I climb onto the stool and wait for her to get seated before digging in. The metal legs of her chair scrape against the floor, the shrill sound stopping her short. Her eyes snap shut, lips pursing as her shoulders climb towards her ears, a shiver wracking her thinning frame.
She scrunches her nose and opens her eyes before taking a deep, calming breath and climbing onto the chair. Before she can pull herself closer to the counter, or my brain can catch up with the foolishness of what I’m doing, my hands are on her armrests. I lift her and push her, sparing her another burst of that noise overstimulating her.
“This a sound distance?” I ask, the words coming out more like a frog croaking than my own voice.
“Yeah, thanks,” she mutters, arching a sharp brow, her lips spreading into a smirk that makes my chest warm. “Do you make a habit of lifting all women half a metre off the ground just to push their seat in?”
My tongue feels thick as my brain scrambles for words. I gape at her like a fish out of water. I’m such an eejit.Of course,that was weird. Why can’t I ever just play it bloody cool?
Because she’s devastatingly beautiful, and you’re sure to say something completely ridiculous to her,my brain screams at me in response.
Her lips flatten, and she twists to face me better. “It’s just a joke, Elijah. Thank you for that and for dinner. It smells delicious,” she says, and my muscles start to relax.
She gives me a tense smile before turning to her plate. I settle in my seat and catch her staring at her meal, unmoving.
“Is something wrong?” My pulse starts to hammer, an elephant sitting on my chest as I await her answer.
Adhira shakes her head almost imperceptibly. “No,” she whispers, picking up her fork and digging into her food. “It’s perfect.”
CHAPTER
TEN
He noticed.He noticed, and he cared.
I don’t like when my food touches. It sounds childish, like I hate crusts on my sarnies. I do, of course. The thought of so many mixed textures combining in my mouth or on my plate is repulsive. I gag just considering such a thing.
I peer over, noticing that he’s piled his curry directly on top of his rice, which only confirms my suspicions.
My eyes widen when I pick up the small fork he set on my plate instead of a regular dinner fork.
My close friends and family know these things about me. They recognise that my brain works a little differently from theirs, and they’ve fallen into a habit of doing these same things for me. But for him, a near stranger, to not only notice something so small but to implement it? It has my eyes welling with hot tears that I’d never let fall.
If Mummy were here, she’d do the same for me.I miss her.
I push the curry around, checking for anything I won’t eat, and come up short, tucking into it. The creamy coconut and savoury spices dance on my tongue, and once again, I find myself unbelievably thankful for the relatively large Indian population in the UK, because meals like these seem to be a staple for a lot of people here, not just those who share my family's cultural background.
A moan of satisfaction almost slips past my lips, but I reel that shite back in because I amnotabout to give my new flatmate the wrong idea about me.
“Is it okay?” he asks.
“It’s really great, Elijah. Thank you,” I say between bites. “Do you not eat meat?”
He clears his throat. “I do, but I noticed that you don’t, so…” He trails off, his cheeks flaming a cute rose colour that has me biting the inside of my cheek to stop myself laughing.
I’ve never met a man who blushes as much as him. Especially not one who mauls other men with no gear on for a living. I find it rather charming.Cuteeven.
“Thanks,” I say when I’m confident I won’t laugh.
“Yeah, uh, no problem.” He continues to eat in silence for a few more minutes while I pick at my food, careful not to eat too much, too quickly, unsure of whether my stomach will take the opportunity to turn against me.
“So, do you have kids?”
He sputters, coughing and covering his mouth with a paper towel.Did I say something wrong?
“Wh-why would you think that?” he chokes out.
I nod my chin towards the tea set at the end of the counter. His light brows bunch, a line forming between them. “Oh, God, no. I have sisters,” he explains, suddenly frantic as his eyes snap to the clock above the stove. “Little sisters who are going to callme to have a tea party any minute, and I don’t have my tea ready.” He shovels the last bite of food into his mouth, jumps down from his seat, and rounds the marble countertop.
