by Farah Heron
Marley laughed. “I met him yesterday when I took out my recycling,” she said. “He seemed perfectly respectable. Nice suit, too. Topshop, I think.”
Reena poked a fingernail into the crust of her bread. She didn’t want to talk about Nadim anymore. She wanted to ignore the awkward fact that he lived too close to avoid. She took a bite, relishing the sensation of the acidic fruit cutting through the creamy cheese. The sourdough flavor was there, but this wasn’t her best bread. She had been distracted and overproofed the loaf last night, resulting in less caramelization on the crust. Oh well, lesson learned—don’t get sucked down the rabbit hole of looking at bread-baking courses online while actually baking bread.
“What’s going on with you? You still seeing that Celeste girl?” Reena asked Marley.
“Technically,” she said. “but not really. She’s been working nights all week and I’m on the early shift.”
“They’ve mastered simultaneous orgasms on the phone, though. So, there’s that,” Shayne said matter-of-factly before sipping his drink.
“Shayne!” Marley said, before falling back on her seat in a fit of giggles. Beer always affected Marley this way, and Reena found it adorable. She couldn’t believe she had once found her cousin cold and distant.
“Hey, this is a no-secrets zone.” Shayne smiled. “I also have some promising prospects for regular simultaneous orgasms. I hooked up last night. Anderson Lin. What a name, right? And he always goes by Anderson, never Andy. Oh, and Reena, you’ll love this, he works at FoodTV.”
Reena sat up straight. “Really? Can he introduce me to the Barefoot Contessa?”
Shayne laughed. “Unlikely. He’s a mere production assistant, and this isn’t the Hamptons. Anderson is young.” Shayne sighed happily. “I love them fresh out of college. So pure.”
“You shouldn’t just be meeting TV chefs, Reena, you should be one,” Marley said. “I can’t get over how good your stuff is. And you teach so well—my aloo gobi would be nothing without you.”
Shayne smiled. “Anderson did mention a search or contest or something they’re doing for new talent. I didn’t get the details because that’s when I noticed he had the tiniest earlobes I’d ever seen. Seriously, they were like little Tic Tacs attached to his ears. I half expected them to be peppermint flavored, but sadly…no.”
Reena snort-laughed before taking a long sip of beer. “You’re a doll, Shayne, and I’m happy you have some tasty lobes to suck on, but I have no interest in cooking on TV.”
“Why not? This is perfect for you,” Marley said. “At least get the details. Shayne, call him now.”
Shayne recoiled. “Oh, my god, I can’t do that!”
“Why not?” Marley asked.
“I called him first thing this morning, I couldn’t resist—I love sexy, sleepy voices. So now”—he checked his watch—“I can’t call him for at least thirty-six hours. Minimum. Forty would be better, but I absolutely cannot go past forty-two.”
“What?” Reena frowned. “Why?”
Shayne tilted his head knowingly. “Seriously, Reena? I know you’ve sworn off dating, but it hasn’t been that long. I’m in the most delicate time. Going from hookup to relationship is the hardest maneuver in modern love.”
“I’ve had twelve boyfriends and I never followed such strict rules.”
Shayne raised one brow. “Exactly. Twelve ex-boyfriends.”
Reena winced. It was true, but she didn’t need it pointed out.
Marley picked up Shayne’s phone from the coffee table and thrust it at him. “Shayne, you’re being ridiculous. Just call him.”
Shayne rolled his eyes at Marley. “Fine. But if I get friend-zoned, your vintage McQueen scarf is mine. I’m doing this privately.”
He took the phone into Marley’s room and shut the door.
Marley chuckled. “Honestly, I’ve never seen him like this. He’s so smitten with this guy that he’s talking out of his ass.”
“Well, I hope we don’t mess up his chances. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to do this FoodTV thing anyway.”
“Why not? You’d be great at this. You’ve done other contests, haven’t you?”
“Not for a while.”
“Well, let’s hear what Shayne has to say before you make a decision.”
Reena smiled blandly, but she couldn’t imagine any more information that would tempt her. After everything that had happened to her blog, she did not want to be put in the spotlight again in the food world.
Ten minutes later, Shayne wordlessly sat back down on the couch, eyes glistening with excitement.
“Well?” Marley asked, leaning forward.
“Anderson…” Shayne sighed and fanned his face with his hand. “I just absolutely can’t with him. You know what he just told me? He said I was the first person who’d ever—”
“Shayne, the contest!”
He seemed to snap out of his daze. “Right. Yes.” He scanned the room, then grabbed a pad of paper from the coffee table. “Here…this is complicated, you’ll want to take notes.” He tossed the paper and a pen at Reena. “So, this is the most Reena thing that I’ve ever heard about, and if you don’t do it, I will no longer be able to gloat that my friend is the savviest blogger out there. This thing is made for you.”
“Yes…but Shayne, I’m not actually a blogger anymore. I—”
“Ah!” He put his hand out to stop her. “Just listen and trust, Reena. So, it’s called the FoodTV Home Cooking Showdown. It’s not a search for a new network host, per se, but the winners get a one-off special. The buzz is they don’t want to commit to promising a show, but are using the contest as an unofficial open call for new talent.”
Shayne frowned and poked the still-blank paper in Reena’s hand. “You’re not writing!”
She rolled her eyes, but wrote FoodTV Home Cooking Showdown on the sheet.
“How do you apply?” Marley asked.
“You do an audition video to get in. They pick, like, eight contestants or something out of the auditions. Then the contestants make two more videos by themselves from home. And I think they get to go to the FoodTV studios? I kinda zoned out then because I was imagining Anderson wearing one of those headset things on set…I want to play director and innocent ingenue with him…”
“Shayne,” Marley said, laughing.
“Right. So, it’s public voting, not expert judges. Because really, it’s about the personality and what the food looks like, not the taste, or anything.”
“This sounds like a reality show, Shayne.” Reena had no interest in that. None.
He nodded enthusiastically. “Yes!”
“I don’t—”
Shayne grinned. “Here’s the inside scoop that only someone who is intimately acquainted with someone on the production team would know—they are really hoping for a bit of diversity in the contestants. They want to showcase all the different food cultures in Canada. They are not going to pick any run-of-the-mill Mike and Michelle McBasic. I think you’d be a shoo-in.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Because I’m brown?”
Shayne nodded. “Yeah, and because you’re the best cook I know. And you’re cute as shit, too. Marley can fluff up your hair a bit and put you in something sexy. And believe me, you want the grand prize.”
The more he said, the more Reena was sure that she didn’t want to do this, but Shayne’s expression was so annoyingly smug, she wanted to wipe it off his face. “Okay, fine. I’ll bite. What’s the grand prize?”
He smiled broadly. “Get your pen ready…the Home Cooking Showdown is in conjunction with the Asler Institute of Culinary Arts. The winner gets a ten thousand-dollar scholarship.”
Damn.
Reena stilled. That changed everything. The artisan bread course was at the Asler Institute. With that scholarship, she could finally enroll. Hell, she could take the whole baking and pastry arts program.
She bit her lip. Soooo tempting.
“You have to do it, Reena,” Marley said. “Ser
iously. We’ll help. Shayne can film it, and I’ll help with your hair and clothes. You don’t need help with the cooking part. We’ll make sure you get this. No one deserves—”
“Cool your jets, Marl,” Shayne interrupted with one hand up. “There is one glitch. There is something Reena doesn’t have that she would need as a contestant.”
“Oh? And what’s that?” Reena asked.
Shayne smiled his knowing, mischievous grin, which Reena knew not to trust. She wasn’t going to like whatever he had to say, and he relished it.
“What you need, my dear friend, is a husband.”
CHAPTER FOUR
For the love of god, why did everyone want Reena to have a husband? This was getting absurd. She stared blankly at Shayne.
“A husband?” Marley asked. “What kind of puritanical drivel are they producing?”
Shayne’s lips curled into a tiny smile. “Not puritanical. Culturally diverse, remember? But this contest is about home cooking. Family cooking. It’s okay if you don’t have kids, but they want the contestants to work in couples. Same-sex couples are okay. But since you only like dudes, you’ll need a husband. A fiancé would also work.”
Reena exhaled. Goddamn Shayne. He could have started with that. For all of two minutes, she’d been convinced this could make her longtime dream come true. She could practically smell the country loaves baking.
But once again, life kicked her when she was already down. She’d lost a dream only two minutes old, but Reena felt almost as disappointed as when she’d lost her cookbook deal.
“Well, that bites.” She slumped, tossing the paper and pen on the couch.
Marley sat up straight. “This doesn’t mean you can’t audition. Just find a husband! Or a boyfriend. Or a wife! Pretend! Nothing on TV is real anyway.”
“I’m a terrible liar,” Reena said. “And who the hell would pretend to be my boyfriend or girlfriend on TV?”
“Well, on a website at least. I’d do it for you,” Shayne said. “But I think my dalliance with Anderson will get in the way. Or at least I hope it will. Actually, no…I’m using guided visualization. I will be with Anderson then, so I cannot be your fiancé.”
“Seriously, guys, I am not doing this. I can’t. Even if by some miracle I can manage to find someone who would pretend to be my fiancé for this thing, what will happen when my parents see it?”
And there was another reason that she didn’t say aloud. At this point in her life Reena didn’t think she could face pretending to be in a happy relationship. She knew her limits. That was way, way beyond what she could handle.
* * *
Tuesday night, after an evening spent tinkering with a new bread recipe, Reena found herself with too much fougasse and a craving for nonfinance conversation. A quick text to Marley told her Shayne would be over soon, and they would love to help with the abundance-of-bread problem and talk about anything except numbers.
She checked the time—six fifteen. She’d have to hurry if she wanted to avoid seeing Nadim in the hallway. She was not in the mood for awkward conversation. Forgoing shoes and socks, she packed the crusty breads into a canvas bag, grabbed her purse, and pulled the door open when her phone rang. Struggling with her heavy door and the overladen bag of bread resulted in her dropping the bag as she answered the phone.
“Hello?” she said while retrieving the bag. Thankfully, all the fougasse remained safely enclosed in the canvas.
“Reena, why do you sound out of breath?” her sister asked, sounding annoyed and clipped. Not out of the ordinary. Saira usually sounded annoyed and clipped.
“Just about to head out. What’s up?”
“I need you to show me how you make that eggplant dip you always do. I think it might be good for the cookbook pitch.”
“Okay, um…” She leaned against her door. Figures. She considered her smoked eggplant dish—loosely based on an East African eggplant curry—to be one of her signature dishes. It had won awards. It would have been in her own cookbook. She couldn’t let it end up in Saira’s.
“I’m at home tomorrow night. We can do it then,” Saira continued.
“I’m busy,” Reena said. “I’m…”—damn it, she couldn’t think of an excuse—“going out.”
“Really? Where?”
“I have a date.”
Saira exhaled with exaggeration. “What about Friday? I’m working until six—”
“Can’t. I’m helping Marley with—” She sneezed. Good. Must be finally developing an allergy to her sister demands.
“Seriously, Reena. I don’t even know why I asked. I would have thought that you would be more supportive about this project, but—”
Reena’s text tone rang on her phone. She said a silent thank-you to herself for the drawn-out bagpipe jig she had chosen as a text notification, as it muted her sister for the rest of that statement.
“Gotcha, Saira. Anyway, I’ll call you next week and we’ll set something up.” Reena disconnected the call before Saira could finish. Bullet dodged. She had no intention of helping her sister with this cookbook project. She leaned her head back against the door of her apartment, closing her eyes.
This shouldn’t bother Reena so much anymore—Saira’s betrayal was months ago, and it wasn’t intentional. Or mostly not intentional, at least. It all started when Saira had written a viral diatribe outlining everything wrong with the hero worship of food stars online, claiming their artery-clogging recipes were contributing to the decline of all of society. Saira didn’t know the fallout from that post would lead to sponsors pulling out from many food blogs, including Reena’s. Reena lost her cookbook deal when the publisher felt the market was shifting toward more health-conscious cooking. Reena’s indulgent brand wasn’t in demand anymore. Story of her life.
But it was fine. Saira could have a cookbook now, and Reena could just avoid the cooking section of the bookstore when it came out. Problem solved.
* * *
Reena sneezed again as she pushed herself off her door to head upstairs. Damn her cubicle mate, Theresa. She’d been sneezing for two days and apparently passed her germs on.
When Reena knocked on Marley’s door there was no answer. She knocked again. Still nothing. What the heck? Marley’s last text was fifteen minutes ago, and she had told Reena to come right over. She checked her phone and noticed that the message that had come while talking to Saira had been from Marley. A group text to both her and Shayne.
Marley: Something came up and I have to run. Will call you guys later.
Reena texted Shayne as she walked back downstairs.
Reena: What’s going on with Marley?
Shayne: No idea. She’s been a bit flaky for a few weeks but won’t talk about it.
Reena: Weird. I’ll call her later.
Reena reached her door when she realized she had no keys.
Crap. She forgot to grab them when she left the apartment. Her overprotective father had of course insisted on doors that locked automatically for his precious girl. Reena locked herself out pretty often, so she left several spare keys among friends and family. One with Amira, who now lived an hour and a half away. One with Marley, who, while normally convenient, right now was MIA. And the last at her parents’ house. Where Saira lived. Who Reena just pissed off over eggplant.
She called Marley anyway. No answer.
Reena groaned as she slid down against the wall, landing with her butt on the cold floor near Nadim’s door. Her bag sat next to her, a golden brown fougasse peeking out the top.
At least she had bread if she got hungry. Or hangry. Scratch that, she was already hangry. She’d missed dinner.
Closing her eyes, Reena contemplated the merits of either walking forty minutes to her parents’ house or climbing up the fire escape and breaking Marley’s window. And probably breaking a leg, too.
“Funny, I don’t remember ordering a woman. And I’m surprised they leave deliveries by the door here even when no one’s home. Anyone could have walked by and taken
her.”
Damnit. Nadim. So much for avoiding him. Reena opened her eyes and raised her eyebrows. “Oh, hello. Was that supposed to be funny?”
“Apparently not. Sorry,” he said, smiling. “But I didn’t expect to see you sitting in front of my door. Next time give me some warning and I’ll write a better quip.” He looked down. “Nice feet.”
She tucked her bare feet under her. He looked much cleaner today. And his hair was styled upward. Reena now understood why Marley had called him a haircut. “I’m locked out. Left my key inside.”
He pulled his key out of his suit jacket. “No spare?”
“No. My cousin isn’t answering her phone.”
He turned back to his door and unlocked it, opening it widely before looking down at Reena again.
“Well, come on then.” He motioned her into the apartment.
“It’s fine. I’ll wait for my cousin.”
“I’m not leaving you on the floor. Come inside, I won’t bite.”
She stared blankly.
“I won’t even make jokes about wanting to bite you. Or you to bite me. Or…”
Reena scrambled up quickly, before this conversation could go any further.
“Marley will be home soon. I left her a message.”
He tossed his keys on the kitchen counter and dropped his bag on a chair. “Marley. That’s the tall one upstairs, right?”
Reena stepped around his dining chair and put her purse and tote bag on the table. “Yeah, the breathtaking woman upstairs. Don’t feel you have to hold back on my account. You can sing Marley’s praises. Everyone drools after meeting her.”
He looked at Reena for a full three seconds before his gaze shifted to the ground in front of her as he removed his suit jacket and tossed it on the chair. “She’s not my type. It’s been a long day. You mind if I have a beer?”
Reena watched his back as he walked toward the fridge. He was wearing a suit today instead of athletic gear, so his impressive physique was a little more hidden. The suit looked good, though. Went well with that upper-crust Brit voice. Was this the image he had wanted her to see for their first meeting?