Page 14 of Worshipped by the BRATVA Grump

I step back from Mechislav and turn to Bodhan. “Sure,” I say. “Seafoam.”

Bodhan nods and calls someone on his phone barking about how much paint he is going to need and can it be here within the hour.

“Seafoam?” Mechislav asks.

“Yeah. Calming, honest, not trying to be anything it’s not. It feels right.”

“Anything else you want to tell me?” he asks, a grin forming on his face.

“Not right now,” I say. “Perhaps we can talk over dinner?”

“I’d like that.” He nods, “Shall I pick you up at seven?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“You should definitely change though…” he says, patting my ass as I walk away.

Mechislav

I’m standing in my bedroom holding two shirts and wondering when I became the kind of man who does this. I wear clothes because being naked in public is generally frowned upon and because Eduard expects anybody representing the family to look like they didn’t dress in the dark. Beyond that, I’ve never cared. The black one is clean. The gray one is also clean. I look between them for longer than I’m willing to admit, then put the gray one back and wear the black.

I’m outside her house at five to seven. She lives in a narrow redbrick place on the other side of town, wedged between two houses that look almost identical. When I knock, I hear movement upstairs, followed by something hitting the floor and a very clear “Shit” through the door. My mouth pulls at one corner before I can stop it.

There’s more movement, fast this time, then the lock turns and Daisy opens the door wearing one boot. Her hair is down, mostly, though one side is caught inside the collar of her sweater, and there’s mascara on one eye but not the other. “You’re early,” she says, slightly breathless. I tell her it’s seven. She looks over her shoulder at the clock in the hall and makes a small sound when she realizes I’m right. Then her gaze comes back to me and travels down over my chest. She pauses there.

“What?”

“Your shirt is very fitted.” She blinks a few times as though that will suddenly make it looser.

I look down at it. “It’s just a shirt.”

“Yes, I understand the basic concept.” She smiles, glances down at herself, then back at me. “I need three minutes.”

“You have mascara on one eye.”

Her hand flies up to her face and she rolls her eyes.

She disappears back into the house and leaves the door open behind her, so I take that as an invitation and step inside. The hallway is small and warm, with photographs covering most of the available wall space. Landscapes, people, buildings, a black and white image of an old man laughing with his whole head tipped back, a child holding a balloon, the bridge in winter with mist sitting low over the river. There are books stacked on the radiator, more books on the stairs, and a camera bag taking up an entire chair in the front room. The place feels lived in. Not tidy, but hers.

Daisy appears at the top of the stairs hopping on one foot while trying to pull on her second boot. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“I doubt it.”

“You’re thinking I have too much stuff.” She begins to come downstairs and smiles.

“I’m thinking that this place is beautiful in the same way you are.”

She frowns.

“Chaotically?” She reaches the bottom step, tilting her head at me.

“Wonderfully so,” I admit.

She grabs a coat from the banister and almost knocks a framed photograph off the wall with the sleeve. I catch it before it falls. It’s one of hers, Delilah and Jasper on their wedding day, standing outside the church. They aren’t looking at the camera. Jasper’s forehead is pressed to Delilah’s temple and she’s laughing at something he’s said.

“I gave them the big version,” Daisy says. “That was one of my favorites. I asked before I put it up, in case Delilah thought it was weird but she was fine with it.”

I look at the photograph again. “You’re good.”