Page 8 of Yours Temporarily

I offer her the fork since it’s all we have, but she refuses. “This is your food, and I wasn’t supposed to eat it.”

“All right, all right.” Remembering to wash my hands, I excuse myself to head to the bathroom.

When I return, she wiggles fingers clear of nail polish. “My hands are clean.”

“I’m not making any judgments.” I spring my arms free from my blazer and drape it behind the chair.

She points at me. “I’ve seen how detailed you get into handwashing. It’s like a ritual.”

“With your feasts, there’s a chance I’ll be using my hands.” When I fork the salad and lift the first bite, my mouth waters at an explosion of flavors, rich and balanced. Oh man, I was starving. “This is incredible.”

She has her eyes closed, clearly praying. Something I’ve never done—unless going to church for weddings or the two times I attended church camp count. My brother prays. He became spiritual during his yearlong visit to Africa.

I open another container and fork a bite of the spring rolls, the outside crispy, the inside juicy. “These are the best.” And I’m not kidding, because they beat Bamboo Gardens, supposedly the best spring rolls in San Francisco. “I haven’t even dug into the poppers yet.”

Her smile widens, a visible relief sheening her eyes. “I’m glad you like it. It wasn’t hard to prepare.” She reaches out with her spoon and scoops steak from the salad platter.

“I’d better invite Jill to join us at the feast.” After all, we can’t let all this good food go to waste.

Zuri dismisses me with a wave of her spoon. “I’d brought extra spring rolls and gave her a container. I also gave some to Naina at the front desk downstairs.” She smirks. “I guess I planned to bribe my way in.”

Wow. She’s pretty good at remembering the names of people she’d just met—unless she met them before. “How long have you known Jill and Naina?”

“I met Naina when I came to look at the café three months ago. I just met Jill today.” She snatches a napkin from the bag and reaches for one of the bacon-wrapped poppers. “Jill’s really nice.”

“Not to me.” I scoop another bite, lighthearted. Zuri must have an incredible way of making everyone she meets feel like they’ve been friends forever.

I seldom get women visiting me. Today, of course, I have two of them. Zuri is beautiful, though not in a screaming sort of way, so little wonder Jill mistook her for Clarissa.

I want to know more about Zuri, including how she made this food. I fork the salad again and try to keep an even balance of all the dishes. Everything is scrumptious, but clearly, I’m not the reason she made all this food. Which leads me to my next question.

“Did you come by here after dropping off food for your brother?”

“I made this specifically for you.” She tilts her head to the side. “Damien prefers sandwiches for lunch. He doesn’t even know I’m here.”

“And if he knew you were here, would it be a problem?” Now why did I ask such an uncalled-for question? Maybe because Damien made those sudden appearances in my office last week. “Afraid he’ll tell your boyfriend?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t need distractions right now.” She waves her spoon in the air. “As for Damien, it would shock him to find me having lunch with you, considering we just met. He can be kind of protective.”

She’d mentioned living with her brother at the party. I almost delve into that topic, but she reaches for a spring roll and steers the conversation back to food, her passion evident. “My priority is Zuri’s Daylight Café. I’m not sure I’ll have spring rolls on the menu.”

“If you do, they’ll be a hit.” I test another bite. “How do you prepare them?”

“I start with fresh vegetables, thinly sliced.” Her eyes alight, she launches into an animated explanation of how she makes her spring rolls, and her delicate hands help her express herself. “Then I sauté them with garlic and Asian spices. The key is to keep them crunchy. For the dipping sauce, I use soy sauce with a hint of honey and sprinkle in some chili flakes to add a bit of a kick.”

I’ve forgotten to eat. Her enthusiasm leaves me enrapt.

“When I open my café, maybe your staff could come for an interactive cooking day.” Her eyes sparkle. “I hear you have staff team-building days. The kitchen is a perfect place to connect.” Her expression falters, a shadow dimming her features while she scowls at her black flats. “Of course, that depends on if my café launches successfully.”

Right, she shared her financial constraints at their party.

With this familiar feeling between us, I’m surprisingly at ease, more so than I would’ve been with Clarissa. “I might have a solution for your business.”

The words escape before I second-guess them. I’m already reconsidering my plans with Clarissa. Asking Zuri is a better decision.

“I’m listening.” She leans forward as she takes another bite of the spring roll.

I set my fork on the folded napkin. “I’ll cover your café’s initial costs.” On Saturday, she mentioned how much she needed when she opened up about the financial strain for start-ups. “I mean…” My throat closes, and I falter, unexpectedly vulnerable. But it’s too late now. I might as well finish what I’m supposed to say. “In return, would you… be my fake date at a wedding in Colorado?”

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