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Ivor and his team had no such qualms though. They were lazing around as if this was any other day. Not the weekend.

“Relax. If you twist your back a little more you’ll burst, Ave,” he commented from his perch on his reclined chair, feet up on his desk, hands behind his head.

“Why can’t they stop?!!”

“They are working remotely. They have to prove that they work.”

“And they do it like this? By arguing over a comma’s font size?”

Ivor nodded, grinning. He could go home. All he had to do was edit the copy on his phone on the go. She would have to carry her iPad and Pencil everywhere until these approvals came through. And where would she go with those?

All her dreams of enjoying some downtime at sunset went for a toss.

She had big plans. Relaxing with a walk down a park followed by a solo dinner at an Indian restaurant while people-watching, grocery shopping Saturday morning, meeting up these bunch of mixed breeds of French, British, Chinese and Indian coworkers for dinner and drinks Saturday evening and then check out some event to attend on Sunday night.

But what did they say about the best-laid plans of mice and men?

Her phone buzzed. Avantika glanced at it, drained to the point that she did not want to even lift her hand to unlock the screen. She leaned instead, only marginally, to let her face do the job.

SAMARTH

How’s your Friday evening going?

Avantika sat up.

“It’s your first week and seizures already?” Ivor laughed. She ignored him. She reached for her phone and swiped up the screen.

AVANTIKA

Working…

No, WAITING

Waiting for work to get approved!

Actually, waiting for it to get approved for the 37323723829th time

SAMARTH

It’s 7.30

Isn’t that inhuman?

AVANTIKA

Have you ever worked a 9 to 5?

SAMARTH

Oh, have you?

AVANTIKA

I am, no?! ^_^

SAMARTH

Did you check the formulas before sending it off?

AVANTIKA

I DESIGN, Samarth.

Oh, but then, you are not as bright as they think you are. Good you don’t have to navigate your horses through jungles. What is this symbol — ||

SAMARTH

Meet me for dinner and I’ll tell you.

Avantika’s mouth dropped open, her thumbs that were ready to type up a storm on her keyboard coming to a halt.

AVANTIKA

[Waiting for work to get approved!]

^

SAMARTH

Do you have to wait in the office?

Was this Samarth Sinh Solanki? The prince of Nawanagar? Had he regressed 10 years?

SAMARTH

Repeat — Do you have to wait in the office?

AVANTIKA

I need my iPad in case of changes.

SAMARTH

Bring it.

AVANTIKA

Where?

SAMARTH

My car will be outside in 10.

————————————————————

She didn’t even know what part of Paris this was, except it was one of the banks of the Seine. The river was alive with the sun spreading brilliant rays over its flow, while Parisians were milling about, some already seated with their legs dangling over the quay.

Avantika frowned, holding her iPad and bag close to her chest as she got out of the car.

“Are you sure he said here?”

“Oui, madame,” the driver tipped his head.

“Where is he?” She pulled out her phone distractedly, aiming to call him up. But her thumb automatically went to her emails. Was it approved yet?

“All work no play makes Ava a very dull girl.”

She whirled. And there he was. 6 foot 1 inch of male supremacy, his grin glowing the brightest even as his ‘natural’ biceps flexed and stole her attention. They made a rare appearance from under his fitted polo shirt. Unlike his usual whites and blues, he was in jet black today. All black. And…

“Is that a picnic basket?” She stepped back from him, eyeing the basket on his arm that did not make him look even a little bit domestic. If anything, it made him look… more manly.

“I did invite you to dinner,” he held it up. It was a wicker basket. She half expected him to produce a red-and-white chequered blanket, glasses of wine and a charcuterie board from inside it.

“And then you came late,” she cocked her hip out.

“I did not,” he grinned, nodding at his driver. As if his duty was done, he sat back in the car and drove away into the traffic.

“You have become smooth.”

One dark brow shot up, along with the side of his mouth. “Who used to bring blankets to our spot? Who went to cafes and caught the cleanest tables? Who…”

“Oh shut it. That’s not smooth.”

“You found it smooth then.”

“Yeah, well, I grew up now.”

“That you did,” he stepped back, his hand rising. Her breath caught, but he only patted the top of her head — “Except this.”

Her hand rose to throttle his neck but he jumped back, ducking away to walk down the promenade.

“Samarth!” She followed him. “Where are we going?”

“Follow me.”

“Not smooth.”

“Still follow me.”

She kicked the notch of his knee and he stumbled, caught off guard.

He slowed. And just when she thought she had gotten a good one in, he nudged her sideways with his hip.

She wasn’t strong enough nowadays to counter that beast of a polo body.

But she didn’t have to. His arm circled her in time to pull her back.

“I didn’t expect this, ok!” She remarked, hoping her voice didn’t sound too crazily happy. Her insides were jumping up and down.

“What did you expect?” He slowed down and moved towards the edge of the quay, setting the basket down.

“Some cafe or a restaurant. You wanted to take me out for a meal to make up for that day…”

“I am not taking you out to dinner to make up for something,” he frowned, on his haunches, pulling out a blanket. It wasn’t red and white but a deep brown with frayed edges. More aesthetic and less… cliche.

He spread it out and set the basket on top of it to keep it from flying. Then pushed out of his shoes.

“Come,” he held out one hand. She took it, got rid of her ballet flats one by one, and slowly lowered herself on the blanket beside him.

She had chosen a dress today and she hoped it behaved, with the way the wind was misbehaving.

She tucked the ends under her folded knees and set her iPad and bag down.

“Ok,” she sighed. “What have you got?”

“Do you want to take a guess?”

Avantika leaned into the open basket to steal a whiff but he snapped it shut.

“Such a cheater even now!”

“It’s not cheating, it’s research.”

His brows waggled.

“Hmm… it’s dinner time but a picnic so… croissant… no. Croissant sandwiches, a Charcuterie board maybe… umm, what’s that French pizza thingie?”

“Pissaladière?”

“Yeah, that?”

“Go on.”

Her mouth watered. “Umm… pasta? Like a pasta salad? And for dessert — something with chocolate? And wine? If you are not practising tomorrow…”

“I am not practising tomorrow,” he informed. “I wasn’t practising today either. It was a physio and recuperating day.”

Samarth reached one broad hand to the basket and opened the flap, then reached inside to pull out a styrofoam box, then another, then another, then a round basket covered with foil, followed by a glass bottle that didn’t look like it held wine.

“Wrong,” he said opening one of the styrofoam boxes to piping hot moong dal bhajia. Her mouth dropped open.

“Wrong,” he said, opening the next container to a big bed of poha. Her mouth snapped shut or the saliva would pool out and that would be very un-princess-like.

“Wrong,” he laughed, opening the third and the biggest container that was packed with sev. Lots of sev.

Aaaah! Her mouth opened wide in a silent giddy shriek.

“And wrong,” he finished his magic show with the final basket that looked messy but wonderful with crispy orange jalebis.

Avantika couldn’t help it. She grabbed one and bit half of it clean.

It was hot. It had been long days since she had eaten home food.

And while she had lived without Indian or home food in her university days, lately she had begun to value the taste of the everyday.

“Where’s rabdi?” She polished off the rest of her jalebi and licked her finger clean.

“Jalebi is supposed to be eaten with fafda. In this case, sev will have to make do.”

“I converted you to sev on poha, how did I not convert you to rabdi on jalebi.”

“Let some of me remain in me, Ava!” He grabbed the bottle and untwisted the cap, so casually mentioning something that went and settled deep inside her.

Avantika kept staring at him as he shook the bottle lightly, then took a sip.

Satisfied with the taste, he passed it to her, looking so innocent after declaring something so monumental.

“What is this?”

“Try.”

Avantika didn’t need to sniff it to know that it was mint shikanji — a staple of her home. She tipped the bottle to her mouth and took a long draught. Sooo good on a warm Parisian evening.

“How did you manage all this? I haven’t found an Indian restaurant that makes decent biryani, forget poha. Not even the Michelin star ones!”

He fisted sev and topped the poha, grabbed two spoons and held the container up for her. She dug in.

“My chef made it.”

“Your chef?” She closed her eyes as the first taste of tangy, savoury poha and sev hit her.

“He travels with me for long-haul tournaments. Otherwise, it gets very difficult to keep track of my nutrition.”

“I can see that,” she grabbed a moong dal bhajia and held it up to him. He got his own and nudged hers.

“My chef was near fainting that I ordered all this today. He thought I was messing with him,” he popped the bhajiya into his mouth.

She opened her mouth to ask him more about his diet when her phone pinged with the loud, telltale email drop notification.

With half-messy hands, she managed to unlock it. And groaned.

“What happened?”

“Now they want other options too! Why? Why? Why? Where were you three days ago when I marked you on three different emails plus Slacked you?!”

“Alright, so send it again.”

“I have to remake them. They rejected, and like the non-corporate fool I was — I deleted them.”

“Will it take time?”