Page 44 of The Ex Factor

“You’ll kill me?”

“Don’t be silly.” She grinned. “I won’t get my hands dirty. I’ll have someone do it for me.”

I laughed aloud. “Maybe we should celebrate the day in our own way,” I suggested.

“Celebrate isn’t a word I’d use.” She turned her face to me, and when I found myself helpless against her soft gaze, she sat up, picked my cards from the table, and placed them in my hand. “Come on, teach me, or I’m going to lose miserably tomorrow. And I really hate to lose.”

The next morning,when the car service arrived, we headed over to my favorite breakfast diner. It wasn’t a place that took reservations, but I’d called ahead and asked Ms. Dina to save us a table. I was a regular and her favorite, as she’d claimed on several occasions. Ms. Dina’s scrambled eggs and waffles were always a treat. No culinary expert could recreate them as I’d repeatedly told her. It was one of the reasons I was her favorite. We also got the petulla dusted lightly with powdered sugar. It was served with honey, strawberry jam, and marmalade.

“What do you think?” I asked Aarti when she’d taken a bite. “And don’t say it aloud if you didn’t like it,” I whispered. “Ms. Dina will ban me if she learns I brought along a date who didn’t like her food.”

“The waffles are excellent. I concur with you. These are the best I’ve had.”

I raised a brow. “I hear abutcoming.”

She graced me with a smile. “ButI didn’t know this was a date,” she said, slipping me her naughty smile that made my body warm up on the cold winter morning.

“A breakfast date. Innocuous. Chaste as they come.”

She threw her head back in a gentle laugh before savoring another bite of the waffles. “And the petulla are excellent. I’m going to go find an Albanian breakfast place in Dallas. What doyou think is the secret to her waffles? Is it a special ingredient or a specific step in the making process?”

I shrugged. “I’m more sensible than to ask her. She guards her recipes with the same intensity she protects this place. A few years ago, they decided to throw her out and lease it to a hipster joint for a higher rent. The patrons created a ruckus and helped her retain the diner.”

Aarti put her fork down and stared at me for a moment. “If I recall correctly, Walter’s WM Realty bought out this place about three years ago. So unless I’m mistaken, I take it you had something to do with safeguarding it?”

My jaw dropped, along with the fork in my hand, and remained so until she leaned over and put her finger under my chin to lift it close. “You aren’t the only resourceful person around, Sujit Rao.”

“Hey, you outdo me in every respect, without a doubt.”

Her eyes rose from her plate to meet mine, and her smile widened. I was beginning to love the look of that particular smile on her face, the one that reached her eyes and drew two tiny lines around both corners.

“Like I said last night, you are terribly good for my ego, Sujit,” she said and delicately cut into her eggs.

I found myself staring at her as the fork approached her mouth and the eggs slid in. I took in the gentle curve of her lips leading up to the cupid’s bow framing her splendid mouth. This morning, she wore a beautiful shade of muted pink. Dusty rose, I think Tara used to call it. And for the first time, Tara’s name and memory didn’t engender bitterness and sorrow. I felt a strange calm wash over me like a wave receding gently after splashing my feet with perfectly tepid water. Was this how it felt to make peace with one’s past? To move on from someone and start something fresh, new, and exciting?

I was still gazing at her when she picked up the striped napkin and gracefully wiped the corners of her mouth. “Just because you’re good for my ego doesn’t mean you get to stare at me while I’m eating.”

My gaze darted from her lips to her eyes and quickly down to my plate. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to stare. I was…lost in thought.”

She smiled her wicked smile, which she promptly hid behind her glass of water. After a moment of playing eye footsie with me, she placed her glass down and began pouring the pure maple syrup on her waffle in a slow, seductive stream.

“Eat your food, or Ms. Dina’s going to give you flak for letting the eggs turn cold,” she said, trying to distract me from the steady flow of the syrup.

“Yes, thank you,” I said and returned my attention to my plate.

Tara had been bold and exciting in many ways, but I’d never felt like this with her. It was as if Aarti knew exactly how to kindle that special place in my heart and my loins. I’d never felt this needy, this desperate, this helpless with anyone else before. Yet the specter of our connection hovered over us at every moment. We were mementos of a sad, humiliating past for the other. Would we ever be able to get past the ex factor?

With a silent sigh, I finished my food like the good boy that Ms. Dina claimed I was. I hadn’t been able to determine her exact age, but she’d lost both her sons in Kosovo long years ago. She’d once told me about them while patting my hand. Only now, this good boy was brimming with unseemly intentions for the beautiful woman who sat across him, enjoying her coffee and another hot waffle.

After I placed the cash on the check that the server had brought us, I began to help Aarti with her coat. I saw Ms. Dina rushing toward us, weaving through the happy, contentcrowd that flocked her establishment every weekend for her heartwarming food and some much-needed love. Ms. Dina always stopped from table to table, making sure the food was up to the patrons’ liking and that they left the place with a smile.

“Ms. Dina,” I said, holding her hand in mine, “thank you for getting us the table. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

“Never for you, dear,” she said in her gentle accent and eyed Aarti with curiosity.

“This is Aarti. Aarti, the irreplaceable Ms. Dina.”

Flashing a warm smile, Aarti took her hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you, and the food deserves every compliment Sujit gives it.”

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