Page 28 of Yours Temporarily

“Sonya learned a lot, which could be good for giving her a second chance.” Mom continues despite my obvious frustration, and an unwelcome nostalgia for what was misting her eyes.

As the conversation steers dangerously close to the boundaries I’ve been trying to set, I set down my fork and hold up a hand. “Can we, for once, not discuss my love life?”

She offers a smile that lacks genuine warmth. “Sweetheart, your happiness is everything to me.”

“Is it?” I challenge. Her actions and words often feel misaligned with the notion of my happiness being her priority. “If that were true, you’d understand I’m capable of managing my own love life.” With that, I’m marking my autonomy, reminding her my path to happiness is mine to navigate, regardless of her intentions.

Long after Mom’s departure, the office grows quiet as I work overtime. Today, I need the extra hours after the unintended disruptions. Amid the solitude, I glance at the furniture catalog Zuri left in one of the food bags, a reminder of our missed appointment. Did she want my input on her café’s interior? If so, her gesture touches me. Unlike Sonya, who preferred to present her decisions as done deals, Zuri’s approach is refreshingly collaborative.

I push back from the computer, unable to refocus on the digital reports flickering on my screen. Thoughts of Zuri nudge me toward action. After my mother’s behavior, I should reach out with an apology. I open my text app.

Jeremy: Sorry about how my mom behaved today.

Zuri: Sorry I couldn’t stay. Your mom is intense.

Jeremy: Don’t worry. You’ll have time to brace yourself for her at the wedding.

Zuri: Are you sure you still want me as your date?

Jeremy: Absolutely. You’re the perfect date. And I’ve checked out the catalog you left.

Zuri: I wanted your opinion, regardless of the designer you suggested.

I want to share my opinion with her. Well, mostly, I just want to see her.

Jeremy: Can I take you out to dinner tonight, so we can go over the furniture options?

Zuri: I’m cooking here, but if you’re willing to discuss furniture, I can plan for a late dinner. How late are you working?

It’s already six. My place is a short distance from the office, so I’ll have ample time to freshen up.

Jeremy: Pick you up at seven?

Zuri: Seven, it is.

Excitement jitters through me, an adrenaline and anticipation I haven’t felt in ages. The pretext may be the furniture, but it’s Zuri that has me rushing off. Everything about this feels right, a sharp contrast to the day’s earlier tension.

CHAPTER 11

Jeremy

Porch lights illuminate the street to Zuri’s house. I trace the paths I navigated on my last visit. Yet, tonight, I’m driven by the need to mend the gap I created between us. A crisp breeze slips through my half-open window, offering a brief respite that’s as refreshing as it is fleeting, failing to ease my apprehension. As Zuri’s house edges into sight, my grip on the steering wheel tightens, the leather beneath my fingers a tangible anchor in the stormy thoughts.

In her driveway, I park behind a blue Buick. I blow out a breath. Has Zuri confided in her brother and friends about our unconventional relationship? My abrupt disappearance couldn’t have cast me in a favorable light, considering the sharp look Damien shot my way at the awards party. Yet, since he hasn’t confronted me, Zuri must’ve kept our situation discreet.

I tap my fingers against the steering wheel, hesitating to step out of the car. Just how should I announce my arrival? I could walk to the door, but I’d rather not run into Damien. Opting for simplicity, I reach for my phone in the console and fire a concise message.

Jeremy: I’m here.

My fingers tap faster as I await her reply, each tap amplifying my anxiety. When my phone finally vibrates, the air whooshes from my lungs.

Zuri: Okay. Coming out.

Anticipation, coupled with the chance to explain myself in person, dispels my tension. Focused on our reunion, I exit the vehicle as she steps through her front door. I rush to the passenger side and open the door for her.

Her black dress sways at her knees, and the porch light warms her features with an ethereal glow. The red handbag slung over her shoulder adds a splash of color to her ensemble.

“Hello.” Keeping her chin tucked down, she fiddles with her handbag straps as she approaches.

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