Page 79 of The Matchmaker

“You—you did?”

“Don’t worry. I shut it down immediately.”

“Wow.” Tears fill my eyes. “Thanks, Beenish.”

“Anyone who believes the haters is missing out. I know how amazing you are. Your agency is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

When we’re done talking, I lean back against the pillows. A wave of relief rushes over me. Beenish heard the rumors but didn’t turn on me. One client who trusts her own judgment over rumors won’t be enough to save my business, but I’m going to savor this moment.

I close my laptop and set it on the nightstand next to me. My stomach rumbles. I realize with a start that I haven’t eatenall day. Before I can grab the hotel phone to order room service, there’s a knock on the door. Reluctantly, I extricate myself from the warm cocoon of my bed and pad to the door.

It’s Azar—one of the people on my very short list who needs no vetting by Fiona to come through. Except we haven’t been talking. He’s holding two bags withLee’s Phostamped along the sides.

“Auntie told me where you’re staying,” he says. “Figured I’d bring you some comfort food? I can…I can leave it with you.”

He’s looking at me with baleful eyes. Food. His love language. His apology.

“Come in.” I open the door wider.

Back in my room, Azar glances around. “Is the air conditioner on the fritz?”

“I like a chilly hotel room.”

“Then the pho is even better timed.”

“You didn’t have to bring dinner.”

“Your stomach begs to differ. I can hear it all the way from here.”

“Damn traitorous belly.”

It’s so easy to slip into our usual routine. I want to resist. The argument is still fresh in my mind. But it’s Azar. And as he sets the bags on the round table by the window overlooking the glittering Atlanta skyline, I understand now that we won’t be forever, but I’ll have him in my life as long as I can.

When he unlatches the first container, the lemony scent fills up the room.

“Nice digs,” he comments.

“I’ve been saving all these years for a rainy day,” I tell him. “And right now it’s pouring.”

“I still can’t believe you have a personal security team. I’m glad you have it, but it’s chilling to remember why.”

“When living in strange times, do strange things?”

He sets down a gym bag he had draped over his shoulder. Unzipping it, he pulls out ceramic bowls. Two soup spoons.

“You have a microwave, right?”

“Did you really stop by your house to get silverware and bowls?”

“How else are we going to eat this properly?” he asks.

“You’re as bad as my aunt.”

“Or as good?” He grins.

He prepares the soup as I sit down at the table. When I take a sip of the brothy concoction, it fills me with warmth.

“Howareyou and your aunt these days?” he asks.

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