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Who repaid his efforts by dumping him.

“I don’t understand,” Lucky said. He hadn’t expected much for his work, maybe a meal or at least a thank-you. Being shown the door was not the usual reaction Lucky received for a job well done.

Mariam smiled. She was a beautiful woman, with thick, waist-length dark hair, full lips perfectly lined and glossy, lash extensions, and luminous brown skin that appeared to glow from within. He had always found her attractive, but their six-month-long relationship had been based on more than chemistry. Mariam had a wicked wit, she made him laugh, and more than that, she never lied to him. He had a feeling she was about to be brutally honest right now.

“We had fun together, right, Lucky?” she said.

He nodded. Their relationship had mostly consisted of meals in nice restaurants and attending social engagements together. Mariam never asked too much of him. Now that he thought about it, she had never asked him to meet her parents or any other family. But since he had not been eager to introduce her to his family, either, he had assumed they were both on the same page, keeping things simple, figuring it out as they went along. With a sinking feeling, he realized that, six months in, Mariam had grown tired of pretending that all was right between them.

“You’re a great guy. The best, really. You text me back when you say you will, you’re nice, you have a job, you’re fit, and good to your family,” she began.

“Why do I sense a ‘but’?” he asked.

“You and I, we’ve never lied to each other,” Mariam said. “So here’s the truth. As much as I’ve enjoyed hanging out with you, it’s time for me to get serious.” She looked at him expectantly.

“Are you . . . going back to school?” he asked. They had discussed their spotty academic and employment records—him with his unfinished law degree, her with a few different career changes.

She pouted. “Lucky, stop making this so difficult. You’re too cute when you’re clueless. Are you going to make me spell it out?” When he continued to look at her blankly, she sighed. “Look, my parents have certain expectations for me.” She paused to look at him meaningfully. “. . . About the kind of guy they expect me to marry.”

Lucky was suddenly aware of how he must appear, dressed in what he thought of as his “work” uniform: rough canvas pants, paint-stained and grimy despite interminable washing, paired with a black Henley shirt, tool belt secured around his slim waist. He watched Mariam take this all in, watched her pause with something that looked like wistfulness at his chest and shoulders before meeting his gaze.

“So you want to get married?” he asked.

She nodded.

Instantly, Lucky got down on one knee. “Mariam Patel, will you do me the honor of—”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Lucky. You don’t want to marry me.”

“I don’t?” he asked. He was usually sharper than this, but she had caught him completely flat footed. Seriously, she hadn’t even thanked him for fixing her leaky kitchen faucet. It was his day off today too. He’d had plans, which he had dropped because his girlfriend—ex-girlfriend, now, he supposed—said she needed help. And Lucky always showed up when someone he cared about was in trouble.

Said ex-girlfriend now shook her head regretfully. “Let’s be real. A girl like me”—she gestured at her voluptuous figure, encased in expensive designer brands Lucky had never even heard of before they got together—“can’t marry a contractor. I won’t apologize for my expensive tastes. I need to marry a guy who can keep up with me. I mean, what would people think?”

Lucky blinked. Had she really just implied that he wasn’t good enough for her? Another thought made his eyes widen in horror and embarrassment: Had Mariam been slumming it with him this entire time? “You said you liked that I was an entrepreneur,” he protested. “You said real men work with their hands.”

“Which is why I’ve asked my parents to set me up with Fawaz. He’s an orthopedic surgeon and operates three times a week. Plus, he wants to open a chain of halal vegan restaurants,” Mariam said.

Lucky stared at her. “Halal applies to meat, not vegetables.”

Mariam waved her hand at him, impatient now, eager to have him on his way, he realized. “Look, we both got what we wanted out of this, right? A bit of fun, a good distraction. Now it’s time to get serious. I’m twenty-nine years old.”

“You’re thirty-three,” he corrected automatically. It had been a source of contention between them that she was a year older than Lucky. Not that he had cared.

Mariam’s eyes flashed. “A gentleman wouldn’t bring that up,” she said tartly. “Don’t go spreading that around, either.” She glared at him now. “You think I’m shallow, don’t you? At least I’m honest about what I want. At least I’m not hung up on some girl I went to law school with ten years ago.”

“It was six years ago, and I am not ‘hung up’ on Dina,” Lucky said, a flush crawling up his neck. He barely thought about her anymore. Not more than once a week, tops. Maybe twice a week. But he wasn’t an idiot—he knew she was happily married to his former friend Arshad, living a perfect life as a perfect lawyer working for her father’s perfect law firm. It had all worked out for them. He only regretted telling Mariam about Dina. “I know keeping track of years isn’t your strong suit,” he couldn’t help but add.

Mariam’s outraged expression made him instantly regret his words. She had confided in him that she had failed college calculus three times and only passed after she agreed to date her TA.

Lucky sighed and started gathering his tools. If he was being honest, he had always known their relationship had an expiration date. Mariam was right; they had both been using each other as a distraction from their real lives. While they enjoyed each other’s company and made each other laugh, their relationship had resembled fast food—convenient, available, but ultimately without any real nourishment.

He took a deep breath. “I appreciate you not ghosting me,” he said.

From the sheepish expression that crossed her face now, he could see she had considered it. “Well, I needed someone to fix my leaky faucet,” she said.

They smiled at each other.

“Good luck with the surgeon,” he said.