2. CHAPTER 2
Zuri
Wow, Damien’s boss! Jeremy ain’t nothing like the dreary, uptight image Damien painted. I pride myself on gauging people’s traits from their looks, and Jeremy, with his neatly styled, side-parted hair, strong jawline, and well-groomed beard, screams meticulousness. He’s the punctual sort, no doubt the kind who insists on precision and order in everything.
“I’m so sorry again.” I return and set a glass of ice water before him. In the rush of preparing for the evening, we neglected the drinks. Damien and my two best friends ran out to fetch ice and sodas, leaving me to finalize my meal preparations.
“It’s not a big deal.” His startling blue eyes catch the light, accentuated by the blue shirt he’s wearing. He seems at ease, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing a fancy watch and toned forearms.
“You should keep icing that.” I gesture toward the abandoned bag of frozen peas, then his slightly swollen forehead. His fair skin looks like it might bruise easily.
“My mouth is watering for the food tasting you mentioned.” Apparently, he’s uninterested in icing his sore spot. He rubs his hands together in anticipation before standing. “Can I wash my hands, please?”
“Of course.” I guide him to the sink and reach for a towel from the cabinet. The water hisses as he turns on the faucet. From my vantage point, I admire his stature. He towers over my modestly five-two frame by almost fourteen inches. Broad shoulders stretch out his shirt, and tidy stubble frames a chiseled jaw similar to what I’d see in ads for cologne or expensive watches.
His blue eyes are like a snippet of the ocean itself. He washes his large hands, rubbing them together with deliberate precision. Then he turns off the water, and I compose myself enough to offer him the towel and act as if I hadn’t been stealing glances.
“Such great service you have here,” he comments.
My pulse picks up, and so does the flip of my stomach. But that won’t do. Nope. No way! No heart racing or somersaulting of any sort. Fleeting romances ain’t on my agenda, and even if they were, Jeremy is off-limits—he’s my brother’s boss, the grump Damien can’t stand.
My gaze drifts to the basil plant on the counter as I throw a pitch for my business. “That’s the kind of service you’ll get at Zuri’s Daylight Café.”
“Where’s Zuri’s Daylight Café?”
His genuine interest sparks a flicker of hope in me.
“I’ll be opening it soon.” I skirt around the specifics. I need funds to renovate before opening, but if he’s gonna be a potential customer, I can’t risk him seeing the place in its current state—still cloaked in the shadows of its previous owner.
“I like that entrepreneurial spirit.” He nods, and sincerity gleams in those eyes. He takes his time to wipe his hands and doesn’t press for details, instead folding up the towel, which isn’t something we take the time to do around here. “Where should I put this?”
I take it from him, grateful for the distraction. With Damien and my friends out, I’ve gotten this unexpected chance to peel back the layers of Jeremy’s persona, laying the groundwork for future conversations about my brother.
As Jeremy sits back down, I mention the kombucha tea I’ve made. It’s a hit-or-miss beverage, and I doubt it’s his cup of tea. But he surprises me, claiming a love for the fermented drink.
Maybe there’s more to Jeremy than the corporate shell he wears.
“This is good.” He salutes me with the cup after taking a sip. “Will you have this on the menu?”
I stand taller. No reason to squelch a swell of pride. “Maybe on special orders.” It takes extra effort, but his genuine interest sparks a bit of my excitement, especially when he asks about the café’s location.
“In your office building. The former Carol’s Café.” The words blurt out against my earlier reservation to keep the café’s whereabouts a secret. He’ll find out sooner or later anyway. As his immaculate brows rise, I affirm, “I’m the new owner.”
“That’s the best kombucha I’ve ever had.”
I bask in his praise, but unsure how to handle compliments from an attractive man, I need a diversion.
“Come. Let’s check out the snacks.” I lead him to the array of dishes. The kitchen is fragrant with garlic, bacon, and basil among so many other flavors. With the clear wrap over the foil pans, the snacks are visible. I point out the bacon-wrapped dates first. “These have no spice.” I explain before moving to the spicy chicken bites, then the jalapeno poppers, and the two slow cookers radiating warmth in the house. “Chicken and beef for the wraps.”
“I love spicy food.” His eyes light up at the chicken bites. “I don’t get to eat it often.”
Handing him a gold disposable plate, I encourage him to start with the jalapeno poppers, the spiciest appetizer I made. “The chicken is spicy too, actually.”
He takes the serving spoon from a plate between the foil containers, and I open the poppers. Steam rises, and I’m pleased the small candles beneath the foil stands are doing their job to keep the snacks warm.
“I’m going to try one of everything first.”
I laugh. “That’s what taste testing is for.”
When we return to the marble island, I sit across from him about to suggest saying grace. However, he’s already diving in, pure enjoyment lighting his face.
“What did you call this with jalapenos?” he asks between bites, blowing out his tongue more so from the still-hot food.
“Jalapeno poppers.” Amused by his enthusiasm, I hand him a napkin from the stack on the island, and he wipes his mouth with it.
“I can’t believe I’m just meeting Damien’s chef sister today.”
“I’ve only been here four months.” Not that he needs an explanation, but Mama always taught us to speak in full sentences, so that’s how I roll. “I’d ventured out to Florida. Then my roommate got a job with your company, and it felt like the right time to move back.” I mention my friend Lexi, Stone Financial Enterprises’ new graphic designer, and Olivia, who works with Damien.
“I know Olivia. She and Damien have a good working relationship. They’re the top analysts on my team.”
Wow. What a genuine compliment. Too bad, I couldn’t record that for Damien because it doesn’t seem like Jeremy ever compliments him.
“It helps that they’re best friends and all live here.” I wiggle on my stool. “Often Damien and my friends discuss work and make me feel like the odd one out.”
He winks. “I’m sure you could distract them from work with your cooking.”
I shrug. “We cook dinner together.” I tell him about our playful food wars in the kitchen, and his infectious laughter resonates deep and warm.
As the hour progresses, I find myself refilling his tea and getting more appetizers. He’s curious about my current occupation, and I’m almost embarrassed to declare “food blogger” as a career. “I’ve never had a ‘real’ career.” I rock my stool side to side. “I’ve published a couple of cookbooks, though.” I’ve always feared being a chef in a real gourmet kitchen and having a boss with rules, but I’ve never felt this odd need to defend my passion. Maybe because he’s so successful and pushes Damien so hard. He’s gotta be looking down on me now, right? “I kind of like to do my own thing, but it’s time for me to give back to the organization that funded my culinary school. It would be hard to do if I’m working for someone else.”
“What organization?” His gaze narrows, and the full force of his attention makes me squirm, despite the sincerity brimming in his blue eyes.
“I still volunteer at Crina Medical once a week and help with their monthly mental-patient dinner program. Patients with mental challenges meet to cook, eat, and share their stories in a supportive environment.” It was then that my passion for cooking came to life. “I was amazed by how they opened up and fostered connections as we cooked and dined together. I started volunteering after high school, and one of the founders told me they had scholarship programs I could apply for. Little did I know it was a full ride.”
But I plan to give back to the organization. “If my café pans out, I’ll use the space and my talent to host that program and perhaps give financially too. For now, I can only give back in time, and I try to do that as much as I can.”
“I like that you’re passionate about giving back.” A thoughtful nod dips his chin. “But don’t underestimate the real commitment you’ll have to run a café.”
He points out the demands of running a business, and I agree, sharing my fears. “I took a chance with the café, using all my book-sales funds. I’ll be thirty in a year, and I wanted something to show for it.”
It’s strange, opening up like this to Jeremy, a man I’ve just met. Perhaps it’s the ease of talking to someone not entwined in my daily life. I find myself leaning in, resting my chin on my hand, spilling fears and hopes I haven’t even shared with Damien or my friends. An unexpected understanding about him makes it easy to share. Plus, I might never see him after tonight, unless I glimpse him when and if he stops at my café after it opens the last week in April. “Being my first time…”
I catch myself rambling. When I quiet down, Jeremy’s head is tilted to one side, his gaze thoughtful and his hands resting on the island top.
“I said too much, didn’t I?” I swipe my curls back from my face, self-conscious.
“Give yourself some credit,” he says, his tone reflective. “You took a big break to find yourself.”
I fiddle with a curl, twisting it tight around my finger. “No one needs more than five years to find themselves.”
“You should be proud. You’ve been doing what you love. You started a blog, shared your recipes with the world, and wrote two books before thirty.” He shrugs. “More than five years in the making, you have something to show for those years too.”
His words ignite a warmth in me, a burgeoning respect for this man who was just a name to me until tonight. As he talks about strategy and business planning, an unexpected connection builds. “If you have any funds, even a hundred dollars, that’s a start.”
“For buying kombucha supplies?” I quip, shaking a finger at him.
“That’s enough kombucha for me.” He places a hand on his chest. “Who cares about anyone else as long as I’m sorted?”
His humor, a delightful surprise, draws me to his intellect and charm. We discuss my financial strategies for the café, and his reminder to focus on essentials resonates. “But I want to do it right.” I still fear embarrassing myself should I fail at running this small lunch café.
“I get that. Doing it right is important.” His lightheartedness eases my worries as he leans in. “Forget the furniture. Let people stand and eat. You’ve got a fridge for our kombucha and a stove. The rest will work out.”
Again, his laughter is infectious, and I join in, feeling a familiar warmth. But the front door bursts open. Damien and the girls return, laden with supplies.
Jeremy rises, his smile vanishes, and his demeanor shifts as he meets my brother. Damien, two years my senior and a shade darker than me, stands tall. I always joke that God shaved off my height and added it to my brother, but Jeremy still overshadows him.
“Kress?” Damien’s frown deepens as he sets two bags of ice on the counter. His gaze moves between us and narrows with the protectiveness he always has when he meets a guy he assumes might like me. “I see you’ve met my sister.”
“She’s great.” Jeremy shoots me a warm glance. “Need help with the groceries or whatever?”
“Er…” Damien blinks, then hesitates. “No.” His frown relaxes while he puts out his hand, and Jeremy winces as he looks at his right hand, then the plate with our forgotten appetizers. Damien gets the message that Jeremy’s hand is greasy and acknowledges it with a nod.
“Welcome, Kress.” Olivia bounces over, her blonde-highlighted ponytail shining under the light.
“Thanks for having me.” He half waves, half salutes her.
Lexi chimes in, introducing herself and reminding him of her new position in marketing as a graphic designer at Stone Financial. “Marino is my boss.”
“Nico.” He smiles, evidently familiar with the man.
The dynamic in the room has shifted, and with it, the urgency to load drinks in the cooler and ice them. I draw in a slow breath to ease the odd constriction in my chest as my time with Jeremy ends.
The party soon fills up, and mild shock contorts some faces as they greet him. But a few women steal admiring glances at him—not that I can blame them. His good looks are hard to ignore, and he apparently has secret admirers at work, even if he keeps to himself. Damien, never one to miss any tunes for a gathering, realizes what I had forgotten and turns on soft music to set the mood. I’m grateful Jeremy arrived before anyone else.
With twenty-eight people, including my roommates and me, the seating is limited. But it doesn’t seem to bother anyone. They’re content to mingle, chatting and laughing in small groups while nibbling my appetizers. Lexi’s photography skills, which have been a blessing for my blog, are on full display as she weaves through the crowd, snapping away.
Jeremy tries to blend in, but he soon finds his way back to his seat at the island. Snippets of his conversation with Damien drift my way while I pull out the southwest wraps I’d kept in the oven at a low temperature. There must be a gap in their relationship if they’re discussing the weather—something about the fog outside. Damien’s definitely holding onto a misconception due to the recent promotions he missed and blames Jeremy for.
After setting the southwest wraps on the dining table next to the chips and dips, I move to the living room for my water. I answer questions as people rave about my food and ask when my café opens.
“In April,” Lexi boasts, snapping pictures as I stand outside of a loose circle. Dressed in white leggings and a black top, she appears casually comfortable. Her short brown hair shines vibrantly under the recessed lighting.
I shift my foot, uncap my water bottle, and sip at it, unsure how to act normal with all the praise.
A woman almost as petite as I am, whose name I can’t remember, brings a tray of bacon-wrapped dates. “You guys have to taste these.”
With everyone’s attention turned to the food, my gaze finds Jeremy as Damien leaves him and joins the guys by the dining table. Their deep laughter rumbles through the room. But Jeremy sits alone, excluded, and my heart squeezes. He’s not the stern boss I expected, and he’s been nothing but warm and engaging with me. Determined to brighten his evening, I return to the kitchen, grab one of the boxes of chocolates he brought, and sit across from him.
“Are you glad you came tonight?” I try not to stare at the bruising I created on his forehead.
“Thanks for having me.” He smiles. “The appetizers were a highlight. Sorry I didn’t have room to try the main course.” He opens the chocolate box and studies it before offering it to me. “Take your pick.”
I choose mint, which prompts his playful reaction. We then turn it into a game, randomly selecting chocolates, some of them hitting the mark, others not so much. Like the one I bit into without reading what it was. I wince and pass the other half of it to him. “This is a very mysterious piece of chocolate.”
“I love mysteries, by the way.” He takes the piece from me and lifts it to his mouth, biting into it as I await his reaction.
“You love mysteries?” My voice rises as his face scrunches before he forces a swallow. I cover my mouth with my hand, stifling a laugh at his expression. “And you still love mysteries?”
“You’re not being nice, laughing at me.” He reaches for the water glass and lifts it to his mouth, guzzling the rest to clear the distaste.
“Your expression was priceless.”
We talk more about the flavors we’ve tasted, our favorite desserts and treats. Our conversation wanders, and the other chatter in the house fades while we discuss movies, critiquing characters and scenes, laughing freely. It feels easy, natural—a side of me that’s rarely brought out, especially by someone I’ve just met. I must say, Jeremy isn’t the gruff boss my brother complains about. He’s just Jeremy, someone who appreciates good food, laughs at my jokes, and shares a love for mysteries.
As the party chatter continues around us, my mind races. I don’t normally overthink things, but I can’t shake this feeling. I believe God orchestrates every encounter, and Jeremy’s presence tonight feels like divine intervention—okay, I invited him, but Damien didn’t think he was one for social engagements. Considering the bump I gave Jeremy, making amends seems right. What better way to apologize than by preparing one of his favorite dishes! Wouldn’t that be a perfect gesture after our initially awkward and now-enjoyable encounter?