," she sagely nodded. "But if you're thinking about calling Jeaneane back, I've known that old gal for years now. She's already made assumptions about why we weren't there when she and Norris returned to the truck." Xander's smile was made of pure relief, and he happily slunk back into bed with her.

"I'd love to buy that truck right now, but I don't have enough in savings," he admitted. "It's only been 5 months of that extra income from the channel."

"We'd have enough together," Tashelle quietly noted. Xander raised himself up onto his elbows and looked her in the face.

"Baby, I can't ask that of you."

"You're not asking me anything. Are we 50/50 in this or not?" It made his heart fly to hear her say these words when she'd closed herself off to him for so long, but he had to look out for her interests.

"You're not at all worried about us running a truck together if we break up?" Truthfully, there was never a world where he'd be breaking up with her.

"You'd break up with me??"

"There you go again, seeing something negative where there is none," he took her into his arms and turned them both onto their side so he could spoon her. "I meant, what if you decide to dump me on national TV for another viral video?" She giggled.

"You keep being exactly who you are right now, and I will never tire of you," she laced her fingers through his and rested his hand on her stomach. "To answer the question, you should think of me as an investor. The last thing I want to do is work on a food truck, but I have no doubt in your ability to keep that business afloat."

"Yeah, I can run that business alone because there's no answering texts from thirsty MILFs." Xander shifted again so that Tashelle's face was tucked under his chin.

"No texts, but the MILFs will probably hit on you in person," she exhaled against his neck.

"That's when I tell them my investor and I are fucking so I can't risk pissing her off and losing my truck."

"Dumping you over flirting?" she muttered while twirling a lock of his hair around her pinky finger. "I feel like that would be a crime or something."

'Crime' was the magic word that set off the alarm in Xander's head.

"Babygirl, there's something I need to tell you," he started, making Tashelle's drooping eyelids fly open again. "I did something illegal and I don't know if it's going to catch up to me one day."

It's okay, she coached herself as she pulled out of his arms. Her instinct was to jump out of bed and run, but she wasn't going to be that person anymore. Not with Xander. No one's perfect. You love this man. He's never been anything but—

"After I left Mr. Yoshida's restaurant that final night, the Nazi confronted me in the back alley and I beat the living shit out of him." Tashelle's blankly stared at him for what felt like an eon. Then her face erupted into a massive grin.

"That's the big crime?" she confirmed, laughing. He nodded, looking guilty at first but then seemed offended the harder she chortled. "Then what happened?"

"Then what happened?"

"Yeah. Like... what's the part you're feeling so upset about?"

"Babygirl, I took that plywood doorstop and smashed every part of his body with it." She raised her eyebrows and nodded approvingly.

"Stop, stop, my snatch can only get so wet," she deadpanned. She found it hilarious that this public service was the worst thing this delectable man had ever done, but Xander huffed and she shifted gears.

"Love, look at me. It's been five months. You're in the clear. His injuries have fully healed by now, and he would have had to report it immediately and have the police take pictures if he wanted you prosecuted.

"You may have gotten lucky, but you would have been fine in court even if you'd been prosecuted. I mean, how many people are actually accepted by Nazis, and how many juries have sympathy for them?" She was heartened to see his face relax a touch. "It looks like you scared him good if we never heard from him again. He's not going to come after our channel or our food truck."

Our food truck. Xander smiled.

"Let me get up and call Jeaneane," he said.

"Not so fast," his girlfriend ordered. "Didn't I just tell you my snatch can only get so wet?"

***Epilogue, 20 months later***

"Ma," Xander called out as he handed a falafel wrap to a customer from under the truck awning. "Ma! Den tis arései to giaoúrti!" He'd already shouted, "she doesn't like the Greek yogurt" a couple of times already in English, but his mother either didn't hear him or pretended she didn't hear.

The heat and noise of the marathon was splitting his head in seven different ways between taking orders, watching for Tashelle to run past, and keeping an eye on the infant squirming on his mother's lap on the grass by the truck.

"Give her the strawberry yog—oh, for fuck's sake," he ended up grumbling.

"Cool it, man, cool it," Viv pacified him as he turned the card scanner toward the next customer and printed their receipt. "Everything's fine, you got the playpen set up on the side, Thea has her sunscreen and hat..."

"And the Greek yogurt is too thick for her, but my mom is just so controlling someti—" He caught the unmoved look on Viv's face. "Sorry. I shouldn't be complaining about overbearing parents." He got started on the paneer wrap order that had just come in. "There's still a chance he could show up, you know." Viv snorted.

"Let me put it this way," he tried, "even if Tashelle had wanted to get married—and I know she still does—her having a baby out of wedlock to the guy she films food porn with was the perfect formula to make our dad stop talking to her. Now if only I could get so lucky."

"Hey, there's still time," Xander smirked as he spread coriander chutney across a paper-thin roti, then covered it with diced red onions. "You could always step in as guest director."

"My sister's the one with the plan, man," Viv said as he punched in their running tally on the fat calculator he had off to the side. "She had your permit to work here today, even before she knew she'd be running."

The only time he'd seen Tashelle without a plan was when she had a near panic attack that her birth control had failed, just a month after they'd gotten together.

"I'm such an idiot," she'd shown up at his door in tears in the middle of the night. He had to be up in another 3 hours for work but none of that mattered as he sat her down in the living room, covered her with a blanket, and threw the ingredients together to microwave a chocolate mug cake. This time, he was miraculously the one with the plan.

"We just bought the truck and put all our savings into it and..." she'd sobbed between bites.

"A couple of things," Xander started, trying to stay composed amid the sheer jubilation at the idea of having a baby with the woman he loved. "You're not to blame. Every pregnancy on the planet could be prevented if men wore condoms despite the woman telling him she's on birth control. This is on me, not you." It might have been the hormones, but Tashelle cried harder so Xander took the cake out of her hands and put his arms around her.

"But what you decide to do now is entirely about what you want to do, not anything you have to do," he reasoned. "You've got 12 to 18 months of paid mat leave from work, we can make more videos and schedule them ahead of time... I've still got my job. And all of that is without the truck. We could even sell the truck in the worst-case scenario.

"And if you don't want to have the baby, I'll take you to the clinic. I'll book time off and we can spend the following week parked on the couch, shouting at Masterchef together. I'm not going to think any differently of you no matter what happens next."

That unconditional support was what Tashelle hadn't realised she'd been missing. Thea was born the following summer, which was when Xander had to leave his job and commit to the truck full-time because he couldn't wake up earlier than 8 a. m. after they were both up overnight with a newborn.

Now, however, the baby had been sleeping well for a while, which is how Tashelle decided she was ready to train again for this year's marathon. The lunch crowd calmed down and Xander mopped his brow with his apron, finally stepping down from the truck after a solid two hours and heading straight for his baby.

"Ti kanis ayapi mu?" he scooped up his daughter. "What have you been doing with Yiayiá all this time? Did you tell her you want strawberry yogurt?" He put his ear to her babbling mouth. "You did? And Yiayiá ignored you?" Xander's mother glared at her son, unimpressed, and plopped herself down in her lawn chair now that the baby was out of her hands.

"Are you sure we didn't miss her?" he called back a minute later to Viv, who was still in the truck, balancing the calculator in his lap while munching on a gyro grilled cheese.

"I got a good view from up here," Viv replied. I don't think we—" He suddenly stood up and pointed. "There." Xander jumped to his feet and held Thea up on his shoulder, waving her little arm along with his hand as Tashelle ran past. Tashelle's smile despite her exhaustion was what he'd been waiting for all day.

An hour later, Thea slept against his chest in the baby carrier just as he was ready to close up shop, when he heard his favourite voice behind him.

"Awww, I missed her," Tashelle said, eager to hold Thea but not wanting to disturb the tenuous moments when the baby actually slept.

"Shoot, I missed you," Xander told her with a kiss. "I wanted to greet you at the finish line."

"There will be many more finish lines, no worries. You were doing everything at the same time over here." She took a look around, noting that Xander's mother had gone home and Viv was in the truck, looking at his phone. "I finished in 7010th place," she added a little wistfully. Xander handed her a sports drink and opened one for himself.

"So what you're saying is, you just had a baby 10 months ago and you finished better than half the people who ran today?" He was satisfied at the sheepish look on her face, and even more satisfied at the peaceful infant snuggled against him, who looked just like her mom.

"You know what's nuts?" he said, slinging his arm around Tashelle. "I finished first and I didn't even run."

***END***