Amira laughed. “Don’t mind him, Duncan’s high school students are putting onMy Fair Ladyand he’s been studying English dialects.”
They watched in silence a little longer, as on-screen Reena took on-screen Nadim’s hands in hers to show him the right amount of pressure to use when rolling out maani. He mouthed a moan as he leaned in close to her. She didn’t remember him doing that.
“He’s sniffing your hair,” Duncan said. “You sure this is fake?”
Amira laughed. “Maybe he was looking for bugs?”
Reena rolled her eyes. It was possible to have friends who knew too much about your life.
The video finally ended with that kiss, which looked longer on screen than she’d remembered. Duncan turned off the iPad without a word. The silence stretched for several seconds before Reena gave in. “What did you guys think?”
That was the moment Reena’s text-tone rang again. She should have turned the ringer off.
Nadim:Your mother just asked me what I liked best about you. You should be proud of me, I didn’t say your feet.
She put her phone facedown on her leg before Amira or Duncan could see it.
Amira took a breath. “I have three thoughts. One, if I worked at FoodTV and got that video, I’d cancel the whole competition and just give you the prize. You guys were amazing. Two, my worries about you are needless, because the woman in that video is most definitelynotalone. I’m glad you have such a good friend nearby right now. And three, you’re going to have to figure out exactly what’s going on between you and that man. Because either that was an Oscar-worthy performance, or your fake fiancé is completely smitten with you. Be careful, Ree.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
By the time Reena made it through Toronto’s seemingly never-ending traffic Sunday evening, she was tired and wanted nothing but her bed. Her mind had spun like her stand mixer on high the whole way home—as Amira’s comment about Nadim being smitten with her whipped through her head. Could it be possible?
In her experience, men like Nadim—handsome, charismatic, educated, and worldly—usually only wanted a surefire hookup or an easy fling from someone like her—an unassuming woman with little higher education and whose obsession with bread left her with a body that looked like it belonged to someone obsessed with bread.
By the time she walked up the stairs to their building, she felt sure of one thing only—that she had no idea what went on in Nadim’s head. Maybe his screen presence really was that good. But the off-screen moments of tenderness couldn’t be forgotten—that spectacular foot massage and the nonstop texting all weekend. Was he just a player? Or was this just friendship and loyalty to the boss’s daughter? Or was there more?
As much as she wanted to avoid him in hopes her unease would disappear on its own, Nadim still had Brian, and her curiosity about how he fared with the temperamental starter had her knocking on his door as soon as she dropped off her bag.
He answered wearing jeans and a T-shirt with the London Underground logo emblazoned on it.
“You’re back already? I thought you’d be late,” he said. His eyes shifted up then down.
“It is late. And we need to send in the contest video, remember? Everything okay? How’s Brian?”
“Yeah. He’s fine. Give me a minute. I’ll bring over your sourdough. He’s…great.” His eyes shifted again.
She’d seen that face before. Nadim was hiding something and doing a terrible job of it. “What’s wrong with Brian?”
“Nothing’s wrong with Brian. He doubled in size after each feeding. He’s fine, I’ll bring him by to your place.”
“Why can’t I get him now then? It’s just a jar, I can carry it.”
“No, it’s okay. Give me ten minutes.”
“Did something happen to Brian?” Her voice was sharper than she’d intended. Why had she trusted anyone with something she valued?
Nadim’s eyes widened as he reached out and grabbed her arm. “Reena, stop.” He sighed with resignation and let go. “Fine. Come in and see for yourself. Brian is absolutely fine. Thriving, even.”
Annoyed, she followed him into his kitchen, where he pointed at his windowsill. He had been truthful. Brian looked fine. In his regular swing-top jar, his volume easily doubled from the level of the rubber band. Brian did appear to be thriving.
But Brian was not alone.
Because also on the windowsill, and on the counter near the windowsill, sat more jars. They were standard screw-top mason jars, each with a rubber band around them marking un-risen volume. And each had doubled in volume. Reena took a quick count.
Nadim had sixteen sourdough starters.
“What the hell?” she asked.
