Chapter Thirteen
Sejal was in way over her head, and she was woman enough to admit it.
She dunked her tea bag into her mug and stared out the big bay window in Mama and Papa Krish’s farmhouse kitchen. The sun
was setting, casting pink and yellow fingers over the acres of land stretched in front of her. It was the kind of postcard
perfect setting in which a cowboy might emerge over the horizon. Cowboy Krish. It fit.
She wondered if Krish had ridden horses growing up, or if he’d had any pets. She wished she’d won that last round of the game.
She had a million questions for him.
You told him about the kidnapping? Fool.
Her only excuse was that all that talk about trauma and scars had really gotten to her. She imagined he wouldn’t have loved
anything that smacked of pity, but hearing how his dad had passed had nearly had her crawling into his lap to comfort him.
Especially coming on the heels of the loneliness that had been apparent when he talked about his life growing up in a small
town.
No one would ever have called her a nurturing person, but that sense of feeling like an outsider, it resonated with her.
Vegas may have had a bigger Desi population than his hometown, but the Chaudharys hadn’t really mingled well with them.
Even if they had, Sejal wouldn’t have fit in.
She’d been the odd man out with everyone as a kid, given what a mess her father had been.
She’d done her best to make sure Mira was more socialized. Sejal had carefully laid out her sister’s clothes in grade school.
She’d ensured that Mira’s garments didn’t have holes or stains, though most of her own stuff had been hand-me-downs several
times over. What little she knew about Mira now told her that her little sister wasn’t as isolated as Sejal was. At Mira’s
wedding celebration, her sister had glowed, surrounded by her chosen family.
So maybe Sejal had done something right before she’d abandoned Mira.
At least Krish had had his mother’s money and influence to shield him. It was clear that at least some of the community here
considered this family their own, and Krish’s parents didn’t even live in this home full-time.
No one considers you theirs. Except, perhaps, Kenneth. Sejal wished she could call him and nag him about his diet right now. She’d asked about a new phone
at the general store when Krish had left her alone, but burner phones clearly weren’t as hot a commodity here as Henleys.
Which Krish was wearing the fuck out of, by the way.
She shivered, despite the hot tea in her hand. He’d been about to kiss her in the bar, hadn’t he? His full, soft lips had
been so close. You don’t want him to kiss you.
Ugh, even she knew that was a lie. Kissing him wasn’t smart, but she still wanted it. If she’d thought this attraction to Krish was inconvenient the first night they met, that was nothing compared to how she felt now.
“That’s a lovely dress. You clean up quite well.”
Oh fuck.
She’d breathed a sigh of relief when Krish’s mother had been absent when they returned home. She felt the same pressure now
that Krish did to ensure that Aarthi didn’t find out about her real identity.
Of course Aarthi would hate her for who her parents were, especially since Aarthi’s husband had been violently killed by criminals,
her child in the car. Lady, please understand, I often hate me for who my parents are.
Sejal turned around to find Aarthi holding a beautifully arranged vase of flowers.
You aren’t going to fool me with those blooms, Aarthi. Florist, my ass. “Hello, ma’am. Thank you.” Sejal looked down at her outfit. “And thank you for loaning us the money. I’ll be sure to pay you
back.”
Aarthi waved her hand. “Consider it a gift.”
If Krish had paid for the dress, Sejal would have considered it proper compensation for the hassle of this trip, but she wasn’t
about to take something from his mother. “I’ll pay you back,” she said kindly, but firmly. She had the money. Or rather, she
had jewels sitting in a safe-deposit box in Jersey that she was quietly liquidating. “We met Suzy at the bar.”
“Did you now? Nice lady.”
Sejal didn’t want to push Krish’s mom too hard, but she also wanted to make it clear she was on to her. “She thinks your name
is Anna.”
Aarthi waved her hand. “My coffee shop name.”
“For preppers, you and your husband are certainly very social. I thought the purpose of a safe house was to be off the grid.”
“This isn’t a safe house, but a second home.”
Uh-huh. It was more likely that Aarthi had figured out that people here would be more curious about someone who bought property
in the area and never showed their face, but Sejal accepted her excuse for now. “Pretty flowers.”
“Oh, these?” Aarthi touched a rose. “I just put these together for the table.”
Sure you did. “Mmm.”
Aarthi put the vase on the island. “Speaking of which, I was about to start dinner.”
“Oh.” Sejal fiddled with the ends of her hair. Mildly influenced by Krish telling her he liked her own hair, she’d left the
wig in the room, but she wished she had something to hide behind now. “Not a problem. I can go—”
“Where’s Krishna?”
“I’m not sure. Your husband asked him to go out to the neighbor’s barn with him.” Krish had been quiet on their ride back
from town. Not that she’d minded. She’d been preoccupied with her own shit. When they’d gotten home—er, to the house—he’d
shown her where the tea was, at her request, and then been quickly drawn away by his stepfather.
Krish had given her a look before he’d been whisked away. It had been a weird look, one she wasn’t used to, the kind of look
a boyfriend might give to a girlfriend to see how she’d fare without him. No one, no actual boyfriends, had ever given her
that look before. She’d been too self-sufficient for anyone to consider that she might need them.
“Of course. They have some baby goats. Patrick does know how much Krishna loves baby animals.”
First of all, no one loved baby animals as much as Sejal, so she really wished she’d gone along with them, but also, Krish loved baby animals? He didn’t seem cuddly enough to care about cute widdle tiny faces.
“Who doesn’t love baby animals?” Even someone with ice in their veins could appreciate a baby goat, she supposed, and as she
was learning, Krish’s blood wasn’t totally glacier cold.
Aarthi walked over to the fridge and opened the crisper. She came back to the island with her arms full of produce and placed
her bounty next to the cutting board. “I thought I would make Krishna’s favorite tonight. I don’t need to tell you what that
is.”
Because as his girlfriend, she should know that. “No, you don’t.”
There was a brief silence, and then his mom spoke. “Shrimp c—”
“Shrimp curry,” Sejal blurted out. “Of course.”
“With a side of cauliflower.”
“Right. I know very well, Krish has never met a vegetable he didn’t like.”
“Except, bro—”
“Broccoli,” Sejal finished quickly. “Yes, right. Argh! He hates broccoli so much.”
“Oh, he hates it now? I thought he just didn’t care for it.”
Krish, damn it, I really need to be better prepped for lying to your mom. Sejal walked to the counter and touched a little yellow flower in the vase. Turning the tables had worked last time, so maybe
it would work this time. “What are these?”
Aarthi didn’t bat an eye. “Craspedia. Otherwise known as Billy Balls.”
Damn it, Sejal had no idea if that was correct or not, but it did sound right.
Aarthi bustled around the kitchen, washing the veggies in a big bowl. Sejal placed her mug on the counter. In this case, she’d
even commit the cardinal guest sin of not washing dishes and leaving. “I’ll head—”
“Would you like to make some chai for us while I cook?”
Oh dear. It was an easy enough ask, but not to Sejal. “I already have some tea.”
Aarthi wrinkled her nose at Sejal’s cup of water and a tea bag. “You can’t possibly prefer that to proper chai. Come, the
pot is over there.”
Sejal looked at the well-used clean pot already set out on the stove. So easy. If only she had her phone with her. She could
have run to the bathroom, googled the instructions, then run back and faked it. “I actually don’t know how to make chai,”
she admitted.
Aarthi shut off the faucet. “Your mother didn’t teach you?”
Sejal tightened her fingers around her sad tea. “No. She . . . she died when I was young.” She didn’t consider that a lie.
For all intents and purposes, her mom had been dead to her for years.
If Sejal had thought a dead mom would shut Aarthi up, she was disappointed. The older woman merely tsked and brought the bowl
of veggies to the big butcher cutting block next to the stove. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Well, come, I’ll teach you. Get
the milk from the fridge.” She tilted her head toward the cabinets. “The chai is in there. You can use the premade masala.
It’s not ideal, but it’ll do in a pinch.” Aarthi picked the largest knife from the block and examined it in the light.
Sejal checked outside, but Krish was sadly not galloping to her rescue. Slowly, she moved to the cabinet Aarthi had indicated and pulled out the containers of tea, sugar, and masala.
“That must have been hard, losing your mom at a young age.”
Sejal tried to lower her shoulders, but her traps were engaged. “It wasn’t easy, but I didn’t know any different.”
“Put half water, and half milk in the pot. You remember her?”
Sejal dutifully got the milk out of the fridge. “No, not really.”
“What about your father?” Aarthi asked, concern dripping off her words and onto the cauliflower as she hacked off its stem.
Vassar was a con man who was always chasing the next big fortune, and his only use for his daughters was to turn us into his
little criminal protégées. “He wasn’t around much. And when he was, he wasn’t very into cooking for us.” Or cleaning. Or signing their permission slips.
Actually, Sejal wasn’t sure why he’d even kept her and Mira after their mother left. He could have ditched them, too, and
let them go into foster care.