Woke up his wife

Chapter Eleven – Ku Lo Sa, Plantains & Soft Confessions

It started with fried plantains.

Not drama. Not paparazzi. Not another shade-throwing brunch with Lady Adebayo. No. It started with the smell of plantain oil—and the voice of Oxlade crooning "Ku Lo Sa" from the Bluetooth speaker in the Adebayo kitchen.

Jeremy paused at the staircase, confused.

Who was playing Oxlade at 9:47am on a Saturday?

And why did it smell like the Mainland in his house?

He followed the scent like it was laced with hypnosis until he reached the kitchen doorway—and there she was.

Tammy.

In an oversized tee and biker shorts. Barefoot. Wig off. Natural curls tied up in a silk bonnet. No makeup, no stress, just pure Lagos babe energy. She was dancing—full body dancing—spinning around the spotless marble kitchen, holding a wooden spatula like it was a mic.

🎶 "If I let you smoke is you gon' lose my lighter..." 🎶

She sang along, off-key and proudly, flipping plantains with rhythm like she was auditioning for a cooking show-slash-music video hybrid.

She twirled, spinned, whined, not twerking tho she didn't think the song required twerking. She did the ku lo sa dance.

Jeremy leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching. He didn't say anything. Not yet.

She did a little shoulder bounce and sang louder.

🎶 "Baby ku lo sa, oooh… omo I want e make we dey dey ku lo sa. Omo girl I wan make u. Ku lo sa. baby I for like make you... oh baby na na na...." 🎶

It wasn't until she moonwalked toward the fridge that she noticed him.

She froze. "Jesus! How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to be concerned about your moonwalk skills."

Tammy gasped. "Excuse you? I'm literally floating! Can you do a moon walk Grandpa?"

"You're literally dragging your feet like they owe you money. And of course I can Moon walk. Sweetheart we both know I'm not a grandpa. I mean can Grandpa's make you scream the way you were screaming that night?"

She narrowed her eyes, but her cheeks were pink and flushing with shame. "You want to fight this morning?" He really had no shame. How could he say stuff like that. What if one of the chefs were around. She'd have to find somewhere to get buried.

He walked toward her, finally stepping into the light. "You're cooking?"

"Hmmn hnm I'm sliding of course I'm cooking are you blind ni? Plus I live here too, remember?"

"You know we have chefs."He didn't take offense to her words just smirked.

"And yet here I am, making plantain and egg sauce."

Jeremy raised a brow. "You can cook?"

She scoffed. "Boy, please. I can throw down."

He glanced at the pot. "That doesn't smell like throw down. It smells like culinary magic."

She smirked. "Thank you."

He rolled up his sleeves. "Okay. What can I do?"

Tammy blinked. "Wait—you can cook?"

"To save my life? Yes. To impress you? No promises."

She laughed. A real one. Loud, unbothered, happy.

He looked almost… proud of himself. I mean how many people can make her smile this much? He asked himself. He soon realized that he really liked it when she smiled or laughed it made him happy. And she looked soo adorable.

"Okay, Mr. Save-Your-Life," she said. "You can chop these peppers. Small-small. Don't murder them."

He grabbed the knife and cutting board. "Chop like TikTok chefs or like Lagos mamas?" He wriggled his eyebrows which made her laugh again.

"Balance it. And don't flex with your wrist. This isn't a knife commercial."

They cooked side by side, Tammy stirring, Jeremy chopping (badly), and the playlist switched to Joeboy's "Baby."

🎶 "What I fit do to get your love…" 🎶

Tammy sang along again, swaying her hips as she seasoned the egg mix. Jeremy caught himself watching her—not in the I hate you way—but in the how did I miss this version of you? way.

She noticed. "What?"

"Nothing," he said quickly. "Just… didn't expect to like this."

She gave him a look. "Me cooking?"

"No. You. Here. Like this. Happy."

Tammy blinked. Her hands paused over the frying pan.

"Well," she said softly, "maybe if people stopped calling me a gold digger and a mistake every two seconds, I'd smile more."

His jaw clenched. "I'm sorry about all that."

She shrugged. "Not your fault. Not completely."

"Still. I could've handled things differently."

She nodded. "Same."

Silence. Not heavy. Just… real.

The song switched again. Fireboy's "Like I Do."

🎶 "She said she likes a man on the low..." 🎶

Jeremy cleared his throat. "You ever cook for Kunle?"

Tammy stiffened. "Once. He hated it. Said I added too much pepper."

Jeremy smirked. "Well, I like it hot."

She blinked. "Are we still talking about eggs?"

He grinned. "Debatable."

Tammy rolled her eyes, laughing. "You're mad."

"You started it."

They sat down fifteen minutes later—Tammy plated everything like a queen, Jeremy watching with wide eyes as she added the finishing touches.

He took a bite. Paused. Looked at her.

"You're not allowed to keep secrets like this."

"Like what?"

"You cook better than my private chef."

Tammy raised a brow. "Are you flirting with me, Mr. Adebayo?"

"Me? Never. I'm just stating facts."

She smiled, but didn't say anything.

Because deep down… she liked the sound of her name in his mouth when he wasn't arguing.

---

Upstairs, Zion's investigation had progressed.

He now had surveillance screenshots. The drug drop. The room swap. Tammy's entry into the wrong hallway.

He zoomed in on the timestamps. Tayo's face. Tony's burner number.

Zion sighed and picked up the phone.

"We need to talk," he said to Jeremy when the call connected.

"Now?"

"Yes. And bring Tammy."

---

Across the city, Tayo opened her phone and saw the viral clip from brunch.

Tammy Coker Dances While Cooking – Fans Say 'Wife Material'

"Ughhh," she muttered, smashing the screen shut.

But it wasn't just jealousy now.

It was fear.

Because Tammy wasn't just surviving anymore.

She was thriving.

And soon?

She'd become unstoppable.