Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 57121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
“Sure. I didn’t mean to offend.”
I stand. “Actually, do you mind if I take a quick shower? I feel sticky and gross.”
“Sure, it will give time for the lasagna to cool,” he says. “And you don’t have to ask to have a shower in your own home.”
“Ha, ha,” I mutter.
I hurry upstairs, mostly because I don’t want him to see the effect his words have on me. He’s just voiced something I’ve only ever thought in my deepest thoughts.
After a shower, I change into a dress, taking it from a box marked clothes.
I walk downstairs to find he’s already plated the food. He stands when I enter, his eyes fixed on me as if I’m wearing the most beautiful dress he’s ever seen. I haven’t washed my hair, but I’ve let it down and brushed it.
“Beautiful,” he says fiercely.
“Good enough for a first date, at least,” I say.
He walks around the table, pulling my chair out for me.
“A first date,” he repeats, sitting. “That’s something I haven’t done in a long, long time.”
“Why?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I tried for a few years. It would be a good thing, I thought, to have someone to share this life with. But it always felt too awkward. Like I was altered by this life. Like I had to try too hard. I didn’t want to inflict that on a woman. My distance. My coldness.”
“You don’t seem cold, Maksim,” I point out.
He smiles. “Yeah, that’s the point.”
A flush colors my cheeks. I cut a piece of lasagna, blow on it, then take a bite. It’s delicious, and I make sure to make the right noises to let him know. His smile widens. It’s such a handsome sight, his happiness so plainly on display. It feels like a victory, gifting this grim man joy.
“What do you do when you’re not working?” he asks. He must see my face, because he quickly says, “Or is that a stupid question?”
“I used to be in a book club,” I tell him. “And I’d go hiking with my friends. But ever since Evan… I’ve been so busy. It’s too easy for people to drift out of each other’s lives. But I love reading.”
“What sort of books?”
I bite another mouthful, savoring the taste. “Medical thrillers, marriage thrillers, psychological thrillers,” I say. “Medical thrillers are my favorite. Well, right now. I’ve been reading the same book for two months, a few pages a night. Sometimes, just one or two.”
“Why do you love thrillers so much?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I just do.” He gives me that I-see-you look. “What?” I laugh.
“I think you like thrillers because you need chaos, Lia. I know the feeling.”
“You read thrillers too?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve read many, many books in my life, but they’re mostly big, boring non-fiction tomes. I was talking about the chaos.”
“I suppose I do thrive on chaos,” I murmur. “I’m not going to know what hit me the next time I take a day off.”
“Which you should do immediately,” he says, concern in his voice.
I think about his offer of money, about my proud refusal. It’s tempting to take him up on it, to let him take care of me.
“Did you make this, by the way?” I swallow another tasty bite.
He smirks, looking cheeky, boyish, far younger than his forty-five years.
“Maksim!”
“It came from a restaurant with two Michelin stars. I wanted the best for you.”
“Well, I’ve got it.”
“I reheated it, if that helps.”
I laugh so hard I almost shoot lasagna across the room. He chuckles, watching me.
“What about you?” I ask once I’ve calmed down. “What do you do for fun?”
“Sambo,” he says.
“Like dancing?”
“I didn’t say salsa.” He chuckles, and I laugh. It feels so natural. Effortless. For the first time in a long time, I realize I’m not thinking about my mother or the hospital. When that thought hits me, I quickly focus on him so I don’t ruin it. “Sambo,” he goes on. “It’s a Russian martial art. We were born in the States and our father, though Russian, had no interest in teaching us about our culture.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” I mutter.
He shrugs. “It is what it is. He was involved in… my life too.”
“Your father was involved in your life?”
Well, duh.
“Oh,” I say a moment later. “You mean your business? Data collection?”
That’s one hell of a euphemism for what he actually does, not that I know the totality of it. Thoughts like that hammer the strangeness of this home far too easily. I try to focus on what’s supposed to be a nice date.
“Yes,” he says.
“So, what is sambo?” I ask. “But, for the record, I’d still like to see you do some salsa.”
He chuckles. I like the sound of his laughter, deep and husky. He sounds relieved, like he never thought he’d get to laugh like this. I know the feeling.