Page 80 of The Matchmaker

“I keep meaning to call her and have a proper conversation about everything, but life has been a bit much lately.” I gesture to the hotel.

“That would be an understatement. This is a great hotel, though.”

“It’s worth every penny. I even splurged on a spa pedicure yesterday, though I should probably be more careful now, as I’ll soon be penniless.” I fill him in on the Great Client Exodus.

“Nur. That’s awful.”

“I don’t think it’s fully hit me yet. Everything my grandmother began, that Khala built…it might end with me.”

“It won’t. Beenish stuck by you, right? She won’t be the only one.”

“I wish I had your confidence.”

We finish our meal in comfortable silence. The constant buzz of thoughts settles the slightest bit with him sitting across from me. It’s among the top things I love about Azar’s company. Our conversations always nourish me, but our silence together can be equally fulfilling.

“So how long are you staying at Casa Lowen?” he asks when we finish up.

“Not sure. Another week? Forever?”

“I suggest tonight be your last night.”

“Time for me to put on my big-girl pants and deal?”

“Time for you to come to my place.”

“I can’t impose on you like that.”

“It’s not imposing if you’re invited.”

“How long does that go on?” I ask. “Am I just supposed to move in forever?”

“Sure. Stay indefinitely.”

“The guy who irons his scrubs and arranges his shirts by color and size wants me invading his space?”

“Actually…” He tilts his head and looks at me. “I do.”

My heart skips a beat.

“I’m sure Zayna would love that.”

“Yeah, well.” He looks away. “We’re over.”

I straighten. “What happened?”

“It…it wasn’t working out.”

“You looked about as serious as I’ve ever seen you with anyone.”Oh.He really liked her. And their relationship was ruined because of me. “Is it because of your trip to Helen getting canceled? Khala shouldn’t have called you. I can explain it to Zayna.”

“It’s fine. Really.” He looks at his empty soup bowl. If it’s fine, why does he look heartbroken? My own heart hurts to see him this way. Whatever went down between them, it’s still raw. I won’t press.

“How about dessert?” I ask, hoping to change the conversation.

“I knew I forgot something.” He gives me a sheepish look.

“Room service to the rescue.”

Twenty-five minutes later, I grab the two bowls of brownies and vanilla ice cream from the door. Azar lifts the remote from the nightstand.

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