Page 44 of The Matchmaker

“And you did not convince him otherwise?”

“He—he met someone.” The words taste bitter in my mouth. “It looks like it must be serious if he’s pulling back from being my plus-one. That boy loves his wedding feasts.”

“I cannot believe it.” Khala clucks her tongue.

“It’s fine. He’s still my friend. He always will be. But things change. Part of life, right?”

“Nura…”

I give her a hug. “It’s fine, Khala. Really.”

By the time I hurry back to my car, the sun is setting. I’m running late, but still within the respectable window.

Pulling out my keys, I pause. An unsettled feeling washes over me.

I’m being watched.

The sensation bears down on me with an intensity that feels as real as if someone were physically pressing their palms around my neck. Except there’s no one here. No one mowing lawns. No children riding bicycles. The street is deserted.

It’s nothing,I tell myself. Or maybe it’s as simple as a neighbor looking out their kitchen window while they cook dinner. I must make an interesting sight in my sari and six-inch heels.

My phone buzzes with a text from Darcy.

Almost there. Running a little late!

Me too. On my way over now!I reply.

I adjust my sari. The car chirps when I click my key fob. That’s when I see it.

The car.

It’s parked around the bend of a cul-de-sac, four homes down. A gray Mustang. Pulled over next to the curb. There’s a glint inside—a flash of movement. Someone’s in there.

It could be a salesperson writing up a quote for a new roof. A child home from college, catching up on texts before heading inside. It could have nothing to do with me.

I know I’m jumpier than usual. Even the sound of the air conditioner sparking on in my house makes me flinch. Even though I’ve repaired the door, I still triple bolt it and check the locks multiple times throughout the night. I am the proverbial hammer who looks around and sees only nails.

But what if this time I’m right?

I stare at the parked car. There’s movement again. Whoever is inside is watching me. A wave of fury swoops over me. I’m tired of this jump-woman crap. Enough. I march toward the parked car. If it’s a kid texting, they’ll be irritated and move on. And if it’s my stalker—I think of that hooded man—well, he won’t be my stalker anymore. My victim, maybe. They’ll realize they poked the wrong bear. I unzip my purse. Grab the Mace tucked beneath my makeup bag. I rap my knuckles sharp against the driver’s window. No movement. Then, slowly, the window lowers. My heart pounds, the stupidity of my actions fully hitting me. Before I can do anything, the window lowerscompletely. I stare at the unexpected person looking back atme.

“Genevieve?”

She eyes the Mace in my hand with a bemused expression. “You know that’s the worst one on the market, right? Takes twenty seconds to kick in. I swear, you never consult me on these things.” She takes a long sip from a Styrofoam soda cup. “It’s hurtful, really.”

“What are you doing here?”

“House hunting. What do you think I’m doing? I’m surveilling you.” She rolls her eyes. “Car’s in the shop. Like my rental?”

“Genevieve—”

“Nura, I’m keeping an eye out.”

“Did you see anything suspicious?”

“It’s been a dull evening.”

“Are you planning to follow me to the mehndi as well?”

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