“It’s about more than the work.” He turned and put his arms around her. “One of the hospitals that is restructuring is St. Vincent’s where Ranjeet works. If we get the contract, I’ll have access to his employment file. I’ll be able to find out what really happened in that stairwell, and if there is a cover-up, I’ll be able to expose it. Nisha will have her justice.”

Warning bells rang at the back of her mind. “Is that ethical? Don’t you have to declare a conflict of interest?”

“I’ll do what it takes to get Nisha the justice she deserves.”

“It may be what she deserves, but is it what she wants?” Layla tried to choose her words carefully. “I can’t imagine that she’d be happy if you went to jail or lost your job for something that seems like a long shot at best. She seems to be moving on with her life. Do you think she wants to start digging up the past?”

Sam bristled. “It’s my job to protect her. I failed her before; it won’t happen again.”

“Is this about Nisha or you? It sounds like you still blame yourself for her injuries.”

He stiffened and pulled away. “I thought you, of all people, would understand.”

Layla winced at his harsh tone. She’d pushed him too far. Maybe that was a truth he wasn’t ready to face. All the justice in the world would mean nothing if he couldn’t forgive himself.

“I’m sorry. I just want you both to be happy.”

After they finished dressing, they climbed into Layla’s Jeep. Sam was still waiting for his insurers to decide whether his car was worth saving and she’d volunteered to chauffeur.

“You’re really going to do this?” Layla asked as the engine roared to life. “Eat Indian food? Does that mean if I play ‘Tattad Tattad,’ you might also get up and show us some Bollywood moves?” She loved Ranveer Singh’s energetic dance number from Goliyon Ki Rasleela Ram-Leela, a Bollywood remake of Romeo and Juliet.

“I’m hoping to be too full to move.”

“What’s your favorite food? I can’t believe I never asked you before.”

“Masala dosas. Hands down.”

Layla winced inwardly as she pulled out of the parking lot. Her mother had a special recipe for masala dosas that involved fermenting the batter for the savory crepes for eight hours. But the real trick was to cook them so they were both thick and had a golden crust. It was a skill she had never mastered. But this was Sam’s first Indian meal in years, and his first time meeting the family. The least she could do was try to prepare his favorite dish herself. “I’ll make sure you have some.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me, too.” She forced a smile. All he had to do was win over her family.

How hard could it be?

* * *

• • •

“TRY again, beta.” Layla’s father scraped the burned dosa out of the large cast-iron pan. Her mother had brought the pan with her from India, entrusted to her by her own mother when she left home.

“Why is it so hard?” Layla wiped the sweat off her forehead with her sleeve. This was the third dosa she’d ruined, and she felt bad wasting the batter her mother had prepared earlier in the day.

“Everything needs to be perfect.” He cleaned out the pan and seasoned it again. “Temperature, seasoning, and you need a light hand when you spread it. You want it to be crunchy on the outside but damp inside.” He sat heavily on the stool her mother had brought into the kitchen for him. Only a few days out of the hospital, he tired easily and was thinner than she’d ever seen him in his life.

“Are you okay? Is it the pacemaker? Do we need to go back to the hospital?”

“Stop worrying, beta. It’s all good. Probably just the body adjusting to something new, or maybe the heart feeling full to be in my kitchen with my family again.” He glanced down at the pan. “Batter now.”

Layla poured the batter into the pan, drawing circles with the back of a tumbler to create a large crepe. “I’ve made coconut chutney, green chutney, and red chutney to go with it, as well as sambar.” She pointed to the souplike side dish that was one of her favorite accompaniments to masala dosas. The journey through the dips with their hints of salt, heat, sour, and spice were what made masala dosas special.

“I hope Sam appreciates all your hard work.” He leaned over to eye the crepe. “I liked him when we first met. He was very well mannered, intelligent, straightforward, and very serious.”

Layla laughed. She had told her father about her dates with his list of suitors and how she’d become interested in Sam. He had been surprisingly relaxed about the fact that she hadn’t liked any of his choices, despite all the time he’d spent whittling down a list of hundreds to those ten men. “You make him seem dull.”

“Not dull, but he kept his emotions inside, unlike us Patels, who let them all out.” He looked again at the pan and shouted, “Now! Pour now!”

“Calm down, Nasir.” Layla’s mother came over to inspect the dosa. “Don’t excite yourself.”

“Then you’d better get out of the kitchen, because every time I see you, my heart pounds.” He pulled Layla’s mother into a hug and gave her a kiss. She held herself stiff, even as a smile tugged at her lips.

“This isn’t appropriate, Nasir.”

“What’s not appropriate is having to spend weeks in a hospital bed sleeping alone. There was no one to steal the covers. I was always too hot.”

“Nasir!” She pulled away, but not before Layla heard her muffled laughter. “The staff will see.”

“Good. Then they will all think Nasir is back to his strong and virile self and we will have to stop slacking off behind Jana’s back.” He looked over at Danny and scowled. “Like this one. I see you always looking at Layla. She has a man, and the family will be meeting him tonight, so turn your attention elsewhere.”

“You don’t mind that I’m dating someone who wasn’t on your list?” Layla poured another scoop of batter.

“I want you to be happy,” her father said. “If he makes you happy, then I like him; if he makes you sad, then I will—”

“You will do nothing,” Layla’s mother said. “You are a sick man. You should be in bed, not in the kitchen making dosas and causing trouble.”

Smoke rose from the pan and Layla looked down in dismay. “I burned another one!”

“It’s okay, beta.” Her father took the pan and gave her a hug. “The only way to get something right is to get many things wrong. Patels don’t give up when they burn their dosas. Now, let’s start again . . .”