Page 112 of Challenge Me

“Did it help?”

“Ehhh, you can’t be depressed while driving it.”

“That’s verifiably not true. It’d make wrapping yourself around a tree more fun.”

“Note to self: Don’t let Remi drive the Maserati.”

Tipping his head back, he laughed. “Man, my life is full of killjoys.”

“Nah, your friends are great.”

“They’re alright. I think I’ll keep them around.”

We pulled in front of the driveway, and I hurried to open the door so I could go around to Remi’s side. He looked surprised when I did it for him. I waited for him to take my hand, and once I’d pulled him out of his seat, I threaded our fingers, then opened the trunk to grab our bags.

“This is how I know you’ve only dated women,” he said as I slung his backpack over my shoulder. “You’re treating me with such chivalry.”

“Why shouldn’t I? Man or woman, everyone deserves to feel loved.”

He made a sound that might’ve been agreement. Behind us, the car pulled away, leaving us alone in front of the house, staring at the picket fence that blocked off the yard. We made our way up the driveway, then veered to the side and entered through the little gate that let out onto a path that led around to the front door. He eyed the garden beneath the front window, which had hydrangeas that were starting to bloom.

“My neighbor’s kid waters the plants when I’m away,” I said.

“Making little entrepreneurs. That’s the American way. Is this clover?” He toed the edge of the lawn gently.

“Taking back your assumptions about me yet?”

He didn’t respond, and I found myself glancing over at him as we walked.

He groaned when we reached the steps. “A porch swing? And a welcome sign? I feel like we’ve stepped into the 1950s.”

I glanced at the “Welcome to the Darya House” sign that Roman made for me. It hung beside the door, which was painted the same green as the wood porch. As soon as I unlocked the door, Remi dragged me inside and kicked his shoes off neatly in the entryway. He seemed to be on a mission, examining the place like he was searching for something. I was positive we wouldn’t find anyone getting it on this time, so at least there was that.

He stopped in the living room and scanned every corner. “Holy hellfire.”

“Are you okay?”

“Okay?”

He released me and went over to the china hutch, which was filled with pieces that were older than my parents, brought over from Iran—blue and gold floral porcelain, figurines, some photographs. He ran his socked foot over the patterned rug that stretched across the wood floor. Heading over to the wall, he checked out the collection of silver spoons, then he touched the set of sunflower throw pillows on my couch. His nose got really close to the incense sticks on the coffee table before he ran his fingers over the scratches in the wood surface.

Turning toward me, he didn’t bother to hide his smirk. “This is how Avery had it set up, right?”

“Uh, no.”

He rolled his lips inward as a smile started to break through.

“What’s your deal?” I laughed.

“Did you rob an antique store? Seriously, Amir, this can’t be your house.”

“It is my house.”

“So, you were an old lady in a past life.”

I shoved his shoulder. “Shut up. It’s timeless in here.”

“No, no, no. My bar is timeless. This smells like retirement.”