by Farah Heron
Amira rolled her eyes. “I meant I’d do him if I was her.”
“I told you he was hot, didn’t I?” Reena asked.
“You said he had an okay face and a hot body. But this guy, he’s easygoing, friendly, charming. Not the kind of person who needs to resort to an arranged marriage at the age of…how old is he?”
“Thirty-two,” Reena said.
“I see why you like him. He reminds me of Jamie Oliver,” Duncan added, head tilted in concentration. As if that was a selling point. Nigella Lawson and Heston Blumenthal were Reena’s preferred British celebrity chefs.
“Actually,” Duncan continued, “Jamie Oliver has that estuary English thing going. This guy sounds like Tom Hiddleston.”
Amira laughed. “Don’t mind him, Duncan’s high school students are putting on My Fair Lady and he’s been studying English dialects.”
They watched in silence a little longer, as on-screen Reena took on-screen Nadim’s hands in hers to show him the right amount of pressure to use when rolling out maani. He mouthed a moan as he leaned in close to her. She didn’t remember him doing that.
“He’s sniffing your hair,” Duncan said. “You sure this is fake?”
Amira laughed. “Maybe he was looking for bugs?”
Reena rolled her eyes. It was possible to have friends who knew too much about your life.
The video finally ended with that kiss, which looked longer on screen than she’d remembered. Duncan turned off the iPad without a word. The silence stretched for several seconds before Reena gave in. “What did you guys think?”
That was the moment Reena’s text-tone rang again. She should have turned the ringer off.
Nadim: Your mother just asked me what I liked best about you. You should be proud of me, I didn’t say your feet.
She put her phone facedown on her leg before Amira or Duncan could see it.
Amira took a breath. “I have three thoughts. One, if I worked at FoodTV and got that video, I’d cancel the whole competition and just give you the prize. You guys were amazing. Two, my worries about you are needless, because the woman in that video is most definitely not alone. I’m glad you have such a good friend nearby right now. And three, you’re going to have to figure out exactly what’s going on between you and that man. Because either that was an Oscar-worthy performance, or your fake fiancé is completely smitten with you. Be careful, Ree.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
By the time Reena made it through Toronto’s seemingly never-ending traffic Sunday evening, she was tired and wanted nothing but her bed. Her mind had spun like her stand mixer on high the whole way home—as Amira’s comment about Nadim being smitten with her whipped through her head. Could it be possible?
In her experience, men like Nadim—handsome, charismatic, educated, and worldly—usually only wanted a surefire hookup or an easy fling from someone like her—an unassuming woman with little higher education and whose obsession with bread left her with a body that looked like it belonged to someone obsessed with bread.
By the time she walked up the stairs to their building, she felt sure of one thing only—that she had no idea what went on in Nadim’s head. Maybe his screen presence really was that good. But the off-screen moments of tenderness couldn’t be forgotten—that spectacular foot massage and the nonstop texting all weekend. Was he just a player? Or was this just friendship and loyalty to the boss’s daughter? Or was there more?
As much as she wanted to avoid him in hopes her unease would disappear on its own, Nadim still had Brian, and her curiosity about how he fared with the temperamental starter had her knocking on his door as soon as she dropped off her bag.
He answered wearing jeans and a T-shirt with the London Underground logo emblazoned on it.
“You’re back already? I thought you’d be late,” he said. His eyes shifted up then down.
“It is late. And we need to send in the contest video, remember? Everything okay? How’s Brian?”
“Yeah. He’s fine. Give me a minute. I’ll bring over your sourdough. He’s…great.” His eyes shifted again.
She’d seen that face before. Nadim was hiding something and doing a terrible job of it. “What’s wrong with Brian?”
“Nothing’s wrong with Brian. He doubled in size after each feeding. He’s fine, I’ll bring him by to your place.”
“Why can’t I get him now then? It’s just a jar, I can carry it.”
“No, it’s okay. Give me ten minutes.”
“Did something happen to Brian?” Her voice was sharper than she’d intended. Why had she trusted anyone with something she valued?
Nadim’s eyes widened as he reached out and grabbed her arm. “Reena, stop.” He sighed with resignation and let go. “Fine. Come in and see for yourself. Brian is absolutely fine. Thriving, even.”
Annoyed, she followed him into his kitchen, where he pointed at his windowsill. He had been truthful. Brian looked fine. In his regular swing-top jar, his volume easily doubled from the level of the rubber band. Brian did appear to be thriving.
But Brian was not alone.
Because also on the windowsill, and on the counter near the windowsill, sat more jars. They were standard screw-top mason jars, each with a rubber band around them marking un-risen volume. And each had doubled in volume. Reena took a quick count.
Nadim had sixteen sourdough starters.
“What the hell?” she asked.
“I, um…” He rubbed his palm.
She squeezed her lips to stifle a laugh. “Brian had puppies? Didn’t I tell you not to let him out without tying him up?”
Nadim threw his arms in the air. “Your bread is so good! This stuff is precious gold! I couldn’t throw away half each time…so I bought some jars and just kept it all. But then I had to feed those ones, too, and…” His shoulders slumped.
Reena stood frozen a few seconds before finally bursting out in giggles. “Were you planning to hide all this starter from me? What were you going to do with it? At this rate, you’ll have thirty-two jars tomorrow morning!”
He shrugged. “I know, I know. I didn’t think this through. I thought I could hide it and get you to teach me to make bread and then I could use it up. But I get that this isn’t sustainable.” He looked down and rubbed the back of his neck.
She giggled again.
“Stop laughing at me,” Nadim said.
“Stop being adorable then. If you didn’t want to throw away the discard, you didn’t have to put it all in separate jars, you could have put it all in a big bowl. And there are a lot of ways to use up discard starter. Tons of recipes online.”
His brows furrowed. “That was my next step.”
This was too funny. If she hadn’t come home his entire apartment would have been nothing but jars of sourdough. Eventually the bubbling starter would’ve eaten him. She frowned. Wasn’t that a horror book?
“So, will you teach me? I did well with the maani, right? I think I can make sourdough,” he said.
She smiled. So much for deflect and distract. She couldn’t abandon him now, after he’d hilariously kept sixteen distinct sourdough starters. He looked at her, those brown eyes a little sheepish. Not a trace of the confident rake. This Nadim was rather endearing.
“Tell you what,” she said. “Give me Brian and toss the rest of the starter into a plastic container in the fridge.”
“Why? What do I do with it?”
“It’ll be fine for a week. Next weekend, we’ll make sourdough pancakes, or rye English muffins, or something that doesn’t need active starter. And I’m happy to teach you to make sourdough bread in the meantime.”
He grinned widely, that unexpected dimple transforming his face. “Yeah? Brilliant.” He took one of Brian’s progeny and clutched the jar to his chest. “Can I keep one, though? I could use a pet.”
She smiled. He was just so cute sometimes. “Of course. Can we finish up with the video now? I’m beat.”
They watched the video one more time togeth
er before submitting it. Reena carefully avoided looking at Nadim’s reaction while watching. She didn’t want to know if seeing their on-screen chemistry gave him goosebumps like it did for her. She was nervous about all of this. True, this wasn’t the first cooking video they’d put out in the world. But she’d been too drunk and had no memory of submitting that last one, so it was hard to compare. This video was different. They openly said they were engaged in it. And this would be seen by the public.
She knew the chances of her parents paying the slightest attention to the FoodTV website were slim to none, but what if someone else saw it and told them? What if Saira saw it?
Maybe it wasn’t that big a deal if her family found out—she could admit they were only pretending. It would be a bigger disaster if they found out about Reena’s job. But it was just easier when her parents didn’t know about her life.
Nadim high-fived her once the video was sent. “We totally got this. Don’t forget me when you’re a rich and famous food personality and I’m just the project manager you exploited to get your way.”
She laughed. “I don’t want to be rich or famous. I just want to take that course.”
Nadim tilted his head and smiled warmly. Which prompted Reena to grab Brian, say goodbye, and get the hell out of there. Because that look on his face just made it even harder for her to figure out exactly how he felt about her.
* * *
Reena’s phone rang early Monday morning. Well, not really that early. She’d finally learned to enjoy some of the perks of unemployment. But despite knowing the rest of the world was awake and bringing home the bacon (or for her fellow Muslims, chicken bacon), confusion still washed over her when she heard that shrill ringtone before nine a.m. Who would call her at this hour?
She grabbed the phone and checked the call display. Crap. Saira.
“Hey, sis, what’s up?” Reena asked, schooling her voice to sound as if she’d been awake and getting ready for work.
“Reena, I’m coming over.”
Jesus. Why was her sister dropping by so much all of a sudden? “But, Saira—”
“Look, Reena. I figured out you’re not working, so no need to make up a story.”
Damnit. Saira knew?
“Do you have a job interview or something to do? If you’re home, I’m coming over,” her sister informed her.
Reena sighed. Apparently today her carefully constructed wall of secrets would be tumbling down. She rolled out of bed. She should’ve been afraid but instead just felt numb.
“I’m home,” she said. “Come on over.”
Saira arrived twenty minutes later, two vibrant green smoothies in hand. Reena tried to conceal her unease as she let her in.
“Relax, Reena,” her sister said, handing both smoothies to Reena. “You look tense. Do some yoga, or something. I haven’t told anyone you lost your job.” Saira bent to take off her boots.
So much for hiding her feelings.
“Um, okay…let’s sit.” Reena took the armchair in the living room, letting her sister sit alone on the sofa.
“So, Railside laid you off.”
“How did you find out?” Reena asked, putting the almost luminous green smoothie on the coffee table.
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice that Sidecar stores are closing? Ashraf’s phone store is right near a Sidecar. They’re having a big clearance sale. I got a bunch of sweatshirts and leggings.”
Crap. She’d forgotten Saira’s boyfriend worked in the mall. “But how did you know they let me go? Railside is still open.”
“The cashier told me about layoffs. And your work email address bounced back.”
Reena’s hands fisted. This deception wasn’t sustainable.
“I’m not going to tell Mum and Dad, if that’s what you’re worried about. Drink your smoothie, Reena. You’re looking a little peaked. You should watch your blood sugar in the morning, you’ll find a power smoothie like this will boost your energy all day.”
“Why?”
“Oh, it has a combination of both complex and simple carbohydrates, plus a time-released—”
“No, Saira. Why won’t you tell Mum and Dad?”
“Really? Give me some credit. You’re my sister. You obviously don’t want them to know, so I won’t say anything.”
Reena squinted at her sister, suspicious. “You told them when I snuck out of the house when I was dating Eddie.”
“That was a long time ago! I was a kid!”
“You were twenty-two. I was twenty-four.” Which was why Reena felt no guilt about sneaking out then. A curfew at that age? Ridiculous. The fight with Mum and Dad after Saira blabbered eventually led to Dad agreeing to rent one of the units in this building to her, so maybe Saira’s loose lips proved useful. That time.
This time, though? Reena couldn’t let them find out about her unemployment. Not now. The last thing she needed was pressure to work with Dad.
“This isn’t so I’ll share that eggplant recipe with you, is it?” Reena asked.
“Why are you so obsessed with eggplant?”
Reena snorted. “I’m just not used to you being nice to me.”
“I made you soup when you were sick, I came to run interference when Mum was being all…in-your-face like. I’m trying, here, Reena.” Saira frowned. “We have such an effed-up relationship. We should be more like sisters.”
Reena glared suspiciously again. They’d never had a close relationship, even as kids. Their personalities were too different. Not even complementary. Reena had been a shy child, and Saira’s anxious histrionics had always been too much.
Saira exhaled. “Are you still mad because of that blog thing?”
She shouldn’t be. It was months ago. Saira hadn’t meant that post against Reena specifically. And her sister had gone through such a hard time.
But it was a hard time for Reena then, too. And Reena had lost so much.
“Saira, why are you here?”
“Well first, to see how you’re doing. You looking for a new job?”
“Yes. I have two interviews this week. My employment counselor thinks I will find something quickly.”
“Oh, that’s good. They’re looking for a part-timer at Nourish, if you’re interested.” A job at Nourish would be torture for Reena. Surrounded by chia seeds, kombucha, and Saira all day? No.
“Anyway, let me know if you want me to put in a good word. The employee discount is really good,” Saira said.
“Sure. Will do.”
Saira smiled, seeming to be pleased with herself. “I also had some dirt to share. I know you hate gossip, but this might concern you. That guy, what’s his name…the one Mum wants you to marry. Nadir?”
“Nadim. What about him?”
“You going to marry him?”
“No! Of course not. I keep telling Mum to stop setting me up with men, but she won’t give—”
“So, there’s nothing going on between you?”
“No! We’re friends. Why?”
“At brunch he said a bunch of ass-kissing stuff about you. I think just to suck up to Dad, but just in case there’s more, I thought you should know.”
“Know what?”
Saira smiled as she curled her legs under her on the sofa. “I thought the guy looked familiar when I came by that day, but yesterday he said he used to have a beard, and I remembered I’d seen pictures of him on Rish’s Facebook.”
“What? How does Ashraf’s sister know Nadim?”
“She doesn’t. She was posting some pictures of her cousin in London, and Nadim was in them. With that whole posh crowd out there. You know the ones. The swanky, trust fund kids? I heard at least three of them have been bailed out of some mess or another by their rich daddies. These people are shady. Look.” She handed Reena her phone with a picture on the screen.
There were three people standing together on a boat, each holding drinks out, as if toasting the camera. And yup, one of them was Nadim. With his longer hair and precision-trimmed beard. He wore
white pants, white deck shoes, and a lavender polo shirt with the collar popped up. The two people he stood near seemed to be a couple, with their arms around each other’s waists. The woman squinted at the sun, and the man mugged for the camera in a pose reminiscent of those boys on the Jersey shore. Yuck. Behind them were several other people, talking and holding drinks.
It was the douchiest picture she’d ever seen. What the hell was Nadim—her foot-rubbing, bread-eating neighbor—doing with the likes of these people?
“Where is this?”
“Probably somewhere in Europe. There are loads of these pictures. I think that chick next to him is Rish’s cousin. Oh, and you’ll love this.” She pulled up another picture, similar to the first. Douchey Nadim and about ten other people. “That skinny one there?” She pointed to the woman standing next to him. “That’s Jasmine Shah. Remember how she had to be rescued by her father when her fiancé stranded her in Egypt? Can you imagine if Dad knew his new employee was partying with his rival’s daughter?”
Reena looked at the woman in question. Ridiculously leggy, with perfect highlighted hair in loose curls cascading halfway down her back. She wore a short flowy caftan and rose-gold aviator glasses, and looked exactly like she belonged on this golden yacht over turquoise waters. Reena tried not to judge based on appearances, but it was kind of hard not to when her father had been low-key blasting the entire Shah family for as long as Reena could remember. Okay, maybe low-key was a bit understated.
“You haven’t shown this to Dad, have you?”
“Nah, I wanted to show you first.”
Reena squinted at the picture. This wasn’t really the damning gossip Saira seemed to think it was. Reena knew Nadim had lived in London and came from a wealthy family. Hanging out with other wealthy people was expected.
But Dad wouldn’t see it that way. Partying like this? With the notorious playboy gang? Conspicuous displays of money? Drinking? Dad wouldn’t approve of anything he saw happening on this yacht, no matter how harmless it actually was.
She wasn’t going to tell her father. This was Nadim. Her friend. The man who’d kept sixteen sourdough starters instead of throwing any out. She couldn’t throw him under the bus before she understood what she was looking at.