Page 16 of Yours Temporarily

“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?”

---