A/N: I just want to thank everybody for their kind reviews. I sent all y'all e-mails, I hope you got them. I was so worried that people wouldn't like this because it was different. Hey, you know people from the Bay Area, we always do things little different! Anyway, thank you so much for the support. Again, though, if anybody is out of character or anything goes wrong, let me know. I'll holla!

-Keak

Lindsay

"Oh, god, Lindsay!"

Judah sighed one last time in my ear and then crashed against the pillows. Our lovemaking had been fierce, urgent, and powerful--to him. I checked the digital alarm clock on my nightstand. It was midnight, ten minutes had past since he felt the need to waste my time. Then again I only have myself to blame for this. If I had just come out and told him he was the size of a Vienna Sausage, he probably wouldn't be in my bed, breathing his hot breath into the corner of my eye, asking me if it was good. I blame women for men who think they're bigger than they are. If some woman had have just shut Judah down when he was in high school, he probably wouldn't be so haughty about his performance

"Lindsay," he cooed. He reached out and started toying with one of my curls. "You were so beautiful."

Judah isn't an ugly man. His hair is a dirty blonde and his eyes are a Caribbean green. He's a creamy tan color, built, and he has a huge warm smile. He listens to me when I talk, something most of the guys I know don't do. He doesn't tell me how hot I am, but he dwells on that fact that he thinks I'm beautiful. Some nights I can actually lie in bed with him and not end up on my back with him panting breathlessly on top of me. Sometimes he grabs my hand when we're walking down the street and fingers it softly. His only problem is that he's overconfident in the bedroom.

"Thank you," I kiss the hand he has on my stomach and relax against him.

"I love you," he says. His voice is husky in the darkness.

I suck in my breath and I'm quite sure he can feel my muscles tighten against his chest. I feel a deep connection to Judah. I feel safe when I'm around him. I feel appreciated, desirable, and gorgeous. Despite all of that I think love is not only a big word, but an even bigger step--especially for me.

He releases me so that he's only laying beside me. He then supports his weight on his elbow and leans over to brush my hair from my damp face. He kisses me, his touch tender with love. I swallow hard.

"Is it possible," he laughs softly. "Lindsay Deanna Goren…gasps…speechless?"

"I…"

"Ssh," he places a finger on my lips. "It's okay, you don't need to say anything. Go to sleep."

I do something that I don't normally do: obey.

When I wake up in the morning I find Judah gone and a cup of coffee sitting on the kitchen counter. Mostly cream and loads of sugar, just how I like it. Out of fear of being late for the millionth time this week, I guzzle down the hot liquid and throw my clothes on. The sun's barley up, but I have to beat the breakfast crowd. I'm a chef at Cluveau's, a trendy Cajun restaurant in Manhattan. People come there to hear soft jazz in the mornings while they eat. When I'm not being barked at by my boss, Cluveau's has a very comforting aura. When I'm on break, I just sit at one of the back tables and read while the soft Alto Sax wails.

I fell in love with food when I went to UC Berkeley. I'd actually gone for women's studies, but my roommate quickly gave me a push in the right direction. Christine was Creole from Chicago. Her parents relocated from New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina ravaged the city. She may have been born and raised in the Midwest, but you wouldn't know by listening to her. She spoke Creole fluently and even when she spoke English, she spoke with a gumbo mumble that was hard for people to understand. I met Christine in the student union towards the end of my freshman year. Her nose was in Howard's Zinn's People's History of the United States and she was clutching a bottle of ice cold Spirit. Her feet were plopped up on the table and she was slouched way down in her chair.

"Good book," I said as soon as I sat down. Most of the tables were full, so I just sat across from her. "Shone a new light on American history, didn't it? My Dad had me reading it when I was twelve, but I stopped…"

"I wouldn't know," She interrupted. She peered up from her book. She looked me up and down. "Since you came over here running off at the mouth, I haven't had time to really form my opinion."

I was taken aback at first. I was just trying to be polite and strike up a conversation about a good book. Then I became overjoyed. My whole life I'd been the smartass of the group. My siblings and my father had adapted to my sarcasm and I'd inherited it from my mother. People usually tended to shy away from me because I was too blunt . I always had something to say or I was just another wiseass. This girl, however, managed to catch me off guard and I liked that.

"Lindsay Goren," I stuck my hand across the table.

"Christine LeFabre," she shook my hand. She cocked her head sideways and smiled at me. "I can tell we're a lot alike."

"Yeah? How?"

"If we weren't, you would've run clear 'cross this room to get away from me."

We became fast friends. She'd hang out in my dorm room and we'd listen to music and talk. Sometimes we'd actually get some studying done, but usually we just talked. I was never really a trusting person, especially when I was younger. I trusted my family, but outsiders had to jump through hoops in order for me to let them in. That usually resulted in me being by myself at times. Yet, I felt like I'd known Christine forever. She got my jokes, accepted my wit, and had comebacks all her on. She was the sister I wanted Kate to be.

After freshman year, we both decided we'd get an apartment together. I was working at a bookstore and my parents were sending money, so I had enough for a room and then some. Christine's parents didn't approve of her college choice, they wanted her to go to a historical black college, so they rarely sent her money if they sent anything at all. Luckily for her she was working part-time and had managed to get some scholarships and grants. Between us, we had enough for a small two bedroom in Oakland, about 20 minutes away from the campus by public transportation.

The day Christine made gumbo was the day I left Betty Friedan for a frying pan. I'd always had a soft spot for cooking. When I was a kid I'd help my Dad out in the kitchen. He'd let me chop up onions or vegetables. If I got really lucky he'd let me season things. When my parents got called in for a case, I was always the one slaving over the stove. I loved to experiment with new seasoning blends. I created marinades out of everyday things like canned pineapples and Worcestershire sauce. My experiments went over well with Kate and Robby. They even convinced my parents to let me cook dinner for the family some nights. I always knew I had a talent for cooking, but when I saw Christine prepare the Gumbo, I learned that cooking was an art.

"What's that?"

"What's what?" she looked down at the mixture she was moving around in the skillet.

"This?"

"No, that," I rolled my eyes and pointed at the mixture.

"The rue for the gumbo."

"Gumbo? What the hell is that?"

"You haven't had Gumbo before? You don't know what you've been missing!"

"If that's all it is," I cast my eyes on the golden brown stuff she was sloshing about the skillet. "I'm glad I missed it."

"No, you fool, this is just the base. I'll throw in some crab, hot sausage, rice, shrimp. and some okra. Imagine a big seafood stew and you've got gumbo."

The gumbo took about three hours to make. I sat curled up on the couch watching. She was so precise, timing everything and cutting things just so. Occasionally I'd walk into the kitchen and stick my nose in the pots. I tried to dip a spoon in, but Christine always managed to swat me away.

I don't know how to describe it, but everything clicked the moment I started eating. The gumbo was zesty, but it wasn't too spicy. It had a sweet taste, but the kick at the end gave it its real flavor. It wasn't the food that got my attention, it was the how much fun Christine had making it. She put on some old school Funk while she cooked. She'd slid about the kitchen, doing the electric slide and the cabbage patch. I was having fun doing woman's studies, but I starting thinking about how great I felt when I was cooking. I could express myself the way I wanted to through my seasonings. I could build bridges with food. Living in Berkeley I saw white kids eating sushi, Chinese people owning soulfood places, black kids guzzling El Salvadorian food, Latinos eating at Indian restaurants. I didn't expect to be nominated for a Nobel Peace prize because I could I make a mean steak, but food brings people together.

I dropped out of UC Berkeley, much to my parent's dismay, my sophomore year and enrolled in California School of Culinary Arts. I struggled a little, I had no idea there were so many rules and regulations. At first I was adamantly opposed to all the rules, but after almost being booted twice, I learned to bite my tongue.

I graduated at twenty-two and came home to New York shortly after. Christine followed me and got a job at a women's magazine. They gave her a column and she was having the time of her life. She was the one who got me the job at Cluveau's. A couple of her parent's friends knew Lissette Cluveau and Christine asked them to put in some good words for me. Christine and I still keep itn touch. We don't get to hang out as much because she always up to her ass in work and I'm always tired. She comes by the restaurant every now and then, eats a little something, and then goes on with her life. I'll always be grateful to her for steering me in the right direction.

"Goren, how nice of you to finally show up! What were you waiting for, an invitation from the all mighty himself?"

Okay, I may not be grateful to her for steering me towards Lissette. Traffic sucked--majority. I knew she was going to flap her jaws until she had an asthma attack, but that doesn't mean I wanted to hear it. Lissette has movie star looks. Unfortunately for her, that movie star happens to be Danny Devito. The woman has more facial hair than my little brother. Cheated by either genetics or fate, Lissette is set on making everybody else's life a living hell.

"You know me, can't move without notification from the Lord!"

"Don't get smart with me Goren," she raised a pudgy finger to my face. "I can replace you! Don't you ever forget that!"

Lissette deposited the glass of wine she was holding on the marble counter and then twiddles her fat fingers under the running tap water. Lissette always has a glass of wine before we open. She insists it calms her down, I insist that it turns her into a fire breathing bitch.

"Honestly Lindsay," she says, flinging a meaty arm in the air, "you can't possibly think that you can continue talking to me in this way!" (Lissette has a tendency to speak in italics). "You're a talented girl, very talented, but you can be easily replaced. I built this place, Lindsay, from the ground up. There are tons of chefs like you!"

"Don't write out a check that your ass can't cash, Lissette," I chuckled while washing my hands. "You and I both know that if you could replace me, I would be flipping gourmet burgers at McDonalds."

"Keep campaigning for this pink slip and you just might win! Lindsay Goren, you're too much for your own good--as well as your pocket book."

I'd just gone on lunch break when I got the call. Mom was coming down because according to her we needed to have a chat. I know it's got something to do with her birthday and the call Robby got last night. My precious baby brother didn't give me shit, which totally isn't normal, but Mom has no way of knowing that. She knows that Kate and I can extract any and everything from our baby brother, so she thinks I know something. Unfortunately for her, I know nothing.

"Hey Z, your Mom's out front!"

I look up from the book to find Marcos, one of the busboys, leaning over the table in the break room watching me. If Marcos wasn't Robby's age, I'd take him in the bathroom and relieve my sexual distress. He's cute, not overly attractive. His eyes are black like limo tint, he can see out but others can't see in. He wears his shoulder length hair in a ponytail and he has a light stubble. Very sexy, extremely sexy. Down Linds, down. Anyway, Marcos started calling me "Z" after hearing Lissette shout my name so often. Lindsay, get it, Lind-Z.

"Oh, yeah, thanks."

"You look hot," he says and then adds on a wink.

"I feel hot," I wipe the sweat from my brow. Sitting in a break room close to a kitchen while contemplating the many different ways of seducing a busboy can do that to a woman.

He knows that I know that's not what he meant, but he lets it go.

Mom's standing in front of the entrance. It's a nice day, so she doesn't feel the need to come in. Mom can't stand Lissette any more than I can, so she doesn't come inside unless she has to. Mom's going to be sixty-five in a month, but she doesn't look it. She looks a good ten years younger then she is. Give or take a few winkles she could be in her early fifties. I was lucky enough to inherit that gene from her. I've never looked my age. In fact when I first met Judah, he asked to see my ID before we went any further. When I complained Mom just told me to suck it up.

"Either look seventeen at twenty-five or have your skin hanging off your bones when you're my age," she'd said.

"Took you long enough," she said when I flung open the front doors. It's kind of funny how my mother has to stand on her toes to hug me.

"Nice to see you too, Mommy," I laughed and smiled. "Wanna grab some tea or something?"

"Sure, I liked that cafe that we went to last time. Hey, that guy that greeted me at the door, what's his name?" she asked once we started walking.

"Who? Marcos?"

"Dark hair and eyes, kinda short and lanky?"

"Yeah, that's him. Why?"

"He's cute!"

"Mom! He's Robby's age, that's gross!"

"Oh please," she slapped my arm playfully. "I'm old not blind. Besides, it's not like I wanted to marry him, I was just looking."

"Yeah, well, you have a husband."

"Speaking of my husband," she looked up at me before swinging open the door of Muddy Waters. "What's he got up his sleeve?"

"Huh?"

"Huh?" she narrowed her eyes. "Don't give me that! I know he called Robby last night."

"How'd you know?"

"Robby showed up last night, apparently Miranda had her ass on her shoulders. Your father told me he invited Robby over."

"Really? About what?" I asked after we took a table near the window.

"Didn't ask. It was late and you know better than anyone that I don't appreciate being woken up."

She was right, I did know. Not only did I inherit her looks, but I inherited her morning temper. I remember the first time Judah slept over. He was so cheerful, so alert, and ready to take on the world. He woke me up with a big smile and a cheery good morning. I wanted to beat him over the head with the cup of coffee he was holding. Instead I settled for yelling at him and then covering my face with my pillow. I ended up apologizing to him over dinner. He doesn't wake me up anymore, that's for sure.

"Did he go to school this morning? He tends to over sleep when he's home, ya know?

"Yeah I know," she nodded. "Now stop changing the subject and tell me what your father had to say to my son."

"Robby didn't tell me."

"Bull, you could talk your brother into selling me if you wanted to. What did he say Lindsay?"

"Mother, I swear, I really don't know! Ask Kate, he wouldn't tell her anything either."

"Lindsay."

"Mother. Here's what went down last night. Kate, Robby, and I were having some beers and Robby told us about," I stopped. My brother would kill me, that is if he could, if I told Mom about his proposal to Miranda. "Robby told us about some teacher that's been giving him shit and then Kate gets a call on her cell. It's Daddy and he asks to speak to BJ so Kate hands him the phone. I watch him and Kate pretends she's not watching him, while they talk, but Robby just shuts us out with his eyes. We tried! Hell Kate even threatens to make him drink grape juice while he watches us drink beer, but he keeps his lips sealed. Whatever it is, it's important, and Robby's honoring Dad's confidence."

"You're sure you know nothing?"

"Positive, I swear," I laugh a little and then sigh. My conversation with Judah pops into my mind.

"Something wrong?"

"No, nothing I can't handle."

"Lindsay, I'm your mother. You look like me."

"I look like you, and?"

"And, I make that same face when something's eating me. So I'll ask you again, something wrong?"

"Judah told me he loved me last night while we were in bed."

"That's great," when she sees the look on my face she says, "or not. What's so bad about an intelligent, good looking, man tell you that he loves you?"

"I'm not sure if I love him back."

"What's not to love?"

"I...I just don't know...know...about love. It just seems so overrated. I feel safe with Judah. He makes me feel special, you know, important? The way he looks at me, I've never been looked at like that before. I'm feel connected to him, I've got feelings for him, but I don't know if I love him."

"One monkey doesn't stop a show, kid."

"Mom, I was a kid then, that has nothing to do with this."

"Like or not, Lindsay, it does. That boy's been dead for almost ten years and you still haven't buried him."

"Mother..."

"Lindsay, take it from me, okay? I know what it's like to lose somebody you love and I know what it's like to think you'll never love somebody else again, but you have to trust somebody sometime."

"I...I gotta...I gotta go," I pull myself out of the chair. I can feel the tears stinging at my eyes, and I'm not one to turn on the waterworks in a public arena. "I'll call you if I learn anything else, okay? Ask Kate when you..you...get a chance."

Mom's been married to Dad too long, she's starting to be to god damn insightful. Lissette's gonna have a field day when she sees tears stains on my cheeks. Great, thanks Mom.

A/N: Now for Kathryn "Kate" Goren. Once again, thanks a lot for the kind reviews!

1 Love,

Keak