Must Date The Chef

|| Epilogue.

"Babe, I will be fine," she says, "I promise."

His head tilts to one side, he frowns. "That's what you said a month ago," her eyes close at the reminder of the nightmares, "and the month before that. Then the week we-"

"Shut up." His eyebrow shoots up, she raises her chin in defiance and smiles when his shoulders deflate. Time has taught him that arguing with her sometimes is futile but as he rolls over to lay beside her, eyes on the ceiling, she knows she won't be getting off easy. Her chin props on his chest, she tugs on his beard, his fingers weave into her scalp. "But I was fine when we went home."

"Because we slept in the same room with the lights on," he replies without hesitation. Her hand lowers, she mimics his position.

A calm breeze blows into the room, rustling the ends of the curtain, Pauline shivers, her arms come to wrap around herself and Paul saunters to the open window. His hands close over the window's iron bars, he casts a look outside which betrays the brightness of their room. A small sigh escapes him as he pulls the thick curtain over the looming darkness, he turns to face his ever beautiful girlfriend watching him with pouty lips.

His mouth opens and closes when she bats her eyelashes at him, she pats the bed, the space he once occupied and licks her lips.

Stalking to the switch close to the door, he squints at the circular lights on the ceiling, his hands find their way into the pockets of his beach shorts and his back connects with the wall. He spares her another worried glance, her eyes burn holes into his chest and her fist meets the bed with aggression.

"Come back," she says. Her lips quiver, she smoothens the wrinkles on the bed. "Come."

"I want to turn the lights off."

She scrambles to her feet, the pillow held out in front of her like a weapon. "Don't." Her eyes clamp shut when his fingers edge closer to the switch, she murmurs, "Please."

Only when his ticklish breath fans her neck and his hand draws circles on the small of her back do her eyelids part open. She is the one to break their stare-off, her shoulders deflate and Paul lowers himself to the edge of the bed, patting his legs. Crawling to his laps, she buries her face in his chest, twisting his nipple between her fingers.

"Ifunaya." She refuses to look up but the tug on his nipple tells him he was heard. "Babe, you need to see her. You are not fine."

"I'm not fine," she says, followed by another squeeze of his nipple. He nods and his smile freezes when she adds, "I am perfect."

His reply is cut off by the incessant ping of his phone, he pulls it out and pinches the bridge of his nose. The constant grunts from him as his fingers swipe on his screen has her eyes darting to his face. Without a word, she pulls the phone from his grasp, plonks it on the bed. Two of her fingers press to the sides of his head, move in a circular motion on his temples for a while before relocating to massage his shoulders and he exhales.

"Your fans are disturbing you again, eh?" she says in a voice laced with sarcasm. His groan is all the encouragement she needs to continue and she does, "Greatest chef ever liveth. Cooking champion of our time."

"It was your idea to do this fan whatever you call it." He lets out a hiss. "Now, look at this one asking if we have big cassava." His face contorts, veins appear on his forehead and she sucks in her lower lip to keep from cackling. "Cassava." He scoffs, she snorts with laughter and her boyfriend frowns. "As if there was ever cassava on the menu."

The mundane tone indicating he has a call interrupts her laughter, he stares at the phone and back at her. "I have to take this." She squeezes his lips and her head bobs as her butt settles on the bed. "Outside." Pauline nods again, he rises to his feet with his thumb hovering above the answer button. "Will you be okay on your own?"