Barking Blaze
"Fish market trader Yetunde's 4 AM mornings are transformed when a thick Malawian chef named Grace starts buying from her stall—and offering more than just payment for the best catch."
The fish market opened at 4 AM.
Yetunde had worked it for fifteen years—cold fingers, early mornings, no personal life.
Then Grace started buying.
The thick Malawian chef appeared every morning, choosing the best catch for her restaurant, curves wrapped in a chef's coat that made Yetunde's cold fingers warm.
"The sea bass today?"
"Fresh as you like. Just like me."
Grace laughed. "That good, are you?"
"Try me and find out."
The flirtation became routine.
Every morning, innuendos over ice and fish. Touches that lingered too long. Looks that said more than words.
"Have dinner at my restaurant," Grace finally said. "Tonight. On me."
"I close at 6 PM. I'll smell like fish."
"I know what you smell like. I want to know what you taste like."
The restaurant was intimate. Grace had closed it for just them.
She cooked Yetunde's own fish, transforming it into art.
"You're very talented," Yetunde said.
"So are you. Do you know what I think about every morning?"
"What?"
"Peeling off your market clothes. Warming up those cold hands." Grace stood and approached. "Making you smell like something other than the sea."
In the restaurant's kitchen, they came together.
Grace's hands were rough from cooking, gentle from care. She undressed Yetunde against the stainless steel counter.
"I've wanted this for months."
"Then take it."
Grace did.
She made Yetunde come on the prep station, then on the chef's table, then in the walk-in cooler where the cold air contrasted with the heat between them.
"God—Grace—"
"Say my name again."
"Grace. Grace. Grace."
The morning market became their prelude.
Lingering touches over fish. Whispered promises of what would happen after closing.
"People are noticing," Yetunde warned.
"Let them notice." Grace handed over payment that included her key. "Tonight. My place. No more hiding."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure I want you. I'm sure I'm falling for you. That's enough, isn't it?"
Barking's market traders noticed Yetunde's new glow.
"You've got a man?" they teased.
"Better," she replied.
She'd found a woman who could transform anything—even cold mornings and dead fish—into something beautiful.
That was magic worth keeping.