Page 27 of If I Loved You Less
“You do not know the half of it.” I continue to climb the stairs, biting back a smile, and he follows. When we have reached the second floor, I lead him to one of the guest rooms and open the door.
“I’ve already taken the best guest room for myself,” I inform him unrepentantly, “so you’ll have to settle for second best.”
“I never settle,” he replies, “but in this case, I will graciously bow out, only for your sake.” He enters the room and sets down his duffel bag, then turns around, hand on the doorframe. He leans forward, and my heart rate skyrockets. “I’m going to clean up, but I’m positively famished. Would there be any food left from your silly holiday?”
“Yes, there is, in the kitchen downstairs.”
He does not hesitate. “Excellent. Can I expect your company?”
My heart hammers. It is definitely not proper to have a middle-of-the-night meal with this gorgeous, wet man, but who am I to refuse such lucrative opportunities when they arrive? A girl would not want to appear as being ungrateful.
“It would be quite sad to eat alone after a seven-hour flight and numerous delays,” he says, sensing my hesitation. He adds in a pout for good measure. Ya Allah.
“Sure,” I say. He grins.
“Perfect. See you soon.” He disappears into his room, and I walk back to my own, which is shockingly close to his. Quietly, I close the door and rest against it, my heart beating fast, much too fast.
Pressing cold fingers against my cheeks, I try to steady my breathing.
Once I have regained some semblance of cool, I check the mirror. My face is flushed, turning my cheeks rosy, and the pajamas are cute enough. I put on some tinted Chapstick and curl my eyelashes for good measure. I exchange the scarf for another one that falls more nicely, then head downstairs.
In the kitchen, I find my abandoned, half-full teacup and reheat it. Soon after, I hear footsteps coming down the stairs, and I very purposefully do not turn; rather I sit and sip my tea.
“Hello again,” he says, rounding the counter until he faces me. I wonder if that accent will ever get old. Certainly not tonight.
His hair is still wet, though this time from a shower, and he wears a t-shirt that shows off well-formed biceps and what Naadia and I like to refer to as a Dorito: broad shoulders, slim waist. (He certainly looks as delicious as the snack.)
“Hello,” I say. Setting my teacup down, I get up and open the fridge, taking out the boxes of leftovers and spreading them on the counter. “Would you like American or desi?”
“Hm, so many decisions,” he says, coming to stand beside me to inspect the food. He smells clean and fresh and very masculine.
I catch my breath when he leans in close to look over my shoulder. As he does, a bead of water drops from his head onto my collarbone through my scarf. I involuntarily shiver.
If I turned, we would surely be in an embrace. The thought alone makes my stomach twist with excitement.
Lord. I am being tested.
Instead of turning, I step to the side, away from him. I can feel his gaze on me as I walk over to retrieve a plate from the cabinet. His eyes remain on me even after I hand it to him and sit back down at the countertop, slipping a hand around my teacup once more.
“The microwave is just over there,” I inform him.
“Ah, thank you.” He makes himself a plate of food and sets it to reheat before putting the boxes back in the fridge. The microwave beeps, and he comes to sit beside me, then digs in. “Mm, this is good.”
“To be fashionably late is one thing,” I say, turning slightly to face him. “But this is another thing entirely.”
He laughs, and his eyes crinkle when he does. Cute. “There were terrible delays,” he explains. “Then, when I finally arrived, I found my phone was dead, and I’d forgotten my charger entirely. It was a good thing I knew the address to tell the cabdriver.”
“What a story,” I say, sipping my tea, which has sadly reached its end. I stand, going to put it in the sink. “As entertaining as this all was, I am rather sleepy. Goodnight.”
His face falls as he watches me make to exit the kitchen. “You can’t leave,” he says, frowning quite adorably. “I haven’t even finished eating!”
“My company is not so easily won,” I say, without turning around. I wave a hand over my shoulder. “Goodnight.”
“I will win you over, yet,” he says. I smile to myself, still not turning, despite how much I want to, then head up the stairs towards bed. He does not follow.
When I close the guest room door, I let out a little squeal of excitement.
Oh, he is everything I had imagined he would be! Handsome, clever, funny … and what a spectacular first meeting!
