Cover

Title Page

Dedication

To my family, who always let me unleash
my inner extra-ness.

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Epigraph

I do not know whether it ought to be so, but certain silly things cease to be silly if done by sensible people in an imprudent way.

—Jane Austen, Emma

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Kamila Hussain didn’t have a lot to complain about in her life. She realized self-loathing was all the rage among her millennial peers, but in her opinion, she didn’t have much to loathe. She was blessed with a steady income as an accountant at Emerald, her father’s accounting firm. She loved her job and had recently redesigned the office with soothing pastels and stress-relieving greenery, so it was a joy to be there. She had no shortage of friends, and if she wanted a little something more, she had no problem finding dates or hookups. She adored her living situation—a quaint brownstone in Toronto’s east side that had also been recently redone. And of course, she had Darcy, her adorable bichon frise. Darcy was arguably the cutest dog east of Yonge Street, with more Instagram followers than many reality stars, and who had gone full-on viral on TikTok five times.

But in her own eyes, the most significant of Kamila’s blessings was her father. Dad was easily the sweetest, kindest, most supportive parent in existence. Being a daddy’s girl was such a cliché, but Kamila had no shame in telling anyone that she happily lived and worked with her father. He wouldn’t do well alone, and Dad deserved to be healthy and happy more than anyone in the world.

In fact, it was for him that she was awake at eight on a Saturday morning, even after she was muddling fruit for virgin caipirinhas pretty late last night. Dad’s annual physical was in a few days, and she intended to do whatever she could to make sure his blood pressure and cholesterol were in line. She couldn’t leave the men to fend for themselves for breakfast this time. Nope. No eggs fried in ghee and boiled chai on her watch.

She smoothed her robin’s-egg blue apron over her red floral full-skirted dress and admired her kitchen prep. The toast toppings she’d mashed, diced, and sliced were in colorful handmade Portuguese bowls that glowed against her white marble countertops. She snapped a pic and uploaded it. #dreamkitchen. #blessed. #homecooking.

“Kamila is cooking,” Rohan said from the stairs. “Isn’t this the third sign of the apocalypse?”

She glared at him. “Shush, you, or you don’t get any.”