More Than Enough

Chapter 1

“I love the way you look at me when I’m eating,” Alyssa said, her voice soft yet teasing as she reclined on the quilt we’d spread out in front of the fireplace. The flames crackled gently, their light flickering across her face, making her hazel eyes shimmer with a warm, mischievous glow.

“Do you really?” I asked with a grin, brushing a strand of her light brown hair from her face. The cool spring air outside made the warmth of the fire even more inviting, and the scent of wood smoke mingled with the sweet aromas of dessert filling the room.

“I really do,” she said, her cheeks flushing, the soft pink of her skin mirroring the blush of the wine in her glass. “You make me feel beautiful, even when I’m at my messiest and fullest.”

My heart swelled at her words. Alyssa wasn’t just beautiful—she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in all my life. She was big, boisterous and full of life. She had a passion for food, almost as much as I did, and she was unapologetic in her love for savoring all the pleasures and flavors that life had to offer. We’d only been talking for a couple of months when she decided to come visit me for a week, far from her fast-paced life she lived in New York City, the city where we’d met.


My name is Lucas Bradford. I’m twenty nine years old, and I live in the same little sleepy town in southern Vermont that I’ve lived in all my life. The only time that I’ve left my hometown for any significant amount of time is when I spent two years at a culinary school down in Boston. Now I’m the head chef and manager of a three star restaurant at one of the top ski resorts in this area. It’s more than just a job, it’s a passion.

I guess I always knew I’d end up in the restaurant business. Ever since I was very young, I’ve had a fascination with feeding people. I was raised by my grandmother, who was an excellent cook. Her food was like magic, bringing people together, warming their hearts as it filled their stomachs. She took so much pleasure in cooking for people and feeding people. She would make people laugh when she’d threaten to “fatten them up” with her rich and decadent cooking. Soon enough they would find out that she wasn’t kidding; she lived to fatten people up, and she rarely missed her mark.

Despite her trying, she was never able to fatten me up. Not that I didn’t eat. I have a ravenous appetite, at least as much as Alyssa does, if not more so. I guess I’ve always just had a high metabolism; the weight just doesn’t stick to me like it does some other people. I’m sure one day my appetite will catch up with my metabolism and I’ll end up getting fat too. Being surrounded by food all the time, I figure it’s bound to happen eventually. I honestly don’t mind the thought at all—it seems inevitable, like it’s my destiny or something.

Truth be told, the real thrill of running a busy restaurant for me comes from feeding people. I finally understand why my grandmother loved fattening people up. There’s something about watching someone savor every bite, their eyes rolling back as the flavors hit them, then seeing them lean back, holding their stuffed bellies, groaning with delight. It’s almost wicked, the way I enjoy witnessing people’s gluttony, their inability to resist the temptation of my delicious cooking.

I don’t exactly go around advertising this, of course, but deep down, I want everyone who comes into my restaurant to leave so full they can barely walk out the door, stuffed to the gills, fat and happy and with no regrets. The thought of folks walking away from my place a few pounds heavier than when they came in, and knowing that it was my food that made them that way—I just love it!

Anyway, that’s my little secret. I’ve always dreamed of finding a woman who not only gets this about me, but one who would willingly allow me to spoil her endlessly, indulging in every bite I could offer her. I’ve always had this idea in the back of my mind of meeting a woman who loved food as much as I do, a woman I could feed, indulge, and fatten up.