Page 54 of The Love Match

“Yeah, yeah. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before he can carry on with his jog, the twins dash past me and grab him by a sleeve each, declaring, “Oh, come on, Zahraaaa, we can get Pretty Boy his coffee” (Dani) and “It’s absolutely no trouble” (Dalia).

In a flash, Harun is seated on one of the barstools in frontof the counter, glancing around like he has no idea how he got there. Although he’s the one who claimed to be curious about my workplace and coworkers, his shoulders have tightened up as if he’s only now grasping what he signed up for.

I can’t blame him—the twins are a force of nature. You know how a tsunami sometimes follows an earthquake? Yeah, that.

Meanwhile, I do my best not to bang my forehead against the door. When I turn around, to make matters worse, Nayim slinks out of the kitchen, arms piled with cardboard boxes of flour and sugar. He cocks his head. “Thought we weren’t taking customers.”

Dalia and Dani shoot me a look.

Catching my bottom lip between my teeth, I offer a brisk nod to assure them he already knows about my matchmaking debacle. Or… most of it, minus this latest development. The twins introduce the boys to each other, taking great care not to refer to Harun as my fake boyfriend this time, lest Nayim feel threatened.

I tense up, awaiting my boyfriend’s reaction, but he only snaps his fingers. “Oh, yeah. Zahra talks about you all the time, mate.”

Harun scowls at the hand Nayim holds out for long enough that the latter’s sunny expression clouds over, then deigns to accept it. In the frigid voice I haven’t heard since the first date at his house, he says, “She’s mentioned you, too. Once or twice.”

Ouch.

“Um, yeah,” I laugh awkwardly. “We haven’t talked much about our personal lives. The friendship thing is pretty new.”

Nayim’s cordial smile returns, but Harun barely looks up from the counter at him, fingers drumming on the marble. I stand there, unable to understand why he’s acting like such a jerk whenhewanted to meet Nayim, before giving myself a mental smack.

Of course. He’s uncomfortable around new people. I know that well enough from our first couple of meetings, from what Sammi Afa revealed about his allegedly sensitive nature, and straight from the source after our impromptu performance at TGI Fridays.

It can’t help that no one else knows about the blowup with Amma except him, putting him in a tough spot. I place a hand on his shoulder, in the hopes of setting him at ease. “Even though that’s the case, you’ve been a very good friend to me, robot boy. If it weren’t for your encouragement, I don’t know that I would have taken a chance with Nayim.”

“Oh?” The boy in question’s eyebrows arch into his hairline. “Then I owe you one, mate. Zahra is the best thing that’s happened to me in a while.”

“I know,” Harun mutters, before his eyes widen a fraction, as if he hadn’t meant to speak aloud. My face reddens as his closes off, his pupils lowering to regard the countertop like imitation marble is the most fascinating thing in the world. When he continues, his voice is light. “I’m happy to help. The sooner you get serious with someone else, the sooner we canend our fake relationship and go back to our normal lives, right?”

All I can manage is a nod. I have no idea what to make of him or all this right now. Dani comes to the rescue by slinging an arm around my neck. “Come on, that’s not entirely true. Zahra called you her friend, didn’t she? That doesn’t have to change.”

Harun stiffens, while Nayim reclines against the table holding the espresso machine, both clearly interested in my answer. I nod, and Harun’s sullen expression softens into something more familiar, like it usually does when we’re alone together.

“Cool,” continues Dani. “I’ll whip us up some drinks.”

She releases me to push past Nayim to the machine, but Dalia fills the void left behind at once, giving me an encouraging smile as she steers me over to the barstool next to Harun. Wincing, I realize that I must not be hiding my trepidation very well if the twins are going out of their way to be so vigilant.

“Let me guess,” Dani tells Harun, looking between the punny menu board she came up with and his sour expression. “Coffee, black, one cube of sugar? I call that our un-espresso-ive.” His brows press together at her sixth sense, but he doesn’t deny it. Dani directs her attention to her sister next. “Iced Kashmiri chai latte with extra whipped cream, right?”

“Yes, please,” Dalia chirps.

“And for Zahra—”

“I’ll take care of Zahra,” Nayim interrupts.

Before any of us can respond, he sets out to complete the task of preparing my order, filling a kettle with Assam and Darjeeling tea leaves, milk, pinches of cardamom, cinnamon, and cloves. The mouthwatering smell saturates the entire shop in pleasant steam. When the kettle whistles, he pours the tea into a glass teacup, adds the exact amount of sugar, and decorates the mildly frothy, aromatic concoction with a single star anise.

He slides it over to me.

“Th-thanks,” I stammer, hyperaware of Harun observing the exchange.

“Tell me if you like it,” Nayim says. “I’ve been practicing.”

Although there’s a strange tension simmering in the shop outside his kettle of tea, the masala chai tastes perfect. I release a contented sigh without meaning to as I take a tiny sip.

Harun glares at the shifting black surface of his own coffee, then downs it so quickly that I flinch at the prospect of him burning himself. He slides the mug back to Dani and stands up. “I’ve gotta go. Busy.”

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