He pulled the car into a spot across from Curried Dreams just as someone left. The mansion-like restaurant building reminded him of the grand houses in Humaitá where his pai’s family lived. It was all festively lit up. They were a few weeks from Thanksgiving and Ash had told him that they had put up holiday lights for Diwali, the Indian festival of lights. Seeing them now felt like one of their inside jokes.

The only thing they didn’t share was this, her family. If Rico pushed or asked too many questions a wall came down around her usually wide-open demeanor. Truth was, he and she, they were enough for each other. If there was a part of her life she needed to keep away from him, he didn’t care.

Then why are you standing outside her restaurant?

He had no answer. All he knew was that he was here, across the street from where she was, and it felt essential to be here.

Don’t cross the street, a voice inside him said. Don’t.

He crossed the street and made his way down the curving driveway, walking past the valet parking stand with two layers of cars waiting to be parked or taken away. He held his breath, half expecting someone to stop him and ask what he wanted. He was wearing jeans and his Smoothie King T-shirt, not the best attire to meet the parents in. God, this was such a bad idea.

He got a few curious looks, but no one stopped him, and so he kept going. As soon as he pushed through the door, the delicious aroma from outside intensified. The waiting area was larger than in most restaurants he’d been to. The biggest crystal chandelier he’d ever seen hung from the high ceiling scattering golden light everywhere. Clusters of intricate paintings in carved frames covered the walls. It was like walking into a palace. When Ash had said her father ran a restaurant, he hadn’t expected it to be this fancy.

He was still studying the decor when someone spoke behind him. “Do you have a reservation, sir?”

He turned away from the life-sized dancing Ganesha statue and looked right into the eyes of a girl in a sari. Eyes that made him forget his name, eyes that had become his home. Only today they were lined in thick dark kohl. Her lips were a deep maroon and she wore a string of pearls that made her look ten years older. Then again, maybe it was the bearing with which she carried herself that was different, as though her shoulders were holding up the ceiling. He blinked. Maybe this was her mother.

It wasn’t. Because she looked like someone had kicked her in the ribs. On the surface, nothing changed in her demeanor, but in her eyes something imploded. Her bewildered gaze swept the waiting area behind him and then landed back on him.