Reena looked around, frowning. Her apartment was fine—a bit of a mess right now, and her furniture may look comfortable, but it wasn’t anything but cheap box-store stuff. She fell onto her couch, resting her head on the soft cushion.
Okay, so maybe he had a point. This was cozy. She closed her eyes.
“So, you don’t want toast?” Nadim asked.
She sat back up. “I do. Just…” She rubbed her face. “Give me a second, and I’ll show you where to find the bread and the bread knife.”
“I can get it,” he said.
No, he couldn’t. Reena might be intoxicated, and Nadim may be a bit of a foodie himself, but there was no way she was going to let someone she barely knew be unaccompanied in her kitchen.
He was suddenly sitting next to her on the couch. “You really feeling that drunk?”
“No.” She sighed. “I think I’m sobering. This is more of an emotional crash than an alcohol crash. It’s been a hell of a day.”
He didn’t say anything, so she closed her eyes again. Maybe she should just go to bed. Maybe asleep, she wouldn’t feel so worthless.
“What’s this?Home Cooking Showdown? Did you enter this?”
Nadim had that damn piece of paper from Marley’s apartment in his hand. Why had she let Shayne force it on her?
“No, ignore that.”
“This looks fun! You should do it. Says here the deadline is tomorrow. A five-minute cooking video is no big deal.”
“I’m not doing it.” Reena snatched the paper from his hand and tossed it back on the coffee table.
Nadim shrugged and stood up. He headed to the cabinet that held Reena’s liquor bottles. “May I?” he asked, his hand on a bottle of gin.
She nodded. “There’s soda in the fridge. Make me one, too, please.” Another gin was as good as sleeping.
He pressed a glass into her hand a few moments later. When she took it, she noticed he had the paper again. “I don’t get why you won’t do this, Reena. I just googled the Asler Institute—they’re a big deal.”
“Yeah, I know, but…” She then realized that she couldn’t tell him the reasons why she had no intention of entering Shayne’s contest. Like the fact that her focus right now should be on getting a job. Or, that the contest was for couples and families, and she was much too alone to have someone to enter with. She sipped the gin.
“Not really into cooking contests?”
“I used to be.” She hiccupped. “I actually won a bunch of blogger ones. In fifth grade I was a finalist onMini-Chef. And I was in a Muslim competition barbecue team once. We won first place.”
He laughed. “Reena Manji, you might just be the most fascinating person I have ever met. You should enter this.”
She took another sip, then stood. Deflect and distract. “C’mon. I’ll show you where my bread knife is. Let’s see how your toast-making skills measure up.”
But when they were in Reena’s small kitchen, the box of samosas on the counter distracted him. “Are these the samosas you forgot to eat? Samosas might be better than bread.”
“Hold your tongue.” Nothing was better than bread. “I needed comfort food. Help yourself.”
He took a large bite out of a samosa. “Nylon bhajias are my favorite comfort food.”
Nylon bhajias was another name for the potato bhajias Reena had planned to make later. She laughed. “Me too. I literally bought potatoes and gram flour to make bhajias.”
His eyes rolled back in his head with pleasure. “You make them yourself? Like, homemade? Not from a shop?”
“Yeah, I’ll probably make them tomorrow.”
“Make them for me now.”
She raised a brow. “Excuse me?”
