Accidentally Engaged(18)
Reena had no idea why she was going along with this, but his infectious enthusiasm was irresistible. She grabbed some onions and chilis, her cutting board and knife, a jug of oil and some spices, and followed him to his apartment.
They dropped it all in his much cleaner kitchen, and he connected his phone to a large tripod.
“Okay,” he said, eyes twinkling with excitement. And probably a healthy dose of gin. “Just need a second to set this up.”
While he fiddled with camera placement and turned on a bunch of lights in his apartment, Reena poured oil in a pot and started heating it. She then peeled and sliced the potatoes, and diced the onion and tomatoes for the chutney.
“All set up. I can start recording using this remote.”
Reena laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. “This is preposterous.”
“Don’t say that in front of the camera!” He rushed to stand next to her. “You’ll never win without confidence. Okay…action!”
She looked up at him, struggling not to laugh, and having no idea what to say.
“What are you showing me how to make, oh brilliant one?” he asked.
“Brilliant one?”
He nodded enthusiastically. “You and I both know you’re a culinary genius. So, tell me what we’re making.”
“Potato bhajias.” She turned and looked at the camera instead of at him. “These are similar to pakoras and are also called nylon bhajias in East Africa. This recipe is my mother’s—she grew up in Dar es Salaam.”
Nadim grinned. “Which is where I grew up. I used to get these at food stalls late at night. My favorite shop back home would make a fresh batch every five minutes. They put chopped green chilis in the batter.”
Reena raised a brow. “Can you take that kind of heat?”
He narrowed his eyes seductively. “Oh, I think you know I like it hot. Scorching hot.”
Reena laughed so hard at his corny line that her forehead fell on his chest. Mmm…firm. Warm. Smelled good.
“Uh, Reena…the potatoes?”
“Right.” She lifted her head. While describing what she was doing, she made a batter with gram flour, onion/garlic paste, turmeric, cilantro, red chili powder, and, just to see how much heat he could take, a whole, finely diced green chili.
Nadim helped her dip the potato slices in the batter and deep fry them. She made the chutney next—sautéing onions and tomatoes with dried chilis and spices before pureeing.
“Utterly brilliant,” Nadim said, picking up a crisp bhajia.
“Wait!” She took the bhajia out of his hand and coated it with the chutney. A lot of chutney. She gave him back the slice, but instead of eating it himself, he held it up to Reena’s mouth. “Let’s see how hot you can take it.”
Reena could take the heat. She opened her mouth and let him feed her the bhajia.
It was delicious. Spicy, perfectly crispy, and with the acidic chutney cutting right through the richness of the deep-fried potato. She dipped another one into the chutney and held it up for him.
He wasn’t as graceful with his bite, immediately hopping up and down and waving his mouth. Maybe she’d put in too much chili? She erupted in laughter as he fell into her arms. He finally said “cut,” and turned off the phone camera. She’d forgotten they were filming this.
That was the last thing Reena remembered that night. The next thing she knew she was waking up in Nadim’s bed with terrible heartburn. Thankfully, alone.
CHAPTER SIX
Waking after passing out in a drunken stupor should include at least a moment of blissful ignorance of all the events of the night before. An innocence before the wave of humiliation crashed in. But despite rousing in her familiar childhood bed, Reena experienced no such luxury. She remembered everything that had happened yesterday—losing her job, her asinine mixing of gin gimlets and sinus meds, letting Nadim film her making bhajias…and…
They’d made the contest video. Together. Shit.
She quickly looked through the videos on the phone. Yup. It looked like he’d sent her the five-minute clip. She had no intention of actually entering it on the FoodTV site. She wasn’t even going to watch the thing.
Head pounding and muscles aching, she sat up in bed. To add insult to an already abysmal situation, her cold had intensified. She sneezed, covering her nose to muffle the sound.
Quietly padding out of his bedroom, she found Nadim out cold on his purple sofa, a thin bedsheet covering his lower half and a yellow T-shirt covering his upper half. Thank the lord. She didn’t need an eyeful of toned chest and shapely biceps now. She crept closer. He looked younger asleep, with his expressive brows relaxed and that world-weary yet amused expression missing. How old was this man, anyway? She’d assumed about her age, but from what he told her yesterday, he’d achieved so much more in his life than she had. An undergraduate and graduate degree from the London School of Economics. Lived in Dar es Salaam and London, before moving here to Toronto. He was miles ahead of Reena, with her community college diploma and no job. She sighed. Nadim Remtulla was an ambitious match for her. She didn’t know if she should be pissed at her parents for setting her up to fail, or happy they thought her worthy of this man.
A wave of nausea overcame her. She needed to get out of here before he woke.