He took a while to answer, silently working through her scalp. “I agreed to come here and get to know Aziz Manji’s daughter with the intention of seeing if we could be compatible as husband and wife.”
“Then what? I’m supposed to drop everything, marry you, and move to Africa?”
He sighed. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” He unclipped a section of her hair and started combing it. “If you aren’t interested, that’s obviously okay. But they told me you were willing.”
There were so many more questions. Why did he sleep with that teacher if he’d already resigned himself to marrying Reena? And why did he care so much about what Reena thought of him, even after she told him she wasn’t going to marry him? “Is that all I am? Aziz Manji’s daughter?”
He stilled for a moment. “No. No, you’re not. You’re…unexpected. You know that night at the Sparrow? I was having a monumentally shitty day. I was one step away from saying screw it all and leaving town. But”—he stroked behind her ear—“you were there for me. With your flip-flops, and your gin, and your even worse mood. I had the most fun I’ve had in a very long time, on the night that was supposed to be the worst. You were a great friend exactly when I needed it.”
Reena squeezed her eyes shut. She felt the same way. She’d told her friends that she had regrets after that night, but it wasn’t true. On what should have been the worst night ever, she’d laughed, she’d cooked, and she’d forgotten about it all.
“But at the end of the day,” he said, “I work for your father, and if I upset you, my job is at stake.”
And there it was. Any relationship between them, even a simple friendship, sat in the shadow of her family. Could she ever truly trust a man employed by her father?
He worked a little longer at the back of her head before speaking again. “Done,” he finally said, putting the comb down. “We have to do the whole thing again in a week, to be sure.”
Reena lifted her head and stood up, stretching her tired legs. She turned to look at Nadim. “I’m not sure if you figured this out yet, but I don’t have the best relationship with my parents. We can’t be friends if you’re always worried about what my father will say and…and I’d like it if we could be friends.”
Reena bit the side of her lip, realizing how pathetic she sounded. Was this grade two? Asking him to be her friend?
He smiled, though. Wide enough for her to see that dimple for the first time without the concealment of facial hair. She had an urge to stick her pinky finger into the deep crevice. “I’d like that, Reena. Friends.” His smile was infectious.
She could do it, be his friend. She could put aside her attraction, her parents’ interference, and his secrecy, and just get support from the man who lived across the hall, and who needed a friend as much as she did. “Deal.”
He beamed. “Okay, then, friend. Be back in a second. I just got a pumpkin porter that you have to try. We can toast this friendship.” He grinned and left her apartment.
Reena smiled to herself as she checked her phone. And a perfectly timed message from the foodie gods themselves was waiting for her in her inbox.
To Reena Manji,
Congratulations! Among hundreds of entries, yours has been chosen to participate in the FoodTVHome Cooking Showdown!The winning couple of this talent search will be awarded a ten-thousand-dollar scholarship for the Asler Institute, Canada’s premier cooking school with locations in every major city across the country. Winners may also be showcased in a FoodTV holiday special, sharing their unique home-cooked cuisine!
Reena skimmed the rest of the email outlining the rules while her heart beat heavily in her ears. Shayne’s inside information was right. She was in.
And at that moment, Reena decided that she wanted to do it. Cooking with Nadim had saved her the night she lost her job—she needed,deservedmore of that.
Her kitchen timer went off before Nadim returned, so by the time he was back in her kitchen pouring the dark beer into glasses, she was at her counter getting ready to form the challah dough into loaves.
“Pull up a stool,” she told Nadim after he handed her the beer. “I need to ask you something. No pressure, just an idea, okay?”
He grinned as he sat opposite her at the breakfast bar. “I’m all ears. Go ahead.”
“Okay.” She took a breath. “First, a question. Do you remember that video we made for that FoodTV contest?”
“Of course.”
“One of us sent in the application.” She paused. “I was too drunk. I don’t remember who did it.”
He cringed. “Yeah, I should apologize. We applied together, but I talked you into it. I may have been a bit persuasive.”
“We got in.”
His eyes widened. “Shit.Really?”
She nodded. “And…I want to do the contest. But I’ll need your help to continue.”
Pulling off a six-strand braid of bread dough while explaining to an attractive man that she wanted him to pretend to be her fiancé to compete in an online cooking contest was no easy feat, but she’d made challah enough times that she managed. And the smirk on Nadim’s face told her the idea didn’t turn him off. Amused him, though.
