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“Oh, my.” She wiped her damp hands on her skirt and placed them on her chest, stuttering her gratitude. “Bless you, Freya. Thank you.”
I allowed a warm smile to replace the cold downturn on my lips, calmly watching her rapidly grab her things, like she’d been waiting to jump on an opportunity like this all her life. In a matter of seconds, she was out the door and on her own way to happiness.
Happiness I’d been robbed of ever experiencing for a long time.
Languidly, I turned back to the view of flour, eggs, milk, and a bunch of other Russian pancake ingredients Anna had set on the counter.
“Okay.” I blew out a breath through flared nostrils and tossed the unfinished bit of the apple in the trash, feeling the nerves climb as I realized I wasreallydoing this. “Where do we start?”
****
American breakfast.
My senses had been deprived of the savory delight of crispy bacon and the luscious taste of mouthwatering scrambled eggs for what felt like an eternity, and it had been a while since I put my heart into cooking anything special like this. The last time was years ago, with my dad and mom. Zeya hadn’t come into the picture quite yet, and things were fine. They’d put the music on, danced to it together, rubbed butter and oil on my cheeks, and added one more ingredient into the mix that made it taste more heavenly: love.
That was years ago, when life was a bed of roses, Barbie dolls, and sunshine. When Mommy and Daddy were in love and together. When Uncle Teddy hadn’t overdosed on drugs and died in his living room, with neighbors discovering his body three days later. When Daddy was alive and Mommy didn’t ever think she’d lose the love of her life and have to remarry.
Life was perfect then. Lifewasgood.
Lifenowwas what I accepted it to be. Bondage. Loveless. But at least there was breakfast, and comfort, and luxury.
By the time I was done, I stepped back, admiring my creation with pride. It felt good.Ifelt good—not like a chucked-up or imprisoned wife, but like me again.
Noise came from the hallway, like the heavy pounding of feet, and a strained groan like he was stretching. My heartbeat accelerated.
Why is it beating so fast?
Was I nervous?
Why am I nervous?
Why did I care what he thought?
It didn’t make sense. Even now, seeing him walk toward me with his long legs, in that manly calculated stride, andsecretlywatching the flex of his broad shoulders, his bare sculpted torso as he moved, and the hard ridges running a firmV-line to the band of his sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his waist, upset a flurry in my chest.
And when he raised his slender fingers to his hair, messing the tousled hair to an even hotter mess, I had to tear my eyes away and busy myself with serving him theactualbreakfast I prepared before I did something stupid like spreading my legs open and begging him to…plunderme.
I love the way you respond to me, he’d said.
But I hated it. I hated how my body so easily reacted to him. You’d think a gap of twenty-plus years would be a major turn-off, a deal-breaker even, right?
Wrong.
Logic failed, and my emotions refused to cooperate. His appearance andagile movementsgave no telltale signs that he’d witnessed the passage of times that I’d only ever read about. He seemed ageless and…I had to stop fantasizing.
“What’s going on here?”
I lifted my head to see him regarding me with a cursory glance, arching his eyebrows suspiciously. Despite myself, I blushed and even managed to smile.
For bullshit love and loyalty.
I began moving the plates toward him, listing everything I’d taken my time to prepare and hoping he’d appreciate or approve. “I gave Anna a day off. Thought I’d make breakfast today. Turkey bacon, eggs, avocado toast, and buckwheat pancakes because I know…um…you like your pancakes.”
As I spoke, his eyes lingered at the length of my legs and bare feet exposed below the shirt hanging mid-thigh before he dragged it back to the island and picked up a fork.
Settling down silently, he grabbed a full plate for himself and waited a heartbeat before digging in.
He cut a slice of the bacon, stabbed a forkful of eggs, and lifted it to his mouth in slow motion. Then, he paused abruptly,lifted his eyes to mine, and dropped his hand. My shoulders vibrated when the fork clattered on the plate, and the legs of his high stool scraped the floor as he rose to his full height.
