6. CHAPTER 6
Zuri
An active kitchen always energizes me. It’s the one place where cooking brings out the rawest feelings and opens conversation avenues that might otherwise remain unexplored. This resonates with me anew today as I dry a mixing bowl, Damien’s voice a backdrop from where he stands at the opposite counter.
Cooking has always been more than a job for me. But I fear losing my passion for it if it becomes too constrained.
“I’m yet to figure out Kress’s intentions.” Jeremy’s last name pulls me back to the present as my brother cradles the red bowl of frosting he’s mixing. Damien’s wooden spoon slaps the bowl so furiously he might crack it. It’s been a week since Lexi printed those photos, but Damien could write a booklet of bad reviews about the picture of Jeremy and me. “All the years I’ve worked at Stone, Kress has never smiled at me, and suddenly, he’s all like a lovesick teen with Zuri.”
“Zuri has what you don’t have.” Across the counter, Olivia’s manning the beef stroganoff, her movements rhythmic and assured. Her blonde-highlighted hair, tied up in a ponytail, catches the light when she glances over her shoulder. “Jeremy is one of the office heartthrobs. And guess what else?” She plants a hand on her curvy hip bunching up the tank top she’s wearing over gray leggings. “I’ll let you beat me in Uno if—”
“Why would a man like him still be single?” Damien demands.
“Because he’s been waiting for Zuri all along.” Lexi pats her camera, shaking her short brown hair around her face, and jiggles through a silly dance step. “Isn’t it great how they hit it off?”
“It’s amazing our boss can be friends with one of our own.” Olivia leans back against the counter. “Plus, he’s a great leader—efficient despite his direct approach to getting things done.”
“I can’t believe you’d support this.” Damien fists his grip on the wooden spoon, still whacking away. I’d better take it from him before he splatters frosting all over. The soft kitchen lighting accentuates his tight frown and the deepness of his emotions. He pulls the spoon from the bowl and shakes it at Olivia. “I thought you were on my side.”
His reaction doesn’t catch me off guard or deter me. I’m an adult, but he’s felt the need to protect me, ever since we officially became orphans, never mind that I was twenty, and he was twenty-two then.
Meanwhile, Lexi moves around the kitchen capturing every moment with her camera, from the soiled spoons to the flour dusting on the counter. She believes each detail adds a personal touch to the recipes I post on my blog.
While she does this for fun, her keen eye misses nothing, finding beauty in the food and the raw, unscripted moments that define it—events that go with it. She captured a detailed moment for Jeremy and me though, so no wonder my brother hasn’t stopped talking about this for days.
“I still don’t like the idea.” Damien continues his complaints, not caring whether anyone is on his side or not.
I sling the kitchen towel over my shoulder and take the dried bowl to the cabinet. Ever since I returned to the West Coast four months ago, I’ve been unable to ignore Damien’s complaints about Jeremy. I’d hoped inviting Jeremy to the party, a plan conceived before I knew him, would bridge the gap between them. Damien had been vocal about the promotion Jeremy overlooked him for. The New Year celebration I organized mid-January presented the perfect opportunity to introduce myself to potential future customers in the Stone Enterprises’ building.
“I thought having Jeremy here would ease the conflict between you.” I snatch the frosting bowl from his hands, not that he’s now doing anything with it other than grip the wooden spoon to diffuse his anger. “If you’d taken the time to talk to him when he was here, you’d realize he’s a good person.”
Damien’s firm jaw clenches. “He was only good because he was too busy swooning over you.” His spoon gestures dismissively. “Do you know what he said when I confronted him with your picture?”
“You confronted him with that?” I nearly squeak, my voice far higher than I expected. My eyes widen until they must be about to pop out.
Olivia, stirring the stroganoff, glances over with a disapproving look. “No, he did not.” She wags the sauce-soaked wooden spoon toward him, and globs dribble on the tile.
Lexi adjusts her lens, capturing this shift in our dynamics. “Actually”—she sounds chirrupy—“word about Zuri and Jeremy is already milling around some departments at the office.”
An uneasy shiver ripples through me. Could it be news about the picture, or were people who came to the house and saw me talking with Jeremy now spreading rumors? If it’s the picture, it portrays affection between us, even if there was none.
As long as this doesn’t complicate things for Jeremy being the leader. I’d best approach this situation with a tactical sensitivity so I don’t add too much ignition to this flambé already burning between my brother and his boss—my soon-to-be-fake fiancée.
Damien rubs his eyes. “The man’s a robot.”
“Not exactly a robot. He laughs with his friends.” Lexi turns to mix the egg noodles, her original task before she snagged her camera to capture the bubbling pasta. “He can be laid-back too, with the right people.”
“I heard him laughing with Zuri at the party.”
Olivia’s mention of Jeremy’s laugh sends warm tingles down my spine. I’ve seen him smile and heard him laugh more times than I care to share.
At moments like these, I’m glad to have my two friends living with us, the perfect buffers during such conversations with my brother. Besides, since they both work at Stone Financial Enterprise with Damien, their insights are the leavening this discussion needs.
Lexi and I moved back to San Francisco when she landed a job at Stone Financial and needed a place to stay. Olivia’s lease was up, and her rent had risen. With Damien’s permission, I invited both girls to move in with us. While I was blessed to get an internship in a culinary trade school, Damien and my friends have student loans to pay. Plus, he and I don’t need a five-bedroom house all to ourselves.
“The party was to help Zuri meet the staff who will be her customers.” Olivia wipes the sauce stain from the floor. “It worked. Everyone loved the food, and now, with these rumors, everyone at the office is curious about her and her café.”
“The party was a success.” Lexi places her camera on the counter. “You can throw more work parties as long as you don’t invite my boss.” She rolls her hazel eyes and crosses her arms, then shudders as if even the thought of her boss brings a tangible tension into the room.
I shake my head as I set the frosting back on the counter. I’m looking forward to meeting all these people, and the idea of hosting more parties now plays in my mind.
“There’s no better way to connect than around food.” I point to everyone, regardless of whatever issues were unresolved at the last party. I’ll make sure Lexi’s boss joins us next time. After all, Jeremy and I bonded over food. From the moment he walked into the door and tested my appetizers, all through sharing chocolates, our conversations never died at all.
The timer dings on my phone, and my sense of smell becomes alert. I open the oven and pull out the pound cake, further releasing the savory scent.
Damien seems to be thinking of something while his gaze drifts toward the window where the neighboring two-story Victorian stands, completely different from ours.
Surrounded by friends in the warmth of the kitchen, I bask in a sense of contentment. This is where connections are forged and where, I hope, understanding can be nurtured.
“This pasta looks ready.”
At Lexi’s announcement, I hand Damien the strainer. He’s always assigned the task of draining the pasta.
“Maybe we should ice the cake first.” I place the freshly baked cake on the marble island next to my best-selling cookbook I launched last year. With the stools tucked underneath and out of the way, it makes a convenient workspace. “Olivia, could you check a glaze for a warm cake?”
I included three other options in the book.
“Jeremy invited me to the awards ceremony,” I blurt out since I’ll need the girls’ help shopping. Still, my heart races at the revelation.
“What?” they all exclaim in unison.
Damien slops the pasta into the strainer too fast, and some splashes onto the counter. Olivia’s jaw hangs open, her hands pausing from opening the book, and Lexi just blinks, not even bothering to snap our pictures now.
“As his date,” I add to get it all out in the open rather than wait for the tension to dissipate.
They fall silent a moment before Lexi reaches for her camera, snaps a picture, and hoots, “I knew it!”
“The event is staff-and-spouses only,” Olivia chimes in. “If you’re coming as a spouse, then he really likes you.”
Damien’s reaction, however, is more guarded. “Are you kidding me?” His voice rises. His protective nature is nothing new. He lifts his hands. “Am I the only one who sees how wrong this is?”
“When was the last time you got excited about me having a date?” I counter, meeting his gaze. He grumbles, clearly frustrated, but he’ll come around. For now, I won’t reveal my arrangement with Jeremy. Instead, I steer the conversation back to our current task. “Let’s focus on the cake.”
The girls buzz with excitement, while Damien remains thoughtful. He must be unsure of what to do next because he joins us around the island.
Olivia’s finger traces down the cookbook’s list. “You’re missing a key ingredient for our cake.” She’s snickering, so it mustn’t have anything to do with the recipe.
“What would that be?” I play along.
“A dash of fun,” she declares, eyeing Damien, then scoops a handful of powdered sugar from the open jar and tosses it at his blue T-shirt. “Lighten up, Mr. Grumpy!”
Damien, now speckled with sweetness, tries to maintain his stern demeanor. Then Olivia smears another handful across his face, and his resolve cracks. The corners of his lips twitch, and he looms over us. “You girls sure you want to do this?”
“Do you?” Olivia counters, mischief playing across her face.
The moment Damien grabs the sugar jar, the room erupts into playful chaos. Armed with the jar, he chases Olivia. With their infectious laughter, a joyful lightness dusts the air as sugary and sweet as the powdery concoctions they’re tossing at one another. My mind goes back to my time with Jeremy when I smeared him with flour and had him laughing. Goose bumps scatter my arms at the memory of his tender caress on my cheeks.
I shake my head to snap out of the memory. We’re in a fake relationship, and the sooner my brain gets the memo, the better.
“You’re insane.” Olivia coughs from the sugar as she swats at Damien’s chest and his laughter rumbles free.
Lexi’s camera captures the moment, the shutter clicking rapidly. “This is perfect for the blog!”
“Good luck cleaning up, you two.” I grin, thinking of a similar playful spat they had last week. Only Damien can get away with dumping this much sugar in Olivia’s hair.
In the kitchen of our childhood home, I’m feasting on a profound gratitude. When our parents passed, they left the house to Damien and me, and we chose to keep it rather than sell it. This home continues to make memories of love and laughter.
Food truly has a unique way of uniting people, sparking conversations, mending rifts, and fostering joy. Observing my brother and friends, their laughter mingling with sugar-sweetened air, I’m again struck by food’s ability to bridge the gaps between us. Not that I expect it to cross the divide between Jeremy and me, of course.