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Ilias’s icy eyes moved around the room before he crossed the doorway and walked into the hall, adding, “So, let’s do something about it by starting with a decent meal.”
I was left speechless. He didn’t just see all of me, he saw through me.
I stayed behind in the room when I found a sharp letter opener in one of the drawers of a dresser and worked on cutting the paint that had sealed the window shut. Clatters from pots and pans came from the kitchen downstairs. Once I got the window to slide open, and the fresh Florida’s air swarmed inside the room, I left to start my morning routine.
After a shower, a clean hoodie, socks, and a pair of yoga pants I felt better and more at ease. The smell of a freshly cooked meal made my stomach aware of its state of hunger, and I walked into the hallway. But as I stood on top of the stairs, I looked over the guest room.
I’d left the door and window open to let the stale air out, but now it called for me.
My feet moved forward until the window was before me. I stuck my head out and checked the distance. And I wondered, could I?
But hell, why wonder when my life could well depend on me jumping out of this window. I swung my foot over the opening, then the other, until my ass balanced my weight on the edge. Twisting my body, I lowered until the only thing holding me was the grip of my forearms over the seal, and my feet stayed flat on the siding.
I took a deep breath, looked down, and pushed my feet.
I let go.
My gaze stayed underneath me, and as my feet touched the ground, I bent my knees slightly to catch my weight. A small pang from the force traveled over my legs from the height of the jump, but no pain followed.
I smiled. And when I looked away from the dead grass, the kitchen window became my view. Behind old sheer and ruffled curtains, Ilias’s wide eyes caught mine. My smile turned to a smirk and he shook his head, but his lips twitched in the corners with a forming smile. Then he was gone, and the backdoor opened.
“You are fucking mad, kroshka.” Ilias laughed, keeping the door wide open. “You proved your point, now come inside before breakfast gets cold.”
With each step I took, my smile never left. It felt good to know I could get out even from the second floor of the house. It brought back a piece of confidence I’d thought was gone forever.
Two plates sat on the pocket-sized table in the corner. I’d never used it before and always ate standing at the kitchen counter
Without mentioning how we both would barely fit, I took a seat and stared down at the plate.
“I made syrniki. Have you ever had them?” Ilias asked before he took the seat in front of me.
“Can’t say I have.” Picking up my fork, I cut through the small round bread.
A decent amount of jam and an unknown white portion of condiment was also on the plate along with cut strawberries. I dipped each corner of the bread to try both condiments and popped it into my mouth.
My mouth tangled with different flavors, from salty, creamy, to sweet and fluffy. I hummed with appreciation.
Ilias chuckled. “They are a traditional Russian breakfast.”
I cut a bigger piece and added a strawberry. “What are they?”
He thought for a second, watching as I stuffed my mouth. The next bite, I made it smaller and he noticed as he smiled.
“A cheesy pancake?” he tried describing. “I ran out of tvorog cheese at home and the only store that carried it was closed, so I substituted it to the closest I could find at the market which was quark.”
I nodded, as if I knew cheeses. If it wasn’t American or mozzarella cheese, I wouldn’t know the difference. But we were now talking about cheese, and my smile returned.
“So, you’re Russian?”
“My mother was.”
Was. His mother was gone as was mine.
“Sorry for your loss.” I gazed over my almost empty plate.
“It’s okay. It seems a lifetime ago.” He pushed his plate my way. “Here, eat what you want. I actually ate before I got here.”
“Then why fix two plates?”
