When Dimple Met Rishi(62)

Uggghhhh.

"Are you okay?"

He jumped a little and looked at her. "What? Why?"

"Why'd you just groan like that?"

Crap. He'd done that out loud? "Ah . . . no reason." Rishi exhaled. "Look, if this is too much, if you hate it, we can go somewhere else."

But Dimple put a hand on his hand. When he looked up at her, hope blooming painfully in his chest, she was smiling at him, soft and sure. "I definitely don't hate it. Thanks."

Rishi exhaled. "You're welcome." At least Dimple didn't hate it. It still didn't mean he could check out of Camp Trying Too Hard yet, but she didn't hate it. So there was that.





CHAPTER 33




" ‘Underneath Mrs. Murry's chair Fortinbras let out a contented sigh.' " Dimple closed the book and sat back to look at Rishi, smiling slightly. It was crazy how words-just black squiggles on a page-could bring memories rushing back. She remembered lying in bed under the covers, long after she was supposed to be asleep, her flashlight shining on these same pages. "I love this book," she said, stroking the cloth cover that was so much fancier than the $2 paperback she'd had. "I still remember feeling so . . . so cozy, thinking of the giant Murry family. How they all loved each other, how they looked out for each other no matter what. It used to make me wish my parents had popped out a few more."

Rishi leaned in, eyes wide. "Okay, but what happened to the dad? Does he ever come back?"

Dimple snorted and reached for the last bite of her salmon slider. Rishi had pretty much inhaled his French onion soup while she read. "I can't believe you've never read A Wrinkle in Time. It's a classic."

"I guess I was too busy reading comics. But seriously, does he ever come back?"

Dimple pushed the copy of her book forward. "Tell you what. You read that, and I'll read your comics." She paused, frowning. "Oh, wait. We can't take these out of the store, can we?"

The tips of Rishi's ears went pink. He dropped his gaze to where his thumb was tracing patterns in the woodwork of the table. "Ah, not usually. But these are, um, my books. I ordered them and had the waiter put them here for us. So we can."

Dimple's heart fluttered. Rishi had made a real effort for their non-date. He'd scoped out a place he knew she'd love-and she did; if she could live here under one of the tables forever, she'd be perfectly content to do just that. He'd bought books that meant something to her and to him. She knew she should discourage him. She also knew she didn't want to. If this was how Rishi Patel showed his interest in her, if this was him wooing her, she wanted more. More, more, more.

Dimple took a sip of her virgin cosmo and set it down, forced herself to meet his eye. "Rishi . . ."

He looked up, every muscle taut. "Yeah?"

"I, um, just wanted to say . . ." God, why couldn't the legal drinking age be eighteen in the US ? European teens didn't know how good they had it. Then again, you had to be twenty-five to drink in Mumbai, so maybe they didn't have it that bad. Why the heck was she thinking of drinking laws now? Dimple forced herself to refocus. "I . . ." She swallowed. "I'm making headway on the coding. I got past that snag we were talking about yesterday." Ugh, coward.

His face fell, and her heart followed. "Oh yeah." He forced a smile like watery chai. "Good."

Willie the waiter came over then, that eager, toothy smile still plastered on his face. "Hi! How was everything, guys?"



       
         
       
        

"Great." Dimple smiled at him. "We're ready for the check."

"Okeydokey!" He slipped the leather check holder from his pocket, and Rishi reached for it.

"We can split it," Dimple said immediately.

But he just shook his head, put in a few bills, and said to the waiter, "Keep the change."

"Are you ready to go?" He was smiling, but it was that same watery chai smile. He'd lost his luster. He'd lost his luster because of her.

Dimple's chest felt tight. She should say something to put this right. To tell him how much she appreciated what he'd done. For once she should just lay out her feelings. She opened her mouth-and then closed it again. "Yeah. I'm ready."

• • •

They walked outside, the air heavy and pulsing with all the things left unsaid.

This is your chance, Dimple. Say something. Tell him you're having fun, at least. But she found she couldn't overcome the silence.

At the Beemer, Rishi opened her door, like before, and Dimple slid in. Rishi hopped in his side. The air felt different from the first time they'd gotten in . . . emptier, stiffer. Colder.