Before I could decline, his hand landed softly on my lower back. He pulled away and apologized.
I bit the inside of my cheek, annoyed by how his touch still incited flutters in my stomach. I could be irritated, angry, tense, awkward, anything in the world, but his touch never disappointed. Which wasn’t a good sign. Not when I was on a path to get engaged to someone else. I could count on my fingers everyone in the world whose touch I didn’t mind, and Daniel was still one of them.
We went around the side of the house. Without running into his parents. There was that, at least.
“So, you’ve moved back? Permanently?” I inquired on the walk down the driveway.
“Current plan. Have to join my family business sooner or later. Your residency almost over?”
“Yes. A couple more months.”
“Congrats.”
“Thank you. How did you know?”
He leaned his head back and whistled. “Think my grandparents don’t give me an update on you during every phone call?”
Eek. Did they tell him about me hanging out with them once in a while, too?
I unlocked my car from afar and Daniel opened the door for me, gripping the top so that I couldn’t just jump in and drive off.
“I’d better get going,” I said and slipped into the car.
He smirked. “See you at home.”
Oh, crap. What had I gotten myself into?
Chapter Five
Saturday mornings were not for sleeping in. It was a scientifically proven fact that kids, from in utero onward, would throw a wrench into any schedule. Also, cut-and-go was an actual game plan when it came to emergency C-sections.
This residency with this practice of family physicians had labor and delivery privileges, as well as surgical first assist privileges. It wasn’t common, and I might never find a job that allowed me to deliver babies ever again. So I pretty much lived at the hospital trying to deliver as many bundles of joy as possible.
While I loved the rush and celebrating the momentous arrival of life, I didn’t love having to wake up at three in the morning, hurry to the hospital, throw on a surgical gown, and dive red-eyed into a delivery. And then rounds at seven and finishing up side projects and scheduling by end of day.
My feet hurt. They were actually throbbing. Standing in the OR was not conducive to happy feet and ankles. I should really look into orthopedic shoes. My legs ached. I could just imagine a little blood clot with a devious ability to expand forming and traveling its deadly way to my brain.
Late Saturday afternoon hit in the blink of a weary eye, and I was scurrying to finish packing before Liya arrived from Dallas.
Sana came over to the apartment to help after my shift. She always spoke softly but had much to say, which was a fantastic but gentle shot of energy. We’d almost finished packing before Liya’s grand arrival, which led to chatter and updates. She talked about everything from her new job to Dallas air pollution to Jay, but she had yet to mention her scandal. I wasn’t going to push. She needed time.
“I’m going to India to meet the guy my parents want me to consider,” Sana said nervously, avoiding Liya’s gaze.
“Oh, terrific!” I replied, holding the edges of a box while Sana taped it closed.
“It’s wise to spend time with him before agreeing to marriage,” Liya added.
We gave her a long blink.
“What?” she said.
“Usually you have some strong opinion,” I reminded her.
“I already voiced my opinion. But if you must entertain the notion of allowing your parents to set up your marriage, then spend as much time with him in person as possible. He should come here, too.”
“He is!” Sana said, her face lighting up. “In six months.”
“So, this isn’t a quick wedding?” Liya asked as she placed the last of my study supplies into a box and folded over the cardboard flaps.
“No! You assumed it was.”
“My fault.”
“Yes, your fault,” she said with a hint of unexpected sass.
Liya smirked. “Make sure to interview everyone he’s ever come into contact with so you get all views and not just what he’s selling.”
“My list is ready. Covert interviewing to commence ASAP.”
“That’s my girl.”
“What about you, Preeti?” Sana asked, taping another box. “How’s it going with Yuvan?”
“Okay…” I winced, my gaze flitting around the room to find something else to busy myself with.
She scowled. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“I dunno. When we first met, he seemed great. That perfect Indian guy, so to speak, who has an established career, takes charge at mandir, is respected by everyone and adored by my parents. He didn’t seem to care about my past or what people said, which is always a relief. But there’s no connection. No sparks. Maybe I was hoping for a whirlwind romance, or some butterflies in anticipation of seeing him again. I just expected to be more excited.”
“It doesn’t always happen that way,” Sana said. “How many people do we know who weren’t in love with their spouses before marriage, or were more nervous than excited? All of our parents were matched and didn’t know the other person. All of my cousins. Some of Preeti’s cousins. Lots of your cousins, Liya.”
“Yeah, I just think there’s something wrong if the man you think you’re supposed to marry doesn’t incite some enthusiasm when we all know it’s possible for a man to do that for you,” Liya said, looking pointedly at me. Subtlety was not her forte.
Sana got quiet, knowing full well that Liya was referring to Daniel. Sana had been there for all the love and drama and breakup tears.
“By the way,” Liya continued, “I told Daniel that you come with the apartment and he said, and I quote, ‘Perfect.’ Guess you two will be living together for three weeks.”
Sana swerved her head toward me. “Um, what?”
I groaned. “Can we not discuss that?”
“Wait a minute. We most certainly need to discuss you living with your ex. What’s happening?”
“It’s nothing. Just a weird, temporary living arrangement. Can you please not tell anyone?”
“Of course I won’t tell! But I need to know every detail.”
Liya grinned. “Methinks that even the most traditional of us is Team Daniel?”
“Yes!” Sana squeaked. “As if there was ever a doubt. Listen, I might be traditional in many ways, but love is love, woman. You make things work with him.”
“But Yuvan—” I protested.
She waved him off. “I don’t even know Yuvan.”
“Oh, boy.” I glanced at Liya, who was trying not to laugh. I checked my watch dramatically and said, “Oh, no. Look at the time. Sana, you’re going to be late for mandir.”
Her excitement fell flat as she announced, “I’ll help get these boxes into the car, but don’t think I’ll forget this whole thing.”
I gave her a quick hug on her way to the car, grateful for the out. “Thanks for helping.”
With the strength of womanpower, we loaded my car and Liya’s, made one trip to my new place, and lugged everything inside. Who needed men?