“Good. Now, take your robe off,” he rasps huskily, lips trailing down my neck, his tongue flicking over my nipple before he gently bites down, making me gasp for more. “And sit on my face.”

I don’t argue. I don’t hesitate. I let myself get lost in him, in us, and the many pleasures to follow.

~~~

The energy in the restaurant is electric. Photographers flash their cameras, a sea of people waiting for the moment they can step into Roots—the place Vic built with his heart, his hands, and his history.

And, of course, we’re perfectly coordinated in pink. Vic, forever outnumbered in our house, playfully scowls as he buttons his deep rose-colored jacket. “So, this is my fate, huh? Drowning in pink for the rest of my life?”

“We like you better this way, Daddy.” Syd, twirling in her sparkly blush dress, grins up at him.

Ari smirks. “Yeah, it makes you look less scary.”

I laugh, slipping my hand into his. “You should thank us. You’ve never looked better.”

The cameras flash as we pose together, but then, the real magic begins.

A drumroll hums through the speakers as a massive cover drops from over the restaurant’s sign, revealing Roots in beautifully carved script painted in vibrant Caribbean hues. Below, in elegant gold print, is a dedication:

“An Ode to the Grimes Beginnings and to the Love That Nourishes Us.”

And just beside it, another plaque stands in quiet reverence, one that means everything.

“From the humble vision of Anne and Joseph Grimes, who built their first restaurant with love, and to Jeremiah Grimes, a great man taken too soon, whose passion transformed his parents’ dream into an empire, this is our tribute. Your spirit lives in every dish, in every lesson passed down, and in every moment shared around these tables. This isn’t just a restaurant. It’s a love letter to the past, a celebration of the present, and a promise to the future. This is family. This is home. This is our legacy continued.”

Vic is still as he watches his mother, standing beside Hudson, clutching her heart and blinking away tears. The crowd gushes in admiration, and I squeeze his hand.

“See, baby,” I whisper, watching his throat bob as he swallows hard. “It’s perfect.”

Once everyone is seated, it’s time for the most important part—the tasting.

Vic stands at the head of the room, his eyes sweeping over the crowd. “Tonight isn’t just about food,” he begins. “It’s about home. It’s about the roots that ground us, the flavors that tell our stories. Each dish you taste tonight is inspired by my grandparents’ old recipes, reimagined through my own vision. It’s an honor to share them with you.”