She watched his lips tip into a cautious smile and wanted to celebrate. “Interpersonal issues,” he repeated. “Is that what we’re having?”
“I—” I’m a coward. I’m lost. I’m addicted to being around you and I don’t know what I’ll do when it stops.
Maybe it shouldn’t stop.
“I don’t know what we’re having,” she said finally, “because I’m not best placed to analyze the situation at present.”
“Bad timing, huh?” His gaze caught hers and held. “You want me to wait, Dan? Ask me. Just ask, and I will.”
The words spilled from her lips without rational thought, pushed out by some needy, ravenous thing she couldn’t control. “Wait. Please.”
“All right,” he murmured. “I’m waiting.”
Something shimmered between them, something strange and dizzying. She was building up the nerve to examine it when Zaf turned away, heading back to the kitchen.
He opened her steaming egg fried rice and his own chow mein, grabbing cutlery as if nothing had happened and switching back to their previous topic. “We don’t have to talk about work if you don’t want to. We can watch TV instead.”
Dani hesitated. Felt a little ashamed of her weakness, and a lot like kissing him in gratitude. Finally, she asked, “Do you like zombie films?”
He looked up, and, God, he was so fucking beautiful. “Hell yeah, I do.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The next week flew by so quickly, Zaf barely had enough time to be anxious. He still managed, obviously. But it was a tight squeeze.
Dani went into overdrive, preparing for the symposium, and Zaf . . . well, Zaf did what he could. There’d been a moment, on the night he’d brought her dinner, when he’d thought he’d ruined everything. That he’d been too honest, hinted too hard, reached for something bright and been doomed to burn.
Then she’d surprised him. Danika always surprised him.
Wait. Please.
They still didn’t talk about their feelings or sleep in the same bed. But that meadow of affection he’d been trying to starve, the one that bloomed inside his chest for her? All of a sudden, she wouldn’t let it die. When they had lunch together, her feet nudged his under the table where no one could see. When they rode the library elevator alone, she played with his hair. One night, after sex, she put her arm around him with such painful awkwardness, it took Zaf a while to realize what she was doing.
“Is this cuddling?” he asked, incredulous. “Just straight cuddling, no sex? Is that a thing we do?”
“Quiet, Ansari.” She smothered him with a pillow until he tickled her into submission.
Before long, he started coming over early to cook dinner. She’d eat saag paneer with one hand, the other clutching a book. “Sorry,” she’d say every so often. “I’m—sorry. I’m busy. You don’t have to do this.”
“I know,” he’d say. “I want to.”
She’d smile, and eat, and read. He’d crack out his laptop and catch up on work. But when the clock struck nine, without fail, she’d pull the computer gently from his grip and drag him off to the bedroom.
Not that he was complaining.
On one of those near-perfect nights, it happened. Zaf, his nerve endings still tingling from his orgasm, was pressing Dani against the living room wall as he kissed her good-bye. They did that, now: they kissed good-bye, like a couple who couldn’t wait to see each other again.
“All right,” he panted against her lips. “All right. I’m going.” He stepped back, already missing her.
Instead of opening the door to kick him out, she hesitated. “Wait. I, erm, mumfupdumpin,” she mumbled, padding over to the kitchen.
He squinted after her. “You what?”
Silence as she riffled through a drawer, then returned, clutching a little black pouch in her hands. She cleared her throat. “I made you something.” And then, while his brain was still processing those words, she shoved the pouch at him like a toddler presenting a finger painting.
Except this definitely wasn’t a finger painting. He took it, a smile spreading over his face and a whole herd of feelings rampaging through his chest. Butterflies, birds of fucking paradise, all that shit.
“You made this,” he repeated. “For me?” Through the black gauze, he felt dried-out plants and little stones.
She nodded, looking like she might die of embarrassment. “Um. Yes.”
He still had no fucking clue what it was, but—“It smells like you.” Like peace and candlelight.
A hint of pleasure warmed her features, erasing her self-consciousness. “It’s a charm. It’ll help you sleep. I know you don’t like taking your meds when you have to get up in the morning, so I thought maybe—”
“You thought you’d make me this,” he said, emotion spilling from his voice without permission. His feelings for Dani were like sunlight: they’d always find a crack to slip through, a way to light things up. “Careful, Danika. Keep being so sweet and I might think you give a damn.”
She pursed her lips. “Well. You’re no use to me if you’re too tired to get it up.”
“Bullshit.”
“Be quiet.” She grabbed a handful of his shirt, dragged him closer, and kissed him again.
Changing. Everything was changing.
But time slipped through Zaf’s fingers like sand, and the end of their deal loomed like an axe over his head. When their fake relationship became unnecessary, would she take the leap with him and start something real? Another man might assume the answer was yes, but he knew Danika well enough to realize that soft touches and significant looks meant nothing. When she made a decision, she spoke.
She hadn’t spoken yet.
The Friday before the symposium was full moon night, which meant Zaf found himself banned from Dani’s flat and discouraged from calling. Something about a standing date with Sorcha, witchy business, and “the baffling quality of heterosexual energy.” He decided not to follow that particular thread.
But
