She cut herself off, staring at him for the first time since he removed his shirt. He felt her gaze blazing hot on his skin. Raffi kept himself fit. Sure, he was no beefy Moushegh but he was muscled, and weights and cardio were a part of his daily routine. He was vain enough to want, achieve, and maintain a six-pack. That was a bonus, though. Working out had been the only way he’d stayed sane in med school.
“You kept your pants on,” she said. Why did she sound almost disappointed about it?
“It was too amot,” he replied.
Amot, the Armenian word for “shameful” that ruled behavior. Ensure you don’t do anything amot. Don’t say anything amot.
“And being shirtless wasn’t?”
“It’s certainly skirting the line, but I figured my medz would forgive me for losing my shirt. Not the pants, though.”
“Fair.”
A moment passed, thick with something between them Raffi couldn’t quite pin down. Raffi gripped the steering wheel, flexing his fingers against the leather, trying to ground himself. Ani was right there, wrapped in the blanket, close enough that if he just reached out—
He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to focus on the road ahead. She had almost drowned today. That was what mattered. Yes, she had been giving him looks, real interested looks. Yes, she had that flicker of disappointment in her voice when she realized his pants were staying on. And yes, his body had reacted, heat unfurling low in his stomach despite the cold air still clinging to his skin.
But he knew now was not the time to make a move. He exhaled, shifting slightly in his seat, trying to shake off the feeling.
Instead, he wanted to ask her something real, but not too heavy. Something that would let him hold on to these moments a little longer, to keep her in this new, pleasantly strange space they had wandered into.
So he asked, “When you get home, what are you going to do? What are your, I don’t know, comfort things?”
It was casual, but the answer mattered. Because after everything, he wanted to know what steadied her, what made her feel safe. He wanted to know her.
Ani smiled, that private smile again. He loved it, and he wanted to put that on her face every single day.
“Well, I’ll probably take a bath with some eucalyptus salts.”
“Very nice.”
“It’s not that nice. The bathtub is probably from 1950, and who knows what previous tenants have done in it. I usually just shower.”
Please, go on describing the details therein, he thought.
“But then I’ll probably get in my giant towel robe and watchThe Wedding Plannerfor the zillionth time.”
Raffi almost slammed on the breaks.The Wedding Planner. Of course she loved that movie. ShewasJ.Lo’s character personified.
“You really are a modern-day Mary Fiore,” he said, a knowing grin on his face.
Ani turned her burritoed body toward him.
“Excuse me?” she asked. “You pulled that deep-cut character-name knowledge out of your head? What is going on here?”
“I love that movie. I’ve probably seen it about six or seven times.”
“Six or seven! You?”
He put a hand over his heart. “You wound me, thinking I wouldn’t love a masterpiece like that.”
“It’s not that, it’s just—” She paused. “No, you’re right. You’ve done nothingbutsurprise me, Raffi.”
“Hopefully in a good way.”
“Definitely in a good way.”
He wanted to see the expression on her face but felt it would be too significant, and he wanted that but it also scared him, so Raffi kept his eyes forward.
