“I’m in San Francisco,” she told him. “No humidity or mosquitoes. Highly recommend.”
“San Fran?” He let out a low whistle. “You handling those hills okay?”
“I didn’t say it was perfect out there,” she replied, to which Haris laughed.
“I’m glad you did it. You’d been wanting to move to the West Coast forever. Nasir used to say—” He paused, and his smile faltered. “Sorry. Seeing you after all this time…it’s hard not to think of him.”
It would have been disingenuous to ignore the Nasir-sized elephant in the room. Especially with Haris. She had braced herself for it, but hearing his name spoken aloud after all this time still sent shock waves through her.
For a beat, neither of them said anything. Hena cleared her throat.
“How’s Chloe?” she asked.
He grimaced. “I guess ithasbeen a while. We didn’t make it. Turns out my mother was right after all. Our divorce was finalized last year.”
“Oh, Haris.” She reached out and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m so sorry.”
She’d attended his wedding four years ago—an intimate affair on a yacht in Biscayne Bay. She’d worn a pale pink sari and borrowed her mother’s favorite diamond necklace. Nasir, in his pin-striped tux, had been best man.
“Don’t be sorry,” Haris said. “It was rough going at first, but it’s for the best.”
Haris’s mother suddenly came into view as she marched toward them, bunching up her flowing sari to keep it from dragging against the ground. Hena was about to greet her. To congratulate her. Her nephew was marrying Hena’s sister. But Auntie Nipa wouldn’t meet Hena’s gaze. It was as though she wasn’t there.
“Your cousin needs you,” Auntie Nipa told Haris sharply, wedging herself firmly between them.
“Sure, I’ll be there in—”
“You’re his best man for a reason. Now, please.”
She shot him a look, and it was clear there would be no arguing with her.
“To be continued?” Haris gave Hena an apologetic look before being carted off.
Khaled was currently eating karahi chicken with Lulu, chatting and laughing. Best man or not, Haris was definitely not needed. Hena knew the real reason his mother gripped him by the elbow, dragging him away while whispering furiously in his ear. She didn’t want her son anywhere near Hena. If disappearances were contagious, Hena was Typhoid Mary. Even if Haris didn’t blame her for his friend’s absence, his mother certainly did.
“Is it just me or is this line not moving?”
Hena startled and turned to see Reza behind her. The handsome man from the check-in counter.
“It’s not you. It’s really not moving,” she told him, grateful for the distraction. “And it probably won’t anytime soon.”
“Not sure I follow.”
“Have you noticed you’re the last person in line?” she asked him, and he looked back to confirm it. “It’s going to stay that way because everyone else is cutting in.”
He peered over her shoulder at the single-file crowd ahead of them. Auntie Hanifa, the meddlesome busybody Hena had known all her life, grabbed a plate and slid in with her friends toward the front of the line. Other aunties and uncles were similarly following suit.
“So we’re here for the long haul, huh?”
“The line will move. Eventually.”
He shook his head and laughed, and Hena’s shoulders unclenched. This man was the definition of smoldering. And the jaw on him…she was tempted to reach up and graze it.
“Inquiring minds must know,” he said. “How fancy is your VIP suite?”
“Haven’t had a chance to swing by it yet.”
“My room is nice, don’t get me wrong, but I’m guessing yours is out of this world.”
