Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 124836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 624(@200wpm)___ 499(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 624(@200wpm)___ 499(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
What’s this?
I raised my eyebrows.
Dima gestured toward me. “I think we should make this a yearly event—a cookout and Grill Off. What do you all think?”
Oh wait.
The crowd erupted into cheers, people banging on tables, clapping, and chanting. Green and blue. It didn’t matter the color.
Everyone yelled, “Cookout! Cookout!”
I blinked, taken aback.
Yearly?
I shook my head, laughing nervously.
Moni leaned in close to whisper in my ear. “Oh God, what have we done?”
Her expression was half-amused and half-horrified.
Jo—of course—couldn’t let that moment pass. “Not every year! Every season! We could theme it. Winter cookout, spring cookout, Halloween barbecue!”
What the fuck?
Dima winked at her. “I like that! Seasonal cookouts—sounds like a plan to me. Make it happen, Mountain Master. I already have my Halloween costume ready.”
That made me chuckle a little.
I had just been wondering what Michael he would be this year.
Regardless, this cookout/grill off had spiraled into something bigger than I could have ever imagined and honestly, I wasn’t even mad about it. The energy from the crowd, the laughter, the ridiculousness of it all—this felt good.
Really good.
Finally, Dima raised his hand for silence.
The crowd quieted down.
Then, Dima returned his view back to the stage, where Banks and Chef Foo stood side by side. “Okay, folks, it’s time to announce the winner,”
I shifted my gaze to Banks and Chef Foo, watching them closely.
Both men looked like they had downed much more than a couple of beers in celebration—their cheeks were slightly flushed, their eyes wide with a blend of hope and uncertainty.
Chef Foo held his hands behind his back, standing upright, but I could see his fingers twitching with nerves.
Banks was now bouncing on his heels.
Dima glanced at the paper in his hand. “The winner of today’s Grill Off, by unanimous vote. . .”
Oh. Everyone picked the same person. Very interesting.
My heart thudded in my chest and I couldn’t help but laugh internally at how invested I was in this.
“Banks!”
The crowd exploded into cheers and applause.
Jo stood up and clapped. “That’s my cousin!!”
On the stage, Banks threw his arms up in victory and his face lit up with pure joy.
He turned to Chef Foo, who, to his credit, smiled graciously, bowing his head slightly in respect.
Banks grinned and pulled Chef Foo into a hug, and the two of them laughed together.
Clapping, I rose with Jo and the rest of the judges joined me.
Dima waved at us to be quiet.
Many of us did calm it down but remained standing.
Dima raised his voice over the noise. “While we loved Chef Foo’s dishes—let’s be clear, they were fantastic!”
Someone hooted. “Chef Foo!”
Dima bobbed his head. “Yes. That’s right, but I wanted to add that Banks’s dishes were an unapologetic, heartwarming celebration of African American culture. Big Mama would’ve been proud today.”
One of my men gave Banks the huge trophy.
Another gave Chef Foo the smaller one.
Marcelo who was also standing up and clapping, yelled, “Speech! Speech!”
Jo shook her head. “Well, I don’t know if we need that. Banks might start dancing again.”
Moni nudged her. “Leave him alone. He should enjoy this.”
I looked up at the stage.
One of his assistants—perhaps it was Salty or Savory—brought him over a microphone.
Clearly on cloud nine, Banks grabbed the microphone and leaned into it. And all of that confident swagger returned. “I just want to say—thank you to everybody, especially the Four Aces.”
My men hooted and a few drunkenly pumped their fists in the air.
I had the odd feeling that someone was watching me and gazed in that direction.
There, Dima stared at me.
I quirked my brows.
He gestured to everyone laughing—people in green, blue, yellow—and I already knew where he was going with that.
Yes. Yes. Dima. It’s fun when we all get along.
I put my view back on Banks.
He wiped sweat off his forehead. “I feel like I just won a Grammy or something.”
The crowd laughed.
“I kind of did. I know the moves helped with the judges.” And with that, Banks did a little spin.
Jo shook her head and sat back down. “Lord.”
Banks wiped his forehead again. “Seriously, though, I want to thank Big Mama, who’s up there looking down on me, probably chuckling at all this.”
Chloe held up her hands and slurred. “To Biiiggg Mama!”
That grabbed Moni’s attention. “Is she drunk?”
I cleared my throat. “Perhaps, a little tipsy.”
“What the fuck?”
“Aunt Suzi may have given her a glass of wine, but don’t worry I’ve kept my eye on them.”
“But—”
“It’ll be fine. We’re all celebrating.”
Moni let out a long breath. “Okay.”
Banks continued, “I want to thank my mama who gave me the good sense to season my food right from a young age and I want to thank Chef Foo for being a worthy competitor.” He raised a hand in Chef Foo’s direction. “I now consider you my brother in blue.”
“Thank you, Banks.” Chef Foo placed his hand over his heart and gave him a small bow.