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Chapter Three
Yuri
I raid my closet for the blue dress I wore to my cousin’s wedding last year. I got a lot of compliments when I wore it and I bet Adam would like—
My train of thought stops when I realize what I’m thinking.
The man simply asked me to show him a nice place to eat. It’s not a date. I shouldn’t care this much about what to wear. He wouldn’t care if I show up dressed in a sack, as long as he gets a nice meal.
Despite my thoughts, I let out a satisfied squeal when I find the dress I’m looking for. Seconds later, I let out a frustrated noise when I realize it’s shrunk two sizes. Either that or I gained weight.
My phone rings just as I’m about to dive back into my closet for something else. My heart jumps in my chest and I nearly sprain an ankle as I rush to get it. I expect to see Adam’s number, but no, it’s my therapist calling instead. Disappointment surges through me.
I know why she’s calling. Ever since I told her about Jim getting out, she’s been calling every day to check in on me. While her calls help calm me down, I don’t especially want to talk to her about Jim most of the time. Especially not tonight. I don’t want to meet up with Adam feeling down like that.
Even so, I don’t want her to worry about me, so I pick up the phone, intending to make the call short. Suddenly, it dawns on me; I could use her advice on something else.
“What do you wear on a date?” I ask after picking up the call.
“A … a date?”
“Well, not a date exactly, but I am meeting up with a friend. I’m not sure what to wear.”
“Um, something nice?” she says, clearly confused. “Yuri, are you alright?”
‘What do you mean?”
“You didn’t sound good yesterday. I wanted to check if you’re doing better—wait, did you say date?”
“I guess I did,” I say, putting her on speaker and walking back to my closet. I dig around for something casual to wear, but the search is fruitless. “I met up with an old friend yesterday and he’s taking me out to eat.”
“That’s nice,” Sandra says. “I’ve been telling you to get out and about but you’re always talking about how busy you are.”
It’s not just Sandra. Most of my friends have been pushing me to go out and meet people, but I have a hard time trusting strangers. Ever since that incident in my childhood, it’s always felt safer to just let them pass me by. It’s pretty ironic considering Adam is as strange as they get. Everything I know about the man is from a police report, which I doubt my therapist would like to hear.
With her help, I manage to find a nice dress, but not so nice that it’ll seem like I’m trying too hard. Adam probably won’t even notice, but at least I’ll feel good about what I’m wearing.
The doorbell rings just as I finish. I wipe my damp palms over my skirt as I open the door to reveal Adam. My heart skips a beat when our eyes meet.
This is not a date, I remind myself.
“You got a haircut,” I say, oddly pleased that I’m not the only one worried about making a good impression.
“I did,” Adam rasps, running his eyes over me. His gaze is hot, leaving little trails of sparks everywhere it rests. “You look breathtaking, Yuri.”
“Thank you.” We’ll leave out the fact that my therapist helped.
“Shall we?”
He holds out his hand, and I take it. Warmth pools my stomach when his much larger fingers weave between mine. The flutter in my chest shouldn’t be there, but it won’t give up.
This is not a date.
“You’re going to love this restaurant,” I say to distract myself from his touch. “They make the best pasta in town. My parents won’t eat anywhere else when they visit.”
“Such high praise,” he comments as he opens his car’s passenger door for me.
I wait until he’s settled in the driver’s seat before carrying on. “I hope you like pasta because your mind is going to be blown. The chef moved here from Italy a few months ago and everyone is singing his praises.”
