Chapter 15 #3
“Can you do that? I didn’t know they offered that option.” And the bantering was back.
“I doubt they keep that much in stock,” I said smugly.
“Rude. You’re the one asking for my help. Look, I’ve got to get back to work. So, what are you thinking? How can I help?”
“Well, Leyla seems to like all that Turkish stuff you’re always spewing when you think no one is paying attention. Maybe teach me some. What do you call her? Hiatal?”
It was beyond me why she thought he was so charming with all those exotic words, but I was a desperate man. Not to mention the Turkish dramas all the women in our group watched and talked about incessantly. Seemed like my best friend might have some inside information, being from Istanbul.
“Hiatal? Isn’t that a hernia?” He grumbled something that wasn’t English. Best to not ask. “It’s hyatim. It means ‘my life.’ And yes, she really, really loves that.” I could practically hear him grinning salaciously. Very un-Niko-like. Interesting new development.
“Okay, okay, so she really melts over that, I guess?” Maybe I should be taking notes.
His answer was quick and stern. “My wife’s melting is none of your business. And isn’t Ren Italian? Why learn Turkish? Also, don’t think it has escaped my attention that the supposed master has now become my little Paddlewagon.” He was so obnoxious when he gloated.
“For the love, Niko. It’s Padawan. Get your movies right.”
“Oh, I guess I should have offered to help your gnarly rad self. You would have understood that better.”
“You know, you’ve gotten more sarcastic since being married. Leyla’s really rubbing off on you. Not a good look, dude.”
“Stop talking about my wife and focus on your own. And what about this group text?”
I went to my bedroom closet to grab my clothes. “You probably didn’t see it yet since you were so busy doing scientific stuff,” I said. I was pretty sure he growled.
“Vicky is having us all over tonight for pizza to talk about the wedding. By the tone of her text, I’m not gonna lie. I’m terrified. But, in the meantime, I need to find a way to start wooing Ren. Come on, help a brother out here, Niko.”
His chair squeaked in the background, and his voice lowered to just above a whisper.
“Okay. Two words for you. Pride and Prejudice.” He said it low as if he were giving out state secrets.
My brows furrowed. “First of all, that’s three words. And what now?” I asked, pulling on my jeans, walking toward the bathroom.
“Are you listening to me?” he hissed.
“Dude, why are you whispering? It’s creeping me out.”
“Stop. Talking,” he grumbled. “The movie, Pride and Prejudice. The latest one with the handsome guy in the long coat walking in the mist, followed by an almost kiss. Apparently, there’s an older version.
Not that one. That’s important. Write it down if you have to.
Oh, and don’t forget the hand flex. Brilliant stuff, man. ”
I stopped mid-stride, completely baffled. “Um, why do I want to see a guy in a coat in the mist flexing his hand and almost kissing someone?”
“Trust me. Go to the rain scene. Better than Tom Hanks or Will Smith. You can thank me later,” he said, as if he’d just solved cold fusion. I was confused, but also intrigued.
“Really? And you know this how?”
“Just watch it, and you’ll understand. And don’t tell too many people about it or everyone will be using it.” This had to be good if it meant he was gatekeeping. I put a note in my calendar to watch it soon. Very soon.
“Thanks, man. Glad I didn’t call Miles,” I joked.
“Mike, Mike, Mike. Women need you to find the language that speaks to them. Not just the obvious one, but what reaches their hearts. Speaks to their vulnerabilities. Their fears. Then assure them you’ll be kind, safe, and open. And yeah, a little Italian can’t hurt, right?”
“Man, you really did find your woo.”
“Eh, Turkish men have been wooing for centuries, you know,” he said smugly.
I snorted. Who was this guy?
“Niko, you may be Turkish, but you’re forgetting something important here. This American guy introduced you to romcoms so you can find your woo. Let’s be clear about that fact.”
“Maybe, but I’ve discovered that Turkish men are naturally fluent in romance.”
I checked the phone to be sure I was still talking to my shy scientist friend. Yup. Still him.
“Fluent? You could barely string a sentence together when you were pursuing Leyla.”
“I’m just stating facts. Turkish men just…know how to speak to a woman.” Was his voice deepening?
“Ah, you’re making me really uncomfortable right now. And stop talking about Turkish men like that, will you?”
He chuckled, and I heard him start walking.
“Okay, since you’re apparently the new zen master, send me the link to whatever Turkish woo you bought off of ,” I teased.
“Will do. Pick the Prime option. You don’t have much time.” I loved his dry humor.
“No, I don’t.”
His voice turned serious again. “And Mike. What I asked you at the hospital. Are you sure God is in this?”
“Yeah, Niko. He’s in this.”
He paused, and I could picture him nodding. “Okay, then let’s get you your girl.”