“Are you kidding? Those sexy black curls? That smile? Not to mention the smell of bread coming out of your apartment for days before we met.” He turned away. “And that’s why you scared me so much. You checked all my boxes. Even the secret boxes no one knew about. I could barely breathe that night when I found you sitting outside my door barefoot with a bag of bread. You were prickly and so independent, but I finally felt like I belonged somewhere. You feel like home.”

She snorted, still not really believing him.

He turned to look at her again. “Reena,” he said slowly. “I liked you. A lot. I still do. I should have been honest with you, but I didn’t want you to find out how grossly unmatched we are. You are my superior in every way. I didn’t deserve you.”

He reached down and placed his hand on the floor in the four-inch gap in the door. She placed hers on top. He immediately flipped his hand over and curled his fingers through hers.

They stared at their connected hands together for a time, heat rising between them. If it wasn’t for the thick metal chain holding the door, there would be a lot more touching than just their fingers.

She let her mind go there. If that door were open, she’d climb onto his lap, which had become her favorite place to be in the last few weeks. She’d run one hand up his shirt and the other through the back of his hair. No wait, she’d take off her shoes and socks first.

“Reena, my flight to Dar es Salaam is on Monday.”

She closed her eyes. The distance was too great. And four more days together would only make the day he left harder.

“My dad can talk to yours,” she said quickly. “He can tell him how well you’re doing here and—”

“No,” he said.

“No?”

“No. I don’t want to do that. Don’t get me wrong, I love Toronto and would be happy here, but … I can’t let him be the puppet master in my life anymore. I wanted to finally make him proud here, but … ” He sighed, squeezing her hand. “I’m not sure he’ll ever be proud of any decision I make. And I’m not sure why I still care. I’m thirty-two years old, and I still have daddy issues. It’s laughable.”

“We don’t have daddy issues. We have Indian parents. That shit runs deep.”

He laughed, squeezing again. “I like your father. I respect him. In another situation, I think we’d work amazingly well together. But the deal was my father’s investment in exchange for my job. My father pulled his investment, so no more job. And no more work visa, so I can’t stay in Canada. I can’t impose myself on your father anymore, even though I really wish I could see where things could have gone with his delightfully terrifying daughter. But who knows … maybe one day you’ll come to Africa?”