I looked up, scanning the scene before us. A family restaurant. Really? I frowned, the colorful awnings and animated buzz of children incongruous with the serious meeting I'd prepared for.
"Really?" I turned to Jack, my disbelief clear.
He nodded, his expression unflinching.
Sighing, I stepped out of the car, my polished shoes crunching softly against the gravel lot. The restaurant buzzed with activity: kids in bright outfits darted around the playground, squealing with delight as parents called after them. The place was chaotic yet oddly intimate, a haven for families, where i didn't belong.
My gaze lingered on the playground tucked awkwardly into the far corner of the property. It seemed like an afterthought—poor design at best. I couldn't help but imagine how I'd have placed it better, integrating it seamlessly into the restaurant's layout instead of shoving it aside.I pushed the critique out of my mind and turned toward the entrance.
Zayn's choice of venue was as unconventional as the man himself. He wasn't just another client; his sprawling projects could outshine any we'd done before. The stakes were high, and despite the setting, I couldn't afford to misstep, i have to blend in.
"You can head out now," I told Jack "I'll manage from here. I'll call the driver when I'm done."
Jack gave me a small nod, I hadn't taken more than two steps inside when something slammed into my legs—a small, unexpected force that made me stumble. Instinctively, I almost jerked back, but then I looked down. A child, tiny one, probably no older than four, clung tightly to my leg, her tiny hands gripping me.
"Daddy?" she asked, her wide, teary eyes gazing up at me.
My brow furrowed. "I'm not your dad," I said cautiously, prying her hands off my leg. "Where's your dad?"
Instead of letting go, she raised her arms in a silent demand to be picked up.
I stared, unsure how to respond. Is this a joke? I glanced around for help, but no one seemed to notice—or care. My unease deepened. I had never lifted a child in my life.
"Please," she whimpered, her voice breaking into a soft sob.
I sighed, caving to her pitiful persistence. Scooping her up awkwardly, I held her as far from my chest as possible, but she clung to me, pressing her tear-streaked face against mine.
"Okay, let's find your dad, or i will end up late for my appointment" I muttered, scanning the room for a sign of her parents. The restaurant felt like a festival—kids running, yelling. Why on earth had Zayn picked this place for a meeting?
"Appointment!," the girl echoed, her voice nasally from sniffles.
"Yes, Appointment," I said, trying not to sound exasperated.
"Zarah!" A man's voice called out, cutting through the din.
The girl's head shot up. "Daddy!" she squealed, squirming in my arms with such force I nearly dropped her.
"Careful," I said, trying to steady her. "You see him?"
And there he was—Zayn himself, striding toward us. Instead of the polished businessman I'd prepared to meet, he looked like he'd stepped out of a parenting manual—casual shirt, faded jeans, socks that mismatched his sneakers.
"Zayn?" I asked, shifting the girl in my arms. Relief washed over his face as he reached us, his smile wide and genuine.
"Yes, thank you! I was taking her twin to the bathroom, and she must've wandered off. It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Kesington," he said, gently taking the girl—Zarah—from my arms.
"The pleasure's mine," I replied, glancing past him to the booth he gestured toward. A woman waved at us, seated next to a boy who looked to be Zarah's twin.
Family time, indeed.
"I thought you'd be bringing your family too," Zayn said, his tone light but teasing. "Instead, here you are—suit and tie. I take it you didn't read the invitation closely."
"Of course, I did," I lied smoothly. "It's just been a packed day—back-to-back appointments."
"Ah, that explains it." He chuckled. "Would've been nice to have the families hang out."
We reached the booth, and I exchanged pleasantries with his wife, who quickly moved a toy car off the seat so I could sit. Zayn settled Zarah beside her twin and slid into the booth across from me.
"You have kids, Mr. Kesington?" his wife asked, her eyes warm but curious.
"No," I replied carefully, feeling the conversation veer into murky waters. My mind raced for the right thing to say as the atmosphere shifted into a decidedly family-centric tone.
"Oh, I thought you might be a family man," Zayn said with an easy smile, glancing at his wife. "You seem trustworthy and grounded—someone with strong values." He gestured toward me. "He was holding Zarah when I got there, looking for me with her."
"Thank you," his wife chimed in warmly, her expression full of gratitude.
To my surprise, the two toddlers echoed her in unison, their high-pitched "Oh, thank you!" almost making me laugh.
I suddenly felt a need to match their familial warmth, as though I didn't spend my days buried in work or living alone on acres of land. I turned to the little boy who had remained quiet. "And what's your name?" I asked, pointing gently at him.
He murmured something indecipherable, his voice shy and muffled. I nodded and smiled anyway. "You're both adorable," I said, attempting to sound as genuine as possible. "And very smart too."
"You should hurry and make some of your own with your wife," Zayn's wife said, beaming. "They're bundles of joy."
I forced a polite smile. "I don't have a wife yet," I replied, testing the waters.
An awkward silence followed, and I could feel the weight of their disappointment pressing down. Scrambling to fill the gap, I added quickly, "But my fiancée and I are tying the knot soon."
Zayn's face lit up again, his earlier smile returning in full force. "That's wonderful news! Congratulations. I had a feeling you were the responsible type when I first heard about you."
"Thank you," I said, exhaling inwardly.
"Honey, why don't you take the kids ahead?" Zayn said, turning to his wife. "Mr. Kesington and I need to set a date for the contract signing—he's a busy man now, with a wedding to plan!"
She nodded with a warm smile, gathering the twins. They waved excitedly as they headed off, their chatter blending with the restaurant's ambient noise.
Zayn leaned back, watching them leave with a fond expression. "They always insist on coming along. What can I say? My wife runs the show."
I smirked, leaning into the act. "My fiancée's the same way. She has to make her presence known, no matter where we go. It's like she can't help herself."
Zayn chuckled knowingly. "That's how it is with good women. Keeps life interesting."
"She's... incredible," I said, the lie flowing smoothly, even surprising myself with its ease. "The most amazing features, inside and out. I'm intrigued every day I see her, and she keeps me on my toes. Honestly, it's impossible to look anywhere else."
The words came out too easily, the mental image building itself. I forced myself to block the face forming in my mind, unwilling to confront the thoughts it might bring.
"She's got your heart, then," Zayn said with a satisfied nod.
"She does," I replied, the lie rolling off my tongue like second nature.
Zayn clapped his hands together lightly. "Alright, when do you want to sign the contract?"
"That soon?" I asked, startled by the abrupt shift.
"Of course! I trust anyone who values family like I do."
I swallowed hard, maintaining my smile. I am cooked.