leave.”
“That’s not what I meant at all.” China sounded torn, and Brandy studied her with an extra layer of iciness falling over her iciness.
“Let’s just go upstairs,” India said.
“Yash can’t stay until I’ve secured the premises.”
“That’s not necessary.” This from Yash. “I’ll call when I’m done. You can leave now.”
“I can’t do that, Yash, I can’t leave you here until I’ve made sure the premises are secure,” Brandy said.
“Will you stop saying premises? It makes you sound like a psychopath. This is our home.” China looked ready to wring Brandy’s neck.
“Cee, sweetheart, please,” India said.
“These are not premises. Who says premises? Is this an episode of Homeland?” China was not in a mood to be curbed.
“China’s right,” India said to Brandy. “This is our home. But you’re right, this is also my office. A lot of people who come here take their privacy very seriously.”
“So someone is in there,” Brandy said with some satisfaction.
“Yes, and if you wait in the yoga room, they’ll leave and then you can secure the premises.”
That seemed to satisfy everyone and made Yash look at her in a way that he really should not be looking at her. Ignoring him, when her entire body had decided to do the opposite of that, she ushered Brandy and him into the yoga room. As soon as she shut the door, she knew she’d made a mistake.
The room was lined with mirrors on opposite walls. Seeing Yash reflected across mirror upon mirror almost knocked her back. Those haunted eyes, that velvet-thick salt-and-pepper hair tousled by his fingers, that perfectly shaved jaw that didn’t know how not to be determined. Having him look at her that way, as though she were the answer to his questions, having that multiplied to infinity, it was a visual India really did not want to carry to the end of her living days.
Chapter Thirteen
As Yash followed India up the narrow wooden stairs to her apartment, the oddest sense engulfed him. What exactly the sense was, he didn’t want to inspect. He let it dance there, at the edge of his consciousness. Her hair was shorter than it had been ten years ago, and it tapered in the back to her long graceful neck, leaving it bare.
The moment they entered the cozy living room with its teal sofa lined with orange pillows, an already familiar smell—fine, stink—hit him, accompanied by a panting sound. Chutney’s slobbery face came into view.
One pat on her scrunched-up head and she promptly rolled over and whimpered. Dropping down on the top step, he gave her what she wanted, a belly-rubbing for the ages. In return she closed her eyes and gave him her unbridled ecstasy, and for the first time in days he laughed. And felt like himself.
“If you don’t stop, you could be doing that for the rest of the day.” India folded the throws that were strewn around the sectional couch and stacked them up. Then she picked up cups sitting on the worn wood center table piled with books and took them to the kitchen.
Sunlight filtered through a tree and streamed in through the wall of windows, kindling warmth in long-forgotten parts of him. There was a sense of peace here and it settled around him like the perpetual smell of incense threaded together with Chutney’s smell.
“Would you like to sit down?” India said. Her calm tone disturbed him and wrapped around him in equal measure.
The way she held herself was open and loose-limbed, as though he hung out in her living room every day, as though anyone and everyone walked in here and was welcomed. Meanwhile, his heart was beating out an entirely unfamiliar pattern directly at odds with her even breathing, and he couldn’t quite find the strength to fight it. Especially when something else inside him felt . . . it felt as even as her breathing.
Extracting a large glass bowl of something orange from the fridge, she placed it on the tiled island as he joined her, leaving a very satisfied Chutney behind.
“Can I help?” He’d never in his life had the urge to shell peas. Now it was a god-awful tug inside him.
“I need to take my mom a snack.” She filled a bowl with what had to be orange yogurt with unidentified clumps of something mixed in. “I’ll be just a minute.” Tightness slipped into her voice. She was working hard to appear relaxed and realizing that made a weight settle on his chest.
“What is that?” he said, pointing at