Page 60 of Tell Me What you Think

"Oh my God, that looks amazing. What is it?"

Olga smiles, pleased.

"It's a cod recipe."

"I thought you only knew how to make spaghetti. Were you holding out on me, Olga?" Marina teases.

Olga stares at her, mouth open, and shakes her head vigorously.

"No, of course not," she says, flustered. "I found the recipe yesterday and followed it to the letter. I wanted to make something that…"

"Something what?"

"I don't know, something more involved."

"For me?" Marina's voice drops too low, something close to a whisper that makes every inch of Olga's skin stand on end.

"Yes. I hope it's good."

"I'm sure it will be."

Dinner turns out to be much easier for Olga than she expected. Marina pours the wine and she serves two generous plates that they both eat while talking about light, easy things that help her settle her nerves.

"That was wonderful," Marina says with obvious pleasure. "The sauce came out perfectly and the cod was cooked just right."

"Really?" Olga meets her eyes, searching for the lie.

"Do you think I would've finished it all if I hadn't liked it?"

"I guess not," she says, and she freezes when she notices Marina's lipstick on the rim of her wine glass.

She's seen that image in dozens of movies and always thought it was a cliché, but now that this woman's lips are imprinted on the crystal, she finds it so sexy that for a moment she considers not washing the glass and keeping it in the cabinet like a trophy.

Dinner wraps up with a slice of cheesecake Olga picked up from the best bakery in her neighborhood, and they move to the couch with two glasses of wine after clearing the table.

Marina sits sideways with one leg tucked under her, turned toward Olga, holding her glass in one hand with her elbow resting on the back of the couch, and Olga mirrors her and goes completely still when Marina takes a sip and her throat moves as she swallows. Olga wants to bite there, press her lips to her neck and feel her pulse against her tongue, and she feels so mortified thinking that while she's barely a foot away from her boss that she looks away, picks up her wine glass, and starts frantically searching for something to say before the silence turns awkward.

She needs a topic, anything that…

"You kissed me," Marina says out of nowhere.

Olga, who had the glass pressed to her lips and wine in her mouth, spits it all out in shock. The liquid sprays like a sprinkler—straight onto her pants, part of the couch, and Marina's sweater.

"Oh my God!" she exclaims, eyes wide, the flush crawling up her neck and mortification taking over as she stares in disbelief at what she's just done.

She jumps up, runs for a napkin, presses it against the couch first, then approaches Marina intending to dab her clothes clean, but when she sees that most of the drops landed on her chest, she stops dead and holds the napkin suspended in midair.

"Sorry," she murmurs, horrified. "Should I get water? No, obviously not, that would make it worse. I can lend you a sweater, I'm sure it would fit because we're probably about the same…" Olga glances down at her own chest, then toward the front door, wondering if it would be too obvious if she fled her own apartment.

"Relax, it's fine. Give me that." Marina takes the napkin out of her hands and blots the stains with a calm that Olga finds absolutely baffling.

"I'm so sorry, I'll take it to the dry cleaner's and—"

"Olga, stop." Marina takes her hand and Olga goes completely still. "I said it's fine. Sit back down, please."

Olga exhales sharply and drops back onto the couch, hands clasped in her lap, pressing one thumb hard against the other.

"You kissed me," Marina repeats, because she has no intention of letting this go no matter how many times Olga chokes.