Then, I show her the real New York. I take her to Sybil’s in Queens for the best bake and shark she’s ever had and Lloyd’s Carrot Cake in the Bronx, where she moans like she’s never tasted something so good. Finally, I fill her up at Jerk Hut in Brooklyn for the best pineapple jerk wings in the state.

After we eat in and around the city, I take her to the courts where Hudson and I used to hustle dudes, betting on games we had no business playing. We were cocky as hell, playing against grown men, stacking cash off their egos, then getting into fights when they realized two rich kids from Sugar Hill had just taken their money.

Kerry listens, laughing when I tell her about the time Hudson took a swing at a dude twice his size, only for me to have to drag his ass off the court before we both got jumped.

“You two were trouble,” she muses, shaking her head.

“Still are.” I smirk.

I park in front of a two-story brick building, where the streetlights cast a golden glow against the historical plaque bolted to the front.

Kerry steps out of the car, curiosity flickering in her eyes. She looks up at the sign, her brows furrowing before she reads the words out loud.

Anne Baptiste—Trinidadian Culinary Genius & Joseph Grimes—Southern Chef Extraordinaire.

I shove my hands in my pockets, my chest tightening as memories flood my mind.

“This is where it all started,” I say. “My grandparents opened this place during the Harlem Renaissance. It was a staple for artists, musicians, poets—Black excellence at its finest. When my dad took over, he expanded it. Built Grimes Hospitality Group from the ground up.”

Kerry reaches for my hand. “They’d be so proud of you.”

I huff out a small laugh, shaking my head. “Even though I lost my way? I’ve been out of touch with my roots for a long time.”

She frowns, squeezing my hand. “You didn’t lose your way, Vic. You just needed to take a different path to find yourself again. And you did.” Her eyes search mine, unwavering. “You’re honoring them every time you cook, every time you step into a kitchen, every time you teach Syd and Ari a new recipe. You’re carrying their legacy forward. And,” she adds, smiling, “I have a feeling your new restaurant would’ve been their favorite.”

“Yeah?”

“Without a doubt.”

For a long moment, I just stare at her—this woman who always knows what to say, always knows how to pull me back from the rabbit hole of my thoughts.

“Let’s go. There’s one more place I need to take you.”