Chapter 25
Rohit gently shook a trio of ants off the handle of the cooler he’d packed before opening the lid and peering inside.
“More sparkling grape juice?” he offered Cynthia, who sat beside him on the blue plaid blanket.
She leaned back on her hands, her legs stretched out in front of her, and shot him a quick, distracted smile. “No, thanks.”
“Apricot?”
“I’m good.”
“Sandwich?”
She didn’t even bother to respond this time, only gestured with a slight tilt of her chin at the half-eaten sandwich nestled in a napkin on her lap.
Rohit hesitated, his hand hovering awkwardly over the lid of the cooler.
Packing a picnic and bringing Cynthia to Harmony in the Park had been his idea, and he was starting to think it had been a bad one.
She’d been distant all night: picking at her food, slow to respond to conversation, accepting his affection but not initiating.
He’d grown accustomed to her touch—was hyperaware of every caress and playful cuff—and without it, Rohit’s heart felt bereft.
Still, because it was Cynthia, he tried again. “Meat flower?”
When Cynthia didn’t respond, Rohit gave up and pushed the cooler aside.
Planning a picnic in the park for the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in Kelowna had been a stupid move on his part.
Cynthia was used to luxurious thread counts and fine dining, and he was trying to court her at a free community music event on a blanket he’d found in a thrift store.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Do you want to head out?” he asked, hoping she’d decline despite himself and this disastrous evening.
“Sure,” she said, hopping to her feet, grabbing their garbage, and heading for the nearby garbage can. It was the most life force she’d shown all night, and Rohit slowly followed her lead.
They walked to his seven-year-old two-door gray Toyota in silence, Rohit carrying the cooler with the rolled-up blanket tucked under his arm, Cynthia scrolling through her phone.
She barely looked up as he stashed the items in his trunk, but when he opened the passenger door for her, Rohit snagged her attention by grabbing her hand before she could slide into the car.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Her head snapped up and she pocketed her phone. “For what?”
“This was a terrible date idea,” he said.
Her forehead wrinkled. “No, it wasn’t,” she replied, pulling him toward her and kissing him on the cheek. “It was great.”
Drawn into her nearness for the first time this entire evening, Rohit didn’t pull away immediately.
With her silky black hair teasing his jawline and her reassuring hand on his shoulder beckoning him forward, closer, into her, how could he not indulge?
This was home. Rohit palmed the delicate space between her shoulder blades and leaned in, breathing deep, relieved, ecstatic, and grateful when she seemed content to linger in the embrace.
It wasn’t enough to erase all the insecurities he’d felt just a few minutes ago, but once he’d settled himself in the driver’s seat, the urge to survey the interior of his secondhand car through her eyes was waylaid by Cynthia speaking again.
“I know I’ve been off,” she said.
Rohit looked out into the grassy green expanse ahead of them where, the concert having ended, people were packing up their belongings. “You deserve more than a picnic in the park.”
“Rohit, stop it.” Cynthia leaned over to squeeze his knee. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately. I’m sorry.”
He wanted to pry—discovering every inch of her brilliant mind was becoming his favorite hobby—but when she turned her head to look out the passenger window, Rohit slid his hand to the back of Cynthia’s headrest and focused on reversing out of the parking lot instead.
It was slow going as the parking lot was flooded with headlights and parents carrying sleeping children to their vehicles.
Maybe Cynthia’s mind was as heavy with the weight of learning his secret as Rohit’s had been since telling her.
At the time, she’d reacted better than he could’ve hoped for, but the last time they’d spent real quality time together had been at the Leprechaun Trap—the night Maisa had called to talk about their grandmother’s diabetes.
If it had been enough to scare Rohit, then surely it was enough to scare Cynthia away.
Because, as far as Rohit could see, picnics in the park and free entertainment was not just a temporary phase for a guy one year into his career in account management in a new city.
At this rate, he would always be just hanging on to the tail end of a fraying rope, pulled taut by a dark secret and worn down by the burden of financial responsibility.
She could change her mind about him and he wouldn’t blame her. The sight of her in a designer dress, sitting in his less-than-impressive vehicle, hurt his eyes.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Cynthia said, “but I’ve been working off-site a lot lately.”
He’d noticed. “Was it intentional?”
“Was what intentional?”
“You…” But he couldn’t bring himself to ask if she had been avoiding him, or worse, why . “You working off-site a lot.”
Her response was quiet but crushing. “Maybe. I just feel I need some space from the office,” she added.
And space from me. Rohit couldn’t bring himself to say the words out loud.
Funny how his ability to mask his thoughts and true feelings behind charming words and an affable smile—something he had always believed to be one of his greatest strengths—suddenly seemed like a curse.
Hiding his irritation from his family harmonized his relationship with them, and being the easygoing guy at work promised job security.
But with Cynthia, it created an uneasy sense of space between them when all he wanted was to breathe her air and sink into her skin.
“I’ve been playing a lot of catch-up, too, with clients,” Cynthia continued, drumming her fingers on the center console. “All that extra work at KC really set me back.”
Rohit turned to study Cynthia. Her gaze was downcast, emphasizing the faint shadows under her eyes and his chest twisted. “You need to take care of yourself, too,” he said.
“That’s first on my list as soon as I get on top of things.”
“Maybe you need some help playing catch-up,” he ventured softly.
Cynthia’s chin snapped up and Rohit would’ve been more taken aback had Cynthia’s eyes not looked so…lost. She abruptly turned to look out her window again. “I just need to catch up on sleep,” she said.
As Rohit pulled out of the parking lot, he saw a child on the sidewalk bawling in agony over an ice cream cone splattered in the dirt, and he had never identified more with another human being. Or ice cream. “Do you want me to take you home, then?”
Cynthia turned back to him, and to his surprise, a smile tilted her soft, perfect mouth.
“Actually, I’d like to go back to your place,” she said.
“Seriously?”
“Don’t make me invite myself over again, Rohit.”
Rohit grinned. It was the sweetest reprimand she could have said to him.
His high spirits, however, were short-lived.
With every twist and turn toward his neighborhood, Rohit found his throat closing as he fought against the urge to throw nervous glances in Cynthia’s direction.
Even though she’d been to his apartment before, it was far from a point of pride that they were driving away from the vibrant, urban part of the city.
There was no way that Cynthia’s sharp eye was overlooking the increasingly dated architecture and the boarded-up businesses that had failed to attract new tenants as they drove down the road.
It was a far cry from her living situation; her condo was in a newer building surrounded by boutique stores and quaint local cafés and bakeries. Rohit lived in an older neighborhood, lined by single-story homes, sidewalk chalk, and children’s bicycles littering the yards.
“Home sweet home,” Rohit said, nervousness coating his bravado with a shaky lilt as he maneuvered his vehicle along the sidewalk across from the building. He saved fifty bucks a month on a parking stall this way, even if it sometimes required a lengthier trek if someone was throwing a party nearby.
He killed the engine and studied the back of Cynthia’s head as she looked at his building through her passenger window.
He didn’t bother removing his hand from his keys, still jammed in the ignition, in case she took another look at his building’s dull concrete exterior and faded awning over the entrance and changed her mind.
But she unbuckled her seat belt and swung the car door open. “I may have invited myself over, but I can’t let myself in,” she said over her shoulder before stepping out of the vehicle.
Rohit led Cynthia to his unit on the first floor and tried to see the modest living space through her eyes. Like Cynthia, he preferred minimal clutter and functional living, but his place lacked the tasteful, eye-catching coordination of someone who understood interior design.
His apartment was a lot smaller, too. His entryway led both into a small kitchen and the living room, where an overstuffed black leather sectional and flat-screen TV took up most of the space.
To the right were two doors that led to the bedroom and the bathroom.
The windows were curtainless, the walls bare.
And while Rohit was glad something embarrassing, like a poster of a bikini model, wasn’t greeting Cynthia now, he was struck by how his home looked somewhat nomadic. Like an exchange student setting up residence for the school year only.
“You know, I’d always expected fancier digs for the most popular guy at work,” Cynthia teased as she crossed the short distance between his kitchen and the living room.
He knew she was teasing but the words were jarring. “We’re not all blessed with your sense of style,” he said half-heartedly.
Or financial freedom , he added silently to himself.