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“I think Areej Aunty might be a genius chef. How has the Michelin Guide not come calling?” she asked.

“They keep trying to give her a star. She keeps threatening to sue if they make her famous. The only thing she’s afraid of is being discovered by Chi-Town’s fashionable crowd,” Lucky said, and Dina laughed. Having met the woman, she believed it. Then she sobered.

“You were never a third wheel,” she said softly. “You were . . . important to me. I think I lost my way after you left.” It was the closest she could bring herself to get to the truth, at least for now. Lucky seemed to accept this and bowed his head.

“What about Mariam?” Dina asked, trying to keep her tone light. “I hope she didn’t break your heart.” She waited as he considered her words, hoping the answer wouldn’t be a blow.

“Not even close. We were just hanging out together, biding time really,” Lucky said. “Mariam was always clear that her end goal was a D.E.A.L.”

“Deal?” Dina asked.

“An acronym I made up,” he explained. “Doctor, engineer, accountant, lawyer—the only acceptable professions for future husbands, apparently. Failed lawyers and construction workers need not apply.” The words were light, but Dina could sense the pain behind them. On impulse, she reached across the table and squeezed his hand. Once again, a jolt of electricity shot from his large, warm hand to her fingers, but this time she didn’t jerk away.

“I’m sorry Mariam and any others never recognized what was in front of them,” she said.

“Not too many others,” Lucky said. “I wouldn’t want you to start getting ideas,” he added with a smile. “Mostly I’ve been too busy with work, too tired after a long day to date.”

“I work long days too,” Dina said.

“Then I guess you wouldn’t mind being with someone who usually doesn’t come home until after ten p.m. and works weekends too,” Lucky said.

“Sounds like my schedule,” she said. “Where were you six years ago?” She wanted to snatch the words back the moment they left her mouth, but Lucky didn’t say a word. “Did you ever think about sitting the bar in Chicago, after things stabilized with your family?” she asked, hurrying to change the subject. Lucky shook his head.

“I never liked the law,” he said. “I think I liked the way people reacted when I said I was in law school. As if I were worth their attention, someone to be respected. But I knew a few months into first year that it wasn’t for me.”

Dina stared at him. Here was the answer to the question she had yet to find the nerve to ask him. “Why did you stick around if you hated it?”

“There were some redeeming parts,” he said. The expression on his face made her flush. Was he referring to her? Had he stayed in a program he couldn’t stand to stay close to her? The idea was ludicrous, and yet a part of her wondered.

“I suppose you come by your addiction to late-night hours honestly, at least,” she acknowledged, and he nodded slowly.

“I think about those late nights studying in the library all the time,” Lucky said. They had pushed their empty plates to the side now, and she looked at his hand, on the table in front her, his palm facing up, almost as if he wanted her to reach across and take hold of it again. She swallowed and looked away.

“I think about those nights too,” she said softly. “There was this thing you used to do, with the Post-it Notes.”

“Writing you those little notes?” he said. His voice was low and intimate, a caress in her ear, and she shivered at the thought of how it would feel even closer to her.

“I still have some of them,” she admitted. “In fact, the habit stayed. That note you picked up, the one I dropped at the mehndi. I wrote it because—”

Her confession was interrupted by a chime from his phone. He looked down to check it, and she saw the name Aliyah flash across his screen. He turned his phone over without reading the message, but the damage was done—whatever spell had been cast in this small restaurant had snapped.

“Maybe we should get the bill,” Dina said, trying not to let the tremor in her fingers show as she straightened her hijab.

He nodded and rose from his seat. “Areej Aunty will stab me if I try to pay. I’ll just fix her sink or fridge or whatever else is on the fritz the next time I come here,” Lucky said.

His voice was strangely formal now, as if he had decided to put back up those walls that had kept him wary at his house a few hours ago.

In the truck, as they drove back to his home, Dina found the courage to ask about the text. “What did Aliyah want?”

He glanced at her. “She was confirming our date tonight,” he said.

Dina felt his words like a physical blow. “Oh,” she said in a small voice. She felt the car slowing, and Lucky pulled into his driveway. “That’s . . . nice. She’s really nice too.”

He turned to her. “Dina, I’ve felt stuck for so long,” he said, his voice suddenly urgent. “After my father died and we realized the full extent of the financial hole he had left for us, I realized my uncle wasn’t going to help. Every second of my life since has been spent digging my family out from disaster. It took almost five years for me to right the ship, and I didn’t do it alone—Mom and Saleem, even Jiya and Nisa, they all played a part. Now I’m finally ready for what comes next.”

Dina couldn’t look away from his beautiful face. “What comes next for you, Lucky?”

“I want to get married,” Lucky said, his words taking on a deeper cadence, filled with a yearning she had never heard before. “I want kids and a home. I think Aliyah wants the same things. I think I finally met someone who might be on the same page. I’m tired of waiting, and I’m ready to go all in. Unless you can think of a reason I should hold back?”