Page 39 of Yours Temporarily

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It’s a lively Saturday morning a week later as Jeremy and I navigate the farmer’s market. Fresh-picked produce, aromatic herbs, and grilled delicacies scent the air, vendors hawk their goods, and shoppers exchange money for their finds—all creating an energizing vibe.

His arm brushes mine as we meander along. “So, your mom wasn’t into cooking, and you picked up the reins on your own?”

“Since Mom was a busy interior decorator, she preferred to heat precooked meals. I got sick of those and started watching cooking shows, and Mom joined me, watching and brainstorming dinner ideas. But she always said they were too complicated, and she didn’t have time. Still, that sparked a passion in me, to explore and experiment with new recipes. And we really connected when she had fun reheating my meals.”

“Hence, your belief that food unites people.”

A cart filled with squash nearly intercepts our path. I tug at Jeremy’s hand, steering him clear, before we halt at Trish’s booth, my go-to for fresh veggies.

“Ah, my favorite customer!” She beams. Beneath the green floral wrap twisted around her head, her gaze skims Jeremy.

“This is Jeremy.” My chest expands, never mind that our engagement is a façade. “My fiancé.”

“Nice. When’s the big day?” She shades her eyes against the midmorning sun behind us, her dark-brown skin glistening.

“We’re still settling on a date,” Jeremy replies. “But we’re aiming for something that feels right for both of us.”

Trish nods and hands me a bag since I always forget to bring my reusable one. I reach for a bunch of lettuce but replace it with a superior bunch.

Jeremy, ever meticulous, examines the kale. “You always manage to find the best greens.”

I chuckle, my fingers probing the kale’s lush dark leaves, the crisp texture cool in my hands. “The darker, the richer.” As the stand becomes more crowded, I edge closer to Jeremy and signal it’s time to move on, then hand Trish money for our vegetables. “Looks like we’ve got everything here.”

“Nice to meet you, Jeremy!” She waves, and Jeremy waves back, calling out his own “nice to meet you too.”

Next, we stop at a stall flowing with fresh fruit. Jeremy’s hand pauses over a peach, cradling it with tenderness. “Are you thinking of including a fruit salad on the menu?”

“A fruit salad was on my mind, but now you’ve got me thinking.” I take the peach. Its fragrance evokes memories of sun-drenched days beneath Grandma’s backyard peach tree. “Perhaps a peach cobbler with ice cream could be a hit.”

“Hard to go wrong with ice cream.” He selects more peaches with deliberate care and tucks them in the bag.

As we meander through the market, I nudge his arm with mine, still surprised he insisted on coming to the market with me instead of burying himself in work. “Don’t you have a million things to do at the office?”

He shifts the tote to his other hand, giving me a sideways glance. “I wanted to be here with you, especially since you’re taking on the cooking for our engagement party.” His sincerity envelopes me like a warm hug. Then he drapes his arm over my shoulders, and the hug becomes real as he teases me about our unreal situation. “Just promise me you won’t be cooking at our wedding.” He winks. “I mean that’s if my mother takes it too far and we end up getting a fake marriage during our one-week visit to Pleasant View.”

A thrill zips through me. “Now that would be something else.”

I’ve stopped pretending about our relationship ever since that kiss. Although Jeremy hasn’t initiated another kiss or ventured into any recipes for emotion since his proposal, our connection has only deepened. We find comfort in each other’s presence, a semblance of a couple in the way we interact—holding hands, sharing glances, minus the kisses, save for the occasional peck on the cheek.

But the idea of marrying Jeremy, even in jest, fills me with an undeniable excitement.

At a fresh-herb stand, basil and mint scent the air. Jeremy lifts a sprig of rosemary, for a closer scent. He holds it toward me, his eyes alight. “Here, smell this.”

The rosemary’s earthy, pine-like aroma envelops me as I breathe it in. “I love that smell.”

“It reminds me of your hair,” he whispers in my ear, and shivers tingle down my spine as his breath brushes my skin. My conditioner has mint and rosemary, but I’d never imagined he’d noticed or would remember what my hair smells like.

Gathering the herbs into a disposable container, our hands converge on the next selection. The brief touch sends a pleasant jolt through me, and the electric connection lingers when he asks. “What herb is this?”

His deep-blue gaze ensnares me, my mind adrift in their depths until he lifts the herb for inspection and pulls me back to reality—well, our fake reality. “Ba–sil,” I manage, but my voice betrays the flutter in my chest.

We meander on, each stand a burst of color as vivid and real as my growing emotions. “Which of these spices adds heat to a dish?” he inquires, pausing before a stand arrayed with exotic spices, the air rich with cinnamon, cumin, and curry powder.

“Cayenne pepper.” I point to the fiery-red powder nestled among the assortment. “Though Tabasco or jalapeno peppers will do the trick.”

When he uncaps the cayenne pepper, his face as curious as a child, I stifle a snicker. “I love how involved you are in this.”

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