The momos were less accommodating. The dough for the wrappers was a nightmare to knead smooth, and she couldn’t seem to roll it thin enough. And even after all those YouTube videos, her pleating technique left a lot to be desired. Still, they ended up looking mostly cute, and they miraculously stayed together during steaming. She knew with a bit of garnish they’d be fine. The chili-ginger chutney was utterly perfect.

It was after two a.m. when she finally cleaned up the kitchen. Her first client meeting was at ten, which meant waking at seven to wash and blow-dry her hair straight. It was fine. It would be worth it to see everyone’s face when she brought out a platter of handmade momos.

Kamila was exhausted the next day, but she managed. Her meetings went well, and just as importantly, her blowout was perfectly on point. She left work at four and changed into her new black shift dress with three-quarter-length sleeves and straight below-the-knee skirt and had just rolled her hair into a respectable updo when there was a knock on the door. She added white pearls and put her sensible shoes near the stairs so she’d remember to put them on when the guests arrived.

It was Rohan at the door. In dark jeans and a gray knit cardigan. A big bouquet of vibrant-yellow sunflowers in one hand and a reusable liquor-store bag in the other.

“What are you doing here?” Kamila asked. She probably should have said hello, but Darcy had that covered. She was jumping and yelping for attention at Rohan’s feet.

He leaned down and patted the dog’s head. “It’s Bollywood night.” He frowned at Kamila. “What are you wearing? Is there a costume theme tonight?”

“I’m wearing a perfectly respectable dress.”

“I know. That’s why I’m confused.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re early. Bollywood night starts at seven.”

“I always come early.”

“Two and a half hours early? Last week you were an hour early.” Was he gradually moving up the party time just for himself? Not that she was complaining. It was too quiet in the house with Dad gone the last few days.

He walked in, smirking. “I heard Anil was coming and that you’re cooking. I came to make sure disaster doesn’t strike.” He handed Kamila the flowers and a bottle of sparkling wine and slipped off his shoes. He then opened the cabinet under the sink and pulled out the fire extinguisher, placing it ceremoniously on the counter. He smiled. “Put me to work, Kamila. I’m here to help.”