Chapter 7

Zara squared her shoulders as she pulled into the parking lot at Indian House. She’d had a long day of practice, and Noah had filled her whole car with the scent of sweat and sawdust, and she was having a very hard time keeping him out of her mind.

He’d asked her to teach him to surf again, and Zara had said she had to get down to talk to her father at the restaurant, and she’d bolted back to the garage.

So now, here she sat, outside the restaurant her parents owned, wondering if she could handle going inside. She hadn’t seen her mother in about a week, which meant Zara would need to be ready to defend her single status.

Her stomach grumbled, because Ian had made them work through half of their lunch, dissatisfied with the way the formations on the island that came up out of the water looked. So she killed the engine and headed for the entrance.

It was almost the weekend and right during the dinner rush, which was actually perfect. Then her siblings would be busy, and she wouldn’t have to be crammed into a booth for four with all five of her sisters.

The bell rang as she opened the door, and Abi, the hostess looked up. Her whole face brightened, and she said, “Zara.” She put the menu back in the holder on the front of the podium, and said, “Mom and Dad just sat down for dinner. You want to join them?”

Zara’s heart sank, but she painted a plastic smile on her face and said, “Sure.” She gave Abi a big hug, as her older sister was actually one of the more sane members of her family. As Abi led her through the dining room, she caught sight of her youngest sister, Myra, standing at a table, her left hand out for the patrons to admire her new engagement ring.

Zara turned away, her throat dry and her heart suddenly beating at triple-time. Coming here was definitely a mistake.

But her mother had caught sight of her, and she exploded out of the booth, her sari catching as she stood. “Zara.” She wrapped Zara in her arms, the smell of fresh cotton and Indian spices meeting Zara’s nose. “What are you doing here? You look so good.”

“Hey, Mom.” She slid into the booth first and another of her sisters asked her what she wanted to drink.

“Just water,” Zara said. Swimming in water all day really dehydrated her, and she tried to stick to water during the day and coffee in the morning. While Krisha went to get the drinks, her mom scooted into the booth.

“Still swimming?”

“Every day, Mom.”

“We’re coming to the show on opening night.” She gave her father a look. “Right, Samir. Aren’t we so excited to see Zara’s show?”

“Of course,” her dad said. “Only one month to go.” He beamed at her. He’d had a difficult time when Zara had told him she would not be working in the restaurant, though Zara wasn’t sure why. All five of her sisters worked here, as well as two brothers-in-law. They didn’t need her.

“One month,” Zara said as Krisha put her water on the table. “I want the butter chicken, Kris. With extra naan.”

Krisha smiled at her and said, “Coming right up.”

“So,” her mother said. “Are you seeing anyone?”

Zara rolled her eyes and swung her head toward her mother. “No, Mom.”

“No one?” Her mom had the best puppy dog eyes on the planet, and they could morph into pool of disappointment in mere moments.

“Well, I met someone,” Zara said, the image of Noah entering her mind. She couldn’t believe she was still talking. “But I’m not sure about him.”

“Not sure?” her mother practically shrieked. “What are you not sure about?”

So many things. “Well, Mother, for one, he’s not Indian.”

Her mom looked like Zara had punched her. But what Zara was not expecting was the scoff that followed. “Oh, Zara. I gave up on you finding a nice Indian man about five years ago.”

“Really?”

“Really. You just need someone.”

It was Zara’s turn to scoff, and she had never been happier to see Krisha approaching with her parents’ food. Because now she knew her mom would probably marry her to anyone. After all, it didn’t matter if he was a nice man, or employed, or anything.

She just needed someone.

Disgust filled her, but thankfully, the butter chicken came next, and Zara decided she could deal with Noah and if he even qualified as someone after she ate.

When she entered the mansion, the scent of butter chicken came with her. She put the to-go container on the counter, noting that there was no dog running to see her and barely any lights on. Had Noah gone to bed already? It was barely eight o’clock. Perhaps he’d worked hard at Your Tidal Forever today.

Zara moved down the hall and into her suite to feed Whitewater. The cat wouldn’t even come out from her hiding place, but somehow the food disappeared every day.

Back in the kitchen, indecision raging through her. She wanted to see Noah, because he was handsome and someone to talk to. Then she wouldn’t have to be alone. She didn’t want to see Noah, because they’d probably end up arguing anyway.

In the end, she ended up sending him a simple text. Brought you some butter chicken from Indian House. If you want it.

She’d barely taken a breath when he responded with Be right down. In the next moment, she heard Boomer bark, and the dog made it down to the kitchen a full minute before his owner. And when Noah walked in, his hair was damp, and he wore a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt that was obviously two sizes too small.

He grinned at her and smoothed his hair back while Zara stared at him. “Is this it?” He indicated the container on the counter, picking it up before she could answer. “Mm, smells heavenly.”

“Well, Bill is the best Indian chef on the island.” Zara took the end barstool where she’d been sitting whenever she ate in the kitchen.

Noah pulled open a drawer and selected a fork before coming around and joining her. He left one stool in between them, but they still sat plenty close together. “Is Bill a brother?” he asked, opening the container.

“Brother-in-law,” she said. “A very nice Indian man.” She wasn’t sure if she succeeded in saying it normally or not. She’d been making sarcastic remarks about how her mother wanted her to find a nice Indian man for years now.

She turned when she felt Noah’s stare on the side of her face. “We don’t like Bill?” He popped a bite of chicken and rice into his mouth.

Zara looked away. “I like Bill fine.”

“I detected some sarcasm there.”

“My mother’s been badgering me to find a nice Indian man for a while now,” she admitted.

Noah started nodding while he finished chewing. “Oh, I get that.”

“Do you?”

“Are you kidding? I’m the bad boy prince. My mother’s been after me to find someone ‘normal’ and ‘nice’ for years.” He chuckled, though it sounded strained around the edges. “No one I date will be good enough for her.”

“Do you date a lot?” Zara asked, wondering where the question had come from.

“A little,” he said, his voice full of hedging.

“Oh, come on,” she teased. “A tall, strapping prince like you? Surely more than a little.”

He choked on his food and reached for a napkin. “Strapping?” he pushed out of his mouth.

“How many hours a day do you work out?” she challenged.

“I work out enough,” he said, dodging the question.

She laughed, glad they weren’t arguing. “I’m sure you do.” She stood up, hoping to leave while they were still on good speaking terms. “Well, I’m tired.”

“Hey,” he said before she’d taken one step. “I signed up for some surfing lessons at the yacht club. Could you drop me off in the morning before your practice?”

Zara’s veins filled with ice, and she turned back to Noah. “Surfing lessons at the yacht club?” Oh, no, that would not do. She knew who did those lessons, and Mike Wadsworth wouldn’t be able to get someone like Noah to stand up on a board. Ever.

Someone with his height needed a custom board and individualized lessons.

“Yeah,” he said easily, forking up more food. “I can hang around until you’re done with your work.”

“Hang around where?”

“Wherever.” He waved his utensil like there were dozens of people he could go visit.

“You’re not worried about being seen?”

A flash of worry crossed his face, but he shrugged. “A little bit,” he admitted.

Zara retraced her steps and leaned against the counter. “I can teach you to surf.”

Noah’s dark eyes glinted like stars in a midnight sky. “You can?”

“The yacht club is inferior,” she said. “I don’t want you to think we here in Getaway Bay don’t know how to surf.” The fact that she’d mentally labeled herself as part of the local crowd and him as a newcomer to the island didn’t escape her.

You’re being stupid, she told herself while she waited for him to say something. Even if she taught him to surf, he didn’t live here. He was only on the island until whatever storm he’d created for himself blew out.

And then he’d be gone, disappearing as easily as the sun sank into the ocean each evening.