August didn’t say a word. He handed over the sandwich to Clara and produced a spoon to try the mac and cheese.
Clara didn’t say anything either.
I narrowed my eyes at them and struggled to stand still.
“Oh.” August smirked and turned one of the onion rings upside down.
I cleared my throat and then chuckled. There was no use in hiding anything. It was possible one side of each onion ring was burned.
“Well, all right.” He was drawing this out. “Let me—” He grabbed the sandwich from Clara before she could return it to the plate, and he took one more bite. “Okay,” he said around the food, “the mac and cheese and the onion rings were fairly close to awful.” Ouch, motherfucker. “The bread could’ve been in the skillet a bit longer too, but this—this is damn good chicken. Really good chicken. Very hot. Thin, crispy batter, nice flavors, perfectly cooked meat. Fantastic.”
Was he… Was he playin’?
Did he feel like he could be brutally honest about the sides because he liked the main event?
“Good job, Anthony,” he said and placed the rest of the sandwich back on the plate.
The praise had dumbfounded me, and I had no time to come up with a quick response before August and Clara moved on to the next participant.
I’d cooked something that was worth eating. Mamma mia, I was gonna work this into every conversation about food for as long as I lived. I was officially the king of hot chicken in Brooklyn. Not giving a shit if we were gonna eat this or not, I picked up my sandwich and took a big bite.
Yeah, the bread hadn’t gotten enough time on the skillet, but damn, I was good. I was a god. A slow heat spread in my mouth and throat, gaining strength each time I chewed and swallowed, until my mouth was almost on fire. I coughed a little but kept eating. The sweetness of the pickle soothed the sting.
While August finished up with the last participants, Bethany snuck over to my station and asked if I’d followed the recipe.
“I think I used too much black pepper and cayenne,” I admitted.
She nodded firmly and returned to her own spot, only to jot something down in a small notebook.
I grinned to myself and finished my sandwich.
When all was said and done, another woman and I had received the highest praise on the hot chicken. She’d also gotten a good review on the rest of the food, but bottom line, aside from my shitty sides, I’d fucking nailed this.
As long as nobody ever asked me to repeat everything and expect the same results, I was good.
August thanked the participants and the audience for showing up, after which Clara announced that he was gonna take a quick break and then come back to sign books. And in a second, a bunch of people from the audience started forming a line at the entrance to the deck and fishing out their cookbooks from their bags.
“Anthony, you can come with me,” August said in passing. “I have some pointers for you so you can make a better mac and cheese.”
Fuck yeah.
I followed him across the deck toward the tent in the back, assuming pointers for mac and cheese was subtle talk for something much better. If he did give me pointers, I’d consider kicking his ass.
The tent was the size of my first apartment, with the exception that this festival tent didn’t have a toilet—or a shower hose attached to the sink, for that matter.
As soon as we were alone, he knocked my ball cap off with a flick of his fingers, pulled me close, and kissed me hard.
I smiled and locked my arms around his neck.
He felt so damn good against me. He kissed me passionately, managing to seduce me in seconds, and it was fucking with my ability to function. Our chemistry was already gonna make it difficult to leave in a week. Regardless of how close we got physically, I wanted to get closer.
“What’re your plans now?” He slowed down the kiss and nipped at my bottom lip.
“Food. I’m here to eat.” I cupped his face in my hands and stole a deep, hungry kiss. “I wanna know what my boundaries are with Camden and bringing him here.”
“Here to the festival?” he asked. I nodded. “No boundaries at all. He’s the one who’s too cautious about being seen in public when he’s a Little. He thinks I have fans waitin’ around every corner. I don’t.” He kissed me again and teased his tongue along mine. “For the record, Anthony, he and I are not married.”
I furrowed my brow and eased back a little.
He shook his head. “I knew his thoughts on marriage early on—he’s not a fan. But after we’d been together a couple years, he proposed an eternal engagement.”
I smiled and touched his cheek. “Eternal is a nice word.”
“It is. And it suits us.” He took a step back and picked up my cap from the ground. “Text me if you manage to get Camden here. I’ll meet up with y’all after I’m done. Shouldn’t be more than a few hours.”
“Will do.” I slid on my cap again.
“One more thing,” he said. “Camden and I obviously keep our lifestyle to ourselves—it’s private to us—but we’re private people by nature, regardless. We don’t advertise much of anythin’.” He paused. “That doesn’t mean we don’t show affection toward each other in public. We do. It’s just—our business is our business, and we don’t answer to anyone outside of our closest circle of friends and family. Which means that if the three of us go out to dinner, I don’t think I have it in me to act like you’re only an acquaintance. I don’t care if it raises questions from complete strangers. So if you wanna stay on the down-low if we head into town or somethin’, you have to set
