CHAPTER EIGHT
“A reason to stay.”
Sunday mornings in Brooklyn were quieter.
Not silent.
Just... softer.
The city seemed to take one long breath before throwing itself back into another busy week.
Zara stood in the kitchen wearing an oversized T-shirt and grey joggers, stirring sugar into her coffee while Miss Claudette hummed along to an old gospel record playing softly from the radio.
"You look happy."
Zara looked up.
"I do?"
"You've smiled three times in the last five minutes."
"I've barely spoken."
"Exactly."
Miss Claudette carried two slices of toast to the table.
"You've got peaceful smiles now."
Zara rolled her eyes as she sat down.
"I met someone interesting."
"Mmm."
"I didn't say I liked him."
"You didn't have to."
"He has a complicated past."
"So do you."
"It's different."
Miss Claudette buttered her toast without looking up.
"Everybody's past is different."
"I mean..."
Zara searched for the right words.
"People say he used to be dangerous."
Miss Claudette finally looked at her.
"And what do you say?"
Zara thought about yesterday.
About the little girl who had wrapped herself around Malik's waist.
The teenage boy proudly showing him his report card.
The way he'd stayed behind to clean tables after everyone else had left.
The conversation they'd shared while stacking chairs.
"I don't know yet."
Miss Claudette smiled.
"That's the only honest answer."
Monday arrived with its usual chaos.
Bellamy & Co. buzzed with energy before nine o'clock.
Someone had ordered white roses instead of ivory.
A florist was stuck in traffic.
A bride had changed her seating plan for the fourth time in two days.
Camille walked briskly through the office with a tablet tucked under one arm.
"Morning, everyone."
She stopped beside Zara's desk.
"Conference room."
"Now?"
"Now."
Zara grabbed her notebook and hurried after her.
Inside the conference room, mood boards covered the walls.
Photographs of luxury penthouses, rooftop terraces and candlelit dining rooms filled the presentation screens.
Camille turned to the team.
"We've secured a new client."
Everyone straightened.
"The Carter Foundation."
Zara instinctively looked down at her notebook.
Camille continued.
"They're hosting a private fundraising dinner for thirty guests next Friday."
"Small guest list."
"Huge expectations."
"The client has requested our newest coordinator assist with planning."
Several heads turned.
Camille smiled.
"Congratulations, Zara."
Her eyes widened.
"Me?"
"You."
"I've only been here two weeks."
"I know."
"Are you sure?"
"No."
The room laughed.
Camille's expression softened.
"But I think pressure introduces you to who you really are."
"I'd like to see what you do with it."
After the meeting, Naomi practically ran across the office.
"You lucky woman."
"Lucky?"
"Do you know how hard it is to get assigned to a Carter Foundation event?"
"I didn't even know there were Carter Foundation events until last week."
Naomi leaned against Zara's desk.
"Well..."
"You'll be seeing plenty of Mr. Carter."
Zara pretended to organise papers.
"I'm sure it'll stay professional."
Naomi gave her a look.
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
"But that's what it's going to be."
Later that afternoon, Zara's work phone rang.
She answered immediately.
"Bellamy & Co., Zara speaking."
A familiar deep voice answered.
"Good afternoon."
Her stomach flipped.
"Malik."
"So you recognised my voice."
"I recognised your habit of calling people at work."
He laughed.
"I'll keep this brief."
"I'm officially your client for the next ten days."
"I heard."
"I thought I'd introduce myself properly before Camille started terrifying everyone."
"Too late."
"So she's staying consistent."
Zara smiled despite herself.
"Apparently."
There was a comfortable pause.
Then Malik spoke again.
"I also wanted to thank you."
"For what?"
"For yesterday."
She frowned.
"I spilled orange juice on you."
"You also reminded me that people can meet me without already deciding who I am."
His words caught her off guard.
"You give me too much credit."
"No."
"I don't think I do."
Silence settled between them.
It wasn't awkward.
It felt...
Unexpectedly easy.
"So," Malik said.
"Have you settled into Brooklyn yet?"
"I'm getting there."
"Found your favourite coffee shop?"
"I have."
"Favourite pizza place?"
"Still looking."
"Hmm."
"You sound concerned."
"I take pizza very seriously."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"I know a place."
She smiled.
"I'm sure you do."
Another pause.
Then—
"You still saying no?"
She blinked.
"To what?"
"Dinner."
Heat crept into her cheeks even though no one could see her.
"I thought we agreed to keep things professional."
"We haven't agreed."
"You assumed."
"You didn't disagree."
Malik laughed quietly.
"I'll ask again another time."
"You really don't give up."
"Not on things I think are worth waiting for."
Before Zara could answer, Camille appeared beside her desk.
"Five minutes."
Zara nodded.
"I've got to go."
"I'll see you Friday."
"You probably will."
"Have a good evening, Zara."
"You too... Malik."
She ended the call slowly.
Naomi appeared from nowhere.
"You've got that smile again."
"What smile?"
"The one that says somebody's making your life complicated."
Zara looked down at her notebook.
She'd absent-mindedly written Malik's name in the corner of the page.
Quickly, she scribbled over it.
"No one's making my life anything."
Naomi laughed.
"Keep telling yourself that."
That evening, Zara stopped by a small grocery store on her walk home.
As she left with two bags in her hands, she noticed an elderly woman struggling with a broken shopping trolley near the pavement.
Without thinking, Zara walked over.
"Can I help you?"
"Oh, thank goodness."
Together they lifted the bags into the trolley.
The woman smiled warmly.
"Young people don't usually stop anymore."
"My grandmother would've haunted me if I walked past."
The woman chuckled.
"Good woman."
"I think so too."
As Zara continued home, she smiled to herself.
Maybe kindness wasn't something people simply possessed.
Maybe it was something they chose.
Again and again.
She thought about Malik.
About the children at the community centre.
About the quiet way he'd listened instead of trying to impress anyone.
Maybe redemption wasn't one grand gesture.
Maybe it was a thousand small choices nobody applauded.
When she reached Miss Claudette's brownstone, she paused on the front steps and looked up at the Brooklyn skyline.
Two weeks ago, this city had felt impossibly large.
Now...
It was beginning to feel familiar.
For the first time since leaving Tennessee, Zara wasn't counting the days she'd been gone.
She was counting the reasons she wanted to stay.
End of Chapter Eight.