Page 44 of Cakes for the Grump

“Must you be so damn stubborn?”

“Unlike you, I’m not worried about my perfect hair.”

His smirk is infuriating. “So you think my hair is perfect?”

“What? No. But Iknowyou do.”

“By the way,” says Luke. “Theo likes you. You should expect him to become a pest at your side. He thinks you’re funny. But you don’t ever have to hang out with him again if you don’t want to.”

“Considering all my friends are back in Mumbai, that might be nice.”

“Not all.”

“Excuse me?”

“You said all your friends. Don’t forget I’m on a crusade to become friendly too.”

“For your own gain.”Why did my voice just get smaller?As if, I don’t want this to be the truth. As if I want him to have another motive. I fold my arms together. “Is that why you are walking me home? As a part of your strategy?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m always going to get you home.”

Thud, thud, thud.My heart likes his answer too much.

“If you say so,” I say, holding back an exhale. “For the record, these streets are nothing like the ones back home. If you compare the two, I’m much safer right now.”

“Mumbai… Do you miss it?”

It takes a moment for me to answer. Does he really care? “I miss my people, the city, the sky, the smells, the culture. You can’t imagine how overwhelmingly generous everything is until you see it for yourself.”

Luke looks forward as if there is something of great importance in the distance. “How about a partner? Anybody pining away because you’re here and not there.”

To hold up appearances, I should recite the many names of my paramours, telling him I’ve got a long, rather full line of suitors angling to become my boyfriend. “Actually, I got dumped in my last relationship.”

“Why?”

“He liked me only when I made him laugh.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I think I’ve ever heard.”

It’s the perfect reaction I had no idea I needed to hear. For someone to agree with me. That it is spectacularly hurtful and limiting to only like a person when they are one piece of themselves.

The rain falls quicker, cloudy mist turning into plopping drizzle. We stop and look up. Luke moves in closer. There is a stray tendril of hair stuck to my cheek. He reaches out and tucks it back behind my ear. I feel as if my breathing is so loud when his thumb sweeps the arch of my cheekbone, going in the direction of my mouth. For what? I’ll never know when my phone crashes the moment. It’s the ping of an email.

Luke stiffly retreats.

My insides have stirred into a dizzying state, and I’ve got no choice but to check my inbox. Because composure is needed. Very much needed. What was in those Manhattans? Why am I finding it so hard to be chill around him? Why am I reading into every little thing he does as if it’s not a manufactured ploy for friendship but real? My thumb hovers over the screen of my phone, frozen. It’s a message from Masala MealKits. I have…made it into the next round of CUM!

“Oh,” I shriek. “My god!”

This can’t be happening! I did it? I did it! Squealing with delight, I go toward Luke with my arms lifted?—

He freezes, his posture sharp and wary. As if afraid of my energy at full throttle, as if he’s deemed it dangerous to his being. Shark eyes hone in on my arms, clearly not trusting them.

That kind of…hurts. Quickly, I lower my stance and stand regularly.

“Good news,” I tell him. “I—got some.”

“That’s…great.”