Page 3 of Yours Temporarily

I’m an hour early, so I wave back toward my car and suggest waiting in it.

But she shakes her head, her curls bouncing. “Please stay. I’m Zuri.”

“Jeremy.” The tension in my shoulders drains. Is that a hint of ease I’m sensing in her presence?

“Oh, Jeremy, I’m so glad you came.” She arches well-sculpted brows, her mock astonishment charming. “Damien didn’t think you’d show.”

“I’m a man of my word.” I close the door behind us and follow her. Despite the striking contrast between them, this must be Damien’s sister. But again, I don’t know him well because we only talk about work. Clearly, he’s talked about me to her. I can only hope whatever he’s said was good.

As we cross hardwood floors through a room where pleasant sage walls host a lifetime of pictures, tantalizing scents beckon us to the kitchen. “Thanks for inviting me. I know your brother only did so because you were the initiator.”

“Damien talks about me?” She pulls out a barstool and pats it for me, her movements fluid, natural.

“Yesterday, I learned he has a sister.” Yep, that’s how little I know the employees. “Apparently, I’m here thanks to you.”

I slide onto the offered stool. Food trays line the marbled counters. Most are in foil pans with burners beneath them, likely keeping the food warm. “How many people are you expecting?”

“About twenty or so.”

Just a tenth of the staff, but it’s a fair amount. I’m lucky to be included in this party then. Damien mentioned something about his sister wanting to try out recipes. “You prepared all this food?”

She nods. “I’ll get you some ice first.” With a wave, she dismisses my protests, moves to the counter, and sets the bag of chocolates in the one open space. She then returns to the stainless fridge and pulls out a bag of frozen peas. “You’re the first one here, so you get to be my taste tester.”

My stomach responds with a timely rumble, eliciting her giggles. “Your fault for mentioning food tasting,” I quip and shift on the stool. More dishes await on the dining table connecting the kitchen. “So, you’re a chef, huh?”

“Something like that.” She applies the bag to my forehead, and I grimace at the coldness. Our hands brush as I reach to hold the bag. Her care is natural, so I have no reason to assume whatever Damien said about me was negative.

As Zuri glides to the counter, opening and closing the maple cabinets, I set the cold bag on the marble island, no longer willing to endure its biting chill against my skin. Rolling up my sleeves—part habit, part testament to my increasing ease in her company—I watch her stir a pot on the stove, steam rising in curls. Anticipation builds within me as she works. And as I further relax, I almost imagine she’s working more than culinary magic.

CHAPTER 2

Zuri

Wow, Damien’s boss! Jeremy ain’t nothing like the dreary, uptight image Damien painted. I pride myself on gauging people’s traits from their looks, and Jeremy, with his neatly styled, side-parted hair, strong jawline, and well-groomed beard, screams meticulousness. He’s the punctual sort, no doubt the kind who insists on precision and order in everything.

“I’m so sorry again.” I return and set a glass of ice water before him. In the rush of preparing for the evening, we neglected the drinks. Damien and my two best friends ran out to fetch ice and sodas, leaving me to finalize my meal preparations.

“It’s not a big deal.” His startling blue eyes catch the light, accentuated by the blue shirt he’s wearing. He seems at ease, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing a fancy watch and toned forearms.

“You should keep icing that.” I gesture toward the abandoned bag of frozen peas, then his slightly swollen forehead. His fair skin looks like it might bruise easily.

“My mouth is watering for the food tasting you mentioned.” Apparently, he’s uninterested in icing his sore spot. He rubs his hands together in anticipation before standing. “Can I wash my hands, please?”

“Of course.” I guide him to the sink and reach for a towel from the cabinet. The water hisses as he turns on the faucet. From my vantage point, I admire his stature. He towers over my modestly five-two frame by almost fourteen inches. Broad shoulders stretch out his shirt, and tidy stubble frames a chiseled jaw similar to what I’d see in ads for cologne or expensive watches.

His blue eyes are like a snippet of the ocean itself. He washes his large hands, rubbing them together with deliberate precision. Then he turns off the water, and I compose myself enough to offer him the towel and act as if I hadn’t been stealing glances.

“Such great service you have here,” he comments.

My pulse picks up, and so does the flip of my stomach. But that won’t do. Nope. No way! No heart racing or somersaulting of any sort. Fleeting romances ain’t on my agenda, and even if they were, Jeremy is off-limits—he’s my brother’s boss, the grump Damien can’t stand.

My gaze drifts to the basil plant on the counter as I throw a pitch for my business. “That’s the kind of service you’ll get at Zuri’s Daylight Café.”

“Where’s Zuri’s Daylight Café?”

His genuine interest sparks a flicker of hope in me.

“I’ll be opening it soon.” I skirt around the specifics. I need funds to renovate before opening, but if he’s gonna be a potential customer, I can’t risk him seeing the place in its current state—still cloaked in the shadows of its previous owner.

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