15. CHAPTER 15
Zuri
The café buzzes with excitement between the new tables and chairs. Guests, instead of sitting, drift from one laden table to another, selecting seconds, their conversations a lively hum in this space now opened up by the demolished wall. It’s all one expansive room, yet half-furnished, the final touches are reserved for the grand opening still three weeks out.
On such short notice, the turnout this Sunday evening is modest. The few friends from Stone Financial we rallied up form pockets of casual banter—standing in relaxed clusters or navigating the food spread. I’d planned to have the party at the house, but Jeremy suggested that, if we’re cooking menu items for my café, we might as well give the appliances a test run.
Laughter mingles with the clinking cutlery and the occasional chime of glass, and fulfillment warms me. I am a chef if people are enjoying my food.
With a frosting container in my hand, I assess the pans and food trays on the card tables along the wall. Creamy risotto, southwest rolls, stuffed sandwiches, and more dishes tease me with their sizzling aromas.
Nico and Wes, Jill and Naina, mingle with some office employees. Damien and Olivia stand with two others in their circle while Lexi moves around snapping photos.
I smile as Jeremy, my perfect—even if fake—fiancé, ambles toward me, plate in hand. The most relaxed I’ve ever seen him, he’s dressed in jeans, his casual short-sleeved button-down untucked. A grin splits his face, and my heart melts.
“The basil sandwiches hit the mark, Zee.” He offers me his plate with a half sandwich. “Eat something.”
Gratitude swells within me, a tiny, fragile bubble. “Thank you.” He knows I haven’t eaten, proof he’s been by my side throughout the afternoon. I’ve been too wound up making sure everything was perfect and I had enough food on the tables.
I accept his plate and offer him the small frosting bowl I forgot to put out earlier. “I made this for your cookies.”
His jaw drops, and his exaggerated gesture somehow doesn’t feel out of place. “Thank you.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest at the exchange.
“Have you tried the southwestern sa–salad yet?” That catch in my voice betrays my apprehension as my gaze flits to the table where the salad’s still untouched. I wanted it on the menu, but if it’s not appealing to anyone now, no one will order it either.
“You made the mistake of making me the spring rolls and jalapeno poppers first.” Jeremy offers a lifeline, his presence a comforting constant. He hadn’t been able to come to church with me, probably so he could arrive to help me set up.
“Here’s my critique now.” We turn to see Nico moving toward us, plate in hand with his half-eaten pasta and grapes. He forks the rigatoni noodles. “You’re a decent chef.”
“The best.” Jeremy plucks a grape from Nico’s plate.
Nico’s eyes gleam. “You got a pen and paper? You’re gonna need to take some notes if pasta’s going to be on the menu.”
“We’ll remember,” Jeremy says.
I don’t miss the “we,” meaning partnership. I like that. I didn’t realize I was in need of romance until he took residence in my heart.
“If we forget, I know where to find you,” he adds, and I assure Nico I have a good memory too.
Nico’s brows rise, and as he clears his throat, I ready myself for his blunt assessment and brace for whatever facts he has to share. “This pasta needs more salt. It’s too bland for my Italian taste buds.”
“If you listen to Marino…” Lexi remarks from across the counter where she snaps a photo of the lights. That, too, is a new addition.
“Don’t listen to her,” Nico jests, pointing in Lexi’s direction, his critique now a battle waged on multiple fronts. “You wanted us testing the food for honest opinions, right?”
I nod, stifling a laugh as Lexi grumbles about her annoyance with her boss.
Jeremy’s apologetic glance is a balm, a silent promise of support as I devour my sandwich, a small defiance against the critics that loom large.
Critics, I realize, are a necessary evil, the crucible through which my culinary creations must pass.
Jeremy winks and mouths his apology, no doubt for his friend’s bluntness, but while I fear critiques, I’d rather know what to change now before I serve it to customers.
“To truly consider this Italian…” Nico seems to overplay his accent now. “It needs a real tomato or a cream sauce, not just a brush of butter and herbs, then”—he brings his fingers to his lips and kisses them—“bellissimo.”
“Not everything is meant to overwhelm your taste buds, Marino,” Lexi”s retort slices through Nico’s culinary critique with her characteristic sass. She shifts and redirects her camera toward us, immortalizing the moment.
“I bet you’re a terrible cook.” Nico arches a brow at her. “Bad cooks can’t handle criticism.”
“Like you can cook,” she snaps back. “It’s your lack of sugarcoating that needs work.”
I understand why Lexi often claims she can’t stand her boss. She detests being micromanaged, and Nico is unapologetically outspoken about everything.
“As usual, everything tastes so good.” Olivia walks toward us.
“Thanks, Liv,” I say as Jeremy takes the empty plate from me.
Damien discards an empty foil pan into the trash, apparently savoring the last bites of his meal.
“Zuri.” Wes approaches, dabbing his lips with a napkin, his voice carrying an expressiveness unusual for his reserved demeanor. “Those chicken quesadillas were to die for.”
My chest warms. “You’re welcome to take some home for leftovers.”
“I would love that.” He nods. “Ever thought about introducing a vegetarian option? It could widen your appeal.”
Jeremy chimes in, endorsing Wes’s suggestion, and I find myself nodding.
“How about incorporating a simple Indian dish?” Naina steps closer. “Paneer tikka masala, perhaps? It’s vegetarian, and I can provide you with a recipe.”
I nod again, although I’m not too confident in making exotic dishes, let alone making them for customers.
Guadalupe throws in her idea of adding taquitos to the mix, while Chi leans toward a more global flavor with orange chicken. Jill, not to be outdone, suggests fried chicken for those seeking comfort food.
“As her fiancé and business advisor,” Jeremy speaks up, and I like how he says ”her fiancé.” He can probably sense my burgeoning panic at the overwhelming suggestions. His tone is firm yet open to future possibilities. “We’ll take all these suggestions under advisement after the first year’s performance.”
“As usual, Sis, the southwest rolls were my favorite.” Damien circles back to us. “Jeremy, what’s your favorite of the dishes Zuri makes?”
“I like everything Zee makes.” Jeremy winks at me, his arm finding its place around my waist, hinting at preferences known only to us. His favorite meals won’t be featured on the menu. The spring rolls are still up for debate since he thought starting with six or seven items on the menu was a better proposition than drowning myself with so many items and risking having supplies go to waste.
“My, my.” Jill claps. “I’m so glad my boss has a cook for a fiancée.” She wags her brow.
As he kisses the top of my head, a twinge pinches my chest. We’re lying to some of our favorite people.
Jeremy’s friends know about our fake engagement based on what Jeremy said, but none of them act like it. I’m not sure Jill knows, but I hate that I didn’t tell Damien, especially when he slaps Jeremy’s shoulder. “I underestimated you, man. My sister sees something in you, and that’s what truly counts.”
“Thanks.” Jeremy’s hand moves from my back to grip my shoulder. “I’m the fortunate one here,” he murmurs, his affection not giving any indication this is just for show.
Naina’s eyes brighten, her olive complexion glowing under the soft light as she asks to see my ring.
I extend my hand, and the diamonds catch and scatter beams in a dazzling display. Jill, along with a few others, draws closer, captivated by the ring’s brilliance—a tangible representation of our charade. Their compliments cascade around us, and Naina’s accent adds a unique melody to the admiration as she sings out. “It’s sooo beautiful.”
“You’ve outdone yourself, Zee.” Jeremy’s breath against my ear sends tingles of awareness through me, dissipating my doubts. “You’re officially a chef.”
“How did we forget jamming up the tunes today?” Damien asks, his broad chest rising and falling beneath his untucked button-down. He then redirects his gaze to Olivia. “You wanna get the playlist going, Donovan? I’m gonna prep the game.”
“I’ll take your phone.” She holds out a hand, and he passes over his phone.
He then announces a surprise. “We’re gonna split up into”—he eyes the group as if doing a mental calculation—“four teams.”
Then he gives me a genuine smile that squeezes my heart. I should tell him soon about Jeremy and me. But it’s almost too late. He’s gonna be so mad. Ugh.
“Should we get out the cake first?” Lexi jitters toward the fridge, but Jeremy and several others prefer to let the food digest first.
We pull four tables close together and sit around for the card game of spades. Traditional spades is played with four players in teams of two, but for sixteen of us, we set up four separate games, each with its own set of four players. As the game unfolds, laughter tints the air. Jeremy is on my team, and we’re up against Lexi and Nico. They ended up together when everyone besides Jeremy and me had to draw random partners. Since they can’t agree on anything, Jeremy and I easily win.
An hour later, Olivia slices the cake, and Jeremy and I serve. Lexi stops me to photograph the sliced cake on the plate I’m carrying.
“Did you have to invite my boss?” She speaks under her breath as Nico’s laugh bursts from where he’s carrying the conversation.
“He’s Jer’s bestie.”
“Jer?” She pauses her picture taking and cocks her head. “I’m not even going to assume you two are still pretending.”
My cheeks heat up. I have no definite answer because, while I like Jeremy and we act like a couple, he hasn’t declared anything official. “As far as I know, we’re still—”
“Keep telling yourself that.” She snaps a picture.
Then I redirect the chat to Nico. “You should give your boss the benefit of the doubt.”
She rolls her eyes. “At least, the party is almost over.”
That argument might have me in the middle—a battle I’m keen to avoid since Nico is sort of my friend too.
As we eat cake and others get second servings, Damien tilts his head back, laughter booming as he shares a moment with Nico and Jeremy. It’s the food, undoubtedly, that weaves us closer together.
Shortly later, people mill around the tables as we pack leftovers for everyone to take home.
“We need to make this a habit.” His tone light, Damien seals a disposable container and hands it to Jill. He nods at Jeremy, his expression sincere. “But next time, you two are up against my team.”
“I can guarantee Zuri and I can outplay you.” Jeremy hands Wes his share of leftovers.
Wes raises his container in salute. “As long as Zuri’s in charge of the food, count me in any day.”
“You just saved me from another night of takeout,” Nico chimes in, his grin wide. “Count me in for hangouts like this.”
“Here’s to Zuri’s café.” Naina lifts her water glass. A collective cheer rings out, food containers and glasses clinking in testament to our unity and friendship old and new.
“And many more nights like this.” Damien’s sincerity tugs at my heart. Now, I’m faced with another dilemma. I could unravel the lie or nurture my faint hope Jeremy and I might truly fall in love and eliminate the need to correct any wrongs.