By the time she walked up the stairs to their building, she felt sure of one thing only—that she had no idea what went on in Nadim’s head. Maybe his screen presence really was that good. But the off-screen moments of tenderness couldn’t be forgotten—that spectacular foot massage and the nonstop texting all weekend. Was he just a player? Or was this just friendship and loyalty to the boss’s daughter? Or was there more?

As much as she wanted to avoid him in hopes her unease would disappear on its own, Nadim still had Brian, and her curiosity about how he fared with the temperamental starter had her knocking on his door as soon as she dropped off her bag.

He answered wearing jeans and a T-shirt with the London Underground logo emblazoned on it.

“You’re back already? I thought you’d be late,” he said. His eyes shifted up then down.

“It is late. And we need to send in the contest video, remember? Everything okay? How’s Brian?”

“Yeah. He’s fine. Give me a minute. I’ll bring over your sourdough. He’s …great.” His eyes shifted again.

She’d seen that face before. Nadim was hiding something and doing a terrible job of it. “What’s wrong with Brian?”

“Nothing’s wrong with Brian. He doubled in size after each feeding. He’s fine, I’ll bring him by to your place.”

“Why can’t I get him now then? It’s just a jar, I can carry it.”

“No, it’s okay. Give me ten minutes.”

“Did something happen to Brian?” Her voice was sharper than she’d intended. Why had she trusted anyone with something she valued?

Nadim’s eyes widened as he reached out and grabbed her arm. “Reena, stop.” He sighed with resignation and let go. “Fine. Come in and see for yourself. Brian is absolutely fine. Thriving, even.”

Annoyed, she followed him into his kitchen, where he pointed at his windowsill. He had been truthful. Brian looked fine. In his regular swing-top jar, his volume easily doubled from the level of the rubber band. Brian did appear to be thriving.

But Brian was not alone.

Because also on the windowsill, and on the counter near the windowsill, sat more jars. They were standard screw-top mason jars, each with a rubber band around them marking unrisen volume. And each had doubled in volume. Reena took a quick count.

Nadim had sixteen sourdough starters.

“What the hell?” she asked.

“I, um … ” He rubbed his palm.

She squeezed her lips to stifle a laugh. “Brian had puppies? Didn’t I tell you not to let him out without tying him up?”

Nadim threw his arms in the air. “Your bread is so good! This stuff is precious gold! I couldn’t throw away half each time … so I bought some jars and just kept it all. But then I had to feed those ones, too, and … ” His shoulders slumped.

Reena stood frozen a few seconds before finally bursting out in giggles. “Were you planning to hide all this starter from me? What were you going to do with it? At this rate, you’ll have thirty-two jars tomorrow morning!”