Chapter Fifteen
When Sameera returned to the main house a few hours later, the dining room had been transformed.
Rob had done a wonderful job: The long table was set with red linen napkins and gold charging plates, a lush green velvet runner, and candles in silver holders, with a large bouquet of poinsettias and pine boughs taking pride of place at the center.
From her perch on the couch, she watched as Tom brought the food to the table, and he caught her gaze and held it.
Her stomach swooped, and she could feel an electrical tingling in her fingers.
She was in real trouble if he could cause this reaction without even touching her.
The doorbell rang, and, grateful for the distraction, Sameera hurried to greet her parents’ guests, pasting a smile of welcome on her face as she reached the door.
On the Cookes’ porch, Syrian Santa—Abu Isra, she reminded herself—and his family stood, beaming and holding gifts.
His wife, a petite woman wearing a navy-blue hijab and woolen overcoat, thrust a tray of kunafe dessert at Sameera before introducing herself as Hiba, which was Arabic for “gift.” She presented her six children: Isra, twelve; Daniyal, ten; twins Akbar and Ali, eight; Batul, five; and little Ikhlas, who held up three fingers when Sameera asked her age.
Syrian Santa—Abu Isra, Sameera reminded herself again—carried a large tray of honey-glazed crispy baklava, and her mouth was already watering at the thought of biting into the nutty, buttery dessert.
She was so distracted by greetings and taking everyone’s coats that she didn’t notice a tall figure standing by the porch.
Not until the figure suddenly let loose an earth-shattering roar!
Sameera stared in horror as an eight-foot-tall Tyrannosaurus rex charged straight toward their group.
Hiba shrieked, her children scattering like bowling pins, as the dinosaur lumbered toward the crowd. Abu Isra bravely stepped in front of the beast’s path, and Tom pushed Sameera behind him at the same moment her brain caught up with what she was seeing.
Sameera wriggled between the bodies cowering on the porch and marched up to the T. rex—or rather, the person inside the inflated dinosaur costume. She peered through the clear plastic at the dinosaur’s neck and recognized her brother.
“Esa!” Sameera said sternly. “What are you doing?”
Esa launched into a complicated dance sequence that finished with him moonwalking toward the door. Abu Isra’s children squealed—in glee or terror, Sameera wasn’t sure—at his approach. Behind them, Calvin filmed the entire thing, a delighted smile stretched across his face.
“Kevin McCallister would approve,” Cal said cheerfully, and her lips twitched with reluctant amusement. She wondered what else her brother had planned.
Inside, Esa deflated the costume and chased Abu Isra and Hiba’s kids around the foyer, much to their delight, while Naveed and Tahsin apologized for their son’s prank.
Now that the dinosaur had been unmasked as a friendly nuisance and not a rampaging monster, Hiba and Abu Isra—whose name was actually Younus—shared a good laugh.
“Our children were afraid they would be bored in a house full of adults,” Hiba said, shooting an apologetic glance at Rob and Barb.
“That was a good joke the young man played.” Like her husband, Hiba had a Middle Eastern accent.
She explained that her family had moved to the United States five years ago from Syria; little Ikhlas was born in Texas, where they had lived before moving to Alaska.
Hiba herself had grown up in the United Arab Emirates, though she was born in the United States and had settled in Syria, where she had gone to school.
When civil war broke out, they had fled, leaving behind family members, including their parents.
With the recent news, they were considering their options, and had even talked about returning to help rebuild their home country.
The members of the dinner party took their seats at the dining table and soon were busy chatting about life in Alaska, Abu Isra’s restaurant, and his work as the volunteer imam for the small Muslim community in the area, while Rob shared his experiences growing up in Wolf Run.
Even Tom offered a few stories of his childhood in the village, and chatted easily with Abu Isra about recipes, comparing notes on the difficulty of sourcing sumac and other ingredients up north.
Sameera watched as his face came alive when he talked about food and cooking, and she remembered their easy camaraderie when they’d filmed their latest video.
She had peeked at her social media earlier that afternoon and was pleased to see their video was already racking up likes and comments, even more than the biryani video.
Surely the television executives would take note and put him back on the short list. Tom was exactly the sort of TV chef she would happily watch for hours—on- or off-screen.
All seemed to be going well until an air siren went off when Barb opened the pantry door, making the entire party jump. Calvin and Esa laughed themselves silly, and even Tom had to lift a hand to cover his smile.
When Tahsin yelled “Esa!” in an uncanny imitation of Catherine O’Hara yelling “Kevin!” Sameera snorted a laugh.
Esa met her gaze, and something in her chest eased at his mischievous grin.
Luckily, her little brother also realized he had gone too far with the air siren, and apologized profusely to Barb.
“Sameera told me pranks are part of the holidays,” he explained, blithely throwing his sister under the bus. “And Tom encouraged me to make the most of my time here, to work on content that spoke to me.”
“It’s true,” she said, playing along. “Though Home Alone has to share some of the blame.” Esa seemed surprised by her support, and she couldn’t help adding, “I don’t think Tom meant you should play pranks on his family, though.”
Esa shrugged. “I’m only trying to spread some holiday cheer.”
Thankfully, everyone had a good sense of humor, and Esa promised to hold off while they all enjoyed the meal their parents had spent all afternoon preparing.
The dinner party gorged on channa curry, biryani, palak saag, and karahi chicken. Tahsin made a point to assure Rob that none of the dishes were too spicy.
“I like a bit of spice,” Rob protested. “I bet I could go toe to toe with you, Naveed. Pass me the Frank’s RedHot.”
Naveed gave Rob a lazy smile, and Sameera’s grip tightened on her fork. Her father was a mild-mannered man, but living with his competitive wife and even more competitive children had taught him to never back down from a challenge.
“My dear Robert, I would not wish to embarrass you in front of our guests,” Naveed said. “Especially if that vinegary red water you call ‘Frank’s RedHot’ is your idea of spicy.”
“Oooooh,” Esa catcalled.
“Are you going to take that, Dad?” Calvin asked, leaning forward in his seat. From the delight on his face, the young man was enjoying the chaos the Malik family had brought with them from Atlanta.
Rob stood up and disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a jar of bright-red paste.
“Buddy of mine mixed this up for me. Mixture of scotch bonnet, cayenne, and Thai chili peppers. Calls it his ‘good morning mix.’ I put it on my scrambled eggs.” His eyes fixed on Naveed, he plopped a generous tablespoon onto his filled plate and took a large bite.
Naveed grabbed the jar and added two tablespoons to his own plate before digging in. His brown skin took on a slightly red cast, but he shrugged his shoulders insouciantly. “A bit sweet, actually. I might use this as a topping for my baklava later.”
Puzzled, Tahsin reached out and tried the hot sauce, nearly sputtering. “What are you talking about, Naveed? My tongue is on fire!”
Tom and Sameera exchanged an amused glance. Beside them, Esa and Cal were slapping the table and laughing, while Abu Isra’s children took in the spectacle, their eyes wide.
Rob took up Naveed’s challenge and made another trip to the kitchen, returning with a bright-green bottle, this one with a cartoon picture of a skull and crossbones wearing a sombrero.
“Maybe this ghost chili pepper will add some taste to that bland chickpea curry, then,” he said, offering it to Naveed with an evil grin.
“This hot sauce is illegal in forty-eight states.”
“Shots fired!” Esa crowed, and even Tahsin’s brows narrowed at the shade thrown at her cooking.
“I put plenty of spice in the channa, I assure you,” Tahsin said, but Naveed had already reached for the green bottle and was dousing his chickpeas. Calvin and Esa both whooped as Naveed took a large bite, his gaze pinned on Rob, one eyebrow raised in challenge.
Rob reached for the bottle and doctored his own meal. Both men then proceeded to eat, visibly sweating and in clear discomfort but neither willing to back down. Esa happily recorded the entire exchange.
“Spicy Uncle Throw-Down!” her brother crowed. “This content practically writes itself!”
After their plates were cleared—and both Rob and Naveed had each hurriedly excused themselves from the table, presumably to run to the bathroom—Abu Isra asked Sameera what she thought about Wolf Run.
“I don’t think I’ve ever visited a more beautiful place,” Sameera answered honestly. “The mountains, the woods, even the main street—it all feels magical. I find myself wondering whether I’ve stumbled into Santa’s village.”
The eldest of Abu Isra’s children piped up, her voice scornful. “There’s no such thing as Santa. Everyone knows that.”
Isra’s younger siblings started to argue.
“If there’s no such thing as Santa, who was that man at the store?
” one of the twins demanded while his brother nodded.
“Jacob from my school saw Santa in his house last year, when he snuck downstairs at night. He even ate the cookies they laid out for him!”