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I raise an eyebrow. "Perfect? Little chef, I think the fumes from that science experiment in the kitchen have gone to your head."

She shakes her head, her expression softening. "No, really. Think about it. We're starting fresh, right? New life, new us. So why not start with a clean slate?" She gestures around the messy apartment. "Or in this case, a not-so-clean slate that we can make our own."

I pull her close, marveling at her ability to find the silver lining in any situation. "You're something else, you know that?"

Pamela snuggles into my side, seemingly unbothered by the dust. "I know. But admit it, you wouldn't have me any other way."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I murmur, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

We sit there for a moment, surrounded by chaos, but feeling more at peace than I have in years. Then Pamela sits up, a determined glint in her eye.

"Alright, big guy. Time to roll up our sleeves. This place isn't going to clean itself."

I groan dramatically, but there's no real resistance in it. "Yes, ma'am. Where do we start?"

Pamela jumps up, already sizing up the challenge before us. "First, we open every window in this place. Then, we tackle that science lab you call a kitchen. After that..." She trails off, surveying the mess with a mixture of determination and amusement. "Well, after that, we might need to call in reinforcements. Think Lou knows how to wield a mop?"

As I follow her lead, opening windows and letting in the warm New Orleans air, I can't help but smile. This wasn't the homecoming I'd imagined, but somehow, it's perfect. It's us – messy, unexpected, and full of laughter.

We've got a lot of work ahead of us, both in this apartment and in our new life together. But as I watch Pamela attack a pile of dishes with gusto, singing along to the radio we've cranked up to drown out the noise of cleaning, I know we're up for the challenge.

This is home. It's not perfect, but it's ours. And together, we'll make it shine.

Fifteen

Pamela

I stand at the kitchen counter, my hands working automatically as I knead a batch of bao dough. The familiar motions are soothing, a meditation that allows my mind to wander. Outside, the early morning sun filters through the lace curtains of our French Quarter apartment, casting intricate patterns across the worn hardwood floor.

Five years. It's been five years since Koda and I returned to New Orleans, five years of building a life I never could have imagined. I glance down at my swollen belly, a smile tugging at my lips.

And now, we're on the brink of our greatest adventure yet.

The sound of Koda's heavy footsteps pulls me from my reverie. He enters the kitchen, ducking slightly to avoid hitting his head on the doorframe. Even after all this time, the sight of him takes my breath away as my warrior, my protector, my love.

"Morning, little chef," he says, pressing a kiss to my temple. His large hand comes to rest on my belly, and I feel our son kick in response. "How are my two favorite people this morning?"

I lean into him, savoring his warmth. "We're good. Your son seems to be practicing his martial arts in there."

Koda's laugh is a deep, rich sound that never fails to make me smile. "That's my boy. Strong like his dad, smart like his mom."

As Koda moves to start the coffee, a rich chicory blend that's become our morning ritual, I return to my bao. Today's filling is a fusion of traditional char siu pork and New Orleans-style debris, a combination that's become one of the most popular items at our restaurant, "Gumbo & Ph?."

The restaurant. Sometimes I still can't believe we did it. What started as a dream has become a thriving reality, a testament to the power of love, determination, and good food.

Located in a converted townhouse just off Bourbon Street,Gumbo & Ph?has become a culinary destination in its own right. The ground floor houses our main dining room, a warm, inviting space that blends Vietnamese décor with classic New Orleans charm. Dark wood tables set with delicate porcelain bowls, while a mix of traditional Vietnamese art and vibrant jazz posters adorn the walls.

Upstairs, we have a more intimate dining area that we callThe Bayou Room. It's here that we serve our chef's tasting menu, a culinary journey that tells the story of our lives through food.

The menu changes seasonally, but some dishes have become such favorites that we dare not remove them. There's the "Saigon Sunrise" cocktail that opens the meal, a heady blend of Bourbon whiskey, Vietnamese coffee, and chicory bitters that perfectly encapsulates the marriage of our cultures.

Then comes theBayou Bánh Xèoas a a crispy Vietnamese crepe filled with juicy, blackened alligator and topped with a spicy remoulade. It's a dish that always makes me think of our time hiding out in the swamp, finding moments of joy amid the danger.

ThePh?-layais our take on both ph? and jambalaya, a rich, complex soup that combines slow-simmered oxtail bone broth with andouille sausage, shrimp, and all the traditional ph? fixings. It's a dish that took months to perfect, but now draws people from all over the country.

But perhaps the dish I'm most proud of is ourBún Bò Bourbon Streetwhich is a play on the traditional Bún Bò Hu? that incorporates tender bourbon-braised beef brisket, spicy andouille sausage, and a broth that sings with lemongrass, shrimp paste, and a hint of filé powder. It's a dish that tells the story of our journey with the complex, a little dangerous, but ultimately deeply satisfying.

As I shape the bao dough into perfect little pouches, I can't help but marvel at how far we've come. The early days were tough with long hours, tight budgets, and the constant fear that we were in over our heads. But Koda was my rock through it all, his quiet strength and unwavering belief in us keeping me going when things got tough.