by Farah Heron
“Go ahead,” she said.
“I don’t have much to offer you. Water? I have some soda water, too, but it’s not cold.”
Reena removed Nadim’s jacket from the dining chair and folded it, before planting her own butt on the chair. “Beer is fine.”
He turned and stared at her. “You drink?”
“Yeah. I love beer. Why?”
“Your father…” He shook his head with amazement. “I’ve had to hide my evening pub habit since I started working for him. Does he know you drink?”
Reena laughed. “Yes. He doesn’t approve.”
Nadim smirked as he joined her at his table, two tall cans of beer in one hand and two pint glasses in the other. He opened one can. “This is an English special bitter. My favorite type of beer in the UK, and this local craft brewery does a bang-up job of it. Shall I pour?”
She nodded. The matte black can had an artfully drawn elephant on the front of it. He poured the beer slowly down the side of the glass, eyes glued on the copper brew. She could see why Shayne said Nadim had intense eyes. He had a way of zoning in with razor focus that left her a little breathless.
He really was handsome. She didn’t know how she ever thought of him as less than impressive. She felt her body flush.
Ugh. No. She couldn’t let her libido win.
To break the spell of his beer-pouring mastery, Reena looked around his apartment. Since the layout of his place mirrored her own, she expected it to be spacious, with low ceilings and simple midcentury moldings, but she didn’t expect its emptiness. Save for the old kitchen table and chairs they were sitting on, Nadim had only three pieces of furniture in his living area: a purple sofa, a strangely familiar olive-green armchair, and an ancient dining-room sideboard that held his electronics. No paintings or pictures on the walls, no cozy throw on the sofa, not even any books or magazines. Only one decorative element adorned the room—an ebony wood-carved African elephant on the sideboard next to the TV. The elephant wasn’t entirely unexpected—the man was from Tanzania, and most East Africans had at least one carved animal in their home. She herself was partial to giraffes and had a few in her bedroom.
“Love the minimalism in this place,” she said.
“Shush,” he said, grinning and holding out a glass for her. “It’s a work in progress. I just moved in, you know.”
She lifted the glass to her nose, and scents of smoky burnt sugar and mature grains mingled with a slight fruitiness. The taste exploded in her mouth when she sipped—rich molasses, caramel, and a slight bitterness that coated her tongue. This beer was exquisite. She closed her eyes as she took a second sip, stifling a moan.
“Like it?” he asked.
“Love it. Would be amazing with…” She thought for a moment. “Cheese. Maybe a sharp cheddar. Or smoked meat…short ribs. And definitely salty bread—pretzels, maybe.”
He grinned. “I am going to bloody love living across from you.”
Reena tensed, feeling exposed. She scanned the room and her eyes caught that puke-green chair. “Where’d you get that chair?”
“Your parents. They gave me a bedroom set, too.”
Of course! That chair had been in the storage room at her parents’ house for years. Along with other furniture no one needed anymore, like her old…
“Wait, what bedroom set?”
He tilted his head toward the bedroom, clearly visible from this vantage in the dining room. She glanced in his room. His clothes lay strewn around the floor and his pink bed was unmade. Scratch that, her pink bed. Because apparently, her intended fiancé had already been sleeping in her bed.
“They gave you my little-girl bedroom set?”
He huffed defensively. “I’m planning on painting it. It’s got nice workmanship. Solid wood and all that. Is this a problem? Your father said you didn’t want it.”
Reena looked into his room again. So bizarre to see her four-poster bed unmade, with a crumpled flannel blanket and a balled-up pillow. Like the poor thing had been held hostage at a frat house. She leaned closer. Definitely dirty socks hanging off the end of it.
He was right, though, she hadn’t wanted her old bedroom set when she moved out of her parents’ house six years ago. She’d been adamant she wanted to stand on her own two feet and not bring any of her old life with her, resulting in her spending way too much on poor-quality (but fabulously styled) furniture. Unfortunately, the new slatted platform bed she had bought hadn’t been up to the task of supporting Reena and her ex-boyfriend Carlos’s nighttime fun. The bed crashing to the ground at a climactic point had been hilarious to Reena, but poor Carlos had been mortified, thinking of it as a commentary on his body shape. The relationship never recovered. A shame, really. She had been quite fond of Carlos. And that bed. Her mattress directly on the floor was a bit depressing.
Her pink bed was solid—it would have held up to rigorous entertainment, not that she’d ever dreamed of bringing anyone back to her parents’ home when she lived there. But now there was finally a naked man in her strong bed and she couldn’t enjoy it.
Not that she wanted to see Nadim naked in her bed. She watched his bare forearm beneath his rolled-up white shirt as he took a sip of his beer. Damnit. She loved a firm forearm. In actuality, she did want to see him naked, but she didn’t want to want to see him naked.
Maybe.
Wait, what were they talking about? Reena needed to get a grip before the undercurrent of attraction took her down.
New strategy: focus on his negatives. “I see you haven’t hired a maid yet either.”
He snorted before getting up and closing the door to his bedroom. “So, how is it you ended up locked out of your apartment and on the floor beside my door with bare toes and a bag of baguettes? I’m not exactly sure how you figured out my exact fantasies, but since you appear to hate me, I doubt you were there as a housewarming gift.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“Oh, come on, you bolted faster than a gazelle catching a whiff of lion when we met.”
“Nice. An African metaphor.”
He beamed. “Thank you. It sounds better in Swahili.”
“Anyway, how can I hate you? I don’t know you. At all. I guess…I hate what you represent. My parents butting into my life again.”
He watched her hands for several seconds, his thick brows in a straight line on his forehead. This was awkward. Eventually, one of them would have to say something about the fact that they were supposed to get married, despite him thinking she hated him, all while she was imagining him naked in her bed.
No. No one needed to talk about the naked part. That could be her secret.
“So, should we acknowledge the elephant in the room?” he finally asked.
She turned to the carved animal on the TV stand. “It’s a nice piece. I have a giraffe in my bedroom. Did you get it in Dar es Salaam?”
He laughed, head tilting backward as his shiny teeth reflected the overhead light. Reena flushed as her eyes darted around the room. Was there another elephant around? The beer?
“You’re precious,” he said. “And no, I didn’t mean that elephant. It’s an expression. The obvious thing we are reluctant to talk about.”
Reena felt herself turning red but giggled. Man, this guy had thrown her completely off-kilter. “Yeah, I get it now.” She raised her knees, hugging them to her chest. “I’ve told my parents to stop introducing me to eligible men, but they’re persistent.”
He rubbed the back of his hand in a nervous gesture before turning to look out the window. “Yeah, that. I’ve been meaning to thank you.”
Thank her for what? Bolting midconversation the last time they spoke? Insulting his decorating and cleanliness? Reena exhaled. She was usually better mannered than this. “Why? I haven’t exactly been a great neighbor or anything…”
“You have. You obviously didn’t tell your father that we met on the weekend. And you didn’t tell him about my, you know, less-than-model-son-in-law behavior.”
He raised one brow. “Rakish?”
“Yes, rakish. What are you afraid of, that he’ll rescind my hand in marriage? Wait, you do get that I am not actually going to marry you, don’t you?”
He snorted. “Yeah, marriage seems a bit of a long shot at this point. But he is my boss.”
“Well, I have no intention of blabbing to your boss about anything you do in your personal life, and, as your neighbor, I would expect the same courtesy from you. Hell, we can pretend neither of us have ever met my parents. Lord knows I’ve had that fantasy before.” She tried to smile, but another string of sneezes started. She covered her face with one hand as she banged the table in time with her eruptions.
Nadim’s eyes were wide when her nose calmed. “Bless you. You have an adorable sneeze.”
Yes, yes, tiny girl with the bouncy curls and the high-pitched sneeze. She was a damn pixie. She’d heard it so many times and it never failed to piss her off. She usually smiled and said thank you, but with this guy, she said what she usually only thought when someone called her sneeze cute. “Fuck adorable. I feel like shit.”
He chuckled. “You’re nothing like the Reena your father described.”
She snorted. “I thought we were going to pretend we don’t know my parents?”
He winked, smiling. Still a flirt. She needed to figure out how to snuff that out before her inconvenient attraction got out of hand. “Fine,” he said. “You’re a tragic orphan with overbearing parents. A millennial Oliver Twist. But seriously, I owe you for not telling him. Massively. You ever need a neighborly favor, I’m your man.”
What could she possibly need from a man content to live in her father’s pocket, utterly terrified of disappointing him? She dragged the bag of bread closer. “Anyway, they’re fougasse, not baguettes,” she informed him.
“Fou what?”
“Fougasse,” she said, pulling a few of the flat crusty breads out of the bag. “They’re a flatbread originating from Provence, France.”
For a new recipe, she was pleased at how the oval breads had turned out. The lean dough had no fat in it, and deep cuts made the finished crisp, yet chewy bread loosely resembled fall leaves.
Nadim’s eyes widened. “You didn’t seriously make those, did you?”
“Yes. I told you, bread baking is my hobby.”
He leaned a little closer to her, eyes still on the olive fougasse in Reena’s hand. “Are those black olives?”
“Yes. This one is olive and Stilton.” Specifically, tiny black Niçoise olives that she painstakingly pitted before gently folding into the dough so they would stay whole.
“And the other…” He peeked into the bag.
“Roasted red pepper and Ementaal.”
He frowned. “And they’re seriously not for me?”
She couldn’t help but smile at his hungry eyes as he ogled the bread. She really did have way too much fougasse. What harm could come from sharing bread with a neighbor?
“Help yourself. I made a lot. I was on my way up to Marley’s for wine, but something came up and she left.”
“I don’t have wine but there’s a full case of this special bitter. Is beer and bread appropriate?”
“Why not? The olives will pair well with the bitter brew.”
He smiled widely, a small dribble of beer leaking from his mouth. As he wiped it with his left forearm, Reena noticed a small tattoo just past his wrist. Looked like an African baobab tree.
He stood and went to the fridge. “I’ve got some beef sausages and a block of cheese. And a couple of apples—oh, and I forgot. My boss’s wife, who you definitely don’t know, sent some dhokla for me. It’s a strange dinner, but shall we feast?”
Reena smirked as she curled one leg under her. She had nowhere else to go, so why shouldn’t she get to know Nadim? She did have to live across the hall from him. They could be friends. She could pretend he didn’t work for her father.
And she damn well didn’t have to marry the man.
But eating fougasse and cheese of questionable origin with a new neighbor while enjoying some of his delightful microbrew couldn’t hurt. And looking at those arms while listening to that voice certainly wasn’t torture either. And if she found herself growing too attracted to the mystery English/East African man, she could just eat a bite of her mother’s dhokla as a reminder that any involvement with this man would always include her parents. Whether she wanted it to or not.
CHAPTER FIVE
Reena woke Wednesday morning with a serious case of the sniffles and a massive sinus headache. Figured. All that sneezing yesterday had blossomed to a full-on head cold. She had reports due by the end of the workday, so she didn’t want to call in sick. She phoned her boss, Tina, to ask if she could work from home.
“There’s an important meeting I need you for this afternoon.” Tina sounded annoyed.
“I can videoconference in—I don’t want to get anyone sick.” She would have thought Tina would be more enthusiastic about Reena putting the health of the team first while still getting the reports in.
“Okay,” Tina said. “I’ll email you the link.”
After taking two twelve-hour sinus pills, Reena booted up her laptop.
The pills worked their magic, and she was chin deep in numbers all morning, making progress on the sales reports. It was almost the end of the day when she logged into Tina’s “important” meeting, and Reena knew the moment the camera turned on that something was amiss at Railside Clothing Inc.
The meeting was strangely in the executive boardroom. Tina was there, looking exhausted and maybe…sad? Next to her was the normally stoic HR rep, except her smile was unnaturally chipper and most definitely fake. There were two strangers there, too, both wearing the easy-wear, yet formal clothing of a consultant. And a large stack of cardboard file boxes in the corner—the kind they give you to clean out your cubicle. Those were presumably for the unlucky sods who had to attend these meetings in person.
Reena didn’t need to see the pink slips; she knew what was happening here. Layoffs.
Shit.
She had seen this three times before. Most recently here at Railside last year, when the fast fashion trend had forced the midrange basics company to reduce 8 percent of its workforce. She’d been spared. She hadn’t been so lucky at her two previous jobs: first Pharmamart, where she’d worked as a clerk in their payroll department for only six months before the business downsized, and more recently at Avenue, the discount department store that opened a Canadian division with great fanfare, only to fold eighteen months later.
She wasn’t that surprised. Railside was a long-standing company that sold work-appropriate basics in stores located in most mid- to high-end malls. Three years ago, they’d opened a hip new spinoff store called Sidecar. But no midrange clothing company could compete with American fast fashion.
This was this first time Reena had lost a job over a videoconference call, though. It was a shame she wouldn’t have the chance to empty her favorite office supplies into her purse before being led out, but at least she was spared the walk of shame out of the building.
Small blessings, she supposed.
* * *
The first thing Reena did after disconnecting from the call was scream into a pillow. Then she called Amira.
“Third time’s the charm?” she asked while she unplugged her godforsaken webcam and tried not to throw it across the floor.
“Hi, Reena! Third time for what?” Amira sounded upbeat this afternoon. True love agreed with her.
Reena fell dramatically onto the sofa. “Downsizing.”
“Oh, shit. No. Not again.”
“Yes, again. Standalone Sidecar stores are closing, and Railside corporate just let go of fifteen percent of its workforce.”
“And you…?”
“Got a very generous package.”
“Oh, Ree, I’m sorry.”
A sharp twitch in her eye made Reena blink a few
times. She squeezed her eyelids shut, glad no one could see her break down. “I guess I’m used to it now.”
“I know but, ugh. What are you going to do?”
“What can I do? Wallow in self-pity for no more than two days, then call the recruiting agency the bubbly ‘organizational change consultant’ gave me the number for. It’s a brutal market, but I have great references and hopefully will have something new before my severance runs out.”
“I hate that you have to do this shit all over again,” Amira said. “Do you think maybe it’s time to try a new industry?”
“I don’t know, Meer. I’ve been working in retail corporate offices since college. It’s what I know.”
Reena heard Amira sigh. “What are you going to tell your parents?”
She had considered this. “Nothing. I’m not telling them. I can’t deal with Dad pressuring me to work in the family business right now. And I can’t handle Mum’s insinuating that I’m to blame. I’ll find something new, then tell them I was recruited for a better position.”
“You’re going to keep this from them?”
“I cannot deal with their crap right now. Khizar makes partner and I get let go. Dad’s still on me that I’m not a manager. I can’t tell them I’m unemployed.” She sat up and wiped her eyes. “It’ll be fine. It’s always fine. I can brush myself off and get back up again.”
“Yeah, you can,” Amira said softly. “You’re the strongest person I know. But this is blatantly unfair.”
Unfair. When had her life ever been fair? She inhaled deeply.
“Ugh. I need comfort food. Why don’t I have any samosas?”
“Go buy some.”
“I’m not wearing any pants.”
“What? You went to work without pants? And you’re surprised you were let go?”
Reena rolled onto her back. “I was sneezing, so I worked from home. I videoconferenced into my layoff meeting. I have a blazer and blouse on, but below the waist is underwear only.”
“They let you go in a videoconference? What’s wrong with the world these days?”
“I know. And the clincher is I’m not even sneezing anymore.” She sat up. “I can put pants on. Samosas are worth pants. Meer, I wish you were here to take me to the Sparrow.”