Secret Menu
"She reviews halal restaurants on social media—honest critiques that make her both loved and feared. He's the chef whose Somali fusion spot she rates poorly. His campaign to change her mind changes everything."
"Three stars? You gave me three stars?"
The chef—tall, furious, unfairly handsome—corners me at a food event.
"The rice was overcooked."
"The rice was perfect."
"Then we have different standards." I shrug. "It's just my opinion."
"Your opinion has fifty thousand followers."
He challenges me.
Come back. Try again. Let him prove me wrong.
"Fine." I cross my arms. "But I'm not changing my review."
"You will." He smiles. "When you taste what I really cook."
He cooks for me personally.
After hours, empty restaurant, just us and his creations.
"This is..." I pause. "This is incredible."
"Different from the menu?"
"Completely."
"This is what I cook when I care." He watches me eat. "When someone's worth impressing."
"Why don't you serve this?"
"Because most people don't appreciate it." He sits across from me. "They want familiar. Safe. This is risky."
"This is beautiful."
"So are you." He says it simply. "Even when you're destroying my business."
We kiss over empty plates.
The restaurant dark, his food still warming my stomach.
"Yassin—"
"I've wanted to feed you since the bad review."
"That's—"
"That's chef energy." He lifts me onto the counter. "I cook for people I want to nourish."
We make love in his kitchen.
Stainless steel and spices and everything he creates surrounding us.
"You're delicious—"
"We're delicious." He moves with me. "Together."
I update the review.
Five stars. The whole story.
"You didn't have to," he says.
"I wanted to." I show him the post. "I believe in honesty."
"Then be honest about one more thing." He kneels. "Will you marry me?"
"You're proposing in your kitchen?"
"Where else would a chef propose?"
I say yes.
Best meal I ever reviewed.