By the end of the week I've almost all but forgotten my little memory episode. I'd been holding out hope that I'd start to remember something more or that maybe those images I did remember would start to make sense but no such luck. Unfortunately, it's been radio silence inside my head since I woke up on Monday morning. I've spent the week chasing down the deadlines I let slip while I was following the lead that according to Emma was a total bust so, I've been writing as many articles and going to meetings with potential sources as much as I could these last few days. On Friday afternoon, I'm forced to shelve all of my work and go to Haider's for dinner; Zahra's back from Turkey and she invited us all over for dinner and by all I mean all. As in Emma, Connor and I, which if judging by how it went the last time I had dinner at Haider's house, is going to be awkward and an experience I'll be hoping to forget as soon as it's over.
Connor picks me up at four-thirty and we sit through rush hour traffic all the way to Haider's with Emma singing karaoke to all the songs on the radio of Connors already very loud sports car. To say that I've got a skull-splitting migraine by the time we get there is an understatement. How does Emma even have the time to learn all of the lyrics to every new song on the radio anyway? It seems like some cruel trick of the universe. Trudging through Haider's front door with all of the enthusiasm of a kid at the dentist's office, I drag my feet behind Connor and Emma as they make their way into the kitchen.
Everyone's seated in there, Zahra and Zia at the counter fawning over all of the presents she bought while she was in Ankara, Haider at the table flipping through something on his tablet and Dastan at the stove chopping away. Apparently, he's making dinner tonight.... That sounds like food poisoning waiting to happen. I sidle up to the counter to greet Zahra because I've missed the calming influence she usually has on the bozos in my life. She's so energetic I have to squint just to look at her, it's like she's radiating exuberance; in my current state I absolutely hate it. I cringe internally at the volume of her voice as she wraps me in a warm hug and squeezes for all her petite frame is worth. My head is not going to enjoy tonight's dinner, I smile and make polite small talk about Turkey and her family for all of five minutes before I need a break. I mumble something about coffee and find my way to the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen while Emma steps up to talk to Zahra, those two have always had more in common anyway, and they launch into an animated play-by-play of Zahra's entire trip while I sulk next to the coffee maker with a giant mug.
"Why the long face?" Dastan's voice interrupts my self-imposed exile. I shift my eyes to him while still facing Zahra at the counter, I want her to think I'm fully absorbed in her story so that she doesn't try to engage me in conversation again. I don't think I'd be able to bear it. I love her but man is she loud!
"Headache." I offer by way of explanation. He waits expectantly but I don't elaborate, the fewer words I say the better for the state of my poor skull. He just rolls his eyes and goes back to chopping up peppers on his cutting board. I watch him for a moment, the sleeves of his navy blue Henley rolled up to his elbows, a dish towel draped over his shoulder and his fingers deftly holding the knife slicing through vegetables, he looks like he might actually know what he's doing. It should not be as attractive as it is and it piques my interest. "What are you making?"
He looks up at me but his fingers continue to hold the knife, slicing without looking. I hold my breath and wait for the inevitable moment when he chops off a finger, it never comes. He sees where my attention is and smirks at me, speeding up his chopping; jerk. "Chicken fried rice." It's all he offers and it does nothing to sate my curiosity.
"Where did you learn to cook?" I push, hoping he'll give me something more. He just continues chopping, moving onto the next vegetable, taking his merry time to answer me.
"London," he smirks again. I release a low sound of annoyance from inside my throat and turn my entire body to face him, placing my mug in the counter and crossing my arms over my chest, I raise a brow at him.
"Since when are you monosyllabic?" I practically growl. I hate when he makes beg for answers he can clearly see that I want. He lives playing games and I'm not in the mood for it today.
"Thought you didn't want to talk," he shrugs. He's exuding an air of disinterest that makes my skin pickle with irritation. "I was trying to respect your moping."
"I was not moping!" I shoot back indignantly; he nods along to my answer and turns his eyes back to his veggies, dropping a handful into the pot. He moves deftly with a confidence and surety that makes my skin heat with an awareness of exactly what else those hands are capable of.
"Hmm," he hums low in his throat. The sound vibrates along my frazzled nerves, his rich voice soothing the tension. "And what would you call it?"
I open my mouth to throw back some witty response and come up blank. "Shut up." I snap, rolling my eyes. God, I really suck at this. How am I this inept when he's wholly unaffected?
"Eloquent, as always." He snickers, stirring the pot. It smells amazing and that just annoys me more. Why is always so good at everything? It's like he has no flaws, infuriatingly perfect whereas I'm just here fumbling my way through this exchange with absolutely no grace or finesse.
"An ass, as always." I smirk at him. Definitely not my best but at least it's something. I refuse to let him have the last word here.
"You wound me, bub" he dramatically places a hand over his heart, affecting a very Victorian looking expression of offense.
I grumble under my breath, it's petty but I kind of want him to hear it anyway. "I wish I could." It's barely a breath but he hears me.
"I, honestly, can't tell if we're flirting or fighting right now and it's really confusing." Well, I wasn't expecting that. My mouth opens and closes and then opens again as I flounder for a response.
"I'm pretty sure I just threatened to stab you." I exclaim, as a way to explain that I'm kind of sure this isn't flirting. Or at least, it's not how we used to flirt. I'm probably a bit rusty, okay a lot rusty, but this most definitely doesn't count as flirting, does it?
"Like I said really confusing." His voice is a low purr and I know he's doing it on purpose, he's trying to rile me up. I'm not gonna play his game, not today baby.
"You're insufferable." I affect an unbothered tone, almost bored and watch as his eyes drop to my mouth. Looks like I'm not the only one getting riled up.
"And yet you seem to be suffering me just fine." He makes a gesture with his spoon and winks, honest to God winks, at me. The nerve!
"Yeah, the key word being suffering." I say off-handedly. Before he gets the chance to respond someone clears their throat. Suddenly, I'm back in Haider's kitchen and it's so quiet my mind conjures the sound of crickets chirping in the night. I blink, and blink again. Dastan's so close I can see the flecks of gold in his sable eyes. I could probably count the individual eyelashes from where I am. At some point in our conversation, he'd started to lean down, basically getting right in my face and I'd been leaning in; putting us almost nose to nose and neither one of us noticed.
But everyone else in the room definitely had, they're all standing around the island watching us. I swallow harshly, and take a step back, it's certainly not as conspicuous as I wish it could've been but at least now there's enough space between us that I can think properly. "What?" I ask, reaching up to scratch at the tip of my nose.
None of them answer right away, Haider's face is unreadable, I look at him the longest and I can almost see him remembering the position he caught Dastan and I in the other week. Zahra looks stunned, Zia isn't paying attention. It's Emma that breaks the silence, "Just friends, huh?" Emma asks with a smirk. Oh God, Emma not now please.
She swings her head in Connors direction; he looms over her stone-faced as a marble statue. He doesn't look at her though; his eyes are locked on me standing a few feet away from Dastan who I was just flirting with. The guilt tastes bitter on my tongue, the feeling settling over my skin like grease. I shouldn't have been doing that; it's not fair to him. "Were not those kinds of friends." Emma tells him before flouncing off to the table behind them to sit with Zia.
Connor watches me for a little while longer, his eyes unreadable. I offer him a timid smile, after a moment he returns it. It doesn't reach his eyes, there's something hollow about it. He doesn't give me that private smile that I've come to think of as just for me. My heart sinks a little in my chest. "I need Tylenol." I say to no one in particular and then make my way toward the kitchen entrance.
What the hell is wrong with me? There's a gorgeous, wonderful man in there who wants nothing more than to get to know me and be with me in whatever way I'm willing and here I am making googly eyes at my ex boyfriend. I'm a disaster; a hot goddamn mess.
Just as I make it to the hallway, someone rings the doorbell interrupting my inner self-hate monologue. Odd, everyone we would've invited is currently in the kitchen. Looking through the peep hole doesn't help much either, the face on the other side isn't one I recognize. Warped and distorted, it's a man with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes, not much older than me. Definitely not someone I know. So, throwing caution to the wind I turn the door knob and yank the door out of the way.
As the door swings away to reveal our unexpected guest, his eyes lock on me. There's a brief moment of nothing and then the smile drops off his face. That doesn't look good; maybe he's got the wrong house. "Kiera, right?" Okay probably not the wrong house. He says my name with a slight accent but I'm too concerned about the hint of disdain clouding his tone to try to place where he's from. Mutely, I nod in response, his expression sours further.
"Sorry, do I know you?" I ask, I can hear the concern in my tone. He definitely knows me and as much as my memory isn't what it used to be I'm sure I wouldn't forget an entire person. At least, I hope I wouldn't.
"Bub, whose at th-" a voice interrupts from further inside the house. It's Dastan; he's the only one who calls me bub, a diminutive form of my childhood nickname bubbles. I turn to find him frozen in the living room, eyes wide and mouth hanging open slightly; his expression one of pure shock.
"Close your mouth Hon, you'll catch flies." The unfamiliar man tells him. Do they know each other? Dastan makes a strangled sound from somewhere in his chest, it's something between a laugh and a disbelieving snort and then before I can blink his long legs carry him across the room. He moves me aside as if I weight nothing, his hands on my hips as he passes by jolts me out of my surprise long enough to pay attention to the interaction happening in front of me.
Wrapping his arms around the stranger he hauls him over the threshold and into a bone-crushing bear hug. "God, I missed you so much." Comes Dastan's muffled voice from where he's buried his head in the other man's shoulder.