Serving Pleasure (8 page)

R
ana glanced
at her watch and walked quickly to the kitchen to tell Devi she was leaving. She only had about fourteen minutes to spare before her date.

Since she was on a time crunch, it was natural that there would be some sort of crisis going on. She heard Devi swearing before she spotted her in the large, gleaming kitchen. Her youngest sister was soft, round, sweet, and most definitely not given to the foul language coming out of her mouth, which meant someone, somewhere, had fucked up.

Moonwalk away.

Too late. Devi popped up from behind a counter, her eyes widening as she caught sight of Rana. “Oh thank God. Grab an apron.”

“Problem?” she asked. She didn’t have time for a problem, not really, but there didn’t seem to be anyone else around. Four other people were in the kitchen—sous-chefs, a prep cook and a dishwasher—but they were industriously avoiding drama by busying themselves at various tasks.

Devi placed her hands on her rounded hips and glared at Rana. She looked so much like their mother, Rana automatically started racking her brain for any possible infractions she might have committed. “Leena was just here.”

Oh, well, that sort of explained things. Their middle sister could be abrasive even when she wasn’t trying, and Devi’s personal life over the past year had definitely driven a wedge between the two of them. “Ah.”

“Apparently, the Miramontes firm upped their order for their party tonight. In an hour.”

“Hmmm.”

“
In one hour.
” Devi flung her arms out. “I have a full dinner service. I don’t have time to make oodles more food on a whim.”

“Yeah.” Rana nodded, hiding a smile. “What did they ask you to add?”

“Everything needs to be increased.” She frowned. “Also, they want a platter of pigs in a blanket. Pigs in a blanket!”

There it was. Devi didn’t play the temperamental chef card often, but when she did, it was hella funny. Rana dutifully played along. “Those assholes.”

“Leena said they wanted food for people who didn’t eat Indian, and that’s fine.” Devi turned back to the counter and started hacking into a potato. “I can do any kind of dish they want. Puff pastries. Seared scallops. Chicken kebabs… But pigs in a blanket? Really? If Marcus didn’t work at this firm, I’d tell them to go stuff their pigs in a blanket up their asses…”

Rana cleared her throat to hide her laughter. Even if one of Devi’s boyfriends didn’t work there, she couldn’t imagine her sweet sister saying such a thing to anyone’s face. “You should absolutely do that.”

Devi swiped her arm over her forehead. “Why haven’t you put on an apron yet? I need a hand.”

Rana immediately shook her head. “I can’t. I…”

“Rana, this is important, and we’re short-staffed.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here at all. Tonight’s my night off, remember?” she said mildly. They were flexible on their rotating nights off, so Rana hadn’t much minded coming in, but she’d made it clear to Leena she’d have to leave when the dinner rush slowed.

“Please?”

Ah, she was such an easy mark when her baby sister used those puppy eyes. She sighed, fished her phone out of her pocket, and sent a quick text.
I’m so sorry, I had a work emergency come up. I won’t be able to make it tonight. Rain check?

The response came a heartbeat later.
No problem. I didn’t know waitresses had emergencies! Haha.

It was supposed to be funny. She was sure this guy meant it to be funny, and not a dig about how she was a waitress and he was a…what was he again? A sales rep of some sort. Maybe.

She hadn’t asked too many questions. He’d been able to hold up his end of an email exchange, he used “you” instead of “u”, and he was employed, all of which put him in the top 85
^th
percentile of men on online dating sites. She texted back, more slowly,
Haha. Thanks for understanding,
and placed the phone in her pocket. “What do you need me to do? The pigs in a blanket?”

“Oh, God, no. Anyone can churn those out.” Devi winced and raised her voice, calling down the line. “I mean, anyone who’s as good as you are, Saranna.”

Rana rolled her eyes. Always empathetic, their Devi.

Saranna raised her head from where she was rolling out dough. “Huh? Oh, thanks.”

Devi turned back to her. “The puran poli. No one can make it like we can.”

This was true. Devi was the one who’d inherited the passion for cooking, but Rana had spent her fair share of time at their mother’s elbow, learning how to make the sweet.

All three of the Malik sisters had, actually. They’d basically been raised here, playing quietly in the back office or the kitchen while their parents worked. The minute they’d been old enough, they’d helped wherever they could.

Handy, since their father had passed away when Rana was nineteen. She’d been able to seamlessly step in and help their mother run the place. Then Leena had graduated from college and Devi from cooking school, and the three of them had taken over. Over the years, they had naturally carved the business into thirds. Devi got the kitchens, Leena got the back-end operations, and Rana got the front. The best part, really, the front end. It was the part everyone got to see.

Rana finished tying on the apron she’d fetched. “Are all the ingredients out?”

“Yeah. I made the dough, so put the paste together and start cooking.”

Rana walked over to the counter. The chana daal had already been cooked in the pressure cooker until it was soft, and had been drained and dried. Not bothering to measure, she added jaggary, cardamom, saffron, and nutmeg to the paste and started to mash it.

“Who were you texting? I didn’t make you postpone a date, did I?”

She shrugged. “No big deal.”

“Oh no.” Devi froze. “I did, didn’t I? Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I told you, it’s no big deal.”

“Aw. I feel bad enough Charlie didn’t work out. I didn’t mean to stand in the way of possible true love.”

True love? She thought of the mild-mannered sales rep. At best, she could say he was
not objectionable.
That might change after the waitress crack. She wasn’t sure yet. “It’s not true love.”

“You don’t know that.”

No, she did. He seemed like a nice guy. Good-looking, fit. He’d posted a picture of him cuddling a puppy. She liked puppies.

But he wasn’t, say, a beautiful, long-haired artist who could make her body weep with pleasure.

Not that she was thinking about Micah at all. Nope. She’d barely thought of him in the past week, since she’d woken up all alone in her bed, her body aching in places she didn’t know it could ache. Micah who?

Wow, you’re so convincing.

Rana exhaled. Taking him to her bed had been a tactical error. Hard enough not to think about him when he was the stranger who lived next door. It became impossible when she was certain she could still smell him on her sheets after washing them twice.

“You haven’t met him face-to-face yet,” Devi argued. “It could be magical.”

“Yeah, well. He’s not going anywhere.” Should she have been more excited about the guy? More dismayed they couldn’t get together tonight? If it wasn’t for Micah, she might have been. Rana tried to manufacture some enthusiasm. “He can be my date tomorrow. Or next week.”

“You’re really sticking strong to this date-a-week thing, huh?”

“Until one of them works out? Yes.” She had considered taking this week off, but then decided to keep it business as usual, treating her night with Micah as nothing more than a twelve-hour detour from her ultimate goal. She wouldn’t forget the best sex of her life, but she wasn’t about to start pining after the man. They’d agreed on the parameters of this deal, and she wasn’t a welsher.

So there was no reason to change up her normal schedule. Since she’d decided a year ago to tackle her love life with the grim determination of a general, she’d scheduled one date a week. One date, with a completely appropriate and eligible man she would not be ashamed to bring home to Mama.

“Did Mama pick tonight’s guy?”

Speaking of which. “That’s not something we joke about.” Judging the paste to be the proper consistency, she began to scoop it out, rolling it into smooth balls and setting them aside.

Upon learning her eldest daughter was giving up her promiscuous ways to search for Mr. Right, their mother had practically fallen to her knees in joy and attempted to “help” despite Rana’s gentle rebuffs.

Rana shuddered. Mama’s help wasn’t always…helpful. Not when it came to this.

Devi chuckled, the way only a desi girl who had two unmarried older sisters and a serious relationship of her own could—with utter freedom and confidence that their mother hadn’t yet painted a matrimonial bull’s-eye on her. “It was a legit question.”

“Uh-huh. Like I’d go out with anyone she picked.” She adopted an accent that was uncannily similar to their mother’s. “Rana, you need to act quickly on this boy. A lawyer with such light skin?”

Devi mimicked her. “He is tall too. You need someone tall, because you have so much height.”

“No, you cannot email him. Call him. He will not last long.”

Devi nodded sagely, dropping the accent. “Everyone knows men are like Groupons.”

Rana snorted out a relieved laugh. “Thank God I can bitch about her to you. Leena always takes her side.”

“You’ve been really good at not snapping at either of them.” Devi shot her a quick smile. “I’m proud of you. It’s been so peaceful lately.”

Rana and her mother didn’t have the most amicable history—the older woman had never approved of anything Rana did. Rana, in turn, had spent most of her life pretending she didn’t care if she was tweaking her mom with her clothes, her men, her partying.

Of course she’d cared. Now that she’d discovered what it was like not to live with constant dismissal and chiding, Rana didn’t know if she could go back to how it had been before. Not perpetually disappointing your only living parent was weirdly pleasant.

All she’d had to do was bury herself.

She flinched away from that thought. Silly, but it felt vaguely treasonous. To what, she wasn’t sure. The Republic of Her Mama?

No, she wasn’t burying herself. How overdramatic. She was improving herself. She’d thoughtlessly damaged some important relationships over the years. Clawing her way back, earning everyone’s trust and respect would take some time and pain, but it was okay if it was her pain.

Plus, it was working, if Devi had noticed. Rana placed the sweet mixture on top of the dough and folded the edges around to cover it completely. “I’m trying.”

“Well, I bet your guy is right around the corner,” Devi said emphatically.

Or next door.
“I’m sure,” she managed.

“And he’ll be kind and funny and generous.”

Or rough and silent and really good at giving head.
“Yeah, right.”

“And you’ll fall madly in love.” Devi gave a gusty sigh. She’d always been the most romantic of the sisters.

Rana’d fallen madly into something, all right. “Mm-hmm. Yup. Love.”

“And…”

“How are your lover boys anyway?” Desperation prompted the low question. Every word Devi spoke was only making her think of Micah more. Wasn’t it enough her entire house reminded her of the man? She needed her workplace to be her solace.

At the silence, Rana looked up to find Devi’s gaze far away, a small smile playing about her mouth. “That good, huh?”

Devi modestly dropped her eyes. “That good.”

A rush of warmth distracted her and brought the slight sting of tears to Rana’s eyes. Her youngest sister was her baby. She’d sheltered her, pampered her…and hurt her.

Once upon a time, Devi had dated a cheating worm of a man, Tarek. The asshole was sweet as pie around Devi, but the minute her back was turned, he’d hit on anything in a skirt. Rana had tried to tell herself not to interfere, but her sister had seemed to be falling for his line of bullshit.

She should have trusted in Devi, but she’d been blinded by her desperate worry for her sister. She’d thought there hadn’t been any other expedient option but for her to make the dude’s assholic tendencies crystal clear…by engineering a setup with herself cast as the other woman.

Rana swallowed, the bitter taste of regret tainting her mouth. She’d found out later that Devi had been well aware of everything and planning to break things off with the guy. Of course she had. Because even when Rana tried to be helpful and noble, she managed to fuck things up.

Devi had forgiven her of course, and assured her countless times she didn’t blame Rana. But that terrible scene would haunt Rana for a long time. It was possibly the most heinous thing she’d ever done. Impulsive, dramatic Old Rana. The instant she’d looked up from Devi’s ex’s arms, she’d known that her plan had been butt stupid.

After that disastrous relationship had imploded, Devi had closed herself off from companionship, a choice that had spilled more guilt onto Rana’s conscience.

You made up for it.
She’d had no choice but to fix things. Rana’s plan had been to enable a hot poly one-night stand for her sister with the tall dark wolves who came in and made googly eyes at their chef every Tuesday.

To everyone’s surprise—meaning her and Leena, since Devi and the Callahans managed to keep their relationship fairly discreet—the fantasy threesome had become permanent for Devi. Devi had never looked happier and more content, and it was obvious to anyone with half a brain how much the two men adored her sister.

Even if it hadn’t worked out exactly as she had planned, Rana still counted it as a checkmark in her favor. Granted, the relationship was unconventional and their mother would probably murder Devi—and Rana, when she found out who had introduced the three of them—if she ever found out, but other than that small chance of homicide, it was practically perfect.

If there was a sting of jealousy mixed in with her happiness for her sister…well, Rana would do her best not to acknowledge that any time soon.

Rana pressed too hard on the rolling pin, and the dough split under the pressure, revealing the sugary filling inside. “Damn it. I messed it up.”