“You’re making Bombay toast?”
Meghna stood in the entranceway. He held back a grin as her mouth stretched into a large yawn. Her hair was delightfully mussed, and he was struck by the temptation to walk over and mess it up further, to run his fingers through her soft curls and kiss her good morning. But he wasn’t sure where they stood after last night.
“You call it that too?” he asked instead.
“Yeah, that’s what my dad always calls it.” She poured herself a cup of coffee, then pulled out two plates from the cabinet. “So that’s always the name that comes to mind. And it’s not like it’s really French anyway.”
“Makes sense to me.”
She held the plates out to him, and he put a few slices on each of them. She didn’t have a kitchen table, so they ate standing up, their plates on the counter, facing each other. He thought for a moment about how nice it would be to start every day this way.
Every day?He mentally shook himself. He wasn’t thinking clearly. Yesterday’s events had obviously taken a toll on him.
“So…” she said.
He steeled himself, thinking she wanted to talk about how far they had gone last night. And what it meant for their fake relationship going forward. He’d been thinking about it too, but had no answers.
“So…” he replied.
“When are you going back to New York?”
Her words were like a slap across the face. A harsh but much-needed reminder of reality. He had to go back. How had he forgotten that? He had to figure out what to do about his job. How to explain things to Jim. God, he needed to talk to his mother. He closed his eyes. He still didn’t know how she was doing. If she’d found out yet. If she needed anything.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Soon.” He needed to check what flightswere available for later that day. In his rush to get here, he hadn’t booked a return flight.
“Oh. Okay. I was just wondering how much time we had—” She stopped, seeing the mess of papers near the coffee maker. “You read that?”
He cringed. “Was I not supposed to? Sorry, they were lying right there. I only read a bit of it.”
She grabbed a bottle of maple syrup from the fridge, pouring a generous amount on her plate, then offering it to him. “No, it’s fine,” she said. “I’m just curious what you thought.”
He declined the maple syrup and took a bite of his breakfast. “I’m no expert, but if you made those comments in red, I agree with you.”
“Right?” She let out an exhale. “I’m glad it wasn’t just me. I don’t even know where to start on it. I’ve been putting off responding to Seth, but the wedding’s coming up and he wants to sing it at the reception.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be complaining about this. I know you have a lot on your plate.”
“It’s okay.” Honestly, he was thankful for the distraction. “Why don’t you tell Seth to start over? To try writing a new song?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never told him anything like that before.” She blew across the surface of her coffee before taking a sip.
“Has he ever told you anything like that?”
“Anything like what?”
“That you needed to start something over. Start from scratch.”
“Oh. Well, yes. A bunch of times. But he’s usually right.”
“And aren’t you right?”
She looked away, but not before Karthik saw a flicker of self-doubt in her eyes. He paused. Meghna had always struck him as sure and confident. Every time he talked with her, she spoke her mind freely and never seemed to hold anything back. Why wouldn’t she tell Seth what she actually thought?
She shrugged, but didn’t respond. They finished eating in silence, and Karthik grabbed both of their plates, rinsing them in the sink.
“Did he give you that feedback you’ve been waiting for? On your play?”
“No, but I’m sure he will soon. He has a lot to do before the wedding.”
“Including rewriting this song.” He picked up a kitchen towel and started drying the plates.
