Page 11 of Saving Saul

There's a tightness in my chest as I think of her, Tessa, with her vibrant spirit and dreams as expansive as the New Orleans sky she cherishes so deeply. She's perfect. Her zest for life is the missing ingredient I crave, not because she’s flawless. And God, how I could use a bit of her levity—the kind that emerges from a place where struggle dances hand in hand with joy.

"Saul, this way," a production assistant calls out, but I follow Tessa's voice, the memory guiding me like a lighthouse cutting through the fog. I nod at the assistant and keep moving, passingby the blinking lights and busy crew, with a mind full of culinary metaphors about mixing and blending. Maybe life is a recipe, and Tessa and I are the ingredients that never knew how badly they needed to be combined.

I rub the back of my neck to ease the tension. This billionaire world might scare her off, not me. I've seen the hesitation in women's eyes before—they know the Mensah tag before they see Saul. But with Tessa, it's different. She doesn't know the full extent yet, and there are whispers and rumors. I pray it won’t taint what’s brewing between us when she learns the truth.

I'll do anything to make her feel at home in this strange new reality. If my success can help her reach her dreams, it has served its truest purpose. A promise is forming in my heart, one I intend to keep: her goals will become mine, and together, we'll chase them down until they're real and tangible.

Reaching the end of the corridor, I pause, take a breath, and glance back toward the hub, holding a woman who's already changing everything. Tessa Baptiste, a force of nature from New Orleans with the power to turn my carefully curated world upside down—and I find myself hoping she does.

"Ready for the proposal, Chef?" the assistant asks, returning me to the present.

"More ready than I've ever been," I reply, confidence lacing my words. Because now, I have something—or rather someone else—to fight for.

PUMP YOUR BREAKS

TESSA

The wall feelsalive beneath my palm, almost as if it’s breathing with me. Or maybe it’s just my pulse, erratic and heavy, matching the chaos in my chest. Date four. Four. And Saul has already stripped me bare in ways no one else ever has—not even the men I’ve been with face-to-face.

I press my forehead against the cool surface, desperate for clarity, but my thoughts only tangle further. How did I let myself get this far? How did a stranger—a voice from the other side of a wall—get under my skin this much?

This isn’t me. I don’t let my guard down like this. I don’t lose control. But Saul? No matter how much I try to anchor myself, he’s a whirlwind I can’t escape.

And that terrifies me.

What if this isn’t real? What if it’s just the novelty of this absurd setup, the fake intimacy of whispered secrets in the dark? What if he’s not who I believe he is?

I need to ground myself. Or maybe I need to ground him. Discover the cracks in his perfection, the flaws that make him human. Something to remind me that I’m not just creating a fantasy.

“Saul,” I say, my voice trembling despite my attempt to sound steady.

“Yes, love?” His accent wraps around me, warm and inviting. Too inviting.

I close my eyes, trying to hold onto the courage that brought me here. “Can I ask you something? Something... personal?”

“Of course.” His response is instant, with no hesitation, and somehow, that only makes me more nervous.

I swallow, my throat dry. “What’s your relationship with God?”

The following silence is deafening, stretching so long I wonder if he’s still there. Just as I’m about to call his name again, he speaks.

“That’s a question I didn’t see coming.”

His voice is softer now, cautious, and it only makes my nerves spike. “I figured,” I admit, my fingers tracing aimless patterns on the wall.

He exhales, the sound heavy and deliberate. “If I’m honest... I don’t have one.”

The words hit like a sharp wind, taking my breath with them. “You don’t believe?”

“I believe in what I can see and touch.” His tone is steady, yet there’s a heaviness to his words as if he’s bearing something much heavier than mere doubt. “Faith... the supernatural... it’s difficult for me to reconcile any of that after what happened to my mother.”

The mention of his mother makes my chest tighten. He told me the bare facts during one of our earlier dates, but now, there’s something rawer in his voice—grief and anger intertwined.

“She believed,” he continues, each word slow and deliberate, as if they’re being pulled from a deep place. “She was a woman of faith. Always praying, always hopeful. She trusted God to protecther. And where was He? When Patrick beat her? When he...” His voice breaks, and the silence that follows is almost unbearable.

I press my hand harder against the wall, wishing I could reach through it. “Saul,” I whisper, my voice barely above a whisper, “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how much that must have hurt. But... do you really think she was alone?”

His response is a long time coming. “It felt that way. Still does.”

---