by Farah Heron
“Who?”
“An old Bollywood singer. I’m sure there’s more to it, but no one talks about it.” Amira tucked her feet tighter under her legs. “I remember when I was little, we’d go to these big parties and Mum would spend the whole time playing with kids instead of talking with adults. I used to think it was because she was so young herself, or because she was training to work in pediatrics back then, but I later realized it was because my friends’ parents wouldn’t include her in their conversations. And Dad was always away, so she was always alone.”
Amira smiled awkwardly. She wasn’t sure why she was telling Duncan such personal things about Mum. That run-in with Reena’s mother brought up old memories that had been buried for a long time. “I don’t think it’s like that anymore. My mother’s not hugely religious, but she does go to our mosque pretty regularly with my grandmother and seems to have a busy social life. So things are fine for her now. What about you? Your parents traditional or black sheep?”
He laughed, his low rumble strangely comforting to Amira’s mood. “Funny you should say sheep; my mother grew up on a sheep farm.”
Amira sat up. “Really? Are your parents farmers?”
“Nah, not anymore. They have a hobby farm, though. My mom’s an RPN—that’s a practical nurse. She works in a doctor’s office in the next big town over. And my dad worked at the utilities company, but he took an early retirement, so he tends to the property and animals. My brother still works at the utilities company.”
“Hey, both our mums are nurses! My mum’s an RN at a hospital. So similar.” Amira smiled. She’d never have thought that she would care about having something in common with the garden gnome, but somehow it felt nice that they weren’t as different as she’d thought. After the last couple of hours, she needed to know she was on the same page with someone at least.
But Duncan didn’t look pleased. His brow was furrowed and his mouth a tight line. He clearly had misgivings about his mother’s similarity to hers. Maybe because she was only an RPN instead of an RN? Changing the subject seemed wise. “What animals do they have?”
“Bunch of chickens, two goats, and a monster rabbit. Oh, and a sheepdog mix. They’re all really for Maddie, my niece. She’s ten. My parents spoil her.”
“Didn’t you tell me you live with your niece? Your brother’s daughter?”
“Yup. He has custody of her. I live with him to help out.”
“Where’s her mother?”
His focus wandered to the floor.
“Sorry,” she said, “I’m being nosy. Forget I asked.”
“No, it’s fine. Shayna is probably here somewhere. In Toronto, I mean. Hopefully in a shelter. Maybe on the streets. I hope not in jail.”
“Oh, no, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. She’s from Omemee, too. We all grew up together. Ryan was with Shay since high school. She was always a party girl, and all the warning signs were there.”
“Alcoholic?”
“Yup. And everything else she could get her hands on. Not a lot to do in tiny towns, lots of people turn to chemical entertainment. Shay cleaned up for a bit, even gave up everything when she was pregnant. She wasn’t so good about abstaining while breastfeeding, though.”
“Oh god . . .”
“Thankfully, Maddie’s fine,” he said, voice laced with affection. “She’s my real princess. Ryan hasn’t seen or heard from Shay for three years now, so that’s good, but I’m afraid if she came back with hollow promises, he’d take her right back.” His head shook slowly. “Such a weakness for that woman.”
Amira wasn’t sure what to say. Duncan obviously cared a lot for his brother and adored his niece. There was a human side to Duncan Galahad, and the fact that he let Amira see it was disconcerting. And also touching.
“That’s something else we have in common,” Amira said to break the silence. “We both live with young girls.”
Duncan smiled. “I haven’t gotten to know Zahra too well. What’s your sister like?”
“She’s amazing.” Amira smiled fondly. “She’s my favourite person in the world, and not just because she’s my sister. Zahra is full of personality and unfiltered enthusiasm. She dives headfirst into everything with exuberance.” Amira paused. “It’s a tough time to be a Muslim girl, and we’ve tried to shelter her from what’s going on in the world. But Zahra’s tough, too. She’s going to shine. She has my mother’s strength.”
“And her sister’s,” Duncan said. Was that a compliment? Amira’s brows shot up, but Duncan was still talking. “Maddie’s the opposite, unfortunately. She hasn’t seen her mother in three years, and only rarely before that. Her crappy home life has affected her. She’s a bit anxious and really wants to please people, and she worries when she doesn’t know how. But I think she’ll be okay. She’s really coming into her own lately and has grown a lot more confident. I’m really trying to be there for her when she needs me. To be a good influence, you know?”
The garden gnome a good influence? Amira wanted to scoff. But maybe he was right. Duncan was many things, but she couldn’t deny that he was loyal and supportive, and he obviously loved his niece. “How’s your brother with her?”
He shrugged. “I can’t deny that Ryan’s had it tough, too, but he fought his demons. He does the best he can. He’s sacrificed so much for Maddie. And my parents play a big role in her life, too.” He was silent awhile, thinking. “It sounds like your sister and my niece should get together. They’d probably complement each other.”
This little chat with Duncan was going well, but little-girl play dates and high tea were out of the question. Hang out with Duncan and his family? Go out for high tea and tween spa days? No.
Amira smiled blandly and stretched her legs in front of her. It was wise to end this interaction on a high note. Bonding over their nurse mothers and the girls in their lives was surely about to go sour. No doubt he had scathing comments about her life choices waiting beneath the surface.
It was time to politely extract herself. She didn’t need this bond with Duncan Galahad to grow any deeper.
Chapter Thirteen
JUST AS AMIRA’S feet hit the carpet, Duncan ran his hand over his face, then smiled with apparent effort. “Anyway, enough of this family drama. What were you supposed to be celebrating?” he asked.
She’d forgotten she was meant to be letting loose with Reena tonight, not scrutinizing family turmoil with her roommate. Amira smiled proudly. “I finished the first draft of the main body of my report. Only the conclusion and editing left.”
He whistled low. “That’s great. Congratulations. Where were you ladies heading to celebrate?”
“Oh, just Reena’s apartment. I wanted to get drunk, and I don’t do that in public.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve seen you drink in public. At that brewpub.”
“That was just one beer. I wanted to drink more tonight.”
“Wild when lit, are you?”
She scoffed. “No. Wild isn’t usually a problem.”
“Then why’re you scared to drink in public?”
Amira bit her lip. This conversation was getting personal. Talking about her parents or her friend’s parents was one thing, but now she was talking about herself. And weirdly, instead of excusing herself, she just dug deeper. “I get paranoid, to the point where I can’t enjoy myself. I’m afraid of doing something stupid, or someone doing something to me. And I’m afraid of others thinking I’m a lush.” Huh. Maybe there was a bit of repressed guilt about drinking in there.
“I can’t imagine you paranoid.”
She smiled. “I guess I don’t like losing control unless I can trust the people with me.”
He smiled. “That’s my girl . . . it’s about control for you.” He stretched his shoulders backwards before sinking deeper in the chair. “If you still want to celebrate, I’m free to be your stand-in drinking buddy. You can always trust a knight of the round table.”
Continue this ill-advised chat? Drink
with Duncan? Sounded like a terrible idea. “Where’re the rest of the guys?”
“Sam and Travis went to a bar with that friend of theirs. And”—his nose wrinkled—“I think Barrington has finally figured out phone sex. I’m predicting I’ll be sleeping on the couch from now on.”
Amira snort-laughed for a second before biting her lip. Barrington was a big guy with a deep rumble of a voice, and she shared a wall with him. She’d never had a roommate downstairs and wasn’t sure how soundproof the walls were. But then again . . . she shared a wall with Sameer and Travis, too, and she hadn’t heard their nighttime entertainment. Yet. Maybe the quartet did know how to be quiet.
It was kind of depressing how much sex was happening in her basement, while she was involved in none of it. And why the hell was she thinking about the sex lives of the quartet? She shook her head to clear the images.
“Is that a no?” Duncan suddenly grinned at her. “Actually, Princess, I’ve been meaning to make an offer to you.”
Amira’s eyes widened.
“Want some guitar lessons? It was great of you to lend me your instrument, and you should come out of this arrangement with at least something after the web of nonsense we’ve caught you in.”
She cringed. “You want to teach me to play my guitar?”
“Sure. I’m a music teacher, remember? We can start tonight.” He stood, grabbing the guitar case from where it lay in the corner of the room.
She wasn’t sure about this. Duncan teaching her to play the guitar? They would definitely kill each other. Or not. Maybe.
He sat next to her on the couch, oblivious to the fact that her heart rate had sped up and her palms were getting sweaty. She grabbed at the couch cushion. She might need that drink to get through this. She stood. “Bourbon?”
He grinned again, his eyes crinkling with pleasure. “That’d be great.”
Amira headed to the fridge to fetch her tote bag and grabbed two glasses of ice. After pouring the bourbon, she placed his on the coffee table, then took a large gulp of hers. The amber liquid burned as it went down her throat, but she immediately felt less tense as she watched Duncan tune the guitar. Finally he placed it in her arms, moving her hands to where he wanted them, and began showing her the finger positions for the E-major chord. He sat close to her. He even used his large calloused hand to position her fingers on the frets.
She was finding it hard to breathe with Duncan so close.
He smelled like laundry detergent, wood chips, and man. Clean, all consuming, and frighteningly tempting.
Fuck. Amira realized that right now she was attracted to him. Very attracted. Damn him and his sympathetic “my niece is my princess and her mother is a drug addict” story.
“Here,” he said, taking her hand again. “Curl your fingers, like this. Like a claw.” His voice was hushed because he was so close, and his strong fingers on hers were sending electric sparks right up her arm.
Her face heated.
A tiny smile passed over his face. Had he realized her body was being a traitor and was jumping with joy to be near a man again? He continued the lesson, though, and she managed to learn two chords before her heart rate was too fast to ignore.
She put the guitar down. “I need another drink.” Fumbling with the bottle, she refilled her glass before indicating towards his empty one. He nodded and she filled his glass, too.
Amira’s hand hovered over her bag. What they needed was a snack. She bet Duncan had never had Indian street food before.
“You ever have papri chaat?” she asked.
He looked up. “No. Something Indian?”
“Yeah. Interested in trying it?”
“Sure.” He grinned. “I’m game for anything you want.”
She took her bag to the kitchen and assembled the papri chaat. First she put the little, fried cracker-like papri on the bottom of two wide bowls and topped them with boiled potatoes, onions, chickpeas, yogourt, tamarind chutney, coriander chutney, diced tomatoes, sev, dried spices, and cilantro leaves. After grabbing a stack of napkins and two spoons, she brought it all to the coffee table.
She showed Duncan how to eat the traditional Indian street food by crushing the papri with his spoon and mixing the mess together. They did their best to get the bites into their mouths and not on their clothes.
“This is awesome,” he said. “Like spicy, sweet, and sour nachos . . . I should give this recipe to my buddy James, who has a bar back home. This is great drinking food.”
Amira had to agree, and she enjoyed herself thoroughly as they polished off their bowls and their glasses of bourbon. They chatted aimlessly about grad school, her family, his hometown, and the quartet, and she almost forgot who she was talking to. Duncan was personable, funny, and easygoing. And that weird wave of attraction when he was teaching her guitar chords had passed, too. Good.
Duncan ran his finger through the puddle of tamarind chutney in his bowl and licked it clean. “So, you’re glad to be going back to work, then?”
“Yeah. I’m just . . . I wonder . . .” Amira squeezed her lips together a moment before meeting Duncan’s gaze. “I have a new boss. He said some things when I met him, so I don’t think I’ll like working with him as much.”
“What’d he say?”
Amira absently picked up her empty glass. “Among other things, he called me a pretty little thing.”
Duncan stared at her for about three seconds before the corners of his mouth began to upturn. “Well, I can’t say I disagree with him, but it’s not something you should say when you meet an employee.”
Amira raised a brow. “I’m not little.” She paused, swirling her drink in her hand. “Ever notice how some people always assume Asian women are tiny, even when we’re not? I’m five feet, four inches tall. Exactly average for a Canadian woman. And I’m hardly waifish. But white men like to call me a pretty little thing.” She drained her glass.
“Maybe. Yeah, I guess Asian women are infantilized a bit. I’d never call you a pretty little thing, though. I’d be afraid you’d bite off my tongue if I did.”
She laughed. “You called me a prickly porcupine the day we met. I think I prefer that.”
“Sounds like your new boss is a tad sexist.”
“Yeah, who isn’t? I work in a male-dominated field.”
“Well, for your sake, Princess, I hope you have some women you trust at work that you can bitch to when the sausage party gets out of hand.”
Amira laughed so hard she nearly fell over in her seat. His solemn, serious expression while he said sausage party was too much for her bourbon-altered condition. They continued chatting and refilled their bowls instead of continuing the guitar lesson. He told animated tales of the eccentric musicians he worked with, his favourite students, and his parents’ insane chickens. When he got up to get more ice for their third (fourth?) drinks, she wondered why she ever disliked the guy in the first place. He was loyal to his friends and family, he was educated, smart, hilarious, and a musician to boot. A musician with a sexy singing voice.
“Why’d you start singing in the first place?” she asked as she took the new drink from him.
“I always wanted to be a singer. A singer-songwriter. I worshipped Neil Young for years, since I’m from Omemee.”
“Why?”
“Neil Young is from Omemee. You’ve heard his song ‘Helpless’? That’s home.”
“Hey, that’s cool!” She frowned. “What kind of name is Omemee, anyway? Silly. Omemee.”
“It means pigeon.”
“Of course it does.” She took a gulp of her bourbon, dribbling a bit on her chin. After wiping it with her sleeve, she giggled. “I think I’m drunk, after all.”
“You feeling paranoid?” He smirked into his glass.
“Nah, I must trust you. Weird, right? Pretty sure I don’t like you.”
He laughed.
They kept drinking.
Eventually the conversation drifted to his facial hair and why he had so much of it.<
br />
“The colour is so epic,” he explained solemnly, “had to grow it long.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, but how do you live with that scratchy thing hanging off your face? Doesn’t it itch?”
“Hey.” He looked genuinely offended. “It’s not scratchy. Don’t knock it till you feel it. I use conditioner and beard oil daily.”
“Beard oil?” She laughed.
One side of his lip upturned as his eyes wrinkled with mischief. “C’mere, Princess. Touch it. Feel how soft it is.”
Amira had had a lot to drink, and Duncan sat less than two feet away. And that red beard had been a target she had wanted to get her hands on since she first saw it on the train. For a split second, Amira froze in terror as she sobered enough to know she might regret this tomorrow. The two feet between them felt like two miles, and moving towards him seemed as impossible as climbing Kilimanjaro in a sari. But then he smiled and winked at her. And nothing in the world could stop her from getting her hands in that big red beacon on his face.
And it was soft. She let her fingers roam free, and they teased and raked through the soft yet strong, silky yet sturdy strands. That beard was so Duncan.
She smiled. “Like spun silk. I should use beard oil in my hair.”
His expression darkened as he plunged his hands into her hair, loose around her shoulders. “But then your hair wouldn’t smell like coconuts.”
They stared at each other for several seconds, her hands on his face, his hands in her hair gently teasing the strands on the back of her neck. Each wordlessly daring the other to make a move. Finally, he lowered his hands and snaked them around her waist as he pulled her in. “Come closer, Princess,” he whispered.
She could regret this later, but tonight all she could do was climb atop him, knees spread wide, straddling his strong thighs, while her hands held on to his face. He ran his hands up her sides and back into her hair. “Plenty soft enough,” he whispered into her neck, inhaling deeply.