Page 14 of The Love Match

“You sure you’re not dizzy, Zar?”

It’s Dani who asks from behind the counter. She’s too preoccupied with a winding line of customers to come over and help me up, so I grab the empty chair nearest to me and do it myself. The door to the kitchen opens again at that exact moment and Nayim returns, clutching the broom and a dustpan. Which means that he went to the broom closet.

Oh God, did he see my dress? Did Mr. Tahir?

I gulp. “How mad was he?”

“Pretty upset,” he concedes, before quirking a lopsided grinat me that almost wins one from me in return.Almost.“Don’t worry, though. He’s only miffed at me.”

I frown, still confused by his decision to take all the blame. “Why did you do that?”

Mr. Tahir already vowed to charge him for the mess, and from the snippets of gossip I’ve grasped, it doesn’t sound like he can afford that any more than me. He shrugs. “I already dropped a few plates in the sink when he was showing me the ropes earlier. What’s a couple more if it means I’ve come to your rescue?”

“My rescue?” I scoff, but this time the grin is too difficult to resist any longer. “That line work on other girls?”

His dark brows pinch together. “On girls? Never. I was simply coming to the aid of a fellow coworker, whatever their gender.”

I snort-laugh and his severe mask cracks. His own laugh is so infectious that I almost forget everyone else watching us, including a baby strapped into a polka-dotted stroller with a matching bottle between her pudgy fists.

My blush returns with a vengeance as I toe at the broken dishes and clear my throat. “Right. Well. Fridays are our busiest days, so we’d better get back to it before we really piss Mr. Tahir off, newbie. I think that table’s flagging me down.”

Nayim’s smile falters, but he doesn’t try to stop me, too engrossed with cleaning up my mess. He holds the broom and dustpan in each hand as if they might bite him, and a fresh tide of guilt crests over me for having inconvenienced him.

Trying not to think aboutanycute, confusing boys, I lose myself in the tedium again and mostly succeed until I flit behind Dani to grab an order from the pass-through window and catch myself face-to-face with my new coworker. He directs another dentist-approved grin at me.

My heart definitely doesnotskip any beats, no siree.

“Mr. Tahir banished me here,” he says by way of greeting.

“That’s nice?”

“We didn’t have a chance to talk much earlier,” he continues, clearly unaware of my self-consciousness. “TheAstands for Aktar. In case you were wondering.”

“Huh?”

He chuckles. “Do I have to tap the name tag again?”

“Oh! Your name! Duh!” I grab the golden laddu he holds out just to have somewhere else to look besides his teasing expression. “My name is Zahra. Zahra Khan.”

“A pretty name,” he says. “It suits you.”

And what’sthatsupposed to mean? Is he flirting?! Withme?!

Memories of how solid and warm his body felt beneath mine don’t take much of an imagination to summon up, despite me silently repeatingastaghfirullahlike a mantra to dispel the thought. The fact that he’s the first boy I’ve been that close to physically doesn’t escape me.

“Thank you?” I manage to squeak.

As fast as my feet will take me, I zip away to get the order of yet another customer, but as if the universe has decided tokeep spurning my wishes, Nayim and I end up meeting at the pass-through window to exchange dishes over and over again throughout the rest of our shift.

Each time, he asks me exactly one question. Do I enjoy this job? (Yep, it’s helping pay for college.) Am I from Paterson originally? (No, but I’ve lived here most of my life.) Am I friends with the Tahir girls? (Best and forever.)

By our fourth less-than-clandestine meeting, my curiosity gets the best of me, and I fire off my own query before he can speak. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but you’re not from here, right?”

“What gave it away?” he wonders ruefully. “Do I look that clueless? I thought I was doing a decent job blending in.”

Clueless isn’t how I’d put it, but there’s something different about him. Maybe it’s that he’s sonewin this place where everyone knows each other.

I wave a plate-free hand. “Oh, no, it’s not like that at all. It’s just, you have a… British inflection? It’s kind of like my mom.” Except, well.MoreBritish. More crisp, lilting vowels that are at once soothing and like nothing else I’ve ever heard.

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