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Pennsylvania. Maybe we’ll even look to do a feature on him at some point…” Stephon’s voice trailed off; he stopped himself from waxing too poetic about Desmond in Cydney’s presence.
    â€œWell, I look forward to this.”
    â€œDon’t go falling in love with him now,” Stephon joked.
    â€œIt’s all about the food, Stephon, the food.”
    Her words were reassurance to Stephon’s ears. “I’m going to go and try to get some sleep. Thanks, Cydney.”
    She loved how he always said her name in full; didn’t break it down and call her Cyd or something along those lines. She closed her eyelids and gripped the phone receiver firmly as she thought about the inequity of life. How could his wife sleep away these precious moments when she could be snuggling with her handsome husband, cuddling with her beautiful daughter or further decorating her majestic home?
    â€œPeace and blessings, Stephon.”
    â€œSame to you, Cydney.”
    She clicked the phone off and sat on the bed for a moment, composing herself. After a while, she rose to go put the phone back on the charger stand. She attempted to turn the bedroom doorknob and then remembered she’d placed the lock on. She opened the lock and moved through the doorway with her head down and her shoulders devoid of their usual upright strength. Talking with Stephon nowadays always took something out of her. She had moved only a few steps when she bumped into something. She looked up, startled, her brother standing in her way, his eyes dull like a butter knife, but still capable of cutting.
    â€œWho were you in there talking to? And why did you lock the door?” he demanded.
    Cydney swallowed hard and tried to smile.

CHAPTER 2
    D esmond Rucker leaned against the wall in the large industrial kitchen, next to the swinging doors that led out to the dining area. He could hear the mill of voices from outside. He smiled as he considered this smashing success. Opening night of his restaurant, Cush, and they were teetering on full capacity. Desmond hadn’t expected anything less, even though the nay-sayers questioned the wisdom of opening a restaurant among the ruins of Asbury Park. The block he chose to plant seed was a thoroughfare of abandoned and boarded-up buildings. Only three other entrepreneurs had had the courage to attempt commerce on this block: an antiques dealer, a sneakers retailer and a Chinese food take-out spot. None of it mattered. Desmond could feel a certain soul in the broken city, a certain soul that his restaurant could nourish and help in bringing the city back to the strength of its heyday. He remembered coming over with his parents from Pennsylvania when he was younger. He fondly recalled those stolen weekends like memories of a lost love. They were so few and far between. His parents spent so much time cultivating their business—a chain of Rucker Restaurants—that there was little time for anything else.
    â€œWhat are you standing there grinning like that for?” Karen, Desmond’s handpicked hostess, asked. It was so busy she was moonlighting as a waitress.
    â€œSuccess, sweetheart,” Desmond answered as Karen disappeared through the doors with a platter of hot food in hand.
    A moment later, Karen came scuttling back through those same doors, stepping with energy. As she passed by, Desmond couldn’t help but notice the cling of her skirt to those luscious hips and that round ass. He blinked his eyes. She’s married, Desmond. Married with a capital M.
    â€œDamn right this is success,” Karen said to Desmond as she passed him again to go back outside. “I’m going to have to soak my feet in Epsom salts when I get home tonight.”
    â€œGet your man to massage them for you.” Desmond couldn’t help himself; in his life of restraint and refinement, he had but one weakness—fine women. They made him feel whole in ways he couldn’t