“You blew the tea ceremony? How?”

  Willow’s cheeks went bright pink. “You don’t have to say it like that.” She looked tired close up, harried and worn.

  “She was up late,” said Zak. “She was checking our homework, and she forgot to do hers.”

  “Tattletale.” Lale flicked Zak’s elbow, then she squinted into the sunset. “We should go brush our teeth,” she said. “It’s almost bedtime.”

  Zak frowned. “It’s only seven.”

  “But we need to take baths and get changed and say our prayers.” She flicked Zak again. “Besides, Dad’s here now.”

  “Um?” Zak looked puzzled for a moment, then lit up all at once. “Oh, yeah! Time for bed.” He jumped up, and so did Lale. Hadi watched them go. His throat felt tight, and he cleared it.

  “So, I’m supposed to help you?”

  “You don’t have to.” Willow got to her feet. “If you’re busy, I can go.”

  “I’m not.” He motioned Willow to sit and knelt down himself. Lale had rolled out the old rug he’d learned on himself. Its weave, once a deep blue, had faded to gray. Its pile was so thin he could feel the floor beneath. He breathed in and smelled tea, and faint spice underneath. The smell stirred nostalgia, and he found himself frowning. “You don’t enjoy this? The ceremony?”

  “It’s not that,” Willow said. “I think it’s beautiful, almost like a dance. But one step out of order, and it all falls apart.” She gestured at the rug, laid out with plates of treats. “I know one of those, I break in half and dip it in my tea. But try that with the pink ones and they crumble in your lap.”

  Hadi bit back a chuckle. “It’s the lemon snaps you break, but you don’t dip them in your tea.” He cracked one himself and passed Willow half. “These were once costly, made from rare fruit. To share one was generous. A gift between friends.”

  “And now?”

  “Two riyal for twenty, last I checked.” He bit into his half. “But you should know I love these. I’d eat the whole plate.”

  “Then I’m honored you’d share.” Willow tried her own half and her eyes fluttered shut. “Oh. That’s...”

  Orgasmic? Hadi scowled and pinched himself. “I take it you approve?”

  “I do,” said Willow. “I’d expected, I don’t know, something more artificial. But it tastes like real lemon. Like...”

  “Like childhood.” Hadi looked away, out past the willows where the sun was going down. The roofs of Mehara blazed orange and red, the same burning skyline he’d known all his life. “Childhood, and home.” He took another bite and savored it, that zing of lemon peel. “You must have something like that. Something you ache for when you’ve been away too long?”

  “Chocolate egg creams from Beadle’s.” Willow’s tongue darted out. She made a low sound, almost a sigh. “I haven’t had one in years. But when I close my eyes, I can see it, the red-and-white paper straw, the condensation on the glass. The slick of syrup at the bottom. The way the glass goes all frosty on a hot day.”

  Hadi suppressed a shiver, a frisson down his spine. Willow’s eyelids had sunk to half-mast. Her lips were parted, as though inviting a kiss. He could, if he wanted to, just lean in and steal one. In another world, he’d do it, consequences be damned.

  “An egg cream,” he said instead. “Some kind of drink?”

  “Milk and soda water and a dash of syrup.” Willow shrugged her shoulders. “Sounds awful, I know, but that’s home to me, egg creams with Fern, Friday nights after choir.” Willow shook her head. Her sunshine had dimmed, her eyes dull and flat. “It’s probably gone by now. It’s been years since I’ve been back.”

  Hadi fought the urge to kick himself. Of course Willow’s childhood was bound up with Fern’s. Memory lane was no pleasure trip, not once loss joined the hike. “I’m curious about your travels,” he said, angling back to safe ground. “You mentioned London before, and Zak’s been teaching Lale...Danish?”

  “Good guess. It’s Swedish.” The words came out choked, but Willow managed a smile. “We spent a year up in Umeå, right before London. I remember mata inte fåglarna, and that’s about it. But Zak dove right in, and I think he’s nearly fluent.”

  “Mata inte fåglarna?” Hadi quirked a brow.

  “Don’t feed the birds.” Willow’s smile turned rueful. “At least you can count on that, anywhere you go. Language shifts, cultures change, but you sit down to eat and here come the pigeons.”

  “We get storks in winter,” Hadi said. “They scare off the pigeons, but that’s not a good thing. They’ll snatch your whole lunch before you hear them coming.”

  Willow laughed out loud. Her spark was back, her eyes bright with mirth. He lifted a bowl of grapes and passed them her way.

  “Try these and tell me where else you’ve been.”

  Willow took a grape and bit into it. “Well, first there was Italy. That was for me, for the artist in me. I thought I’d take a year, see the museums, the galleries. Sit in cafés and paint people as they went by. But once I saw for myself this culture I’d only read about, I knew we had to keep going. I’d been so sheltered, so ignorant. I couldn’t let Zak grow up like that.” She smiled, soft and reflective. “He’s too young to remember, but he loved it there. Soaked it up like a sponge. After that, there was Switzerland, then—”

  “Wait, what year was that?”

  “What, Switzerland?” Willow’s brow furrowed. “Zak would’ve been three, so around 2017.”

  Hadi’s heart beat faster. “I was there that same year. Skiing at St. Moritz.”

  “I took Zak to St. Moritz. On the Glacier Express. Just about broke the bank, but...” Her eyes had gone round. “Wait. Are you saying—?”

  “I don’t know.” Hadi’s mouth had gone dry. He reached for his tea bowl and remembered it was empty. “I went in December,” he said. “Just before the New Year.”

  “Us too,” Willow said. “Over our Christmas break.”

  “We could’ve passed in the street. Brushed elbows without knowing.” Hadi reached across the rug. His fingers grazed Willow’s, the lightest of touches. “I’d like to think I’d remember you, but in St. Moritz in winter, you’d have been bundled to the eyes.”

  “You too. Like the Michelin Man.” Willow laughed, a breathless sound. She hadn’t moved her hand. Hadi stared at their fingers and held his breath. He could take her hand in his and pretend to read her palm. Trail his thumb down her heart line and watch her cheeks flush pink. It wouldn’t have to go further—just a moment of tenderness, then they’d both laugh it off. Or she might lean closer, and—

  “Hadi?”

  “I’m glad Zak’s seen the world,” he said. “Glad you’ve shown him so much. Our cultures are so different, I was worried he might not adapt. But he’s settling in, isn’t he? Enjoying his lessons?”

  “He is.” Willow drew back at last, but only to pour Hadi’s tea. She did it well, not a hint of a fumble. “I want to learn as well. To embrace what’s to come, whatever that might be.” She set the teapot aside and broke a lemon snap to split with Hadi. “That’s what you were trying to tell me, right? At Zak’s first lesson? You grew up with these traditions. You want to share them with him.”

  Hadi’s heart swelled. “I’m not completely inflexible,” he said. “If you shared your customs with me, I’d give them a try.”

  “Like, you’d cheer at a baseball game?” Willow cocked her head.

  “We have baseball here.”

  “Try a slice of apple pie?”

  “Bake me one if you want, but we have that here too.” Hadi leaned forward. He felt reckless, almost drunk, like a kid on a dare. “Here in Ad Diwasul, we share tea to show friendship. What do you share?”

  “To show friendship?” Willow didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. She toyed with her napkin and adjusted her scarf. “I suppose we’d share hugs, but that’s... You don’t do that, do you? Not like back home.”

  “Would you feel at home if I did?” Hadi stood up slowly. “If indeed we were friends, I’d want that for you.”

  “We’ve shared tea, haven’t we?” Willow got up, too, and stood breathing fast. She crossed her arms over her chest, then dropped them to her sides. “I’ve missed hugs, hello,” she said. “It’s been a while since I’ve had one from anyone besides Zak.”

  “I—” Hadi closed his mouth. He’d been about to say I shouldn’t. But what could it hurt, a simple embrace? A gesture of comfort, simple kindness, nothing more. He stepped forward, and so did Willow. For a moment, it was awkward, his arms around her shoulders, her hands on his waist. Then he pulled her close, and she laid her head on his shoulder. Her hair smelled like summer, like the breeze through the roses. He could feel her heart racing through four layers of fabric. It made him want to protect her, and he let his chin rest on her head.

  Willow muttered something, muffled in his jacket.

  “Hm?”

  “I said it does feel like home.” She pulled back, and her scarf was loose, her hair staticked to his shoulder. Hadi smoothed it down without thinking. It was as soft as its color, as soft as he’d thought. He buried his fingers in it.

  “Hadi?” Willow looked up at him. Her eyes were light gray, not blue as he’d originally thought. Her lips were plump and rosy. He kissed them and she kissed back—a light kiss, but a confident one. Her palm skimmed his collar and cupped the nape of his neck.

  I really shouldn’t. But he already had. He hung in the moment and savored it, Willow’s lush contours and the lemon on her lips. Her body was warm, her heart racing to match his own. He deepened the kiss and nearly moaned when she responded. He’d pictured this moment, entertained endless fantasies, but in all his imaginings, she’d never met him with such sure, hungry passion. She’d never pressed up against him like she couldn’t get enough—like she was doing right now, stoking his desire. A tide of emotion rose up in his breast, the desire to protect her, to gather her close. To hold her forever, though he knew it couldn’t be.

  “What was that?” she whispered, when they broke apart at last. Her lips were rosy from kissing, her eyes bright and dazed. Hadi reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear.

  “A hug hello,” he said, with a devilish wink. “And a kiss goodnight.”

  7

  Willow woke to the sun’s kiss warm on her brow. She felt warm all over—her cheek, where Hadi’s thumb had grazed as he brushed back her hair. The small of her back, where his palm had felt so natural, so comforting. Her lips, where his own had lingered. A kiss goodnight.

  She rose, flushed and giddy, and dressed in a daze. Would Hadi regret their kiss in the hard light of day? Would he snub her? Rebuke her? Greet her politely, as though nothing had happened? Willow touched her lips, and a thrill walked down her spine. Hadi might snub her, but what if he didn’t? What if his eyes went dark and he took her by the hand? If he pulled her so close she felt his heartbeat, his stubble on her cheek?

  Outside, a bell rang, and Willow shook herself. That was the sun bell. In twelve hours, she’d hear the moon bell. She’d hear those bells ring today and every day she stayed here. Hadi had heard them his whole life. He lived by those bells, by the tradition they represented. By star charts and tea ceremonies, by rules as old as history. That kiss, that moment, where did that fit in? Where did she, for that matter?

  “Mom?” Zak poked his head in. “I knocked. Didn’t you hear me?”

  Willow bit her lip. “Uh…”

  “Dad says, are you coming? We’re gonna be late.”

  “Late? For the—” For the park. That’s today. It came back to her in a rush—their first family outing. They’d set it up days ago.

  “Mom? You okay?” Zak tugged at her hand. “Your scarf’s on the bed, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

  “Thanks. You’re so helpful.” She bent and kissed Zak, then snatched up her scarf. She was still arranging herself as she chased him down the hall, across the bright courtyard, and up the main drive. Hadi was waiting with the car, effortlessly handsome in chinos and shirt sleeves, and a dusky blue scarf to ward off the sun.

  “Good morning,” he said, and Willow broke out in goose bumps. Hadi’s tone was almost a caress. His eyes gleamed dark and sinful, burning with promise. He’d left his collar open, two buttons undone. Willow’s hand fluttered to her own throat, and somehow, she found her voice.

  “It’s a beautiful day.”

  “Isn’t it?” Hadi took her hand and helped her into the car. His thumb brushed her knuckles, a quick, subtle touch. Willow’s breath stuttered, and for a moment, she felt faint. Then Zak was clambering over her to join Lale in the middle.

  “Ouch.” Willow lifted him over. “You’re getting too big for that. Next time, go around.”

  “Sorry.” Zak reached for his seat belt, and Lale helped him fasten it. Hadi got in the other side. He tipped Willow a sly wink, and she felt her cheeks go hot.

  “My shoe’s pinching,” Zak said, but Willow barely heard him. Hadi hadn’t snubbed her or made out like nothing had happened. The way he’d looked at her—the way he was still looking—she got the sense that if the kids weren’t here, he’d have kissed her good morning. Kissed her, and then who knows? She’d felt his desire last night, his lust kindling her own. But beyond that, when he’d held her, she’d felt something gentle. Something careful, almost, like he didn’t want to hurt her. Something tender and real.

  Willow leaned back, dizzy, as the engine purred to life. Everything was moving so fast. Not even two weeks ago, she and Hadi had been strangers. Now he was kissing her, and Zak was calling him Dad. She was living under his roof, under his rule. She needed air, a chance to breathe, but the city rushed by her, white stone and blue sky. The park gates swung open, and Zak leaned across her lap, squashing her handbag as he craned for a look.

  “Swans! Can we feed them?”

  Willow nudged him off her. “We didn’t bring any seed.”

  “We can buy some,” said Hadi. “Come on. Everybody out.”

  Willow fell back, laughing, as Zak wriggled past her. Lale waited her turn, a proper little lady, but then Zak spotted the swings. He sprinted toward them, and she raced to catch up. They streaked off at top speed, both shrieking with delight. Willow glanced at Hadi, and she felt her heart melt. He’d paused to watch the kids, one hand on the car door. His smile mirrored her own, fond and unguarded, with just a hint of sadness.

  “Hadi?”

  “They grow up so fast,” he said. He shut the door with a thunk and moved to join her. “Lale’s seven already, but it feels like just yesterday I could hold her with one hand.” Hadi took Willow’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “Zak was too squirmy for that.” She surveyed the park, distracted. It was lovely but empty, its benches and picnic tables as pristine as display models. She frowned. “Where is everyone?”

  “Didn’t I mention? This park’s brand new.” They strolled over a low bridge, clear water babbling beneath. “Tomorrow’s the grand opening. But today, it’s all ours.”

  “We’re the guinea pigs, huh?” Willow smiled, but she felt lonely. Were all Lale’s outings like this? So safe? So isolated? Had she never made park friends or beach friends, ones Hadi hadn’t vetted? Built sandcastles with tourist kids who didn’t speak her language?

  “Something the matter?” Hadi bent to catch her eye.

  “Just admiring the scenery.” Willow smiled wider. She was doing it again, letting her fears run away with her. Lale needed protection Zak didn’t—or hadn’t, up till now. Hadi was giving her a childhood while shielding her from danger. He’d do the same for Zak. “I bet the swings would feel good with the breeze on our faces.”

  “I bet you’re right.” Hadi dropped her hand and jogged ahead. He claimed the swing next to Lale’s, jumped on, and gave himself a running start. Willow laughed as he leaned into the downswing, hair streaming out of place.

  “Well? Aren’t you coming?”

  Willow cocked a brow. “You’re losing your wallet.”

  “So? I’m rich.” Hadi leaned back again. His wallet flew out of his pocket and landed in the grass. “Hey, look. A lion.”

  “What?” Zak looked about, wild-eyed. “There’s lions? Won’t they eat us?”

  “Not this lion,” Hadi said. He pointed up at the sky, at a drift of cotton clouds. “Look, there are its claws. And its head, see? It’s roaring.”

  “I see its tail,” Lale said. “That little puffy cloud is the tuft on the end.”

  “I see a pelican,” Zak said. “It’s chasing the lion.”

  Willow tipped her head back. “A pelican? Show me where.”

  Zak got off the swing and pointed just south of the lion. “Its beak’s open, see? It can’t fit a whole lion, but it still has to try.”

  “Let’s make them spin,” said Lale. She’d jumped down as well, and she took Zak by the hands. The two of them spun round and round, faster and faster, till they flew apart. They stumbled off, giggling, and collapsed in the grass.

  “It’s a carousel,” gasped Zak. “Oh, hey. I found a pony.”

  “I don’t see a pony,” Hadi said. Willow stopped breathing—when had he come so close? He was standing right next to her, his shoulder bumping hers. His dark eyes danced with mischief. “What do you say? Want to ride the carousel?”

  Willow coughed. “You can’t mean—”

  “Hold on tight.” Hadi reached out to her, and Willow grasped his hands. They leaned back and spun, and the clouds spun overhead—the lion, the pelican—and Zak was right. There was a pony. A pony, a greyhound, then the lion again. Willow heard breathless laughter and realized it was her own. Hadi was laughing too, then he tripped, or she did, and they went down together, onto their backs in the grass. The carousel kept on spinning, a dizzy procession.

  “I haven’t done that since I was—since I was Zak’s age.” Willow blinked, caught her bearings, and squeezed Hadi’s hand.

  “I might throw up,” Hadi groaned, but when she looked over, he was smiling. He rubbed his stomach, slow and lazy. “On second thought, I think I’m hungry.”