Page 40 of Yours Temporarily

“It’s all a part of the fiancé package.”

We continue through the market, getting ripe tomatoes, succulent berries, and fresh bread alongside the essentials for the gourmet dishes I’ve planned for tomorrow’s dinner. When we’re making our way out of the market, he steers me toward a flower stand.

“I’ll take a bouquet, please.” He smiles at the vendor, an elderly man. While Jeremy reaches for his wallet, my gaze is drawn to his selection—a bouquet of wildflowers, their hues vibrant and untamed, nestled within a hand-painted ceramic vase.

He hands me the vase, and I touch the soft petals. The simple elegance strikes a chord within me. “They’re perfect.” I breathe out, struggling to contain the joy in my voice. “Thank you.”

The man looks at us, head tilted to the side, and a twinkle in his eye. “You two make a lovely couple.”

Jeremy’s hand finds a gentle rest on my back, affirming his presence. “That we do.”

As our eyes meet in a shared recognition, my cheeks warm under his gaze and the vendor’s kind words, and my response is little more than a whisper. “I couldn’t agree more.”

We leave the market behind. The sun climbs higher, emitting more warmth, and I savor this… this sense of completeness to the life we’re weaving together, fake or not.

“This bag is heavy.” He moves the bag to his other hand before I offer to share the load. But he just winks at me. “I’m hoping, by carrying this, I won’t have to be part of the cooking.”

“I thought you liked food wars in the kitchen?”

“I literally still have flour from the last food fight when you dumped it in my hair.”

“No, you don’t.” I roll my eyes as the sunlight catches the sleekness of his hair. I divert my focus to the vase I’ve tucked against my side. But that doesn’t stop me from looking back, from admiring him in his blue pants and striped button-down. This is his casual attire as compared to the suits he wears throughout the week, and the casual look suits him.

On the drive back, we rehash his market experience, then discuss tomorrow afternoon’s party.

“Nico and Wes are willing to forego golfing to come for your food.” He winks. He must’ve raved about my cooking to his friends. “I might’ve hinted to Nico you’d be whipping up something Italian.”

“As long as he doesn’t hold me up to any standard.”

Jeremy drops me off at my house, and I can’t bring myself to unlatch the door, the moment bittersweet, the end to a perfect morning. Then not only does he open the door for me to step out of the car but he also carries the tote to the front door. What a gentleman!

“If it’s okay, I’ll not bother coming in.” He sets the bag on the porch. “Have a great afternoon, Zee.”

I hug the vase closer, and the petals tickle my cheek as I duck my head. “You’re sure you don’t want to stay for lunch?”

“I have to head to work.”

“You’re such a workaholic.” I tap his shoulder, highlighting the contrast between his professional commitments and the personal time he’s chosen to spend with me today.

“That’s not all true—at least not lately.” His gaze latches to mine, and his voice dips. “A workaholic wouldn’t leave work to help his fiancée shop for food.”

As our gazes linger, my mind grapples with his statement. Lately, he’s not a workaholic, and he makes the effort away from work to spend time with me. Unbidden, my gaze drops to his lips and the memory of our rooftop kiss rushes back. That moment of real intimacy now feels like a distant dream.

He leans in and presses a kiss on my cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

I nod and watch him walk back to the car, then drive away, the warmth of his peck still tingling on my cheek. Today was more than a trip to the farmer’s market. It was another food connection that grows stronger with each passing day. With every meal we share and every ingredient we select, we step closer to a recipe for something increasingly real.

CHAPTER 15

Zuri

The café buzzes with excitement between the new tables and chairs. Guests, instead of sitting, drift from one laden table to another, selecting seconds, their conversations a lively hum in this space now opened up by the demolished wall. It’s all one expansive room, yet half-furnished, the final touches are reserved for the grand opening still three weeks out.

On such short notice, the turnout this Sunday evening is modest. The few friends from Stone Financial we rallied up form pockets of casual banter—standing in relaxed clusters or navigating the food spread. I’d planned to have the party at the house, but Jeremy suggested that, if we’re cooking menu items for my café, we might as well give the appliances a test run.

Laughter mingles with the clinking cutlery and the occasional chime of glass, and fulfillment warms me. I am a chef if people are enjoying my food.

With a frosting container in my hand, I assess the pans and food trays on the card tables along the wall. Creamy risotto, southwest rolls, stuffed sandwiches, and more dishes tease me with their sizzling aromas.

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