Page 26 of The Seeker
“Vasu!”
“You have to decide for yourself.” His corporeal form started to dissolve. “It’s not my job to solve your puzzles for you.”
Chapter Five
Rhys was sipping tea and waiting for breakfast in the courtyard of the hotel where Meera had taken him his first day in New Orleans. He had returned several times in the week since he’d been in the city. He liked the cool solitude of the courtyard and the tall, trickling fountain.
He didn’t hear her enter the courtyard. He only saw her when she pulled back a wrought iron chair.
How did she keep sneaking up on him? And sneaking away? It had to be some kind of magic. His situational awareness was too keen for any other explanation.
Blasted woman.
“Do you mind if I join you?” She sat down before he could answer.
“Am I going to be able to stop you?” He set down the newspaper he’d been reading.
She was wearing a bright green sundress that morning and her hair was knotted on top of her head. A few errant curls fell to shoulders that looked like they’d had a few days of sun since the last time he’d seen her.
Where have you been?
What have you been doing?
Who have you been doing it with?
Asking any of those questions would be impertinent and frankly too revealing of how much he’d been thinking about her. “Good morning, Meera.”
“I’m glad you came back here.” Meera waved over a server. “They don’t get as much business as some of the more obvious restaurants.” She ordered coffee and pastry.
“I like it here.” Rhys sipped his tea. “The kitchen is fast and the servers remain aloof.”
“You like aloof servers?”
“Yes. This city is relentlessly friendly. It’s exhausting.”
Meera threw her head back and laughed. “Relentlessly friendly. Yes, that describes New Orleans quite well. I wouldn’t call it exhausting though.”
“That’s your prerogative.” He itched to tuck the fallen curls back into the knot she wore. As if that would contain her. “You’ve been gone for a few days.”
“Yes, at the haven.”
“Your parents’ haven.”
She smiled softly. “It doesn’t belong to them. They only came here a few years ago.”
“From where?”
Meera said, “Did you order breakfast? I think you’re too thin. You must eat more. Surely I’m not the first person who’s told you this. Isn’t your mother alive? What about your sisters in Istanbul?”
He didn’t give in to the subject change. “Why are you so cagey about who you are? I’ve told you my identity. I’ve been completely open with you, and yet you continue to evade any questions about who you are and what your qualifications might be. How am I supposed to trust you?”
“You’re asking formyhelp,” Meera said. “I’m not asking for yours, remember? I never called for you, so why is it my responsibility to make you trust me?”
He hated that her point had merit. The fact that she could so easily spar with him was both maddening and quickly nudging his preoccupation toward obsession.
Who are you, Meera?
The question had kept him up over half the previous night.
