Page 68 of Tasty Cherry

I have to calm down. I put the car in park and kill the engine.

You’re here, Mila. He’s the same guy you’ve been working with all week. Remember the first night! Remember the haunted wing!

This gets me out of the car.

I sling the big purse over my shoulder. I stand inside the open door and look at him over the top of my car. “Hey.”

“You made it!” He walks around, taking my hand to pull me away from my hiding spot. “I hope you like curry. I didn’t make it too spicy.”

I’ve never had curry. Mom said it singed her mouth off the one time she tried it, and Dad would rather go to a steakhouse any day.

“I’m sure I will like yours,” I say. But a whole new set of fears crop up. What if I don’t like what he cooks? What if it makes me sick?

What if we’re in bed, and suddenly I have to like, go go?

Oh, God.

He leads me to the house. “My curry is a crowd pleaser. Do you eat Indian food much?” He opens his front door and gestures for me to go inside.

“Pretty much never, but I’m game.”

“I don’t always cook it. I’m decent on the grill, too.”

I enter the foyer, which opens up to a living room with soaring ceilings. A staircase to the right leads upstairs.

“You can leave your purse anywhere. My sister Arya is normally here, but she’s gone off with a friend tonight. She took our pup dog Alfalfa with her, so you won’t have to worry about her slobbering all over you on the first visit.”

I set my bag on a table next to the sofa. “You live with your sister?”

“I do. Our mother moved back to New Delhi about six years ago, and I helped Arya finish college.”

“So she’s younger than you?”

“Six years, yes.”

And four years older than me. I follow him into the kitchen, which is separated from the living room by a long bar lined with stools. “Do you visit your mother much?”

“Once or twice a year. She hasn’t returned to America since leaving. But we enjoy our time in India. We didn’t see our mother’s family much growing up.”

“Are both of your parents from India?”

I don’t miss the shadow that briefly crosses his face. “No, Dad was Colorado born and raised.”

“Is he still here?”

“I don’t know where he is currently. Last time I talked to him, he was in California.”

Oh.

I sit on one of the stools. “My parents were born Texans and are still a little miffed I’ve left.”

Sebastian lifts the lid of a pot to stir something spicy and aromatic. “Ah, yes. The Texas migration to Colorado is something of a pipeline.”

“I’ve heard stories. I was advised to get my car plates changed to Colorado as soon as possible.”

“Not a bad idea.”

He closes the lid. “How hungry are you? I’m about to sear some chicken. Do you eat meat? I can do tofu if you are vegetarian.”

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