Chapter 14
chapter 14
It was like stepping onto the set of a Bollywood movie. People of all ages, regardless of gender, wore a rainbow of colors and textures, glittering sequins, and shimmery threads that caught the light as they whirled on the makeshift dance floor, flawlessly finding their dance partners to tap their dandiya sticks together. They were in a community hall with chairs pushed off to the side to make room for the eager dancers. And everybody, young and old, was joining in.
Naomi stood against a wall with Dev, the swirl of hues before her imprinting a kind of beauty she knew she’d see again whenever she closed her eyelids. Overcome with an emotion she couldn’t name, Naomi turned excitedly to look at Dev who, unsurprisingly, was stoic, his intense gaze on the dance floor before them, both seeing and unseeing. He, too, seemed to be in some kind of trance, but Naomi doubted the magic of Garba was affecting him in the same way.
Or maybe he was adopting an antisocial face to keep the bridal wolves at bay. It seemed unnecessary, though: they’d arrived about twenty minutes ago, and aside from the odd friendly nod or handshake from an older uncle or auntie, no one had approached Dev with fluttering eyelashes and a silky pout.
Kind of a shame, Naomi thought as she eyed Dev, looking trim and, well, unbelievably hot in a fitted kurta. She wouldn’t mind risking a few casual touches here and there, in the name of preventing any potential matches, of course.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Naomi asked Dev.
“What?”
“The dancing!”
Dev shrugged, reminding Naomi he had attended these types of events his whole life. He didn’t know how fortunate he was to have unbridled access to this, the thumping beat of the dhol vibrating through the soles of one’s feet, anchoring them to a rich, vibrant history.
“What’s the meaning behind Garba, anyway?” Naomi asked.
Dev shrugged again. “Beats me.”
“No, seriously, tell me.”
“I really don’t know.” Dev waved at the crowds of people around them. “And a lot of people here probably don’t, either. There are so many meanings behind everything, so many customs…It’s not unheard of to go with the flow and experience the moment for what it is.”
This was news to her. Naomi’s brow furrowed as, for the first time, she took a moment to look around, to really examine her surroundings. As expected, most of the participants were South Asians, but there was the odd non–South Asian, too, including white people dressed in traditional garb, laughing and having a good time. All types of languages floated in and out of her ears, including English—sometimes accented, sometimes not—and whatever the dialect, it didn’t deter people from connecting with one another.
It wasn’t what she had expected at all.
When Naomi turned back to Dev, he was watching her face, his expression soft but unreadable. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.
“Want to dance?” Dev asked.
It would be a night of shocking revelations, it seemed. “What?”
Dev gestured to the dance floor. “Do you want to dance?”
“I…I don’t know how.”
“Just go with the flow.”
Naomi’s heart curled inward. Go with the flow. As if it were so easy, so seamless. But maybe, with Dev at her side, it could be. Did she want to take that chance? It was on the tip of her tongue to decline, but her feet were already shifting beneath her, seeking rhythm. She wanted to dance. To try.
“Okay.”
When the music paused, Naomi followed Dev onto the dance floor, accepting the dandiya sticks a departing girl passed to her. They lined up with the other partners and Naomi listened carefully as Dev explained the footwork. As the opening notes of the music started again, she nodded, trying to exert confidence as her brain sifted through the hastily memorized steps.
If this was the scene in the movie where the wallflower heroine stepped onto the dance floor for the first time to become a graceful, sensual force to be reckoned with, then Naomi was no heroine. She flailed about, dizzying herself and only sometimes successfully meeting someone’s sticks when offered to her.
But surrounded by people of all ages, including the odd senior citizen who shuffled gaily to the beat of their own drum, Naomi stopped caring what she looked like. She was by far one of worst dancers and yet, when she caught the eye of another dancer, they smiled back, encouraging and nonjudgmental. The onlookers clapped and chatted around her and if anyone was staring at her, she didn’t feel the weight of self-consciousness she had expected to feel upon stepping into the community center.
Naomi stopped caring and started feeling . Her sense of rhythm might’ve been nowhere in sight, but the music filled her limbs anyway, circling her pounding heart, excited and full.
It was a heady feeling, belonging.
Even more of a revelation was her dance partner. It was obvious that Dev knew what he was doing as he moved effortlessly across the floor. His feet were light, his body loose-limbed and agile, and his smile so wide and easy, Naomi was transfixed.
Garba was like magic, and Dev knew all the tricks. Every graceful bend of his body to the rhythm thrumming around them was like a perfect illusion, and Naomi couldn’t look away if she wanted to. And she wanted much more than that. The desire to draw closer to him spilled through her, thick like caramelized sugar. She wanted to blanket herself in the woodsy freshness that clung to him and feel his warm skin against her own. She wanted to fold her curves around his hard edges.
She wanted to taste him.
When the last few chords of music drew to a stop, and a breathless Dev came to a stop in front of her, the pleasure on his face pierced her chest.
“So?” he said. “How do you feel?”
Feelings of belonging and joy lingered in Naomi’s limbs, but as she studied the man in front of her, his face flushed and dark chocolate eyes bright, desire flooded her senses, sharp, raw, and addictive.
What would it feel like to kiss those perfect, sulky lips? To wrap herself up in the heady combination of pine and mint. To press up against a man who was as quick with a sarcastic remark as he was to slide the protective sleeve from his coffee cup onto hers when he noticed her shifting the hot drink from one hand to the other. It would likely be the kiss to mock all others, including her first one, which had taken place at a crowded high school party with her first everyone-is-pairing-up-you-should-too boyfriend, their friends chanting “kiss” while toasting them with red Solo cups.
Without a doubt, Naomi knew that a kiss from Dev wouldn’t be a throwaway activity at some party. It would be an event in itself, a moment to return to over and over again long after it was over.
Naomi studied his mouth now, the beautiful curve of his full lower lip, the dusky pink tint. She wanted the dandiya sticks back in her hand, a water bottle, anything to keep her from reaching for him.
He just looked so solid. And dependable. And kissabl—
“Naomi?” he prompted.
“I feel good,” she murmured. “But maybe a drink?”
Resisting the urge to fan her heated cheeks, Naomi leaned against one of the walls inside the community center, using all her willpower not to watch Dev’s departing back as he went to fetch them drinks. She needed to collect herself, to cool down the uproar of feelings vying for attention inside her now that she was safe from Dev’s overwhelming nearness.
A few stumbles around the dance floor and Naomi was spellbound. Garba, she was learning, was more witchcraft than magic.
“I didn’t think I’d see you here,” said a familiar voice.
Naomi turned to see that Cynthia had sidled up beside her. For once, Naomi was relieved to see her: Cynthia was the cold dose of water she needed, as frigid as the ice-blue lehenga she wore, shot through with silver thread.
“You look gorgeous,” Naomi said, her voice cautious.
Cynthia preened. “My mother brought this back for me on her last trip to India. Don’t you love it when they bring back the goods?” She fluffed the dupatta pinned artfully to her shoulder. “I saw you on the dance floor.”
Here it comes , Naomi thought, bracing herself for a rude remark about her dancing, the clumsiness of her presence in a place where she obviously didn’t belong.
“You looked good out there,” Cynthia said instead. “The cut of your skirt is perfect for Garba.”
Surprised, Naomi offered Cynthia a smile, performing a little spin. “Thank you. I know I was a bit of a mess.”
Cynthia waved a dismissive hand at the crowded dance floor, where skirts whirled like flowers opening for the sun. “Some of the people here have been learning this dance since they were toddlers. Some of them compete in Garba competitions.”
“Really?” Naomi raised her eyebrows even though the information shouldn’t have shocked her, given everything she’d learned about the culture so far from Dev. “Have you done that?”
For once, Cynthia’s smile was guileless. “I can’t figure out these steps to save my life,” she said, unashamed and unapologetic. “I come to these things to network, shake hands.”
Had Naomi needed convincing that this nicer, approachable version of Cynthia wasn’t a figment of her imagination, that would have done it: she always had a bottom line.
“I haven’t seen you at any events like this before,” Cynthia continued. “And I go to a lot of them. I didn’t think they were your thing.”
Naomi bit the inside of her cheek. This morning, she, too, had been convinced that they weren’t her thing. That they would’ve taken one look at her and turned her away at the door. But in her yellow dress, dupatta slightly askew, and her feet already restless to fumble their way back on the dance floor, the idea of carving a place for herself did not seem entirely impossible. A tiny sliver would be nice—something that, if she nurtured and shaped in the right way, could grow into something even the mighty Gia would approve of.
At the thought of Gia, Naomi automatically looked for Dev in the crowded room. He was standing near the water coolers, two disposable cups in hand, chatting animatedly with a woman in an emerald-green sari. For once, he wasn’t throwing her panicked eyes, but still, her feet forgot all about dancing and sought to be at his side.
“If you’ll excuse me, there’s something I have to attend to,” Naomi murmured.
Cynthia had set her own sights on someone else across the room. “Me, too. Gurpreet Singh is here. He’s opening a restaurant on—”
Naomi barely heard her as she strode toward Dev. He didn’t acknowledge her when she moved to his side, her arm pressed against his. His companion did, however, and turned to Naomi with curious eyes.
“Hi, I’m Mandy,” she said in a friendly tone. Her eyes flitted to where Naomi’s body joined Dev’s.
A brief glance at Dev gave nothing away, so Naomi shifted away from him slightly. “I’m Naomi.”
“I saw you guys on the dance floor,” Mandy said. She reached out and poked Dev’s wrist.
He didn’t recoil, and Naomi frowned.
“He used to be my designated Garba partner,” Mandy added with a little laugh.
“Mandy and I have known each other since childhood,” Dev added. “I didn’t know you’d be here, though. I thought you moved to Toronto.”
Naomi bristled at the familiarity in Dev’s tone, and she had to remind herself that Mandy was an old friend, not a woman on the hunt. Still, she found herself pressing closer to Dev again in a not-so-gentle reminder that she was there.
For the sake of their agreement, of course.
“It’s my grandfather’s eightieth birthday,” Mandy replied. “My whole family gathered for the event.” Her face lit up. “You should come!”
“We’d love to!” Naomi blurted out with a big, fake smile. “That’s so sweet of you to invite us. Can we bring anything?”
Mandy was polite enough not to correct Naomi, but her eyes darted between the pair of them uncertainly. “But Veera Auntie said…”
Beside her, Dev stiffened and his fingers tightened on the cups in his hands. “You know Veera Auntie?”
“Yeah, my parents introduced me to her a few days ago,” Mandy confirmed.
Despite herself, Naomi was impressed. Veera Auntie, it seemed, was the businesswoman to know in Kelowna. Naomi could rebrand a thousand businesses and never be as sought after as a woman orchestrating happy endings.
The pointed end of Naomi’s elbow found Dev’s ribs sharply enough to jostle him and slosh some of the water in the cups over the edge. “Yeah,” Dev echoed. “We’d love to come to the birthday. Text me the details.”
“Sure,” Mandy said. “I will.” Naomi could tell, though, from the disappointment in her eyes, that said text would not be forthcoming.
Mission accomplished.
As Mandy excused herself and wandered away, Dev turned to Naomi with a rueful smile and offered her one of the drinks. “This could get complicated,” he said. “Mandy’s an actual acquaintance of mine and now she thinks you’re my girlfriend.”
Naomi accepted the cup, ignoring the delicious little bolt that shot through her when her fingers brushed his. “Except she’d be making a false assumption because technically, you never said I’m your girlfriend.”
Realization dawned over Dev’s face, inviting the stitch of dimples in both cheeks. Naomi wrapped both her hands around her cup to prevent herself from doing something really embarrassing, like poking the tip of her finger in one of them.
“You pretended like she was inviting us both to her grandpa’s birthday,” he said in awe.
“We didn’t technically lie.” Naomi couldn’t keep the smugness from her voice as she turned Dev’s words back on him.
“I know you don’t have a ton of experience with this whole sneaking-around-your-parents’-back thing, but you’re fitting right in.”
Naomi moved to Dev’s side, turning so they were both facing the dance floor again. The sweep of colors before her eyes was still dazzling, but Naomi was pleased to realize that some of the mystery from before had faded. It was still magical, but maybe Naomi had a trick or two up her sleeve as well.
Maybe she could be part of the magic, too.