Page 108 of The Art of Taking Second Chances

Aarti called just before my final meeting of the day. To say she was unhappy about the fact that we hadn’t spoken since the engagement was an understatement. I could hear her disappointment quivering beneath every word, and I had only just managed to placate her when my clients arrived.

One of the earliest lessons Mihir implanted in me was how to manage meetings with bossy, swanky, or presumptuous clients without exhaling a whiff of dismissal. My client was none of these things, but I still managed to cut our meeting short while appearing charming and gracious.

I rushed home, showered, and put on the blue shirt that Tara loved. The doorbell sounded just as I finished styling my hair. It was the catering service. With appetizers and entrees in a warm oven, I popped the salad, dessert, and cake into the fridge. While I put everything away, the good man from the caterer’s set up the table as requested, complete with candles and flowers. I wanted everything to be perfect that evening. When I was satisfied, I drove over to Tara’s. This was going to be our evening.

I found her in the lobby of her building, waiting with a small overnight bag. She didn’t need much to look gorgeous, and in the simple, stunning red dress and gold heels, she looked devastating. What caught my eye was her deep neckline, but of course, I wouldn’t tell her that. I wasn’t stupid.

“You know, I had to take a nap this afternoon,” she said when we started.

“Well, be prepared to lose more sleep, because tonight neither of us is getting any.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve seen your ambitious plans. You’ll be asleep on the couch before I realize you’re no longer listening to me.”

I burst into laughter. She was the only one who could outsmart me with her quips.

With one hand covering her eyes, I led her into my apartment and to the round table by the windows. The look on her face was worth every effort the caterers had put in. “This looks wonderful!” she said, putting her arms around me.

I lit the candles on the table and pulled out a chair for her.

“What’s on the menu?” she asked as I headed to the kitchen to retrieve our first course.

“I thought Spanish would be a good change.”

“I love all food, and I trust your choice.” She smiled as I put the small portion of Spanish croquettes and patatas bravas before her, then poured us some wine.

“I trust the food will be to your liking,” I said with a dramatic bow.

“Everything looks perfect!”

I settled at the table and raised my glass. “Tara, this is a new start for us, and I want to celebrate you every single day for the rest of my life. You are the brightest star in my universe. Happy Birthday, my love.”

When I stood and kissed her cheek, the tip of her nose turned a deep pink. “Are you blushing?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I never blush.” She took a sip of her wine. “That toast was terribly sappy and clichéd, by the way,” she said, but her dusky skin had plum undertones.

I gloated with a smile. “I love you, Tara.”

“I’m not so sure,” she said, delicately slicing into a croquette. “If you did, you would’ve let me win this afternoon.”

“Oh, you won, trust me,” I said, flashing a cunning smile, and found her blushing again. I could get used to this bashful Tara. Again, I wouldn’t risk telling her that.

“Mmm, this is really good, Sameer. The saffron aioli is exquisite!”

“I’m glad you like it. It’s one of my favorite restaurants here. Wait till you try the entrée.”

“What is it?” Watching her eyes gleam with pure pleasure, I decided to spoil the surprise.

“Braised lamb shank. You won’t believe how good their recipe is. It’s incredibly tender and so flavorful!”

Her eyes held mine in an amused smile. “I didn’t know you were this passionate about food.”

“Well, just because I can’t cook doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the talent that goes into making something delicious. Like your chicken curry.”

“Is that flattery?”

“It’s the truth.”

“Hmm, I’ll soon have you cooking though, the basic stuff at least. It’s a life skill, and you need to learn,” she said eating a potato from her fork.

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