It had been good, at the beginning. I’d known Vasily wasn’t my soulmate, and I wasn’t his, but that hadn’t mattered to him. “His English was good. Not as good as yours, but enough that we could communicate.” The words he didn’t know had pushed me to learn more Russian; I’d liked that.
“We were together for nearly six months. It doesn’t seem long now, but at 21 it was the longest I’d ever been in a relationship. I thought it was -” I shrugged. I’d thought it had been serious. “But Vasily… he didn’t see me as someone he could take home to his family, you know?”
“No,” Lev said. The sharpness of his voice surprised me. I glanced up from where I had been fiddling with the tablecloth, trying to distract myself. “No, I don’t know,” he clarified. “I can’t imagine anyone having any reason not to take you home to their family.”
His words, and how earnestly he believed what he was saying, made my stomach flip.
I couldn’t help the smile that curved the corners of my mouth. I had gotten over my disappointment that Vasily hadn’t seen me the same way I’d seen him, but it felt good to be told that he’d been wrong. “Thank you,” I offered, softly. “That does help.”
If Lev was surprised by my admission, he covered it up quickly. “I never spoke to his family. From what I could tell, they were very traditional. His mom wanted him to marry a nice, Russian girl and move back home to their village.” It wasn’t a life I had ever envisioned for myself. While I could work anywhere, a small village where only a handful of people spoke my language wouldn’t have been top of my list.
“I probably pushed too hard,” I admitted. “Vasily loved living in a city. I thought he should tell his mom that, and stay.”
Lev gave a small hum. I could tell that he agreed with me. In the months I had known Lev, I had learned how much he valued honesty. And also family. It was hard to imagine that Lev would keep something from his parents.
“That must’ve sucked,” he decided. “But it’s definitely Vasily’s loss,” he assured me with a grin. “Vasily didn’t even get to taste your solyanka.” Lev then proceeded to demonstratively eat another three spoonfuls of the soup. It was nice that he genuinely enjoyed it. I knew he would have told me if he didn’t.
It briefly flashed across my mind to wonder if I was better equipped now to meet a Russian mama. Would it make a difference that I could prove that I knew how to cook good Russian food? It wouldn’t have been enough to sway Vasily’s family. Not that he’d been all that interested in giving me the chance to try.
“It’s for the best,” I said. “We had things in common, but we were so young. I didn’t know how to think about whether we would be compatible in the long-term. I just assumed that the strength of my feelings meant we could make it work - no matter what the differences and difficulties were.” I was more mature now. I still believed that true love - whether based on a soulmatch or not - could overcome obstacles. But at least I had my eyes open as to what the obstacles might be.
I took another spoonful of soup. “I was pretty heartbroken when I moved back,” I admitted. “But I’m not still bothered by it. I haven’t thought about Vasily in years.”
“Nor should you. He was clearly a moron,” Lev informed me confidently. It made me laugh. The way he sounded so protective of me was... nice. It was surprising. I wouldn’t have thought I’d enjoy that, but Lev didn’t make it feel like a trap. Instead, he just sounded like he cared.
I had to try hard not to let Anya’s voice reappear in my head, to repeat that question about having Lev ask me out. He wasn’t interested in me like that. We were friends. Yes.
Lifting the bowl up, Lev drank the last of his soup. Wiping his mouth, he looked towards the kitchen. “Is there more? It’s really good, I could eat more of it.”
I giggled. It felt surprisingly good to have cooked something for Lev. Something that would remind him of home. We’d baked the cookies together, but this felt different. My body was warm all the way through, and not just from the soup.
“There is more,” I confirmed. Anya had said there was no point making a small batch, despite my protests that we should see whether it was any good before we committed to such a quantity of ingredients. “Anya said I could take some home and freeze it.” I like the idea of having solyanka right there in my freezer for whenever I might want some.
Of course, I’d still have to come to Babushka to get my fix of all Anya’s other delicious staples.
I stood up, reaching across for Lev’s bowl. “I’ll get you a refill.” Even though we were in a restaurant, rather than either of our homes, it felt like a domestic moment. My feet floating inches from the floor as I walked. I wanted to prolong the warmth that bubbled through me for as long as possible.
As I passed Anya’s table on the way to the kitchen, she gave me a knowing grin. My cheeks burned hot, but it did nothing to diminish the flutter of pleasure I felt as Lev tucked into his second bowl of my soup.
Chapter Thirteen
After opening up to Maria about Kira and finding that she didn’t judge me the way I had feared, things settled back down. Maria kept learning to cook Russian foods and I was lucky enough to get to taste them. I’d even offered my kitchen for her to experiment in. It was bigger and I kept buying pots and pans that I never ended up using.
Maria had been hesitant at first to take me up on it. But she had taught me how to make a few more cookies and cakes. Together, we’d found recipes that used a lot of protein. The team was always excited to try any of our bakes.
No amount of tasty protein cookies could’ve saved how bad our game was that night.
It had gone from bad to worse. By the time the final score was in, we had lost five to one. The locker room was quiet afterward, an uneasy sort of silence. Everyone wanted to go home and lick their wounds.
I was no exception. After a quick shower and throwing all of my clothes into a sports bag, I made quick goodbyes and drove home. Coming back to an empty house after a loss always felt... shitty. But it was the sort of shitty I was used to.
What I wasn’t used to was finding the lights on and the house smelling of sweetness.
Maria. Of course.
I’d given her a key so she could come and use the kitchen whenever she wanted to. Mostly, I really didn’t mind. Tonight, though, I felt a heaviness settle in my stomach as I unlocked the door. I was never very good company after a loss. I didn’t think anyone was. But I also didn’t want to take that out on Maria.
She deserved better. She always deserved better.
“It smells amazing,” I told Maria, dropping my bag at the door to the laundry room as I entered the kitchen.
Despite my exhaustion - both physical and mental - she was a sight for sore eyes.
Her hair had been swept up at some point, but now loose strands floated around her face. From the traces of flour I could see against her skin, she’d been reaching her fingers up to play with it. She turned towards me, her expression a mix of pleasure at seeing me and something else - sadness?
Before I could ask why she was sad, she’d put down the piping bag that she was holding and crossed the room towards me. “Oh, Lev! I’m sorry about the match.” Her hand settled on my arm, giving it a comforting squeeze.
She glanced around at the slight chaos of bowls and boards and wooden implements. “Do you want to be alone?” she offered. “I can pack up and be out of your hair in ten minutes.”
I was a little taken aback, both by her touch and the offer.
Maria wasn’t my girlfriend, but the only comparison I had for being around someone after a loss was Kira. It was... definitely different. For one, Kira had never just offered to leave.
It made me think about whether I wanted Maria to go. In a way, I did. I knew I wasn’t going to be fun to be around. My energy levels were pretty low, probably the lowest they had ever been around Maria. I’d lost games since knowing her but I’d never been around her afterward.
“I don’t want you to leave,” I said,
only thinking about it once I had already said the words. It was true. What I wanted was Maria’s happy presence. I wanted her to just be there. But she was also my guest, even if she had invited herself over.
The kitchen looked lived-in in a way it rarely did with just me. “Do you want me to make some dinner?” I offered. I didn’t have much energy for that, but I couldn’t just not offer.
She frowned, glancing at the clock. It made me realize that it was late to start thinking about food. On game days, it was easy to forget the routine of anything that didn’t directly have to do with hockey.
“I ate already,” Maria answered. “But you probably need something to eat, right? You must use up so much energy when you’re playing.” She glanced around the kitchen, her pale brows furrowed into a frown. “I don’t have any of my Russian recipes with me,” she said, sounding almost apologetic. “But I can make you some pasta. I’ll clean up as I go. That way, you can have your kitchen back as soon as I’m done.”
Her offer to cook for me was the exact opposite of what I had just suggested. On the other hand, I knew it sounded ridiculous for me to offer to cook when I’d just played a game.
I gave Maria a look as if it might allow me to glance into her head and see if she was serious. Kira’s approach had always been to reassure me that I’d play harder next time, that the next game would be better. Usually, she’d get annoyed when I didn’t immediately feel better.
Maria was offering to cook for me.
“Not pasta,” I said. “Could you maybe make me an omelet?” The protein was going to be better for me than the carbs. “But you don’t have to,” I rushed in to add. “I don’t expect you to cook for me.”
She tutted like I was being ridiculous. “I know I don’t have to,” she assured. “But you’re kind enough to let me use your kitchen, and you don’t complain that I’m here so much later than I anticipated.” Her smile faded, into an expression that was almost stern. “Besides, you look like you’ll fall if you don’t sit down.”
I laughed. I felt a little like that, if I was completely honest. Maria fussed me into one of the chairs at my breakfast counter, then started going through my refrigerator for ingredients.
“I know it’s not easy to let someone look after you,” she said softly as she pulled tomatoes and mushrooms onto a chopping board. “But I want to be able to do something.”
It made my stomach twist unexpectedly. And not just from hunger. Knowing that she wanted to do something for me felt... good. I let her go about making things, breaking eggs and whisking them up. The silence around us was comfortable. My mind wasn’t focused on anything particular, enjoying the chance to just rest.
When Maria set the food in front of me, I almost startled. It was ready much quicker than I had expected. I gave her a soft smile. “Thank you, it smells delicious.” It really did. For someone who claimed not to know how to cook, Maria did a very good job at it.
I ate as she cleaned the kitchen around me. I would’ve left it till the morning, personally, but I understood why she felt the need to make sure everything was how she’d found it.
“Do you...” I started and then stopped, eating another forkful of the omelet. “Will you stay for a bit?” I asked, trying not to sound needy. As much as I didn’t want to be bad company, I realized that I also wanted Maria’s presence.
She looked so at home in my kitchen, wiping down the counters before finally returning to whatever she had been baking when I arrived. Glancing up at me, I almost expected to see annoyance or pity in her eyes. Instead, she beamed a smile at me that almost made me forget my misery.
“I’d like that.” It settled the anxiety that I’d hardly realized I was feeling. I returned to the task of demolishing the omelet she had made for me. By the time I finished, Maria had piped white icing over the cooling pastry and cut two slices.
She put each on a plate, then paused. “You’ve got a Russian TV service, right?” she asked me. “Do you want to see if we can find something to watch? It will be good practice for me.”
“I can understand TV in English,” I teased. In all honesty, it probably would be easier right now for me to watch something in Russian. While my English was good, when I was tired it still tended to mix in with my Russian. I was more sluggish and needed to think about how words worked properly.
Watching something in Russian sounded nice. Watching something in Russian with Maria sounded even better. “There’s some police shows my papa wants me to watch, if you’re up to that?” I offered.
I wasn’t sure if procedural drama would have too much complex language in it for Maria. But I could always translate bits if she needed me to.
“Perfect,” Maria agreed. She smiled so genuinely at me that it was easy to believe she wanted to spend the evening watching a Russian police drama. There had to be better things she could be doing with her time. But I was so grateful for her cheerful presence that I didn’t want to ask.
She carried the plates through to the next room, curling herself up on one side of the couch before she finally offered one of them to me. “It’s a nut roll,” she explained. “I think you deserve a slice.” The mischievous glimmer in her eye let me know this wasn’t one of the healthy recipes we’d looked up.
Maybe, just this once, I would look past the fact that the pastry was more butter and sugar than protein.
“So, your dad likes police shows?” Maria asked. “What about your mama?”
Taking a seat, I reached out for the pastry that Maria offered. “Mama’s a fan of more dramatic things than police dramas,” I answered. “So soaps, mostly. But also some reality TV. There’s a show about psychics that she loves.” It wasn’t a love I shared, much to her disappointment. There were some movies we both enjoyed, so it wasn’t like I never watched things with her.
I ate the pastry with much satisfaction. “This is great,” I complimented Maria. “I think maybe all your talk about how you can’t cook was just lies,” I teased. At least somewhat. I didn’t think Maria had actually lied to me, but her cooking was much better than she imagined.
While I flipped the TV to the right settings, I glanced at Maria and caught a pale pink flush across her cheeks. “No, I think I’ve improved a lot since I met you,” she said. I didn’t see what meeting me had to do with cooking. If anything, it seemed like it must be Anya who had helped.
“I didn’t bother to cook when I only had myself to cook for,” Maria explained. “Now that I know that you’ll try the things I make, and give me your honest opinion on them, it seems… more worthwhile.”
I enjoyed the knowledge that I’d brought positive things in Maria’s life. Not that I had doubted it, I knew she enjoyed spending time with me as much as I enjoyed spending time with her. “Well, I’m definitely grateful for all the food,” I promised. Maria’s cooking was delicious! Her interest in learning more Russian recipes was very exciting to me.
The TV show started and I moved a little closer to Maria so I could translate things for her easily. “It’s a bit different from American police dramas,” I commented as the show opened with a scene of everyone doing paperwork.
Maria laughed, uncurling her legs so they stretched out nearer mine. “Honestly, I don’t watch a lot of police dramas at all,” she admitted. “I think it’s because I live alone. Especially if it’s late at night, I always worry that I’m going to get into bed and find there’s a serial killer hiding in my closet or something.”
I couldn’t help give a small grunt of surprise. Maria had never struck me as being very fearful. It must’ve shown in my face, too, because she shook her head. “I know that there’s nothing there but it’s like -” She waved her nut roll around for a moment. “Do you ever get that itchy feeling on your skin if you’ve been talking about creepy-crawlies?” she asked. “It’s kind of like that. I know there’s nothing there, but I just can’t shake the anxiety.”
She grinned up at me, taking a big bite of pastry. It left a smudge of sticky icing just to one side
of her lips. “Lucky you’re here to protect me, in case the Russian criminals get scary.”
I laughed at that. “Yes,” I nodded. “I will do my very best to protect you from any Russian criminals that might make you feel scared.” Especially since I doubted anything that would happen in this show would be that scary. They hadn’t even found a body yet!
“You’ve got icing...” I said, bringing my hand up to my own face to show Maria. Despite her best attempts it didn’t seem to help her find it, making me laugh. “I’ll just help you,” I said, leaning in closer so I could reach out and brush the crumb away.
It wasn’t until the tip of my thumb brushed over Maria’s lower lip that I realized just how close I was. I could feel her breath against me. The noises from the TV suddenly seemed muted. All I could think was how Maria smelled such a sweet mix of baking and her perfume.
I didn’t think as I leaned in even closer, my lips easily finding Maria’s. They were soft. As I teased my tongue over them, Maria parted her lips to let me lick my way inside. She tasted like sugar. I cupped her face to pull her in closer against me.
She came so easily. Her body shifted closer and closer until I could feel the heat of her all along one side. A soft noise in her throat tempted my hand down from where it had rested against her cheek. I brushed my fingertips over the fine hairs on the back of her neck.
I felt the soft touch of Maria’s hand against my chest. My heart thudded hard, like it was trying to make sure Maria could feel how much of an effect she was having on me. Her fingers splayed across my shirt, sending prickles of heat to the skin underneath. Her tongue darted out, flipping the balance of power by teasing against my lips and seeking entrance.
Maria kissed with her whole body. I could feel every place where we were connected. Not just our hands on each other, but the weight of her breast against my arm, the pressure of her hip against mine.
Final Score (Madison Howlers #5) Page 13