fazed

As soon as he unlocked the door to their apartment, Ajay could smell the unforgettable scent of tandoori chicken coming from the kitchen. The scent filled his brain with memories, of evenings with his grandparents in India every summer, of happy family dinners back when there was such a thing, of the last time he'd come home to the same smell. That last memory wasn't a good one; what followed had been a night laden with guilt and manipulation, tied up with the ribbon of him finally giving in: telling Isabella that he'd talk to his producer about her newest screenplay just to get her to stop bothering him about it. And that may have been the first time it happened, but it wasn't the last.

It was that memory that was at the forefront of his mind as he quietly closed the door behind him, hanging his briefcase and his coat from the hooks on the wall near the door. When the door clicked shut, the woman at the stove turned to him, her smile turned up to a million watts. He couldn't help but fall in love with her all over again anytime she did that. His defenses lowered the slightest bit as she beckoned him over with a wooden spoon.

"Hey! You're just in time, dinner's almost ready." Grace said, pulling him in for a quick kiss hello before turning her attention back to the stove.

Ajay took a deep breath as he sat down, trying desperately to control his thoughts. Come on, he told himself, this is Grace. You know she wouldn't do anything to hurt you. Still, he had a hard time keeping the uneasiness off his face, and he knew it showed.

Grace handed him a plate of the chicken, neatly arranged on a bed of basmati with a lemon wedge garnish. He took it over to their breakfast bar and she joined him soon after.

"Thank you," Ajay started, painfully aware that he sounded less than grateful. "But I thought I was the chef in this relationship?"

Grace smiled. "You're the chef because you're way better at this than I am. But I just wanted to do something nice for you."

Her words echoed through Ajay's memory, honing in on those nights years ago where he'd came home to sense the guilt-tripping, of his ex-girlfriend laying it on thick with pleas and even threats, where he'd realized too late that she didn't love him, that she was just using him. As much as he tried to resist, he couldn't help but draw connections between that all those years ago and this now. He knew it wasn't fair, but he automatically closed himself off to Grace. And she definitely noticed.

Her face fell. "Did I do something wrong?"

He wanted so badly to say no, to cast this off, to stop worrying her and to enjoy the nice dinner she'd made for him. But he couldn't. He laid down his fork as gently as he could manage, then spoke directly to her in a quiet voice.

"Grace, why did you make this for me?"

Grace blinked, clearly confused, but she answered him.

"I knew the show you're directing has been stressing you out, and I wanted to treat you to something."

That hit Ajay harder than anything else, and he was pulled back through his own memories.

"I just wanted to do something nice for you, Ajay. Why do you always question me?"

"Oh, so you're going to tell me you don't have ulterior motives for this one? What makes it different from all the other ones, Bella? What do you want from me?"

"I want to treat you to something! Stop being so fucking paranoid all the time. I know the show you're directing is kicking your ass, and I wanted to be nice. Guess I won't ever do that again."

"Just... just tell me what you want," Ajay said tiredly, "And you know I'll give it to you. We don't have to go through this every time."

"...Fine," Isabella relented, grabbing a thick manuscript from the table and handing it to him. "Give this to your producer."