Page 98 of More For Me

He sees my expression and laughs. “Wait until you see the inside.” Bodhi hops out of the Jeep, handing his keys off to the valet, then comes around to my side to open my door. I don’t even pretend not to love that. Bodhi is every bit as big a romantic as I am. He holds my hand as I step out of the car, then keeps his palm on my lower back as he leads me to the front door. He seems to have slipped into this dating role really quickly and I feel a little pang as I wonder how long he’s been wanting to do this with me.

Any discomfort is obliterated the second we walk through the door. We’re standing in the foyer of one of the most beautiful spaces I’ve ever seen. The floor, ceiling, and portions of the walls are made up of intricately decorated tiles. In fact, everything in this place is intricate, from the carved wooden chairs to the colorful lanterns and candle holders. Elaborate draperies and sculptures dot the walls—there’s so much to look at I could stand here gaping all night.

“Bodhi, this is incredible. How have we never been here before?”

“I’vebeen here a bunch of times,” he says, shrugging. “Usually when we get Indian food we do carryout with movies, or we’re eating at my parents’ place.”

I shake my head, trying to take it all in as he walks us over to the hostess stand and gives his name. The words are barely out of his mouth when a stylish middle-aged woman in a smart black pantsuit appears in the entryway to the restaurant, a huge grin on her face as she looks him over.

“Beta,” she says warmly, holding out her hands. Bodhi grins, bows slightly, then leans his face in so she can kiss his cheek.

“Auntie,” he says. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s been too long,” she says, then peeks over at me. She’s beautiful, her black hair cut in a blunt bob, her eye makeup sheer perfection. I nearly blurt out a question—how on earth did she get her winged eyeliner so freaking perfect?—when she says something to him in what I assume is Hindi. Bodhi laughs and then answers her in the same language and my mouth drops open.

“Everly,” he calls, holding out his hand for me, so I force my mouth to close and hurry over to join them. “This is Kaira Singh,” he says. “Auntie, my good friend Everly.”

“Call me Kaira, please.” She winks. “You’re a very lucky girl. Our Bodhi is such a wonderful young man.”

“I know he is,” I say, trying not to laugh at the way his ears are turning red behind her.

“Come on,” she says, gesturing to the bustling dining room behind her. “I have the very best table for you.”

The hostess holds out two menus but Kaira waves the girl off, leading us out of the foyer and through the tables. The restaurant is packed and the air smells amazing, filled with spices and the scent of cooking foods. As promised, Kaira leads us to a table in a secluded corner, half-hidden from the rest of the dining room by a stone fountain.

“I’ll send Aneesa over with your naan and lassi to drink, yes?” she asks as Bodhi pulls out my chair.

“That would be great. Thank you, Auntie.” She smiles at me once more, shoots Bodhi a knowing look, then hurries off.

“Is that your aunt?” I ask once she’s gone. I know Bodhi has a big family, almost as big as mine, but where mine lives almost exclusively here in LA, his aunts, uncles and cousins are scattered across the country and over in London.

He laughs. “No. My mother’s best friend. We call pretty much every Indian woman auntie if she’s older than us. But don’t ever let her hear you say she’s older—she’d like everyone to believe she’s still in her twenties.”

“She certainly doesn’t look like someone’s old aunt. I’m very jealous of her eye shadow blending skills.”

He grins. “I thought you would like her. Kaira’s pretty amazing—she owns this place and two more restaurants and runs marathons in her spare time. Plus, she knows all the best vintage shops in the county. Ask her to take you shopping before we go and you’ll be best friends in no time.”

I study him as he shakes out his napkin. “Were you speaking Hindi to her?”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “A little. I’m not at all fluent, but there are some phrases I can recognize.”

I’ve heard Bodhi and his family use a few Hindi words around their house—mainly titles, like Ammi for their mother and Baba for their dad—but what he said to Kaira sounded like a lot more than a few phrases.

I shake my head. It’s crazy how after several years of nearly inseparable hanging out, there can still be so much about this guy I don’t know yet.

Our waitress appears, a large tray balanced on her arm. “This is lassi,” Bodhi says, pointing at the glasses as she sets our drinks down. “I think you’ve had it at my mom’s.” The waitress starts to unload an array of different naans and dipping sauces. “I hope you’re okay with a chef’s menu tonight,” he says. “Well, Kaira’s menu more than her chef’s. When I called and asked if she had a table for us she insisted on planning our meal.”

“That sounds great.”

He looks relieved. “I wouldn’t have agreed except she’s an absolutely amazing cook herself and she always makes the best choices. But if there’s something specific you want, or you’d rather see a menu—”

“Bodhi, this is perfect.” It seems that he’s the nervous one now, so I nudge his foot with mine under the table. “Seriously.”

He seems to relax a little. “Okay. Good.”

We go through the various dipping sauces on the table, Bodhi pointing out the different flavors and spices. “I’m pretty sure this could be a meal in itself,” I tell him. “I’m a simple girl, Bodhi. I don’t need much more than bread and things to dip it in.”

He grins. “Just you wait. Kaira is going to feed us until we burst.”