Page 26 of Yours Temporarily

“But you are in love, aren’t you?” She opens a drawer to reveal a stash of frames. “Lucky for you, I have spares I haven’t used yet.”

She hands me a sleek, silver frame. “Will this do?”

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” I stand there, arms awkward at my side.

She inserts the photo before handing it over, one corner sticky where her fingers smudged it. “You can keep the frame, by the way.”

“Thanks.” I hasten to my office, her warning words bouncing against my back.

“You’d better treat that girl right. She’s a keeper, you know.”

I don’t turn to engage in response. She must’ve sensed something since Zuri hasn’t made any impromptu visits lately. I don’t need a reminder of the complexity of our situation.

Back at my desk, I position the framed photo so I can admire it, yet it’s visible to anyone entering. This visual cue had better deter Mom’s persistent attempts to link me with Sonya. Still, the setup feels like a declaration of a relationship that’s both ridiculously nonexistent yet palpably real in my heart.

CHAPTER 10

Jeremy

The instant Mom enters my office, I offer a brief hug—an obligatory gesture—before she takes command of the space, her presence filling the room like she owns every inch. She moves with a deliberate pace, her gaze sweeping over each corner and detail with the critical eye of a seasoned auditor. Today, she’s wearing a cream pencil skirt with a matching blazer over a black silk blouse. The pearl necklace and gold earrings speak of her refined taste.

Her attention soon zeroes in on the photo. She lifts it with a grace that belies her invasive scrutiny and carries it over to the seating area.

I remain perched on the edge of my desk, a silent observer to her inspection.

Her eyebrows lift. “And who is this?”

“Zuri.” I manage, striving for nonchalance. “She’s… coming to the wedding with me.” It’s critical for Mom to understand this. I must dismantle any schemes she’s brewed up.

Her gaze sharpens, then narrows, a familiar precursor to a barrage of questions. “Really? Why haven’t I heard about her until we spoke three weeks ago?” Her skepticism is palpable, each word chosen to dissect the truth I’m presenting.

Just as the tension reaches a crescendo, a knock disrupts the charged atmosphere, and Zuri strides in, her entrance as timely as if orchestrated by fate itself. “Jeremy Kress, you are not going to ghost me like that.” Her annoyance renders her even more endearing. The aroma of delectable food wafts from the bags she’s holding, diverting my attention. “Do you have any idea how that made me feel?”

“Zee, perfect timing.” The endearment surfaces as naturally as breathing, even as it catches me off guard. Since she’s oblivious to the additional presence in my office, I flick my gaze toward Mom, then back to Zuri, a silent signal of the company we have.

Zuri halts, her initial momentum tempered by Mom’s analytical scrutiny assessing her from head to toe—invasive, intense, calculating.

“Uh, I should’ve, uh, texted before showing up,” Zuri stammers.

“Actually, I’m glad you’re here.” I push off from my desk to bridge the gap between us. “This is my mother. Mom, meet my fiancée, Zuri.”

I lean in for a light kiss on Zuri’s cheek. Though meant as a mere performance, the act sends warmth through me.

Zuri then moves to the seating area and places the food on the table before she directs her attention to Mom and reaches out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Kress.”

“Sara,” Mom corrects and accepts Zuri’s hand with far more formality than a genuine greeting—a habit of hers that has always irked me.

“You’re engaged?” Mom probes, her attention shifting between the photo in her hand and Zuri’s bare finger. “For a newly engaged couple, it’s quite peculiar that you’re not wearing your ring.”

“I’m always mindful about keeping my… sparkly, um, ring.” Zuri fumbles, brushing her empty ring finger as if to conjure an invisible band. She casts a glance my way, pleading for support. “You know, taking care of the diamond and all that.”

“She’s a chef, Mom.” Stepping in, I position myself beside Zuri, my hand finding a natural place on her lower back. Her casual attire, flowery leggings paired with a red top, opposes Mom’s meticulously chosen ensemble.

“I’m not officially a chef,” Zuri corrects, her confidence wavering. “I just wanted to cook something special for Jeremy today. After a slight disagreement, he, well, he ghosted me. So, I had to make sure he eats, especially when he’s buried in work.”

Her explanation warms me to the core, and I glimpse a possible future filled with minor arguments and tantalizing reconciliations. I can’t resist pulling her closer, my arm snuggling into the curve of her waist, my lips brushing the crown of her head, my nose inhaling the refreshing mint of her hair.

Mom watches with a critical eye before placing the photo on the table, not where it initially stood. Her gaze then locks onto mine, a challenge in her eyes. “Since your fiancée is here, she might as well join us for lunch.”

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