Page 31 of Yours Temporarily

Her features darken, and my chest tightens. “Mom died in a car crash. Dad had a heart attack when we got the news. He never recovered from it and passed away a month later.”

I reach across the table and cover her hand with mine. “I’m sorry about your loss.”

“Thank you.” She dips her head, and her curly bangs hide all but her tightly pressed lips. A deep breath raises her chest before her smile returns. “But we’re here to talk about furniture.”

Right, so we are. Um… “I left the catalog in the car.”

“I have one.” Our hands separate as she reaches for her handbag from the bench. She produces a magazine, moves the candle aside, and places the catalog between us. As she opens to the first page, we both scoot forward, and wisps of her hair brush against my forehead. The simple tickle awakens every part of my skin, and I try to focus on the chairs she’s showing me.

“You–you”—her whisper cracks—“you said, you took a look. What stood out to you?”

I flip through the pages, pausing at each of the three sets that grabbed my attention.

“These are too catchy for a lunch café,” she says of the final set and turns back to the set I showed her in the middle. “We’ll go with this walnut set.”

Wow. She chose one of the options I pointed out. My chest puffs out. “You trust my judgment that much?”

She then leans back, and I do the same. My chair legs squeak against the hardwood floor, and I exhale slowly, already missing the proximity we shared.

“That was my second choice, and since it’s on your list, it’s the winner.”

Odd that she’s seeking my opinion and not consulting her friends. “I’m sure your friends have a keen eye for design.”

“Your contribution, especially with the financial aspect, makes you a significant part of this café. Your opinion matters a lot.”

Taken aback, I pledge. “Then I’ll be more than happy to assist with the business planning, ensuring the café starts off on the right foot.”

“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

At her lighthearted sarcasm, my smile broadens.

The server delivers our Mediterranean feast, and Zuri does that thing she does before every meal. “I just observed that you close your eyes. I assume you’re praying?”

She smiles, clasping her hands together. “Prayer is part of my daily life, not just at meals.” She shares about her faith and how it deepened following her parents’ passing. “We grew up attending church, but for a time Damien and I drifted from what our parents taught us.”

She then waves in a shooing motion. “Oh, you got me started. Sorry. I’m rambling.”

“No, actually, I like hearing the things you’re passionate about.” Each time she speaks, I find myself drawn into her world.

“As for praying before meals, it’s my way of recognizing my reliance on God,” she explains, looking at our spread. “It’s a chance to express my thanks for His blessings, including the food we eat.”

Her perspective resonates. “I’ve never thought about where my food comes from before eating it,” I admit, then feel a sudden boldness. “Would you mind saying the prayer out loud?”

“Sure.” She pushes the plate aside and extends her hands toward me. As we join hands and she begins to pray, her words flow with a moving sincerity, making me eager to embrace this moment and her faith.

After we take turns washing our hands, the meal unfolds with more escapades from our past adventures, including her spontaneous road trips and my misadventures in the corporate world. Each story and shared laugh weaves a stronger connection and hints at the deeper understanding and companionship forming between us. For the first time in what feels like forever, I’m experiencing a genuine connection, something that transcends the pretenses of our arrangement and offers the potential of something meaningful.

“Jeremy Kress, you’re becoming a good friend,” Zuri remarks, causing me to pause and put down my fork. Her fork suspended in midair, she searches my eyes, earnestness and reticence in her gaze. “I don’t know if…” She stops and bites her lower lip, clearly holding back thoughts she’s unready to share.

I understand. My feelings for her run deeper than our façade, yet I’m cautious, terrified of the uncertain and potential rejection.

“I like you too, Zuri,” I blurt out, then regret my lack of restraint. “I mean, as a good friend.” What a bumbled attempt to mask my true feelings! Yet my affection for her extends beyond what I anticipated. This unnerves me, even as a part of me remains eager to explore the possibility of “us.” Curious about her past relationships, I venture. “What happened with your previous boyfriend?”

She lays down her silverware, and her shoulders slump despite her laughter. “He was Damien’s best friend.”

“And Damien throttled him, I guess?”

“I ended up straining their friendship.” Her shoulders curve in further, though her chin remains high. “He cheated on me, and Damien found out before I did. It escalated into a fistfight.”

---