A/N: Hewo Beans!! It's Vanilla's birthday next weekend and I'll be writing a nice little special for him and also sharing my journey of publishing Vanilla on Instagram. Yes! Vanilla will be getting a hardcover physical copy (no paperback) and it will still be available, free t read, on Wattpad but just in case you'd like a nice little surprise for yourself on your shelf (eep that rhymed), the estimate release date would be mid November. Available on Amazon! 

I'll be documenting parts of my journey on Instagram at hisangelchip so if you'd like to know how far I'm progressing with the manuscript, or how the book formatting works, and how I design all my covers and jackets, feel free to take a look over there ^^ 

Enjoy the chapter.

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[Leroy]

"So... what, you guys are back together? Just like that?"

We were at this fancy new bistro café thing Erlynn insisted on visiting for brunch a couple of hours after the RV dream, waiting for our mains to be served. I had a game plan going into this, which mostly involved keeping my mouth shut and ordering everything she wanted on the menu to keep her busy. It didn't take very long for her to start asking about him and the trip and whatnot. I figured it was one thing to be hung up over unanswered texts but to see him by my side first thing in the morning probably gave the idea of him being the reason behind it all.

"Does he ask for your phone? Like, to check your DMs or... I don't know, delete contacts and messages?"

Five minutes into our conversation at the table and I was looking at the bottom of my cup of coffee. I had to remind myself it was eleven o'clock in the morning and I'd hopefully be seeing him in a couple of hours.

"I told you. My phone was dead, I forgot to charge it." I laid out, sliding her cup of coffee closer towards her. It worked. She busied herself with coffee for seconds. "And just so you know, lunch with you was his idea. He knows I haven't been spending a lot of time with you."

She rolled her eyes. "That's just him trying to even it out and make himself look good, Roy. Come on... you're not seriously giving this another chance. You said it yourself—you guys were practically opposites! It doesn't work like that."

"We still are," I pointed out. "And yeah, I did say that but you're taking it out of context. Again."

Thank fucks her lobster salad arrived and she turned to ask for an extra fork, cutting the look on her face short before returning to the conversation with something less fiery. "What are you talking about? You said what you said."

"I said we were opposites, but that it was a good thing."

"Okay, so why didn't it work out?" She was back at it again; it wasn't the first time we talked about this. Probably the third. Or fourth. Since we became neighbors. "If you guys were so naturally compatible, that period of three-four years—three-four years of nothing—yeah, small talk is nothing, Roy, just in case you've forgotten what it was like, that period wouldn't even make any sense!"

I'd ordered some overpriced craft burger thing with charcoal brioche buns that was actually the cheapest thing on the menu besides the soup but it was taking forever to arrive and regret was beginning to settle. I was bad with stuff like this and Erlynn knew perfectly well exactly how much I hated talking about the past in the middle of the day.

"I told you." Sometimes, it was like fire to fire, talking to her. On good days, things were a blast. Bad days, a code red. Even for firefighters, those were hard to put out. "It's not like in school anymore. He has work. I have work. Around the clock. Different time zones. It's not that simple."

"Yeah," she snorted. "Like on the days you have nothing to do and you're in bed till two in the afternoon, eat your microwaved shit all day and watching YouTube on your couch with your dog."

I nearly waved the flag. Erlynn wasn't exaggerating but still, that was a long time ago and for some reason, that version of me she never seemed to forget. The one at its lowest.

"Look, I'm... I know you care a lot about me and it's really nice of you." I started off slowly, but then caught a glimpse of the server walking towards us with my order and a coffee refill. Thank fucks. "But we had a talk. A good one."

A closer look at the burger made it seem a lot less appetizing than the picture on the menu.

"Yeah you mean like he actually said he loves you?" She said this with a raised brow and I knew she wasn't in the mood to listen. Probably thanks to the texting thing from this morning. "I don't know Roy. You got back on your feet pretty much by your own. I don't think it's a good idea to give the same person another chance."

This was the problem I had with eating out in London, especially when it came to fancy-ass places like this one. The side of truffle fries was a tad overpowering and there was nothing slightly acidic in the burger that balanced out the heavy cheese and rich patty. I mean... pickles were the bare minimum but for some reason they didn't think of including that. And because onions cooked down tasted sweet, I wasn't going to get the same taste experience everyone else would have had.

Apparently, a couple of years in the firehouse wasn't going to kick the habit I'd been brought up with. Not with two chefs under one roof.

"That's the whole point," I took another bite out of the burger. "I'm doing fine by my own now but with him around, it's an added plus."

She shrugged, looking quite happy with her lobster salad. "Whatever you say. I mean, he wasn't the one by your side when you were at your worst, but okay."

I let her be, leaving my burger aside for some coffee but also checking my phone for a bit, just to see if there was anything that needed my attention. Him. There was. Just a text with some photo of diluted-ass fruit punch with zero context but it was enough to get me laughing inside. I took a quick, blurry snap of my burger and sent that.

Then it was the other texts. And some other emails from names I did not know. Among them were a couple from Angie, which got me a little distracted because this meant something was going down over at Andre's restaurant with the soup recipe I'd given them. Either someone other than a cute genius in glasses had identified the ingredient, or Andre was making stupid calls. Again.

I didn't exactly have the bandwidth to read everything from Angie in that moment but I glanced through, scrolling through the thread and then the private messages from her. What I got from all that was the vague gist of Andre being offered a cash-cow deal by some production company for a TV show. It was the secret ingredient in exchange for a spot. Then something about them using that as leverage to meet the mystery chef in person.

As usual, Andre was attracted to bad decision-making. No surprises.

"So how did it go?" Erlynn said out of nowhere. I looked up, distracted, but turning my attention back to her. "We went foraging for razor clams. At a beach down Dartford." "That sounds fun. Outdoor cooking?" "Yeah." "Is he any good?" "A real winner." She snorted. "Okay, if you're so sure." "It was fun." "Stopped by at a motel or something?" "Drove an RV out. Rexi's." "Hm. Sounds kiiinda cheap." "It was my idea, shitface." "Oh okay then, I guess you have cheap ideas." "That's not what you said back then." "That was me asking you out on a date, Roy. But you wouldn't even know a good catch when you see one, so..." "You were dumb enough to think I was likable, so." We laughed.

I sent Angie a text about dropping by the restaurant before asking the waiter for the bill. Erlynn had Sunday school to teach anyway so I wasn't gonna look bad trying to end the meal as soon as possible. That, and I walked her all the way to her workplace so there was no way she was going to stay mad at me and hate on Vanilla for no reason.

If anything, showing her the positive influence he had on the people around him was going to change her mind. Though I'm probably not the best example of positive.

We made some small talk along the way to the school she taught at; I asked about the kids. She said something about Slurpee Sunday and parents working on weekends. I drew the line at the gate and dropped a note about being busy the rest of the day. Stuff to settle. When I turned to leave, she stopped me with a word. "So?"

I turned. "So what."

"Did he say it?" She folded her arms, looking me square in the eye. "Did he say he loved you?"

I raised a brow, holding her gaze for a bit. Smiling. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"What idea?"

"Using those words as an indicator," felt like an 'odd' improvement in my vocabulary for once and I guess there it was. The positive influence. Already, I could hear him at the back of my mind and it was enough to make me laugh quietly to myself.

She frowned. I was expecting it. "Why not?"

I gave her a shrug. "It's probably the most common lie in the universe. After 'I'm fine," I raised a hand, turning to leave.

*

I parked my bike across Andre's restaurant and was making my way around the back when I saw the line. It snaked two, three times around the front, which wouldn't have been questionable if this was three, four years ago on a Saturday evening back then but impossible with the current standards Andre was cooking at.

From afar, I even made out the back of Vance, station twelve's recent rookie on board. He had someone else with him and that kept him distracted; otherwise, he would've noticed me walking past the line and making for the back alley of the restaurant. In a minute, I was ringing up the front desk and no doubt, head hostess Angie picked up. For some reason, she could tell it was me before I said a word.

Five minutes later, she emerged from the back door of the kitchen with a huge-ass sigh, pulling me in for a hug. "You really came. I've got six minutes max before they call for the foie gras. Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"It's my day off. I have a forty-eight coming up tomorrow." I explained quickly, waiting for her to move on.

"Right. So, um." Angie glanced over her shoulder at the closed door, then to her left and right down the back alley before pulling out a folded piece of paper from her dress pocket. "I stole your note with the recipe when no one was looking. I mean, Andre and sous chef have it memorized by now but maybe without evidence, he'd appear less credible. Oh my god Leroy. This... I mean it's getting really messy."

I wasn't going to deny that. Vanilla didn't name me the 'bad decision maker' for no reason and although that was years ago, I honestly couldn't tell the difference. With Andre being offered several personal benefits under the table in exchange for the secret ingredient, I wouldn't even be surprised if he made something up and arranged for his own version of a mystery chef that wasn't me.

And to be honest, that shouldn't sound like a bad idea at all. It'd leave me out of the picture and people, including the production team behind the whole program, weren't going to give a fuck about right answers or actual chefs. The show was entertainment. And the bigger the set-up, the better the pay-off.

"Thanks Angie. For having my back." I stuffed the note in the pocket of my leather jacket. "But... look. If things get bad, I want you to stay out of it. Feed me to the wolves if you need to. I've done enough dragging you into this."

She sighed. "I'll admit. It's been tough trying to keep things under control and thank god Violet Birchwood hasn't said a word about you, you know that, right? But at the rate Andre's—"

I saw the gap beneath the door darken for a sec and made for the tower of cardboard boxes right beside, bolting as soon as the back door cranked open. Angie hadn't any time to react so her acting was basically a fail grade when she turned to face the direction of whoever was at the door.

"Angie?" The sous chef. "Andre's looking for you." He paused. "Uh... you okay? Thought I heard voices."

"Yeah I was on the phone. Speaker mode," she smoked, and with that look on her face, I knew he wasn't going to believe her but for some reason, the sous chef simply let it pass. She gave him her full attention, stepping towards the door and away from where I was taking cover.

"What's he..." And then their voices faded, and the door closed behind them.

Fuck. I was naïve enough to think crashing a kitchen to cook a meal and getting back to daily life as though nothing had happened was a master plan. Not just any kitchen, Andre's kitchen. Not just any meal, a fine-dining, five-course-without-dessert dinner that one-upped the owner's five-course menu and triggered a series of other events out of my direct control.

I checked the time.

Whatever remained was enough to bike over to Vanilla's, pick up the car from Jason, go speed-shopping for dinner and then pick him up at his office. The entire time I was doing this, no real thinking was involved because I was so fixated on figuring out what the fuck was going on in my head when I made the decision to step into that kitchen and for the next two hours do exactly what I hated. And enjoyed it.

Sure, I never expected the whole thing to go word-for-word as I thought it would but for it to grow into something this big of a deal was bullshit. So much so that I wasn't even thinking straight about tonight's dinner menu and checked out of the grocery store with too much chicken.

I drove down to his office soon after and waited in the underground carpark instead of the pick-up point, watching Sunday workers going in and out of the lift lobby. Just waiting for him to show. Work his magic. Clear my mind.

"Antoinette."

Siegfried's voice hadn't changed one bit. The way he liked to call out to someone; in the kitchen or outside of it, sounded exactly the same. He was beckoning to someone over his shoulder, just in front of the automatic glass doors. Just from the back of his head, I could tell it was him. But then he turned and it surprised me to see how much he'd aged after just one year.

He looked tired. And the person behind him—

"How nice it is for you to be on time." The door of the passenger's seat opened and it was snowing all of a sudden. "Perhaps I do have a positive influence on idiots."

"Only one idiot." All attention turned to him sliding into the passenger's seat. "And what are you talking about, I'm always on time."

He rolled his eyes, fingers reaching up to the collar of his dress shirt (that was mine) to check the top-most button. Naturally, it was done up. "Well admittedly you'd just saved me from a morning of absolute... oh good god the proposal." He paused, staring at the lift lobby with a sigh. "Have you noticed? I am becoming increasingly forgetful."

"What do you know. Idiots have some influence too," I teased a smile out of him, nodding towards the lobby. "Go. I'll wait here."

His expression was sheepish. "Well, I'd—yes, but... would you, maybe, like to come with me, then? You've waited in the car long enough and I don't suppose you'd like to, I don't know, see the culmination of all my hard work?"

"Of course, Mr. White." Again, I wasn't gonna miss out on the opening he'd practically handed me on a silver platter. "Owner of GLACE, chief editor of global cuisine reviews, master of English, critic of loose ties, ruler of idiots."

"Just one idiot, I suppose."

And just like that, he'd put out the flames better than the firefighter himself. We headed up to his office floor and he showed me around the reception area with a guest pantry, and beyond that was a glass panel that spanned the rest of the office. Some fifteen to twenty cubicles shared between the publishing and marketing department. Someone called out to him. I think it was his secretary.

"I'll be with you in a bit. Sorry. Um, could you... maybe...?"

I nodded at the reception area. "I'll hang around." There were others as well. Including his head receptionist at the counter packing up after the brunch event. And then this dude came running out of the office doors with his bag and everything in a hurry, glancing in my direction halfway across the room before doing a double take over his shoulder, staring right at me.

It got my attention but, like him, I couldn't recognize his face right off the bat. The pause between staring and him slowly raising a hand made things click. Then it was both his hands, up in surrender.

"Dude. How the fuck did you get hotter than the sun in, like—this is why people don't believe in gods. Life is unfair." He reached out for a hand and I took it. We pulled each other in for a clap on the back.

"Hey. Nice kicks."

"Italian leather." Raul showed off with the exact same smile I remembered. Boyish. Young. "Real expensive but my Nonna says I'm worth it. Plus, Vanilla knows his shit so we've been swimming in it. Uh. Not sure if I'm supposed to tell you that but who cares, you're practically dead. I haven't seen you in... what. Five? Six? Seven years."

I laughed. "Just... dealing with blood and fire. London's okay."

He did the same hand gesture thing he always did back then. "Don't get me wrong. I like the place. Been here for nearly two months and my pocket's a lot less heavier than before but uh... y'know the uh... never mind." He breathed a sigh, looking around. And then lowering his voice. "Dude. So. You and Vanilla huh."

I feigned confusion. "What are you talking about? I dropped by to stick it in your face how hot I look now."

"Psh." He rolled his eyes. "Like I didn't hear enough of that shit back in school. I still talk to Rosi y'know. Oh and Layla. She asks about you sometimes but what do I know eh. Anyway, you don't need an excuse to pick up your boyfriend at his workplace." He gave me a look. For some reason, I couldn't help feeling smug.

"So your English is top tier now or what."

Raul shrugged, leaning in with that stupid smile of his. "I had private lessons from the boss. Don't be jealous."

I punched him in the arm. He yelped. We flipped each other off. Laughed.

"Aaanyway. You spend as much time as you can with him now. I mean you probably know that. They reaally want him on the production. Which is great and all 'cuz, like, money, y'know. But also, the traveling and stuff?"

I faltered a little. All ears. "Details?"

"Uh... not much since Vanilla's been turning them down pretty much every single time they come back but, yo, even Siegfried Cox dropped by today and," he shook his head but looked nothing short of impressed. "I don't know how anyone's gonna turn that man down but with him on board, the sponsors are gonna be big for this one. Country-hopping for every stage in the competition? Cool destinations? Guest appearances and all that?"

I paused. Felt weird hearing about something so close and far at the same time. "It's that big?"

"Yeah. At least from what I heard. Anyway, they're trying to maximize viewership based on the ongoing hot news in the industry, so. Andre's thing. Maybe even the Ratatouille guy. Y'know."

I snorted. "You call him that?"

He shrugged. "It's cute. Little rat under the hat. Cute."

I sorta laughed. He glanced at his watch and gave me another clap on the back. "Gotta go catch the Underground. Wanna hang sometime? I know a good bar." I hesitated. It wasn't that hard when it came down to people like Raul. We were cool before; and he was the kind of person unafraid to show every bit of himself on the surface. No secrets. He wasn't hard to figure out then. Just, never much of a texter.

"Same number?" "Nah. I changed it. Give me your phone." I handed it to him.

Then, over his shoulder, a little snowstorm emerged. "A heart-warming reunion." He smiled, making his way over.

Raul looked up. "Oh this motherfucker?" I snorted. "Ever heard of a pay cut?" "Too bad. My boss likes me and he's a good person." "Not too sure about that." "Hey Vanilla you heard that? Better put a cap on sexy time or Cox right here's gonna have his ego blown all the way up to the sky."

It was fingers again and we made for the elevator together, chatting a bit about that bar Raul was talking about and some other time we could possibly hang out, though with everything they had on their plate in the weeks to come, sounded unlikely. Dude got off on the ground floor with a wave; the two of us continued down to the carpark, hopped back on the ride, started in the direction of his place, and talked about dinner all the way. And bars. And if buffalo wings were better than fried chicken. And bars. And condoms.

The condom thing might have happened in my head.

*

"So um... did your co-workers. Team members. The other firefighters. Did they, you know," he was skinning a potato. I was four down. Him, halfway through his. "Approve of the bagels I brought over?"

"If you're asking if they like you, they do." I laid out before he started overthinking and slowing down on the potatoes. We'd already spent some time looking for a frying pan he'd never used. "I have a forty-eight starting at six tomorrow morning, by the way."

"I remember. But um. Do you... I mean, does the fire house...? Well I suppose not, since the shift change would also take place that early in the morning," he sighed, glancing over at my bowl and taking in the other potatoes I'd finished. "Though breakfast would seem like the perfect welcome for those starting and ending their shifts alike."

"You're thinking of dropping by again?" I sounded surprised. I was.

He cleared his throat, getting out the mandoline slicer and running the skinned potatoes through them. "Is that... not allowed?"

"No, just." I laughed, hoping this was for real. "You're a busy man."

"Well that is true but, you know, now that... we're trying things out and, so, one wouldn't want to be making the same mistakes of the past. Some extra effort wouldn't hurt. And I mean. These are the people who were there for you while I... was not. They deserve my gratitude for making you happy and," he gestured, generally, in my direction, "all this."

I dared to pry. "All this?" Eyes. His drifted and in a second, the oven wasn't the only thing heating up. He averted his gaze.

"N-nothing." He changed the subject in a blink. "Also, the fact that you bought three bags of potatoes in one go proves how much of an idiot you are since even ratatouille doesn't require any potatoes." I savored that bit of blush on his ears.

"Ever heard of putting a twist on traditional recipes?"

"Ah yes. How could I forget, the genius of invention, Leroy Jeremy Cox."

"That's me."

"Do your co-workers know the extent of your culinary training?"

"If they did, I'd be locked up in the firehouse cooking shit all day," I laughed, envisioning Jaeger and the gang stealing all of my gear and replacing it with chefs' whites. Just for the heck of it. "They know I cut fast. And that I don't eat sweets."

We went on in that direction, mostly about stuff going on in the firehouse and my end of things because curious little snowflakes liked asking questions about everything under the sun. Not a single shred of disappointment; bitterness; condescendence in his voice for ending up in something completely unrelated to the culinary world. Just genuinely glad that I liked what I was doing. That I'd settled down.

The dish was in the oven after thirty-or-so minutes of prep and for this recipe to bake was going to take forty to fifty minutes. In between, we had some time to spare and I, remembering exactly what he said this morning, decided to give it a quick fact check.

Bedside drawer in his room... got 'em.

I laid the palm-sized out on the bed and in he walked, timely. "Leroy, are you thinking of taking a sh—o-oh. How did you...? Ah. Right. I told you this morning."

I looked at him. He looked at me. And then as though all that was too hot for the world to take, my fucking pager started beeping. A fire nearby.