Unalarmed, the man answered, “Good morning, Ms. Brimm. I was told you might be caught off guard. My name is Chef Boyd. I am Mr. Jacobs’ personal cook. We actually met when I was auditioning a week ago. I brought a sample to your office…?” he continued.
After a few seconds, I did recall a chef. I was so thrown off by his presence because I didn’t actually meet him when the meal was delivered and set up at my office and therefore I didn’t recognize him. “I’m sorry…?” I stumbled at his name.
“…Chef Boyd,” he reminded me.
“Yes. Chef Boyd. I do recall now. Ummmm…where’s Mr. Jacobs?” I asked tentatively.
“Uhh…right behind you, ma’am.” Boyd gave a slight chuckle before turning his attention back toward the stove.
I turned around to find Azmir towering over me in my own kitchen. He didn't wear his usual bright smile. Instead his head was cocked to the side with his eyes squinted as to examine me. He was still sexy as all get out. My mind tried to connect to my body and his valiant presence jolted the process. I looked up at him in somewhat of a daze.
“Good morning,” he greeted before reaching down and kissing my forehead. I felt a heat wave rush through my body.
“Good morning,” I replied as I breathed him all in.
“How are you feeling?” There was the arrestingly sexy grin.
“Ummm…I’ve seen better mornings. What time is it?” I asked groggily.
“It’s about nine thirty…and I’m sure you’re wondering why my chef is here in your private kitchen…but in anticipation of your current condition, I asked him to report here instead of my place to cook you up some breakfast and lunch. What do you have a taste for, if anything? My recommendation is crepes but he’s known for wicked blueberry pancakes and waffles.” Azmir somehow made it all sound so sexy without effort.
I was bewildered. I couldn’t grasp the moment but managed, “Crepes will be just fine. Thanks.”
Azmir looked over to Boyd and said, “Crepes for the morning sexy. Maybe with a fruit topping and the chef’s specialty sides. And for me, I’ll have two over easy, spinach and turkey bacon.”
“Order’s in, Mr. Jacobs!” Boyd trilled.
“Thanks, again,” I muttered. “I’ll just go freshen up, if you don’t mind.”
As I turned to walk towards the back of the house to make my way to the bathroom Azmir murmured, “I’ll take you as is,” with a seductive gaze. I couldn’t help but to blush.
About twenty minutes later, we were at my kitchen table. Chef Boyd served me first by placing a plate before me with three folded crepes filled with cream cheese and topped with some sort of blueberry sauce, scrambled eggs with a diced tomato sauté. Next to my plate was a glass of pomegranate juice. I can’t say that this was my normal breakfast order but my stomach wasn’t corroborating my claim.
For Azmir, the chef served eggs fried hard, sunny side up, four slices of crispy turkey bacon, fresh sautéed spinach, and two pieces of wheat toast cut into triangles. He decorated both our plates for professional presentation. Mine had some type of green leaves in the corner while Azmir’s had sliced oranges. To say that the food was delicious was an understatement. I didn’t think anyone who fried an egg without burning it could be out done but this man had it down to a science. The surf and turf lunch was unsurprisingly good because it’s not on your average household menu but this breakfast gave me a conscious about ever attempting breakfast for Azmir!
“Have you decided on lunch, Ms. Brimm?” Boyd asked.
“Lunch?” I replied puzzled.
“I thought it would be a good idea for Boyd to whip up something for lunch…just to leave less for you to have to do,” Azmir cautiously interjected.
“Oh, wow. I don’t know. Azmir, you’re doing entirely too much,” I scolded but tried using some level of decorum.