“Wonton-wrapped faux-samosas,” he said with a wink, pointing at the individual trays. “Pickled-shrimp ceviche, vegan-chili shots, and mini sushi burrito bites.” His big hands were steady as he plated and sprinkled garnish. He had fine gold hairs on his muscled forearms, Sameera noticed. “That tray is for the staff, if you want to try,” he said, pointing, and Sameera was too hungry to refuse. Each appetizer was delicious, an instant burst of unique and familiar flavors.
“Are you helping the chef?” she asked.
“Something like that,” he said, concentrating on adorning the mini cakes on a dessert tray with tiny edible flowers. Yet when her phone rang, he clocked her grimace when she glanced down at the screen. “Boyfriend?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Moms always pick the worst time to call.”
Cute Server shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. My mom died when I was ten, before I got a cell phone.”
Sameera stilled. “I’m so sorry.”
He nodded toward the phone. “I shouldn’t have said anything. My stepmom nags me plenty. Are you going to get that?”
Sameera answered. “Salams. I just found a quiet spot. You’ll be happy to hear I’m eating something.”
Tahsin’s voice sounded aggrieved. “I hope it’s not more fried food,beta. A growing girl like you needs her vegetables.”
She was twenty-eight, but sure. “What did you want to ask me?” she asked, hoping to hurry the conversation along. Her mom always had a question, or a comment, or a passing thought to justify her frequent phone calls. In some ways, it was nice—there had been a time when her mother had stopped calling, and though Sameera had sometimes missed the lack of regular phone harassment, she was also grateful to be back in touch with her family. Whom she loved very much, she reminded herself.
“You’re always so busy,beta.I wanted to make sure you’re still coming to the Eid party this weekend,” Tahsin said.
Sameera sighed. She had already confirmed her attendance for the annual Eid al-Adha celebration. Tahsin was calling to double-check, and part of her understood why: Their reconciliation sometimes felt shaky. A flicker of guilt made its way into her voice as she responded. “I said I would be there. You don’t need to remind me.”
“Which Eid is this?” Cute Server asked. He grinned at Sameera. “You know you’re on speaker, right?” His smile was a little crooked at the edges, drawing her attention to his full lips, and the faint suggestion of a dimple. She flushed; her mother was a diligent user of FaceTime.
“Who is that?” Tahsin asked. “I thought you were at a work party.”
“The kitchen was the only quiet spot. I’m with my new friend ...” She raised her eyebrows.
“Tom Cooke, ma’am,” he said with perfect Southern manners.
“Your name is Cooke, and you’re a server?” Sameera asked.
“My name is Cooke, and I’m the chef, beautiful,” he drawled.
Through the screen, Sameera watched her mother inhale sharply. With one careless endearment, Tom Cooke had activated Tahsin’s finely tuned and hyperactive relationship radar.
“When did you and Tom meet?” Tahsin asked.
Sameera made a valiant effort not to roll her eyes. “About five minutes ago,” she said. Somehow, Tahsin did not seem convinced, and a small ball of tension tightened in her stomach at the sight ofher mother’s pinched, suspicious face. Would Tahsin ever give her the benefit of the doubt, or had she lost her trust forever?
Not that you deserve to be trusted,an insidious voice mocked.Not after you spent most of the last ten years lying to them.
Thankfully, Tom wasn’t tuned into her dark thoughts. “So, which Eid is it?” Tom asked again, friendly blue eyes fixed on Sameera. “The hungry one or the other one?”
She laughed; clearly, he had a Muslim friend in his life. “The other one.”
“And they’re both called ‘Eid’ because ...”
“To confuse white people, of course,” Sameera said, grinning impishly.
Tom’s soft chuckle was silk over her skin, and Sameera felt again the flicker of something, an unexpected fizzle of attraction. She focused on her screen, where her mother had moved from suspicion to worry. Damn FaceTime.
“Beta, you said you would be honest with us. How long have you and Tom been dating?” Tahsin’s voice was tinny on the phone, and Sameera tried not to sigh. Of course her mother would think any flirtatious male within a mile of her daughter was her secret boyfriend. Not that she could blame her.
“I should get back to the party,” Sameera said, not even bothering to reply. She felt her face prickle with embarrassment and couldn’t look at Tom.
“Come early to the party,beta,” Tahsin said. “Very nice to meet you, Tom Cooke, caterer. And Sameera, you should go home. You work too much.”
