• • •
As Charity knelt to pick the camera up, Linda stepped between the brawling men.
“Chill,” she said.
“That’s what I was doing!” Tatum yelled, backing up. “Having a smoke. Trying to relax before bed. Then this psycho came out and fucked up my camera.”
“Accident.” Brandon tried to lunge forward, but his steps were sloppy, and he tripped over Linda’s foot, sprawling to the ground.
Charity frowned over the broken camera.
“Probably doesn’t want all that shit he said earlier to be on camera,” Tatum muttered. “Fucking lawsuit in a suit, that’s what you are.”
Brandon didn’t seem to hear Tatum. Just laid, legs and arms akimbo, in the dirt. Linda breathed a sigh of relief.
“I don’t know anything about cameras,” Charity said, “but he may have succeeded.” She handed the bundle to Tatum, with all the gentleness of passing a baby, then winced. “Sorry, man.”
“Shit.” Tatum’s scrunched-up forehead softened, his eyes rounding with sadness. “My girl. They’re gonna take her out of my check.”
Linda placed a hand on Tatum’s shoulder. “Lucky for you, there’s like four more in there, at least.”
“You’re right.” He exhaled, then attempted a smile. “Thanks, bros.”
Linda and Charity helped Tatum inside, leaving Brandon to his drunken sleep in the dirt.
He’d ruined Linda’s moment. He deserved it, and worse.
Day Three
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sabrina
Sabrina had no clue what the activity of the day was supposed to be, only that Deja instructed the women at breakfast to wear clothes they didn’t mind getting dirty. When Sabrina entered the kitchen again that afternoon, she found a table full of random ingredients: eggs in a carton, flour in an unlabeled canister, a bag of grits, a softening stick of butter, and various fruits and vegetables. The three remaining women lined up as Tristan took his place in front of them. Tatum aimed a camera at him as Deja smoothed a few of his hairs away from his face.
“Where’s Brandon?” Sabrina whispered to Linda, hoping that Tristan would see them speaking and believe her redemption.
“Probably sleeping off the hangover.”
“No shit?” Sabrina said. “You see him last night?”
“Heard him, and saw him. He was fucking with Tatum in the yard.”
Deja turned to them and placed her hands on her hips. “Are we done gossiping?” She gestured to the table. “I thought we were here to win Tristan’s heart.”
Sabrina mimed zippering her mouth while Linda scowled and shut up.
“We’re go on three, Tatum.” Deja stepped out of the shot, then counted down.
On three, Tristan beamed. “Ladies, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. It’s the God’s honest truth. Today, we’re going to have a cooking competition! I want all y’all ladies to cook me your best brunch, and I’m a lucky bastard cause I’ll be eating all of them.”
Sabrina’s heart jumped. She was a good cook, but Marion was such a southern belle that there was no way she didn’t know her way around a kitchen. Sabrina glanced in her direction. Her skin had warmed again in color, no longer its sick sallow, but she seemed skinnier, weaker. Sabrina’s confidence rose.
“The winner gets to go on a picnic with me.” Brandon glanced to the lone window in the room. “And even though it’s sprinkling out there, we’ll make the most of it!”
As Tristan stepped back, Tatum turned his camera toward the women, who rushed forward to grab their ingredients.
“Is there a cookbook or something?” Linda said.
“There is not,” Tatum said, grinning on the sideline.
“Well, shit. I’m out.”
“Try, Linda.” Tristan sounded annoyed. Sabrina struggled to keep her lips from spreading into a smile. “Pretend to care.”
Linda grabbed a handful of fruit and got to chopping it.
Sabrina knew exactly what to make: biscuits, grits, sausage, and gravy. She eyed Marion, who was going for the eggs. She’d scramble them, or make an omelet. It was too easy to overcook an egg, and Sabrina had no idea how Tristan took his. Grits were easier to manage: the more butter, the better. For the biscuits, she poured her flour and baking powder into a bowl with some salt, cut in the butter, then stirred it all together with a splash of milk. She was careful not to over-knead as she rolled the dough out, then used a rocks glass to cut them into perfect circles. After she shoved them into the oven, she heated the sausage and cooked the grits and gravy, taking in the sweet and salty smell. When her biscuits were risen and ready, she arranged them on a plate, poured the gravy on top, and added the sides.
She was the first one finished, and as she carried her tray full of food out of the room to the dining table, she caught Marion’s glare. The woman was only a few minutes behind Sabrina, but by the time Marion carried out her omelet, Tristan was already poised with his fork over the steaming gravy, about to cut into a biscuit.
“Damn,” he muttered as he chewed, then swallowed. “Damn,” he repeated as he dug in again.
Marion pouted as she pushed forward her plate. “Don’t fill up.”
He grinned up at them as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Oh, I can put the calories away.”
Behind them, Linda stepped out with her bowl of scrambled eggs and added her offering to the table. Tristan barely looked up at her as he sampled Sabrina’s grits and sausage, then moved onto Marion’s meal. The omelet was perfect, with the little yolk pouring out as his fork found it, coating the plate with a pleasant orange glow. But Tristan returned to Sabrina’s plate as soon as he had his bites of Marion’s and Linda’s.
