Take a Hint, Dani Brown (The Brown Sisters #2)(90)

Spending time without Danika did wonders for Zaf’s clarity.

For example, he was now even clearer on the fact that he loved her, and that said love was most likely doomed. Which was a shame, because the feeling seemed to have worked its way into his DNA, and he didn’t know how to stop. Hence calling in sick to work all week: he did have some pride. Enough that he’d rather Dani didn’t see his face until he got better at hiding the slapped-arse, brokenhearted expression he’d been wearing since she’d stormed out of his flat.

Falling out of love with her might take a fucking lifetime, but he’d at least seem calm and collected while he did it.

“Here, my boy,” Mum said, cutting through his thoughts. She plonked a bowl of sweet phirni in front of him and kissed his head. “Eat up. You are wasting away.”

“Er . . .” Zaf looked dubiously down at his belly. He didn’t know who’d snitched to his mum about this Dani situation, but whoever it was, he’d hunt them down and deliver payback very soon. After he’d had enough of all these home-cooked meals, obviously.

Across the table, Fatima groused, “When are you going to come back to uni? It’s weird not seeing you around.”

Zaf dredged up a smile, because he always had one for his Fluffball. “It’s only been four days. You miss me? Hmm?”

She rolled her eyes.

“You do.” His smile widened. “You know, when you were a baby, I used to sneak you spoonfuls of my phirni and you’d smile at me so big. Except you didn’t have any teeth, so it was kind of scary.”

“Ya Allah, not the baby stories.”

“Fatima,” Kiran sighed. “Watch your mouth.”

“Don’t mind your uncle,” Jamal piped up through a mouth of rice pudding. “He’s just feeling emotional.”

Mum poked her head out of the kitchen to pout in Zaf’s direction. “Oh, my poor, sweet boy. Look at you. Depressed, overeating—”

“Hang on,” he said with a scowl, “what happened to ‘wasting away’?”

“—and soon to be unemployed. I knew that teacher was trouble from the moment I saw her. Didn’t I say, Kiran? Didn’t I say, She looks like trouble?”

“No.” Kiran frowned. “You said she was beautiful and that her haircut was very French.”

Mum huffed and disappeared into the kitchen again. “I don’t remember that at all.”

“Lay off Danika,” Zaf called after her. “I . . .” He stopped, suddenly aware that the rest of the table was staring at him.

“You what?” Fatima nudged with a grin.

I love her. I miss her. I know that if she can’t love me back, I need to let her go. But I can’t stop remembering that Danika always surprises me.

He shook his head and told Fatima firmly, “This is an adult conversation.”

“I’m eighteen!” But she didn’t sound as outraged as usual. And then he caught her exchanging an oddly significant look with Jamal, which never boded well.

“What are you two up to?” Zaf demanded, narrowing his eyes.

“Nothing. You’re paranoid,” Jamal said sweetly, which might as well have been a sign flashing bullshit. “And don’t worry, Auntie Maya,” he called toward the kitchen, “Zaf’s not going to be unemployed. He’s too stubborn for that.”

“I don’t think that’s how employment works,” Zaf said with a snort. “But actually . . . Mum, could you come back in here? I have something to tell everyone.”

Mum reappeared with a bowl of her own and sat down at the head of the table. “What? What is happening?”

“Nothing,” Zaf said. “It’s just, well—things have been going really well for Tackle It since . . . since we got so much publicity.” He paused for a moment to work through the catch in his throat, the pang in his chest. The woman in his mind’s eye.

Danika. If there was one thing he’d learned from their month together, it was that risks were always worth it. Even if you fell instead of flying.

He cleared his throat and started again. “Things have been going well. Really well. You all know I got the chance to offer my program to four local schools in the summer. I got positive responses to some of my funding bids for the first time—maybe because I was more open about what we went through, and how that led me to start Tackle It. Which is cool. But then . . . this week, I got the opportunity to sign a deal with the Titans.” Everyone sat up a little straighter at the mention of his old team. “You know they’re doing a lot better than they were, back in the day. And now they have this whole nonprofit, grassroots campaign to find more kids for their training academy. So they want to—to join forces with Tackle It, I guess. The idea is, they fund me, I carry out my workshops for them and elsewhere, and I funnel talented kids into the academy, too. Plus, the owner gets to look extra charitable or whatever.” Deep breath. “So I’ve decided it’s time to give up security and really go all in.”

The stunned silence went on long enough for Zaf’s nerves to balloon a little bit. Then, one by one, his family’s faces split into slow, proud grins, and the balloon popped, leaving nothing but relief.

“Chacha,” Fatima whispered, wide-eyed, “are you serious?”