Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
SIGNE
Eloise: Thank you for the soup!
Me: Of course girly, please let me know if you need anything else!
I pocketed my cell phone before walking into the office the following Monday, exhausted from finally ironing out a solution to that stupid plot hole I never wanted to think about again. At this point I was almost done reworking the manuscript with Layla’s first round of feedback, and I was getting the manuscript for what Layla described as line edits.
After opening up to Mary and Jamie about my life choices, I decided to reach out to Eloise again. I knew it was difficult for her to do much at the moment, because pregnancy wasn’t an easy experience on her. I remembered her having constant nausea and exhaustion with her first pregnancy, so I assumed that this second one was just as bad.
I ended up sending over some chicken noodle soup from a favorite diner of ours, texting her husband to let him know I was feeding the two of them that evening.
Logan just texted back a thumbs-up emoji, because men.
Eloise was older than me, in her late thirties or so, but I considered Eloise St. James my only close friend outside of the workplace. We could go months without hanging out in person, but as soon as we did, things picked back up again just like they did last time we got together.
Eloise and I were also at very different points in our lives. She was married, and had a cute little girl with a second kiddo on the way.
Whereas I researched how difficult it would be to take care of a goldfish over the weekend. Then I decided I didn’t want the responsibility of taking care of a goldfish.
Regardless, I loved her daughter and was excited for her second kiddo to be born so I could soak up all the baby snuggles I wanted.
As I finally made it to my desk, pondering on whether my life would ever turn out like Eloise’s has in the next ten years or so, I heard the elevators ding.
In walked Jacqueline, with her earbuds in her ears as she gently bobbed her head from side to side. She was typing something on her iPad, completely focused as she mouthed something that looked a lot like lyrics to a song.
“Good morning,” I grinned, my eyes widening when Jacqueline startled at my greeting as if she wasn’t aware that I was already here and watching her vibe to her music.
“Oh,” Jacqueline placed a hand on her chest, a nervous smile on her lips as she replied, “Good morning.”
“What are you listening to?” I asked as I clicked my monitor to life.
“Huh? Oh. Um,” Jacqueline lifted a shoulder as she continued to march towards her office, “Just a podcast.”
I hesitated, before nodding and letting her continue with a wave of my fingers.
She was listening to music just then.
Why Jacqueline felt embarrassed by the music she listened to piqued my curiosity. What music could she possibly feel embarrassed about? I thought everyone was openly admitting how much we all lied and secretly loved Nickelback in the early two thousands and I wasn’t sure what other well-known disliked bands there were.
I was going to figure this out, one way or another.
Then the elevators dinged again, and in walked the man of my dreams.
Zaid.
“Nice sweater,” the CTO nodded his chin towards me as he shouldered his laptop bag and stopped at my desk. I glanced down at my cream-colored long-sleeved sweater that said “I’m a delight” in a black serif font.
“Thank you,” I posed with my hand under my chin in a cutesy anime way I had seen Mary do many times. Zaid chuckled at my antics, “I saw on your schedule that you’re going to have a meeting at a fancy Italian restaurant today, so feel free to order me some pasta to-go.”
Zaid raised his dark eyebrows at my request, “Are you a fan of Italian food?”
“I’m a fan of food,” I corrected before nodding, “But yes, Italian food is like, a comfort food for me.”
“Then you’ll probably like the food from this place,” Zaid smirked, “I know the chef, and I can personally confirm that all the dishes are excellent.”
I widened my eyes, “Say less, but I’ll need to taste test myself just to be sure.” I thought about the restaurant some more, turning to my computer and typing in the name of the restaurant in the shared calendar, and noticing that there had only been one time Zaid had taken a lunch meeting there. Today.
“What is it?” Zaid asked, lingering at my desk.
“You know the chef, but you haven’t taken a meeting here before,” I pointed to my laptop, “I mean, I usually schedule the reservations for these fancy business meetings, but I haven’t scheduled one for this restaurant before today.”
Zaid nodded once, before lifting a self-deprecating shoulder, “I actually have taken meetings there before, if I know the person is partial to Italian cuisine. But I don’t normally need to make a formal reservation to go. Brandon just asked that I make a formal reservation for this one so it would align with the company books.”
I widened my eyes, “Wow, you and the chef must be real homies to be able to just walk in.”
“Yeah,” Zaid smirked, “I’d consider my dad and I to be homies.”
I stared at him for a moment, having already tasted his mother’s delicious cooking. Zaid must have grown up with the fanciest, tastiest home-cooked meals if his mother’s food was already that delicious, and his father was a professional Italian chef as well.
“What?” Zaid asked after a moment of my stunned silence.
“I’m just picturing what your childhood was like,” I said, resting my chin on my fists and forming a dreamy expression on my face, “You probably never had to heat up a hot pocket once.”
Zaid rolled his eyes before something stuck out in our conversation.
“Wait, can I ask you a question?” I held up a finger right when Zaid stood taller, getting ready to walk toward his office.
“Min oyoni?” He replied, adjusting his shoulder bag.
“What?” I furrowed my brows in confusion. He blinked at me once, as if startled, but then shook his head, before translating for me.
“I meant, yes?”
“Oh. Well, excuse my caucasity,” I started, “But I thought that Ansara was an Arabic last name?”
“It is,” Zaid nodded distractedly, checking his phone.
“But…your dad is an Italian chef—which, sounds like he might be an Italian man,” I reminded him.
“You’re correct, he is,” Zaid smirked, still not looking at me as he tapped away on his phone, but I felt relief at seeing how he was visibly enjoying my confusion. I felt a little more justified in it.
“So why does your Italian father have an Arabic last name?”
“He doesn’t,” Zaid finally pocketed his phone and lifted his dark gaze to meet mine, his smirk twitching in amusement, “My mother wanted her kids to have her last name.”
“Oh,” I sat back in my chair, understanding, “Why did she do that?”
“Because, and I quote,” Zaid lifted his fingers to produce quotation marks with his words, “my mother ‘did all the work, so why should her husband take all the credit?’” Zaid smiled as I felt my own smile spread across my cheeks.
“Your mom is my hero,” I rested my hands over my heart in respect for the woman.
“She’s an only child, and she wasn’t about to let her heritage be completely washed away with my father’s last name, and thankfully, my father didn’t feel nearly as passionate about the subject,” Zaid shrugged before taking another sip of his coffee, “He’s the laid back one in their relationship.”
“Doesn’t that sound like the perfect relationship dynamic, though?” I asked, sitting up in my chair and resting my elbows on the desk near my keyboard, “One person is a little more headstrong and passionate, and the other is more laid back and chill?”
Zaid gave me a look I had no hope of deciphering before he nodded once and murmured, “Yeah, it does.”
Butterflies erupted in my stomach.
It was obvious that even though we were just friends, that was the dynamic Zaid and I had with each other. I wore goofy-looking sweatshirts into the office regularly, while he always wore his plain professional t-shirts and polos, or sometimes a button-up.
“What about your name?” Zaid asked, surprising me a little at how he continued the conversation.
“What about my name?” Besides the fact that you say it perfectly every time .
“Where does Signe come from? Is it a family name?” Zaid asked, pushing his glasses farther up his nose.
“It’s a name my mom found on a list of popular European baby names,” I grinned, “It’s not that deep. When my mom was pregnant with me, she got really into researching her own family history, seeing where her ancestors immigrated from and stuff. She loved learning about her Scandinavian roots. So, when I was born, she named me Signe, but then quickly focused back on kickstarting her pottery career.”
Zaid’s eyebrows raised, “Your mom makes pottery?”
“She does,” I nodded, “She has a business making custom dinnerware for the one percent of the US. She charges enough to live off of.” I was proud of her, I also had a few of her homemade mugs at my condo. I loved the imperfections of handmade pottery, even though at this point my mom had to really try to make sure all her cups, plates, and bowls weren’t perfect duplicates of each other.
“What about your dad? What does he do?” Zaid asked.
“I don’t know, never met the guy. I wasn’t exactly a planned pregnancy,” I saw Zaid’s eyes widen, and I could see he was getting ready to apologize for bringing up the fact that I didn’t have a father figure, but I raised my hand and stopped him before he could start, “Don’t worry, I’m not broken up about it. I never needed, or really wanted, more than my mother.”
Zaid nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing his face, “I’m glad to hear you both had each other.”
“Thanks,” I glanced back at the open calendar on my desktop, “But don’t forget to bring me your dad’s food when you’re back. I meant it, Mr. Ansara.”
At that, Zaid grinned and rapped his knuckles on the top of my desk twice, similarly to how I knocked my knuckles on his office door whenever I passed by it, before focusing back on his phone and sauntering towards his office.
God dammit, my silly crush on Zaid was becoming dangerous.
* * *
ZAID
“This was delicious,” Mr. Martin said as he rubbed his round belly with a grin on his face, “I’ll have to come back here again sometime.”
“Of course, we’d love to talk more,” Brandon nodded enthusiastically at the potential investor. I spent the entire meal watching Brandon be at ease in his element. He loved the formality of this meeting. He loved being able to flaunt my family connection to this high-end restaurant. He loved looking like he had a lot of money to show off, so Mr. Martin felt comfortable giving him even more.
All of us were standing, pushing our chairs in while the two of them started talking about the next steps when I took the opportunity to shake Mr. Martin’s hand in farewell as I made my way to the kitchen.
I stayed to the side to let a waiter pass, nodding at them, and allowing myself through the kitchen doors.
“This pasta is overcooked,” my dad called over his shoulder to his staff, “We need a fresh batch!”
“On it,” Ben called out his reply as he made his way toward the pantry, “Oh, hey, Zaid!”
“Hey, man,” I nodded at my brother-in-law while he ran past me, only to meet my father’s eyes as he turned to see who his sous chef was greeting.
“Zaid!” My dad greeted me before addressing the rest of the busy kitchen, “I’m taking five, everything should be how I left it when I’m back.”
“Yes, chef!” The rest of the staff replied in unison.
I grinned while I followed my dad out to the bar, taking a seat at leather barstools. The bartender nodded their head at me in greeting, setting a wine glass in front of my father and a carbonated water in front of me.
“I haven’t seen you here in a while,” my dad hummed as he took a sip, “I knew you had another investor meeting, but I didn’t think you’d have time to say hi.”
“I’m making time,” I lifted a shoulder, “Brandon seemed to have things covered, the guy seemed very amicable.”
“That’s nice,” my dad nodded, “…Have you talked to him about stepping down again?”
I froze, realizing that no, I hadn’t. I had been too focused on Signe. It was easy to be distracted by her when she was the first and last person I saw in my work day. I had completely forgotten about bringing up the fact that I sent Brandon that email, well, a while ago now.
But then I realized he hadn’t ever brought it up with me either, which concerned me. Maybe I never hit send? Maybe it got sent to his junk folder? Or didn’t go through at all? Brandon not letting me know he got my email for potential replacements was very unsettling, to say the least.
“Not yet, but I think I will soon since today went so smoothly,” I nodded to him as I sipped my water, “I’m very ready to step down.” Mostly so that was one less thing keeping me from asking out the woman of my dreams.
“That’ll be good, I hope it happens for you soon,” my dad nodded to himself before glancing over his shoulder, “I’m going to tell you something, but your mother is going to be upset at me for telling you.”
I quirked a brow at him, “Okay.”
“She’s talking about setting you up,” my dad leveled me with his dark hazel eyes, “Several times now. I’ve discouraged her from doing so, but you know your mama.”
I groaned and scraped a hand over my face, “Yeah, you can only do so much.”
“Unfortunately,” my dad chuckled, “She just wants to see you happy, even if she entertains the idea of overstepping from time to time.”
“I get it,” I sat there with him at the bar, wondering if I could take the moment we had where it was just my dad and me, to tell him about one woman in particular I wouldn’t exactly hate being set up with.
But Signe and I weren’t anything.
We were coworkers who got along and joked around, and that was it.
I knew what my father would say, too, about how I shouldn’t put one of my employees in a position like that. He once ripped into two of his employees because he caught them making out in the freezer, so I had a general idea of where he stood on workplace relationships.
“I’ll try to stop by here more often, though,” I added, setting my glass down and checking the time on my phone. I needed to get back to the office.
“I’ll never say no to that,” my father stood with me, wrapping me up in a tight hug and patting my back with his palm, before kissing my cheek and saying, “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I replied, returning his kiss with one of my own, “I’ll see you at the next dinner.”
“I look forward to it.” With that, my dad stole another sip of his wine and headed back into the kitchen, the double doors swinging behind him as he disappeared. I felt better about going out of my way to spend time with my dad when I hadn’t made a lot of effort to do so the last few years.
I double-checked that Signe’s to-go meal was right where I left it, on the end of the bar top next to the kitchen doors and made my way to my car. I liked the idea of spending more time with my dad at his restaurant again, but I needed to approach Brandon more seriously about my stepping down for that to happen.
I also just needed to be better at not becoming immediately distracted as soon as I saw the gorgeous red-haired woman every time I walked in and out of work.