Love Delayed

by Anna Black

Genres: African American Women's Fiction; African American Romance; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

A second-chance love connection for book romantics in which former college sweethearts reunite at an airport counter upon their flight cancellation, sparking a night of reflection and what could have been.
 
When Zamora Hill decided to follow her childhood dreams of being a chef, she didn’t know that losing the love of her life would be the price she’d have to pay. Excited about going to culinary school, things took a crazy turn with her boyfriend, Marcus, who doesn’t support her decision and calls things off, leaving Zamora not only bewildered but also heartbroken. Defeated, she moves out and moves on.

Hotel and business owner Marcus Coleman is a family man and is very close to the ones he loves. Hospitality was all he knew, being a fourth-generation hotel owner, and he did all he could to please his parents. Accustomed to making sacrifices, Marcus was blindsided by the news that his college love, Zamora, would go away for thirteen months to attend culinary school. Driven by ego, he ends their entire relationship before thinking it through.

Ten years later, as fate would have it, Zamora and Marcus are both in Las Vegas heading back to Chicago on the very same flight that gets delayed and eventually canceled. They have one night to catch up, and one night is all it takes for them to realize that they still harbor old feelings for each other.

 

Release date: November 26, 2024

Publisher: Black Odyssey Media

Print pages: 288

Sample

Prologue

When Things Took an Awful Turn

I went back and forth between my camera and the prep area in our spacious kitchen as I set up my camera to record another cooking video for my YouTube channel. I loved cooking and have been cooking since I was a young kid. That night, I felt inspired to share my stuffed chicken alfredo pasta shells. I had less than four thousand followers and was driven to make more dishes to grow my channel. Usually, Marcus would be home to film my episodes, but he was still out celebrating with family and friends. It was the night after the grand reopening of the hotel he had inherited. Of course, I was happy for him, but I had hung out with him and his crew too much the night before and was partied out.

Depleted from the busy week and long-ass day, I decided to call it a night and go home to relax. However, after showering and pouring myself a glass of wine, I felt a burst of energy. So, instead of flopping down in front of the television, I decided to get started on a recipe I had finally perfected. I didn’t know where I got my passion for cooking; maybe it was because I loved to eat.

After filming, I put away the dinner we would enjoy the next day and cleaned up the kitchen. Once I refilled my glass, I settled on the sofa to wait for Marcus. We both graduated with our bachelor’s degrees a year ago, and his family now felt ready to give him possession of his first newly renovated property. A chef at heart, I constantly regretted my career choice. I allowed my mother, the dictator, to overrule my decisions by convincing me that culinary school could wait. Listening to my parents, I gave up on the dream I had since I was a little girl.

I remember bouncing into the house with a flyer for a baking competition. I was about eleven years old and wanted to make strawberry cupcakes. I had never made anything other than blueberry cupcakes, my daddy’s favorite, but I tweaked the recipe myself and was sure my cupcakes with a strawberry cream cheese center would win. Classic cupcakes had swirled icing and decorated occasionally with sprinkles. I wanted to surprise the judges with a creamy center they would have never expected.

“Momma! Momma! I need to go the grocery store!” I yelled, calling out for her as I rushed through the front door, waving the flyer. When I realized she was in the kitchen, I quickly dashed inside. “The community center is having a bake-off, and the winner can win a hundred dollars. I want to crush it,” I said, pushing the paper into her midsection.

“Slow down, child, and let me read this.” Momma took the flyer and scanned it with her eyes. Once she finished reading it, she looked at my face lit up and said, “Okay, but you better not waste our hard-earned money, chile.” Then, with a tender smile, she added, “And you betta crush them cupcakes.”

I bounced up and down with excitement. “I will. I promise.”

Momma took me to the store and purchased all the ingredients. When we got home, I mixed up a small sample for us to test, adjusting my measurements just a little. Then we bit into the most perfect strawberry cupcakes the south side of Chicago had ever tasted.

Later, I helped my mother prepare dinner. Or more like I prepared dinner since I constantly suggested ways to improve the meal.

“Why don’t you just cook then, missy,” Momma said, stepping away from the stove.

I didn’t hesitate. Instead, I moved my tiny step stool closer to the stovetop and got to work. When I finished, my mother gave me a proud smile after her taste test.

“Wow, ZeeZee, this is good. You’re a better cook than Momma,” she said, pulling me into a tight hug. “But can you please let your father think I did this?” she asked with a loving smile.

“Of course,” I replied, smiling back at her, and she gave me a wink.

Later, I went on to win first place in the cupcake competition. From then, I cooked ninety percent of our meals, always looking online for recipes and whipping up my own signature dishes. By the time I turned sixteen, I was cooking for our family gatherings and had created sauces and spices that I sold at the local flea market and functions.

It felt so natural because I was living out what I was called to do. Things collapsed when it was time to talk about college. Culinary school was the only thing on my mind, but my mother didn’t share my dream. I sat arguing my points to my parents to the point where I lost my voice, and I finally gave in. I let them convince me that a business major would offer more financial security for my future. Well, it was mainly my mother because my dad had very few words to say. She convinced me that having a business degree would take me to limitless places that being a cook could not. Close to seventeen at the time and naïve, I trusted that my parents knew what was best for my life. So, I agreed to major in something that would benefit me in the long run versus pursuing something I loved.

Fast forward to the end of what would have been my perfect beginning. I graduated and got an office job but felt empty in the workforce. I yearned for the kitchen. All I wanted to do was wake up and to cook something that would satisfy the stomach of others and put a smile on my face. Not experience the dread I felt every morning when my alarm went off. I hated going into a job that had me––a college graduate––in an essential entry-level position. Marc provided us with a nice living; therefore, I could have quit. I worked mainly because of my student loan debt due to going to college to get my degree, and going back to school and accumulating more student loans was crazy. Still, the fact remained that I wasn’t fulfilled.

While sitting at my desk at work, thinking of what I would make for dinner, I jotted down a list of items I’d have to get before going home. After my shift, I grabbed my things and quickly headed for the bus stop. After a short bus and train ride, I was at the local grocery store two blocks from our place. I stuck to only buying a few items, not wanting to be weighed down on the short walk home with items I could get later with Marcus’s car. When I got home, I was surprised to find him there.

“Hey, you. You’re home?” I said as he rushed over to help me with the bags.

“Yes. I finally got my operations manager trained and won’t have to work sixteens anymore if I can help it,” he replied, placing the groceries on the island.

“Well, I wish you had told me because you could have picked me up from the store.”

“Sorry, babe, I wasn’t thinking,” he said, then came around to kiss my forehead and pull me into his arms. Tilting my head up, Marcus pressed his forehead against mine, something he always did. “How was your day?”

I exhaled. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I replied, resting my head on his chest.

“That bad?” he inquired.

“No, the work is easy, but I sit there daydreaming all day about cooking and baking. I rush through my daily tasks just so I can write ideas for new creations in my notebook.”

“It’s only been a little over five months. Give it more time, babes. You’ll get into a groove, and when you do, you won’t think about cooking so much,” he told me, then pulled back to give me a quick peck on the lips.

I opened my mouth to speak my truth about not wanting to think about cooking so much. However, I knew he was tired of hearing that same old song four or five times a week. So, I just hung my purse and jacket on the hooks near the entry door and then headed to the bedroom to change into something more comfortable. I took a few moments to shower because I knew I’d want to relax after cooking and cleaning the kitchen.

During dinner, we had nonstop conversations about everything. Afterward, I cleared the table, and Marcus volunteered to clean things up for me. Of course, I didn’t decline his offer. I took my refill of white wine to the living room, set it on the end table, and went to my work bag to pull out my laptop before getting cozy on the sectional. I went to my favorite YouTube creators’ channels and watched their cooking videos until Marcus joined me.

Happy that he was home early, I did not stop him from doing all the things he knew to do to make me cum. Our bodies had a certain rhythm, always in sync, and I loved when we made love. Marcus knew how to please me; there was never a time he didn’t. Although I hated to face the next day, I went to sleep with a smile because, other than my career, all was good in my life.

Six more months had passed, and my desire to attend culinary school hadn’t faded. I only wanted it more. I just had to figure out how to make it happen without creating more debt and stress for myself. While searching the internet, I came across a school in Atlanta that offered scholarship options for which I might qualify. After a bit more digging, I found more schools in different states. Feeling I was on to something, I started the grueling process of applying to those schools with hopes of being accepted and able to attend on a full scholarship. Four weeks later, my prayers were answered when I received a letter from a school in Columbia, Maryland, offering me a full scholarship. I was over the moon and couldn’t wait to share the news with Marcus, who had no idea I had been submitting applications.

That night after dinner, I slid the welcome letter over to him. With a big smile, I awaited his words of congratulations, but the reaction I received from him was not what I had anticipated.

“What?” he barked.

“I got a full scholarship to attend culinary school in Maryland for thirteen months,” I announced excitedly, then again waited for him to join me in my enthusiasm.

Marcus looked at me for a moment, then laughed out loud.

“Why are you laughing?” I asked, confused.

“Because this is some bullshit, Zee. Maryland? When did we start making life-changing plans without discussing them with each other first?” he barked.

“Marc, it wasn’t like that. I wasn’t making plans behind your back. I was only trying to see if I could get into a school without us having to shell out any money. It’s time for me to go after my dreams. You know how bad I want this, how bad I need this. This wasn’t about you,” I confessed.

He laughed even louder. “Nothing is ever about me or what I want or need. Fine, go and do you, Zee. Don’t let me stop you!” he spat, then stood up from the table and walked away.

“Babe, you, of all people, know that cooking is my passion,” I shouted while running after him. “This is a golden opportunity. I thought you would be happy for me.”

“It’s whatever, Zee. When are you leaving?”

Well, damn, I thought to myself.

“This isn’t the end of us, Marc. I’m just going away for about thirteen months, that’s all,” I said in a now somber tone.

With a chuckle, he replied, “Call it how you wanna call it. Planning to be in an entirely different state for over a damn year without giving me a heads-up is bogus, Zee. I should have been in on your plans long ago. I should have been involved in this decision. How do you just decide this shit without me?” he barked before leaving the room.

I stood there contemplating what to do. I thought in my heart that he would be elated for me––that he would support me because he knew how much cooking meant to me, but that wasn’t the case. After that night, he started coming home later and later. We barely talked; we argued about everything, and our lovemaking was no longer passionate or intimate. If all of that wasn’t bad enough, two weeks before my scheduled departure, he asked me to put my things in storage before I left.

“Why are you abandoning our relationship, Marc? I thought you loved me,” I cried.

I didn’t want our relationship to end. I wanted to come back to him.

“I do love you, Zee, but just like you are trying to place yourself in life, I’m on that same shit. Thirteen months is a long time to be apart, and you didn’t even consult with me or consider how I would feel before you made that decision. Your selfishness has broken something in me, Zee,” he said, avoiding eye contact with me.

“Marc, I can admit I am doing this solely for me, but never in a thousand years did I think you wouldn’t support me, or that our relationship would have to end because of it.”

He let out a deep-throated chuckle. “Not telling me your plans gives me major pause, Zee. You say you wanted to do it on your own, but did it ever cross your mind that I could have paid for you to go to school? All you had to do was open your mouth and communicate to me what you wanted and how you were feeling, but you didn’t. Instead, you decided to be a selfish-ass person and decide what you needed to do for yourself without thinking what it would do to us. It’s like what I thought we had, we don’t. So, find time to pack up all your things. I wish you well,” he said coldly before walking out the door.

My knees buckled, and I quickly grabbed the kitchen sink to keep from hitting the floor. I had no idea my leaving for school would end our relationship. I loved him so much and didn’t understand how he could just cut me off like that, as if what we had meant nothing to him. We had talked about marriage and kids. We were so in love and happy together. Now, we were nothing.

Once I called my mother and told her my situation, she arranged for a moving crew to come within the week to take my things and place them in a small storage unit. When I told my parents about my plans to quit my job and go to culinary school, my mother disagreed with my decision but spoke her peace and wished me well.

The short stay with my parents flew by quickly, and it was time to leave. As promised, my big sister, Zaria, was at my folks’ place at 4:00 a.m. to get me to Midway Airport for my flight. I kissed my parents goodbye and gave them tight hugs. Once in Zaria’s SUV, I texted Marcus again. I had texted and called him several times the night before, hoping we could reconcile before my departure, but he never replied or answered. My last text to him that morning read, I will never stop loving you. After three days went by with no response, I told myself to let him go despite my heart wanting to hold on.

As my sister weaved in and out of traffic, I thought about the lesson I had learned from being in a relationship with Marcus: self-love, self-care, and unwavering things for oneself may be selfish to some, but at the end of all days, I belong to myself. I must always put my wants and needs first. How can I make someone else happy if I’m not completely happy?

I was far from mad with Marcus. He had every right to feel all the feelings he experienced. The only thing I prayed and begged The Most High to do was to allow Marcus to forgive me one day. I loved him, but I loved me more. I had let my parents coax me into getting a business degree instead of going to culinary school for a business degree, but no longer would I deny myself the things I wanted in life. And I wasn’t going to let anyone stand in my way.

Marcus Diaz-Coleman

The Grand Reopening

Squeezing Zamora’s hand tightly, I smiled at the crowd. After two decades of hotel/hospitality experience, I would own my first piece of property. Anyone else might have been thrilled about this, but I wanted to run out of the decorated lobby as fast as my legs would carry me. I did not want this for the rest of my life, but unfortunately, no one with ears heard me except Zee. She had told me throughout college that I should take a stand, but I couldn’t bring myself to let my parents down. I didn’t want this baton passed to me. However, being an only child, I was the only one in line to take over for my parents.

Allow me to give you a little back history. My great-grandparents came to America decades ago from Venezuela with their five children, two brothers, their wives, and their kids. They came with everything they owned at the time and ended up purchasing a small hotel that only had twenty-five rooms. Since the place needed much work, the brothers lived on the property with their families while they did the renovations themselves. They utilized five of the rooms for their living quarters and made a nice profit over the first couple of years, putting them in a position to invest in another property and, over the years, even more properties.

By the time my uncle and mother were born, collectively, my family owned multiple hotels. After my uncle took over two locations, my mother stepped in to run the other two when my grandpa got ill. My grandpa had four properties when he died, so I grew up in a hotel environment. My mother maintained the hotels well with my grandmother’s and other relative’s support. When she met my dad at a brand conference in Austin, they grew close over a short period, and before long, he moved from Texas to Chicago to be with and marry my mother.

My father was a brilliant engineer but changed careers to the hotel industry after they married. My parents now own four properties. A college graduate with a hospitality degree, my gift from them was a newly remodeled property I would own and run, yet something I had no interest in. Still, my mom guilted me into taking on the responsibility, stressing how much they had worked hard and sacrificed to be able to pass along to me a profitable property. So, I set aside my true desires for Intel to please them. I was honestly a tech geek, which oddly turned Zamora on. She was the only one who knew me better than anyone, and I loved her with all of my being.

She and I were the best of friends. No matter how bad of a day I had, laying eyes on her made everything better. What I loved most about Zee was her creativity. She turned our condo into a cozy home and would cook mouth-watering meals I would choose to eat over dining out at a 5-star restaurant any day. My baby could cook her ass off, but somehow, her greatest gift turned out to be our downfall.

One day, she announced that she was going to Maryland to attend culinary school. This news hit me from left field and caused my heart to stop for a second or two. If I can be honest, it wasn’t the fact that she didn’t include me in her decision that broke us up. It was more like jealousy––me being jealous of her daring to pursue her dreams while I still allowed the Colemans to control my future. I wanted to work with robots and build machines that would help improv. . .