A few minutes later, I feel a strong, warm hand on my shoulder. “You should’ve seen her,” Mr. Grimes says as he settles beside me. “As soon as she saw me, she just said ‘Hey, Daddy,’ and went straight to sleep.”

We share a laugh and ease into one another’s space. “See! I told you. No need to worry.” I say, handing him his plate.

His brow lifts in surprise as he stares at the food. “Wait… is this—?”

“Yes,” I reply, a nervous smile playing on my lips. “I found one of your old recipe books in the library today. The pages were so delicate. I couldn’t help but run my hands through them, then I saw they were handwritten, and I just—”

“Kerry, please,” he interjects, his tone soft but firm. “My house is your house, remember? That library is yours too. And that recipe book? It belonged to my grandmother.”

He reverently traces the notebook’s worn binding, an object that very well may have been the foundation of the legacy he’s now fulfilling.

“Wow, so that’s who you get your love for cooking from? Was she a chef?” I ask, watching him take his first bite.

For a moment, I can’t tell if his reaction is good or bad. He chews thoughtfully, then swallows, his expression softening. “This is perfect, Kerry. So damn good. I haven’t tasted this since my grandmother was alive.”

The warmth of his praise blooms in my chest.

“To answer your question, yes. I definitely inherited my love for cooking from her. She passed when I was young, but she was a staple in Harlem. She’d travel nearly two hours every day to Hudson Valley to cook and clean for wealthy white families, making them delicious West Indie dishes.”

I sip my wine, captivated. “Let me guess. They paid her next to nothing but still wanted her exotic recipes for their fancy parties?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Exactly. But she wasn’t a fool. She’d never give them her real recipes. Swapped ingredients and watered things down. Then she’d go back to Harlem and cook for the real stars—Beauford Delaney, Aaron Douglas, Josephine Baker. Eventually, she met my grandfather. They opened their own restaurant, blending his Southern roots with her Trinidadian flavors.”

“Your family’s like Black history royalty. Now I have to visit one of your restaurants. I want to try every Southern Trini dish you have.”

His smile falters slightly, his fork pausing mid-air. “Well… the thing is, I don’t have any of those dishes on my menus. Not even one.”

“Oh,” I blurt, unable to hide my surprise or the judgment in my voice.