11. CHAPTER 11
Jeremy
Porch lights illuminate the street to Zuri’s house. I trace the paths I navigated on my last visit. Yet, tonight, I’m driven by the need to mend the gap I created between us. A crisp breeze slips through my half-open window, offering a brief respite that’s as refreshing as it is fleeting, failing to ease my apprehension. As Zuri’s house edges into sight, my grip on the steering wheel tightens, the leather beneath my fingers a tangible anchor in the stormy thoughts.
In her driveway, I park behind a blue Buick. I blow out a breath. Has Zuri confided in her brother and friends about our unconventional relationship? My abrupt disappearance couldn’t have cast me in a favorable light, considering the sharp look Damien shot my way at the awards party. Yet, since he hasn’t confronted me, Zuri must’ve kept our situation discreet.
I tap my fingers against the steering wheel, hesitating to step out of the car. Just how should I announce my arrival? I could walk to the door, but I’d rather not run into Damien. Opting for simplicity, I reach for my phone in the console and fire a concise message.
Jeremy: I’m here.
My fingers tap faster as I await her reply, each tap amplifying my anxiety. When my phone finally vibrates, the air whooshes from my lungs.
Zuri: Okay. Coming out.
Anticipation, coupled with the chance to explain myself in person, dispels my tension. Focused on our reunion, I exit the vehicle as she steps through her front door. I rush to the passenger side and open the door for her.
Her black dress sways at her knees, and the porch light warms her features with an ethereal glow. The red handbag slung over her shoulder adds a splash of color to her ensemble.
“Hello.” Keeping her chin tucked down, she fiddles with her handbag straps as she approaches.
With her near now, I get a close look at her dress. It clings to her, accentuating her well-proportioned figure. Keeping one hand tight on the door handle and the other to my side, I resist the urge to lean in and kiss her cheek. “You look stunning.” I’m not just saying it—it’s the truth.
“Thank you.” Her fragrance envelops me as she walks past to settle into the seat. I close the door and move around to get to my seat.
The drive commences. In a jumble of nerves, I blow out a breath. “I–I wanted to apologize.” The words emerge, barely steady. “For ghosting you. It wasn’t fair.”
A pause stretches between us. The streetlamps flash intermittent light into the car, illuminating her sitting there, arms crossed, gaze evaluating. “Why would you ghost me for an entire week?”
Nine days, but who’s counting? At a stop sign, I draw in a slow breath. “I’ve been doing some thinking.” The car idles. Easily enough, I can drive forward now, but just how can I steer this conversation where it needs to go? I pass through the intersection, and as we continue along, I confess my confusion regarding the blurry lines between our pretense and genuine moments. “I don’t know about you, but I got caught up in emotions during the dance.”
“I sensed that too.” She shakes a finger at me. “Too bad, it only happened to you.”
Her playful response has me reaching out. I smack her leg. “Liar.”
“Some people can’t handle the truth, you know.”
Ouch. That hits a nerve. I couldn’t handle the effect she had on me—still has on me—which is mostly why I’m here with her rather than at my penthouse ordering takeout.
She tucks her chin down again, and her lips wobble while she picks at a seam on her handbag. “I thought you found me unworthy of you.”
Whoa! I wince as the revelation strikes deep. My thoughtless actions—my running from this preoccupation I have with her—caused those insecurities.
“That’s not true.” In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. Her feelings of unworthiness mirror my fears. “And I felt bad all week for ignoring you.”
Here we are, trying to maintain a delicate balance, yet if I continue my avoidance, I could jeopardize not only the fa?ade of our engagement but also this underlying connection we’re struggling to define.
Soon, we arrive at a cozy Mediterranean-themed restaurant offering dim lighting, creamy stucco walls, exposed ceiling beams, and well-loved wooden tables and hardwood floors. Lush plants add the only color to its earthy tones while pottery and old wine bottles line the shelves. Soft music plays in the background, the soothing ambience a reprieve from our turbulent conversation. I vetted this place on my phone earlier, seeking a less crowded place with good food, somewhere less formal so it didn’t appear too obvious as a date. Now, spices and fresh bread tempt me with mouthwatering scents.
Plus, the restaurant’s tranquil atmosphere eliminates the need for reservations. A young woman welcomes us and escorts us to a vacant table tucked away in a corner. Before departing, she hands us the menus. “The server will be with you shortly to take your order.”
Flickering candlelight bathes the space in a warm glow, accentuating Zuri’s features and casting an intimate veil over our table. She slides into the padded bench along the back wall and sets her purse amid the cushions, leaving the wooden chair facing her for me.
“I’ve been thinking.” She clasps her hands on the table, her eyes bright. “I don’t want you to pay me for the café.”
“Why’s that?” I stiffen. Not that I can blame her for backing out of our arrangement.
“Well…” Her hand covers mine on the table, and its warmth seeps deeper than the skin, clouding my judgment with a pleasant haze. “Maybe just help me buy the appliances. The rest, you can help me with your business management skills, to see if I can start with whatever I have. Or you can loan me the rest, and I’ll repay you.”
“How about I invest in the café instead?” I have the money, and I’m always passionate about helping fund local community businesses. But I don’t need to broadcast that. “You can repay me in two years when the business yields profit. Plus, you have a charity to support, and I want to help you fulfill that dream.”
“Thank you.” She takes her hand back, and I miss her touch. “But what if it doesn’t succeed?”
“As long as I’m your business advisor, your business isn’t going to fail.” I’ll use all my local connections to broadcast her business, though I also don’t want to overwhelm her when she’s just starting out. “It’ll succeed, and you’ll be in the profit margin sooner than you expect.”
She braces an elbow on the table and plops her chin in her hand. “Now, can you please explain why you’re so afraid of relationships?”
I shake a finger at her. “If I remember, you said you’re not into dating either.”
She deflects that with a lighthearted shrug. “But I didn’t act so closed off when we had a moment during the dance.”
“I’ve been let down before.” Her sweetness disarms me, compelling a confession I hadn’t planned on sharing. “I guess I’m afraid of jumping into something and getting hurt again. But avoiding you wasn’t the answer.”
The admission hangs between us.
Her eyes reflect a shared pain. “I’m sorry about that.” A shadow fleets crosses her bright-eyed expression. Maybe she, too, understands the sting of a breakup. “It’s hard to let someone in when you’re scared of getting hurt.”
The server returns to take our drink orders, and we both request water, having not yet delved into the menu. When prompted for our meal choices, Zuri turns to me for a recommendation, so I ask the server for their signature dish since neither Zuri nor I have any food allergies.
Once the server departs, Zuri refocuses on me, her curiosity piqued about my ex. “I’d better start getting to know all the people I’ll meet at the wedding.”
“Sonya is just like my mom.”
“Controlling?” Zuri probes, catching me off guard and eliciting a laugh.
“I hadn’t seen it that way when we were together, but looking back four years after we split, it’s clear now.”
“How did you two meet?”
“Our families are close.” My gaze fixes on the candle between us, its light flickering uncertainty. “My mom always envisioned us together. We were engaged for one year and had plans for a wedding.…”
The story emerges, revealing a chapter of my life I rarely unpack.
“Why would she elope when she was engaged to you?” Zuri’s voice rises over the music.
Is there perhaps a hint of protectiveness within her shock? Thinking so prompts me to delve into the painful recount of betrayal.
“One day, she’s detailing her dream wedding that she spent an entire year planning with her mom, then the next day, six months before the supposed wedding day, she elopes.”
And my mother was the bearer of such unexpected news.
“That’s brutal.” Zuri’s hands cup her face, her palpable empathy heartwarming. This gesture, simple yet profound, tightens something within me, leaving me grateful yet aching over her genuine concern for my past hurts.
But it’s time to redirect the conversation. I shift the topic to another chapter of my life. “Before Sonya, there was someone else during high school. My mom wasn’t her biggest fan, but that didn’t stop me. I was really into her… even considered marrying her right after college graduation, partly to spite my mom. But college happened, distance came between us, and she moved on. She was married by the time I finished college.”
The waiter approaches, the arrival of our water, marking a pause in our dialogue. Around us, ambient restaurant sounds fill the space, the gentle clink of silverware against porcelain and the murmur of distant conversations adding layers to the evening’s atmosphere.
Once alone again, our conversation takes a more reflective note. We delve into our insecurities, the lessons etched into us by past loves, and the protective barriers we’ve erected around our hearts. This revealing exchange draws us closer through personal vulnerabilities.
As food is served at a nearby table, the aroma of roasted vegetables and seasoned meats breezes toward us, a perfect complement to our deepening conversation. Engrossed in this unusual conversation, I share more information than I’ve ever shared with anyone. I even delve into my family and my mother’s overbearing nature, which has somewhat jaded my view on relationships.
“Ooh.” She reacts with exaggerated concern. “Does that mean I’m getting the worst version of you?” Her playful shiver prompts my laughter.
“Actually, you’re seeing the best version of me that’s been absent for quite some time,” I tease, but there’s truth in those words.
“I’m glad.” Her finger traces the rim of her glass. “How did you start working for Stone Financial?”
She seems interested in understanding me beyond the superficial details required for the wedding fa?ade.
“After I graduated, I started as an analyst at a midsized financial firm, eventually getting promoted to a senior analyst position. Then, at one of our family gatherings, Eric, the founder of Stone Enterprises, mentioned he was looking for someone to lead their marketing efforts. I jumped at the opportunity and began my way up to COO.”
Zuri sinks back in her chair, her curls bouncing around her delicate face. “How did Logan become CEO if Eric is the owner?”
“Eric stepped down to spend time with his family. He left the company in his brother Logan’s hands.”
“So, you’re friends with both the owner and Logan?”
I nod. “Our families have been friends for years, and my brother is close with Logan. It’s one of those things where my brother’s friends became my friends as well.”
But the spotlight’s been on me for too long. “You and Damien grew up here in San Francisco?”
“We sure did.” She beams. “We have so many memories here. I’ll have to show you around all the places we used to find trouble.”
“You, getting into mischief?” I mock a gasp and arch a brow, this side of her intriguing me.
She laughs, and the sound’s quickly becoming a favorite. It stirs something deep inside, desire. It’s been so long since I felt anything other than hurt, so these awakening emotions are—What? Overwhelming? Unwelcome? Addicting?
“You have no idea.” She shakes a finger at me, those curls quaking with her laughter. “From sneaking into late-night shows at the Fillmore to dodging security at Ocean Beach for midnight swims, San Francisco was our playground, and we knew every nook and cranny worth exploring.”
How well I can imagine their spirited youth spent in the heart of the city, adding layers to the woman sitting across from me. My curiosity shifts. I brace my wrists on the table’s dinged edge, leaning in. “How did your parents die?”
Her features darken, and my chest tightens. “Mom died in a car crash. Dad had a heart attack when we got the news. He never recovered from it and passed away a month later.”
I reach across the table and cover her hand with mine. “I’m sorry about your loss.”
“Thank you.” She dips her head, and her curly bangs hide all but her tightly pressed lips. A deep breath raises her chest before her smile returns. “But we’re here to talk about furniture.”
Right, so we are. Um… “I left the catalog in the car.”
“I have one.” Our hands separate as she reaches for her handbag from the bench. She produces a magazine, moves the candle aside, and places the catalog between us. As she opens to the first page, we both scoot forward, and wisps of her hair brush against my forehead. The simple tickle awakens every part of my skin, and I try to focus on the chairs she’s showing me.
“You–you”—her whisper cracks—“you said, you took a look. What stood out to you?”
I flip through the pages, pausing at each of the three sets that grabbed my attention.
“These are too catchy for a lunch café,” she says of the final set and turns back to the set I showed her in the middle. “We’ll go with this walnut set.”
Wow. She chose one of the options I pointed out. My chest puffs out. “You trust my judgment that much?”
She then leans back, and I do the same. My chair legs squeak against the hardwood floor, and I exhale slowly, already missing the proximity we shared.
“That was my second choice, and since it’s on your list, it’s the winner.”
Odd that she’s seeking my opinion and not consulting her friends. “I’m sure your friends have a keen eye for design.”
“Your contribution, especially with the financial aspect, makes you a significant part of this café. Your opinion matters a lot.”
Taken aback, I pledge. “Then I’ll be more than happy to assist with the business planning, ensuring the café starts off on the right foot.”
“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence.”
At her lighthearted sarcasm, my smile broadens.
The server delivers our Mediterranean feast, and Zuri does that thing she does before every meal. “I just observed that you close your eyes. I assume you’re praying?”
She smiles, clasping her hands together. “Prayer is part of my daily life, not just at meals.” She shares about her faith and how it deepened following her parents’ passing. “We grew up attending church, but for a time Damien and I drifted from what our parents taught us.”
She then waves in a shooing motion. “Oh, you got me started. Sorry. I’m rambling.”
“No, actually, I like hearing the things you’re passionate about.” Each time she speaks, I find myself drawn into her world.
“As for praying before meals, it’s my way of recognizing my reliance on God,” she explains, looking at our spread. “It’s a chance to express my thanks for His blessings, including the food we eat.”
Her perspective resonates. “I’ve never thought about where my food comes from before eating it,” I admit, then feel a sudden boldness. “Would you mind saying the prayer out loud?”
“Sure.” She pushes the plate aside and extends her hands toward me. As we join hands and she begins to pray, her words flow with a moving sincerity, making me eager to embrace this moment and her faith.
After we take turns washing our hands, the meal unfolds with more escapades from our past adventures, including her spontaneous road trips and my misadventures in the corporate world. Each story and shared laugh weaves a stronger connection and hints at the deeper understanding and companionship forming between us. For the first time in what feels like forever, I’m experiencing a genuine connection, something that transcends the pretenses of our arrangement and offers the potential of something meaningful.
“Jeremy Kress, you’re becoming a good friend,” Zuri remarks, causing me to pause and put down my fork. Her fork suspended in midair, she searches my eyes, earnestness and reticence in her gaze. “I don’t know if…” She stops and bites her lower lip, clearly holding back thoughts she’s unready to share.
I understand. My feelings for her run deeper than our fa?ade, yet I’m cautious, terrified of the uncertain and potential rejection.
“I like you too, Zuri,” I blurt out, then regret my lack of restraint. “I mean, as a good friend.” What a bumbled attempt to mask my true feelings! Yet my affection for her extends beyond what I anticipated. This unnerves me, even as a part of me remains eager to explore the possibility of “us.” Curious about her past relationships, I venture. “What happened with your previous boyfriend?”
She lays down her silverware, and her shoulders slump despite her laughter. “He was Damien’s best friend.”
“And Damien throttled him, I guess?”
“I ended up straining their friendship.” Her shoulders curve in further, though her chin remains high. “He cheated on me, and Damien found out before I did. It escalated into a fistfight.”
Right. He’s a deeply protective brother, and here I am, treading into a “pretend” relationship. I give myself a silent warning over what comes with being close to Zuri. “I can tell Damien’s not someone to mess with. Especially when it comes to his sister.”
“Ever since then”—she shrugs, a sigh slipping loose—“he thinks he needs to protect me from all men.”
“I’m glad he’s looking out for you.” And I am appreciative of her brother’s vigilance. After all, without his protectiveness, Zuri would probably be dating someone else by now, and our current camaraderie might not have been possible.
On our drive back to Zuri’s house, our conversation meanders through the wedding details. Then a quick nod sends her curls bouncing, and she shifts her whole body to face me. “Since you have a nickname for me, I’ll be calling you Jer.”
I chuckle. “Jeremy’s already the short form of Jeremiah, but sure, Jer works.” How natural it feels, having her here beside me. Zuri’s the first woman I’ve driven in this car since I bought it two years ago. For staff events, we always opt for the company car with a driver.
I flex my grip on the steering wheel, the vehicle feeling somehow different after that realization. But I’d best focus on the discussion, so I share the bizarre sleeping arrangements my mom has made for the wedding with my ex uncomfortably close to my room. “She’s yet to be convinced about us.”
“We’ll just have to make her believe.” Zuri pats my arm, her confidence on full display. “It shouldn’t be too hard.”
It should be too easy since I’m starting to have feelings for her. Or could that complicate things? Either way, her statement reminds me of another necessary task—choosing a ring for her. I’d planned to let her pick one out, but knowing now how she values surprises, I’ll select one myself and add authenticity to our… arrangement.
When I park in her driveway and turn to her, the glow from the driveway lights illuminates her, almost a beacon. The urge to discuss taking our arrangement into the realm of reality gnaws at me, yet the fear of rejection stifles my words.
“Thank you for tonight,” is all I say.
“I had a good time too, Jer,” she whispers back. Her intense gaze locks with mine, and a current of unspoken possibilities zaps the air. We stare at each other, my heartbeat races, and her breathing escalates.
“I’ll get going.” She grips her purse on her lap.
Before I can sabotage this arrangement, I look away and swing my door open. I rush to the passenger side to open her door, and she steps out, her scent lingering— peppermint and something floral, uniquely Zuri that leaves me dizzy. Unable to restrain myself, I catch her hand and draw her close. I lower my lips, my mind screaming not to go for hers. Unsure why I chose today of all days to listen to my conscience, I instead let my cheek brush against hers, pressing a soft kiss to her skin. “Good night,” I whisper to avoid crossing lines our fake engagement hasn’t prepared us for.
“Good night,” her warm breath against my neck ignites a shiver down my spine. With a final wave, she heads to her door.
I’m left alone, my thoughts swirling with this… affection. My heart is still racing, and a whirlwind of what-ifs drives away all rational thought. Who knows what our next engagement will bring?