14. CHAPTER 14
Zuri
“You’re engaged?” Damien erupts like a pressure cooker with blocked valves. Disbelief sends him into a coughing fit as the cereal he’s been munching catches in his throat.
It’s only hours after that moment in the rain. Now, I’m huddled with my friends and brother around the kitchen island making dinner. Chicken and vegetables roast in the air fryer. The kitchen lights catch the diamonds on my ring, scattering tiny stars across the marble surface.
Olivia, eyes still wide, twirls my finger, inspecting it at every angle, her voice bubbling over. “Look at it gleam!” Her eyes sparkle almost as much as the diamonds. “It’s gorgeous!”
Lexi leans closer, her grin infectious. “This calls for a celebration.” She claps. “We have to throw an engagement party for you two!”
“No way!” Damien’s objection slices through the warm cheer. “You two hardly know each other, and you’re already engaged?”
“We’re not rushing into anything.” I hold up my palm in an attempt to soothe his concerns. “We need at least a year to plan the wedding.” If only he knew the full story.
“The man can have any woman he wants, why you?”
Ouch. Low blow, bro.I try not to sound offended. “Because I’m that one woman for him?”
But he must’ve sensed my deflation. “You’re too good for him, and I’m—”
“He’s too good for me.” If things work out, Jeremy outshines me. “He’s resourceful and skilled. His insights have been helpful in my business planning, and he’s smart and decisive, quick to seize command.”
“You mean bossy.” Damien rolls his neck from side to side, tension radiating from him.
“He’s good at what he does, and you know it.” Olivia waves a dismissive hand in Damien’s direction.
“Kress is practical. I like that,” Lexi adds. “He focuses on doing what’s necessary rather than dancing around things.”
I smile. That’s all true.
“What Damien won’t tell you”—hands on her hips, Olivia eyes me, then Damien—“is he’s admitted Kress is selfless when it comes to mentoring and supporting any team member’s growth and skill.”
Damien gives Olivia the look. But at least he’s seen some good in Jeremy. “This is not about work.”
Olivia dismisses him, her pre-dinner snack, cereal, abandoned. She loops an arm around my waist, and her ponytail tickles my neck as she leans in. “How did he propose?”
Lexi, ever the documentarian, waves her camera, apparently already thinking about the visuals. “Put your hand back on the marble. We need to get a shot of that ring for your blog followers.”
Whoa. No way. I shake my head. “I’m not posting any engagement photos on my blog.” The girls know, so they must hear the unspoken word fake engagement.
“Don’t spare any details.” Olivia hugs me tighter, eyes wide. “How did he propose?”
Damien retreats into a brooding silence, face buried in his hands, so I spare him the full intensity. “It was like something out of a movie, on the rooftop.…” My voice rises as I recount the proposal, omitting the electrifying kiss now indelibly imprinted in my memory.
“Wow!” Olivia jostles me, then spins us around the kitchen. “That’s the most romantic proposal ever!”
My friends’ reaction stands in stark contrast to Damien’s silent skepticism, far more obvious than the lines between truth and fiction, which now seem as delicate as the sparkle on my engagement ring.
With Damien’s brooding as my cue, I signal the girls, mouthing for them to give us a moment. They retreat, leaving us in unspoken tension. I edge closer and lay a hand on his slumped shoulder. “Damien?”
His eyes, shadowed with concern, meet mine, brotherly worry tautening his features.
“You can’t keep getting upset over every guy I date.” I jab him in the rib cage.
“He’s my boss, Zuri.”
“And he’s entitled to happiness too, isn’t he?”
Damien’s frustration manifests in a huff, the bowl of cereal pushed aside. “I never pictured him with my sister.” He runs a hand over his short hair, still chuffing. “I never should’ve invited him to that party.”
“Come on. You believe in divine matchmaking, don’t you?” After all, where’s his unshakeable faith?
Or is it wrong of me to pull that on him when this is all pretend?
Maybe I am getting too lost in this pretense. But right now, I fear my brother losing it on Jeremy before we even finish the deal.
His shoulders droop further. “Everything’s moving too fast. You two haven’t even had a real argument.”
“Oh, but we have.” I’m thinking of our spat during our first outing at the awards ceremony. “He’s really nice to me.”
I slide onto the stool beside his. Then I let my words whip up a recipe of Jeremy not only as a partner but also as a man of substance before I top off the concoction with our plans to visit his family in Colorado for his brother’s wedding.
Damien grips the back of his neck. “Oh man. Meeting the parents already.” His posture relaxes. “I guess you’re an adult who’s capable of deciding your destiny.”
“I made it on my own in Florida.” Back when I left San Francisco after I ended things with his best friend.
“Lexi did keep an eye on you there.”
“Hey.” I stand straight and whack his shoulder. “I’m so insulted you think I need someone to take care of me.”
“I’ll try to get used to this… Jeremy.” He quirks a brow, and his sarcasm signals a truce.
“And I’ll support you too when I invite Jessie over.” My threat at playing matchmaker draws a mock glare.
“Don’t you dare.” He ruffles my hair. “Do you know how embarrassing it’d be for my little sister to play matchmaker?”
I laugh. “It’s just as embarrassing when you go off fighting my battles with my supposed boyfriends. You ambushing Jeremy with our picture was mortifying.” But even as I cross my arms in a pout, warmth radiates through me because, surprisingly, Jeremy still has the photo on his meticulously clean desk. Hope sugarcoats me whenever I see our picture there.
The girls surge back into the room, gushing out their excitement for the engagement party.
“Hold on.” I raise a finger, needing to make this as casual as possible. “There’s one condition.” Their chatter ceases, their gazes on me. “We host the party here, and part of the fun will be testing out some menu items.” A culinary trial run, of sorts.
Olivia’s eyebrows crease together. “You’re planning to cook for your engagement party?”
My decision is non-negotiable. “That’s the deal, and you’re all pitching in by bringing your friends.” My gaze slides to Damien. “That includes inviting Jessie.”
He responds with a dismissive headshake.
I press on, outlining the dual purpose of the gathering. A chance for Damien to interrogate Jeremy with any lingering questions, a thought that brings a reluctant agreement from my brother.
The real challenge now looms ahead—convincing Jeremy to green-light this celebration of our “pretend” engagement. Maybe that won’t be hard—after all, the whole fake-engagement thing was his idea. Plus, this presents an opportunity to have him invite his circle, including Lexi’s boss. She needs to build that volatile relationship in a setting far removed from work pressures.
***
It’s a lively Saturday morning a week later as Jeremy and I navigate the farmer’s market. Fresh-picked produce, aromatic herbs, and grilled delicacies scent the air, vendors hawk their goods, and shoppers exchange money for their finds—all creating an energizing vibe.
His arm brushes mine as we meander along. “So, your mom wasn’t into cooking, and you picked up the reins on your own?”
“Since Mom was a busy interior decorator, she preferred to heat precooked meals. I got sick of those and started watching cooking shows, and Mom joined me, watching and brainstorming dinner ideas. But she always said they were too complicated, and she didn’t have time. Still, that sparked a passion in me, to explore and experiment with new recipes. And we really connected when she had fun reheating my meals.”
“Hence, your belief that food unites people.”
A cart filled with squash nearly intercepts our path. I tug at Jeremy’s hand, steering him clear, before we halt at Trish’s booth, my go-to for fresh veggies.
“Ah, my favorite customer!” She beams. Beneath the green floral wrap twisted around her head, her gaze skims Jeremy.
“This is Jeremy.” My chest expands, never mind that our engagement is a fa?ade. “My fiancé.”
“Nice. When’s the big day?” She shades her eyes against the midmorning sun behind us, her dark-brown skin glistening.
“We’re still settling on a date,” Jeremy replies. “But we’re aiming for something that feels right for both of us.”
Trish nods and hands me a bag since I always forget to bring my reusable one. I reach for a bunch of lettuce but replace it with a superior bunch.
Jeremy, ever meticulous, examines the kale. “You always manage to find the best greens.”
I chuckle, my fingers probing the kale’s lush dark leaves, the crisp texture cool in my hands. “The darker, the richer.” As the stand becomes more crowded, I edge closer to Jeremy and signal it’s time to move on, then hand Trish money for our vegetables. “Looks like we’ve got everything here.”
“Nice to meet you, Jeremy!” She waves, and Jeremy waves back, calling out his own “nice to meet you too.”
Next, we stop at a stall flowing with fresh fruit. Jeremy’s hand pauses over a peach, cradling it with tenderness. “Are you thinking of including a fruit salad on the menu?”
“A fruit salad was on my mind, but now you’ve got me thinking.” I take the peach. Its fragrance evokes memories of sun-drenched days beneath Grandma’s backyard peach tree. “Perhaps a peach cobbler with ice cream could be a hit.”
“Hard to go wrong with ice cream.” He selects more peaches with deliberate care and tucks them in the bag.
As we meander through the market, I nudge his arm with mine, still surprised he insisted on coming to the market with me instead of burying himself in work. “Don’t you have a million things to do at the office?”
He shifts the tote to his other hand, giving me a sideways glance. “I wanted to be here with you, especially since you’re taking on the cooking for our engagement party.” His sincerity envelopes me like a warm hug. Then he drapes his arm over my shoulders, and the hug becomes real as he teases me about our unreal situation. “Just promise me you won’t be cooking at our wedding.” He winks. “I mean that’s if my mother takes it too far and we end up getting a fake marriage during our one-week visit to Pleasant View.”
A thrill zips through me. “Now that would be something else.”
I’ve stopped pretending about our relationship ever since that kiss. Although Jeremy hasn’t initiated another kiss or ventured into any recipes for emotion since his proposal, our connection has only deepened. We find comfort in each other’s presence, a semblance of a couple in the way we interact—holding hands, sharing glances, minus the kisses, save for the occasional peck on the cheek.
But the idea of marrying Jeremy, even in jest, fills me with an undeniable excitement.
At a fresh-herb stand, basil and mint scent the air. Jeremy lifts a sprig of rosemary, for a closer scent. He holds it toward me, his eyes alight. “Here, smell this.”
The rosemary’s earthy, pine-like aroma envelops me as I breathe it in. “I love that smell.”
“It reminds me of your hair,” he whispers in my ear, and shivers tingle down my spine as his breath brushes my skin. My conditioner has mint and rosemary, but I’d never imagined he’d noticed or would remember what my hair smells like.
Gathering the herbs into a disposable container, our hands converge on the next selection. The brief touch sends a pleasant jolt through me, and the electric connection lingers when he asks. “What herb is this?”
His deep-blue gaze ensnares me, my mind adrift in their depths until he lifts the herb for inspection and pulls me back to reality—well, our fake reality. “Ba–sil,” I manage, but my voice betrays the flutter in my chest.
We meander on, each stand a burst of color as vivid and real as my growing emotions. “Which of these spices adds heat to a dish?” he inquires, pausing before a stand arrayed with exotic spices, the air rich with cinnamon, cumin, and curry powder.
“Cayenne pepper.” I point to the fiery-red powder nestled among the assortment. “Though Tabasco or jalapeno peppers will do the trick.”
When he uncaps the cayenne pepper, his face as curious as a child, I stifle a snicker. “I love how involved you are in this.”
“It’s all a part of the fiancé package.”
We continue through the market, getting ripe tomatoes, succulent berries, and fresh bread alongside the essentials for the gourmet dishes I’ve planned for tomorrow’s dinner. When we’re making our way out of the market, he steers me toward a flower stand.
“I’ll take a bouquet, please.” He smiles at the vendor, an elderly man. While Jeremy reaches for his wallet, my gaze is drawn to his selection—a bouquet of wildflowers, their hues vibrant and untamed, nestled within a hand-painted ceramic vase.
He hands me the vase, and I touch the soft petals. The simple elegance strikes a chord within me. “They’re perfect.” I breathe out, struggling to contain the joy in my voice. “Thank you.”
The man looks at us, head tilted to the side, and a twinkle in his eye. “You two make a lovely couple.”
Jeremy’s hand finds a gentle rest on my back, affirming his presence. “That we do.”
As our eyes meet in a shared recognition, my cheeks warm under his gaze and the vendor’s kind words, and my response is little more than a whisper. “I couldn’t agree more.”
We leave the market behind. The sun climbs higher, emitting more warmth, and I savor this… this sense of completeness to the life we’re weaving together, fake or not.
“This bag is heavy.” He moves the bag to his other hand before I offer to share the load. But he just winks at me. “I’m hoping, by carrying this, I won’t have to be part of the cooking.”
“I thought you liked food wars in the kitchen?”
“I literally still have flour from the last food fight when you dumped it in my hair.”
“No, you don’t.” I roll my eyes as the sunlight catches the sleekness of his hair. I divert my focus to the vase I’ve tucked against my side. But that doesn’t stop me from looking back, from admiring him in his blue pants and striped button-down. This is his casual attire as compared to the suits he wears throughout the week, and the casual look suits him.
On the drive back, we rehash his market experience, then discuss tomorrow afternoon’s party.
“Nico and Wes are willing to forego golfing to come for your food.” He winks. He must’ve raved about my cooking to his friends. “I might’ve hinted to Nico you’d be whipping up something Italian.”
“As long as he doesn’t hold me up to any standard.”
Jeremy drops me off at my house, and I can’t bring myself to unlatch the door, the moment bittersweet, the end to a perfect morning. Then not only does he open the door for me to step out of the car but he also carries the tote to the front door. What a gentleman!
“If it’s okay, I’ll not bother coming in.” He sets the bag on the porch. “Have a great afternoon, Zee.”
I hug the vase closer, and the petals tickle my cheek as I duck my head. “You’re sure you don’t want to stay for lunch?”
“I have to head to work.”
“You’re such a workaholic.” I tap his shoulder, highlighting the contrast between his professional commitments and the personal time he’s chosen to spend with me today.
“That’s not all true—at least not lately.” His gaze latches to mine, and his voice dips. “A workaholic wouldn’t leave work to help his fiancée shop for food.”
As our gazes linger, my mind grapples with his statement. Lately, he’s not a workaholic, and he makes the effort away from work to spend time with me. Unbidden, my gaze drops to his lips and the memory of our rooftop kiss rushes back. That moment of real intimacy now feels like a distant dream.
He leans in and presses a kiss on my cheek. “See you tomorrow.”
I nod and watch him walk back to the car, then drive away, the warmth of his peck still tingling on my cheek. Today was more than a trip to the farmer’s market. It was another food connection that grows stronger with each passing day. With every meal we share and every ingredient we select, we step closer to a recipe for something increasingly real.