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‘Are you OK?’

‘Static shock.’ She laughed.

‘Oh. OK. So, what are we cooking?’

‘We? Are you planning to help?’

‘My kitchen. My rules. And I don’t usually let guests cook.’ He grinned. ‘At least not without trying to help.’

‘That sounds like it could be interesting.’ She smiled back, then looked around again. ‘How about butter chicken, roti and kachumber salad?’

‘I have eaten butter chicken before.’

‘If it came in a foil tray, you haven’t eaten it the way I cook it.’

‘In that case, I look forward to being educated.’

* * *

‘You’re going to burn yourself!’ Amrita scolded Jamie as he swiped a piece of bread and dunked it in the still-simmering food.

‘Worth the risk.’ But he blew on the morsel before tasting it, his eyes widening. ‘That is… very different.’

‘Told you so.’ She pressed her lips together like she was trying not to smile. ‘Here.’ She speared a bit of chicken, swirled it in the rich, dark sauce, and offered it to him. ‘Try it properly.’

He closed his eyes and savoured the flavours, far more complex than any curry he’d tasted before. It was savoury, silky and had a rich flavour that overlayed the charred – but perfectly cooked – chicken, balancing deliciously against the tangy warmth of the gravy.

‘It’s better when there’s time to marinade the chicken properly. But this quick version will do for starting your education.’

‘It gets better than this?’

‘I haven’t done the dhungar yet.’

He watched, slightly awed as she folded and refolded tinfoil into a cup shape and heated a lump of charcoal – holding it in the gas flame with his salad tongs – until it glowed orange and white. Then she pressed the foil cup into the middle of the chicken and gravy and dropped the charcoal into it. She drizzled a spoonful of melted butter over it, and smoke curled up in blue-grey ribbons. For a moment, it twisted around itself, forming the shape of a heart, but disappeared as Amrita covered the pan.

‘So that’s the secret, huh?’

‘One of them.’ She smiled and reached for the wine he’d poured. ‘I won’t leave it for long. It can be a bit of an acquired taste, and I don’t want to make it too strong for your first time.’

‘I appreciate it. How long do you think?’

‘Maybe five minutes.’

‘Table or trays?’

‘Your apartment, your rules.’

‘Yeah, but you did all the cooking. So, you’re pretty much the default host.’

‘You cut the onions. And made the salad.’ She smiled as she argued. ‘Besides, that’s not how things work in my family.’

‘No?’

‘No. In my family, if you’re around when food is being prepared, you’re helping out. Especially if you’re a girl. The only reason you don’t help out is if you’re unable to – like you’re unwell, or busy with the kids. Or you’re a guest. It’s usually chaotic, and noisy, and full of love and chatter. Cooking with the people you care about is part of being a family. It kneads you together more firmly, blending people together. And it’s a good way to catch up – because no matter how busy life gets, you always need to eat, and good food will always bring people together.’

‘So, for you, cooking for someone is a big deal?’

‘Yes. You should consider yourself extremely lucky, Jamie Collins.’ Her eyes sparkled as she said it, and the corners of her lips twitched, and he knew she was trying not to smile as she gently teased.