was any danger of crossing boundaries with him, ever. The real issue was that India never brought her own feelings into the equation with her clients. Helping clients was sacrosanct, it was about them and them alone. She wasn’t sure if she could do that with their history.
She stood there staring at him, wishing she didn’t see every bit of the restlessness inside him. He was asking for help. He hated that he was. She couldn’t not help. It wasn’t in her. Learn, then, life is about growing.
“The studio is closed until five.” She looked at Brandy. “No one else is here except my mom.” Then she turned back to Yash. Silence stretched. If she made this awkward, if she let him see, she would never forgive herself. “I have to cook dinner for my mother. If you don’t mind me doing that while we talk, you can come in.” That meant they’d just be talking. She’d just be helping a friend’s brother, not a client.
“You don’t mind?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I did.”
He turned to Brandy. “I’ll stay indoors. You’re only supposed to be guarding me in public places. I’ll call when I’m ready to leave.”
The entire tortured thing must have gotten through Brandy’s iciness, because after a quick sweep of the studio she left.
India led him across the studio, up the stairs, and into her home.
His keen gaze searched the place and she steeled herself. This was not going to work out if she let every little thing he did get to her. That wasn’t who she was anymore.
“Where’s Chutney?”
There it was, the god-awful electric spasm that zinged through her heart.
“She’s with my mom.”
He looked disappointed. Damn him.
“Something to drink?” Hurrying to the kitchen, she grabbed a coconut water from the fridge and put it in front of him without waiting for an answer.
He thanked her and took it without giving one.
She picked up a carrot and stared at it. Why was the carrot so large? Why hadn’t she noticed that bulbous tip? And why in heaven’s name was she holding it up like that?
His mouth quirked. He looked away.
Slamming the unnecessarily humongous thing on the cutting board, she picked up a knife and chopped it in half.
It wasn’t clear if Yash cleared his throat because she started slicing, fast and furious.
How on earth was Yash here ten years after she’d humiliated herself for his entertainment? Why was she letting him watch her mutilate a carrot? What had she been thinking, letting a stranger into her kitchen?
Although the definition of stranger might be a bit of a problem. That’s the thing she remembered most about him, the fact that their first encounter had felt like she’d known him her whole life. If that regularly happened to people, it just proved what India knew, that she wasn’t entirely normal. It had only happened to her that one time.
“May I help?” he asked, rolling up his shirtsleeves to reveal forearms that she absolutely would not stare at. How did one get forearms like that working on speeches? How many hands did you have to shake?
She slowed her hands. No point losing digits over unfairly ripped forearms. “There’s really not that much to do. I’m going to chop the vegetables and put them into the pot and then let them cook. But thank you.” Also, thank you, God, for making her voice sound so calm that even she wondered if it was coming from her.
The rhythmic chopping seemed to hypnotize him, and he watched silently without any further response. Cutting vegetables relaxed her. She tried to remember that.
When was the last time you slept? she wanted to ask, but it felt too intimate for an opening question. It was just two people in a kitchen. Nothing had the right to feel this intimate.
He has a girlfriend.
“How is Abdul?”
His shoulders rolled back as though his skin had suddenly become too tight around him. “The doctors don’t know if he will regain consciousness.” He swallowed. “The patient waking up from surgery within forty-eight hours is what you hope for. It’s been over a week already.”
“And what do they do in a case like that?”
“It’s too soon after the surgery to do anything more just yet. Right now hope is the only action we can take. That’s what they tell me.” His jaw worked. Obviously, he hated saying those words.
“How is his family doing?”
“They’re strong.” His hand went to his hair, but he pulled it back. “He has to wake up. His little girl