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“You like curry?”
She nods. “I grew quite attached to chicken tikka masala.”
“I can’t say I’ve had curry before, but that sounds good.”
“It is, I swear. You should’ve—” She stops herself as though she were about to say something she shouldn’t. She stiffens for a moment, then concentrates on the food in front of her.
Things fall quiet between us again, as though a large crowd in Grand Central Station suddenly went silent.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
She takes another bite of her food, taking her time to chew and swallow before replying. “Yeah. Great.”
I lean forward. “What were you about to say?”
She shakes her head, still refusing to look at me. “It’s nothing important.”
“Even if it’s not important, I’d still like to hear about it.”
“It’s not a big deal. Seriously.”
No doubt the more I keep pressing, the further she’ll push herself away from me. As much as I want her to tell me, she’s clearly not budging. I’m not sure why. Could this be one of the reasons why Kami told me to tread carefully?
In the interest of harmony, I revert the conversation back to cooking. “Anyway, I find cooking satisfying. Therapeutic, even.”
She seems to be grateful for my change in subject, because then she exhales, her body relaxing. “Wish I could say the same thing.”
Fifteen minutes later, we finish our food and the last of our win. I clear our plates and send Mia to the living room. She settles on the couch.
Once I’m done, I grab the opened bottle of wine. “Care for another?”
“Should I? I’m not usually a wine drinker,” she admits.
“Why not? It’s the weekend. It’s okay to imbibe more than usual.” I pour more liquid into her empty glass. “I’ll join you.”
“Okay.”
After filling both stems, I set the bottle back in the kitchen and sit beside her. Her feet are curled up beneath her.
“Thanks for cooking again.”
“It’s my pleasure. I’m glad you liked it.” I smile faintly. “How was your day?”
“Good. A little stressful but good,” she says before taking another long sip of her drink.
“How so?” I encourage her to drink more by taking another as well. She must be a lightweight because I notice her relaxing farther into the couch.
“There was more paperwork than expected. And it’s always hard when Jonathan isn’t in the office.”
“I know the feeling.” I’ve been humbled at how easy Jonathan and I have it when the work of one CEO is divided between the two of us.
“You must be under a lot of stress, too.”
“I am, but I’m managing. It could be worse.”
She shrugs. “That’s true.”
I take her hand in mine, testing the waters. “If you find yourself drowning, don’t hesitate to ask for help. My office is right next to yours.”