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room.”
    Ray sat on the couch but not next to Abra. A horrible silence overtook them as if they had exhausted all their small talk. He had never been so nervous with a girl before. Longing to reach out and make his move, he held back, gripped in a self-made lock.
    â€œCongratulations, again, on The Times publishing your letter,” Abra said, finally breaking the awkward silence.
    â€œThanks. I didn’t think they would.”
    Abra took exception. “Why not? It was an excellent letter. You brought up points that everyone should realize.”
    â€œYou mean for a non-Muslim?”
    Abra pouted. “That’s what made your letter so strong.”
    â€œBut it wasn’t signed, Non-Muslim.”
    â€œNo matter,” she said. “Anyway, I think that was implicit. Ray, I admire the breath of your views, and others will, too.”
    Ray nodded, hoping Abra was right. If only other Muslims, like her uncle the imam, agreed. “I’m encouraged enough to contribute to a few blogs now.”
    More than encouraged, Ray told himself, as he was busy seeking out relevant blogs as editorial stepping stones to his immersion into the Islamic community.
    â€œYou should write a book yourself,” she said.
    Ray had to smile. Was Abra stroking him? Why would she do that? But he decided she was sincere. Her nature was to be straightforward, a quality he greatly admired and appreciated. She didn’t stint on sharing her viewpoints. “I don’t have quite that much to say,” he said in a self-depreciative tone, feeling a deep irony as he spoke.
    â€œSurprise yourself then.” Abra gave him an encouraging smile. She spoke softly, but there was steel behind her tone.
    Taken aback by her comment Ray realized, ironically, that he was doing just that, just not the kind of surprise Abra had in mind. But her support was so sincere that it was all that he could do not to suddenly reach out to embrace her. Instead, he said, “In time, maybe. What about you?”
    Now Abra seemed surprised. “I’m not a writer.”
    â€œBut you have opinions.”
    â€œLots of them,” she said, laughing.
    â€œAnd good looks to go with them,” he said, finally sliding over to kiss her. This was his moment, and he was going to take it.
    Abra met his lips, and they enjoyed a long kiss. But as he tried to kiss her neck, with his right hand slipping down to lightly touch her breasts, she pulled back.
    â€œRay,” she said softly. “We have to go slow. I don’t want either of us to get too excited.”
    He leaned back with a sheepish grin. Us! She slid toward him. “Ray, I like you. I’m just not ready for …”
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    â€œDon’t be sorry,” she whispered, and then kissed him. “Don’t be sorry,” she repeated, as their tongues met.

Chapter 14
    â€œI’m afraid your uncles won’t approve of me,” Ray said to Abra as he picked her up and then drove to the imam’s house for dinner. He was delighted to get the invitation. Abra had held off letting him meet her uncles, Radwan Malouse, the imam, and his half-brother, Tariq Esaaba, who was the treasurer of the complex. Presumably, she had felt uncertain in presenting a non-Muslim as her date. But their relationship had really flourished. They had gone to museums and movies, dined at restaurants, walked in parks, and talked endlessly and candidly about a multitude of subjects. She had visited him again at his apartment, and they had made out, though she said no to making love. He didn’t know if she was a virgin, if it was against her religious scruples, or she just wasn’t sure of him. Regardless, he made it clear he still wanted to see her, and she was greatly pleased that he accepted their growing relationship as it was. Ray felt intermittently guilty, proceeding on this unlikely double track, but he would see it through.
    But now a great