Page 36 of The Matchmaker

As we wrap up, I take my sari to the counter to pay.

“It was going to be a gift for you,” Darcy protests. “It’s part of the budget.”

“Darcy.” I shoot her a side-eye.

“It’s my way of saying thank you. For that advance on the year-end…and for everything, you know?”

My heart swells with affection. She is stressed about money and working so hard to pay down her debts, but here she is earnestly wanting to buy this for me.

“Thanks, Darcy, but it’s way too generous when you have so many other important things to spend your money on.” I hand Savita my credit card.

After we finish up, we exit the bridal shop. The sun beams bright overhead. Cars rush past us on the busy four-lane road across the way. I peek at the silky outfit in the bag. “Would you mind if I wore this to Lena’s mehndi? It’s lovely, and I know the perfect jewelry set to go with it.”

“Of course you should wear it,” Darcy says. “I can’t wait for that wedding to be behind us, though. I’m forever paranoid it’s not going to happen.”

“Has there been any progress with the elephant situation?”

“It’s a proper standoff at this point,” Darcy says. “Tanvir won’t budge, and Lena’s standing by her man. The folks at the wedding venue said the liability risk is too high. And they worry it sets a bad precedent.”

“I can’t argue with them there.”

“Me either,” she says. “I had no idea Tanvir would turn groomzilla on us. I spoke with Lena’s mother yesterday. She’s fed up.”

Uh-oh. That’s not good. It’s the children I’m setting up in these arrangements, but it’s usually the parents who settle the bill. We aren’t planning Lena’s wedding, but Tanvir’s temperament definitely remains within our professional purview. I make a mental note to give him a call today. Weddings can make us lose perspective. I’ll see if I can’t talk him down.

As we make our way toward our parked cars, my stomach rumbles.

“Want to grab a bite to eat before we part ways?” I ask her.

She doesn’t reply. Her gaze is fixed on something in the distance. A lone car stopped at the red light at the intersection.

“Darcy?” The light turns green. She clutches her purse. The car—a white Mercedes—zips past us. Darcy’s shoulders relax.

“You okay?” I ask.

“That’s the same car Andrei had,” she says bashfully. “Butit’s also the same car as a million other people in the metro Atlanta area, so I basically have a mild freak-out multiple times a day.”

“He hasn’t bothered you since you got the restraining order, has he?”

“Not a peep. I still get jumpy, though. Old habits die hard. I’m fine,” she says in response to my worried expression. “Really.”

Before I can say more, a familiar voice calls out.

“Nur?”

Azar. He’s walking down the sidewalk in blue scrubs. His curls are tamed and brushed back. And—Oh. He’s not alone. Alongside him is a woman wearing matching scrubs. There’s no winged eyeliner or red dress like the Instagram photo. But it’s definitely—

“Zayna?” I blurt out as they approach.

Her easy demeanor shifts as she takes me in. “You must be the famous Nura Khan.”

“It’s nice to finally meet,” I say. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Yeah? I’ve heard a lot about you too,” she replies.

I give Azar a quizzical look. He flushes. “What are you both doing in this part of town?”

“Wedding shopping,” says Darcy, after she introduces herself to Zayna. “I might have found the perfect dress.”

---