Page 134 of Cakes for the Grump

“But it’s your purpose. You are correcting your company. This is your world.”

He stills, going taunt. “This is why you want to leave? I know it’s asking a lot and exhausting?—”

“No. I can’t stay. I don’t want to.”

In the waning light of the airport tarmac, Luke has gone pale.

“But if I can’t use your jet?—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “It’s yours to use.”

How is he still so generous? So wonderful? So everything?

If I step into his arms, I think I’ll hate him a bit for making it so easy. For allowing me to shut my eyes and pretend the real world doesn’t exist outside of us. For tempting me to be in his bubble where anything is possible, and nothing is asked of me.

I’ll dull. And forget about going back to reality, forget that I’m a poor woman from Mumbai who has a dream of having her food be recognized forthe quality of its taste and innovation of the ingredient pairings, and the love and balance that is poured into the careful construction.

Luke Abbot is a problem solver. He looks at me as if he can figure me out. He’s wondering what to do next, staring for what feels like minutes. I think he’s afraid if he reaches out, I’ll disappear like smoke. His hands are shaking.

This isn’t fake. His arms call me as if they are the only refuge possible. This is the only craving I’ve had that feels unbearable to hold out against. Having him take care of me has been terrifying, vulnerable, and utterly lovely. It leaves me stranded in gratitude and despair. I’ve been falling for so long now.

“Where are you going?” he asks, desperation sharpening his voice.

“Home.”

Is he about to offer to come along? I can’t have that. Uncle is waiting. If I don’t cut it off now, I’m so afraid I won’t have the power to ever do it again.

“It was never going to last,” I say, hollowly. “I can’t live this life. I don’t want it. I can’t be at your side like this. I can’t. I’ll always be your friend—but let me leave you.”

His expression…is one I’ve never seen before. It makes me want to wrap my arms around my middle.

Horror.

Like I’ve drained his world. As if he’s been stabbed. Confusion. Collapse.

“Don’t,” he paused to clear his throat, his voice hoarse, and strained, “don’t go.”

“I h-have to. You. I can’t. I don’t want this. We can’t. Please let me go. Alone.”

It rips me apart, and I’m so close to taking it all back, but then the pilot announces they are ready to depart.

I turn and run inside the plane.

He doesn’t try to stop the flight from leaving, but he stands there on the tarmac, becoming a smaller and smaller dot, never moving from his place.

THIRTY-SEVEN

When I landin sweltering Mumbai, there is a private car waiting to take me anywhere I want. Despite everything, he’s arranged it for me on the other side of the world. Even if I’ve gutted what there was between us.

“Where do you want to go?” the driver asks.

“I—” My eyes look out the window toward the overcast sky. It doesn’t matter if the sun is hidden, with enough pollution pumped into the air, the city is still hot and humid. “I need—” My hands clasp together and I take a deep breath. “The hospital.Please. Take me there.”

After reciting the specific address, there is nothing else to be said. When the plane was landing, it had flown closely over the largest slum next to the airport. A stark reminder I’m home. Traffic is dense and loud as we merge onto the highway and shove our way into the city.

When I’m finally dropped off, I make short work of registering at the front desk of the hospital, and finding the room Uncle is staying in before his surgery. My clothes have become wrinkled and sweaty, but no one has stopped me from being here, so I must either appear desperate or confident enough.

“Uncle?” My voice is brittle as I step inside his room.