Strong Enough

Liliya caught me. “Slow down, Maxim! You’re doing it too fast!”

I dutifully slowed down and sang it the right way, my voice cracking in all the usual places, making her giggle. When I got to the last line, I peeked at Derek, whose amused expression made me want to bury my face in my shirt.

“Okay now? Think you can sleep?” I asked Liliya.

“Yes,” she said. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, malyshka. Ya tebya lublu.”

“I love you, too. Bye.”

I hung up, set my phone on the counter, and braved a look at Derek. Tried to hold my chin up. He drank his coffee, his eyes dancing with glee over the rim of the cup.

“What?” I said, feeling the heat in my face. “She couldn’t sleep. That’s a kid’s song from an old Russian television show I sometimes sing to relax her.”

“Nothing. It’s adorable. I didn’t know you sang lullabies.”

“I don’t. Only that one.”

“Maybe you’ll sing it to me sometime.” He tried not to smile but couldn’t help it.

God, I love making him smile. “Ha ha. Go ahead and make fun of me. You’ll be sorry when I don’t share my syrniki with you.” I turned my back to him and opened the bag of flour.

A moment later, he stood right behind me, pressed against my back. He looped his arms around my wais

t and kissed my neck. “I’m only teasing. I actually find it very sexy that you’d sing your little sister a song to help her sleep.”

“You do?” I looked at him over my shoulder.

“Yes.” He put his lips on mine, and it was sweet and soft and easy, much different than the fiery kisses we’d shared last night. We weren’t racing to undress or touch each other or get to the next hot thing. We were content with a kiss.

We were in the moment, and it just felt good.

Twenty-Five

DEREK

A lullaby.

I couldn’t get over it. He sang a lullaby to his little sister when she couldn’t sleep. Of all the things about Maxim that I’d learned, that one was my favorite. And he’d looked so miserable as he sang it in my kitchen. His singing voice was almost as terrible as mine.

But it was so fucking sweet. And I hadn’t been lying when I said I found it sexy—I did. There wasn’t much about Maxim I didn’t find sexy. Even in my old jeans—or maybe especially in my old jeans—and his work shirt, he looked amazing. But he was amazing on the inside too. Smart and funny, kind and genuine.

And I trusted him. It was astonishing to me how much I trusted Maxim after such a short period of time. We’d only met four days ago, and yet I felt more at ease with him than I’d felt with anyone in a long time. I could be myself around him in a way I couldn’t around other people. My real self, without hiding anything. There was such relief in that, and I felt incredibly grateful for it. If he never paid me a dime for the clothes or the rent or anything else I did for him, I wouldn’t care. This feeling was worth everything, even if it wouldn’t last forever.

“Okay, here you go.” He set a plate down in front of me, and I moaned in anticipation, my mouth watering. On it was what looked like four thick pancakes, fried to a golden brown, dusted with powdered sugar, and drizzled with honey. A big spoonful of something white—sour cream, maybe?—sat off to one side, and raspberries were scattered on top of it all.

“This looks delicious. What are they again?”

“Syrniki. You say it now.”

I made an attempt, which I thought was pretty good, but Maxim laughed anyway.

“There, your first Russian word. I want you to learn four more by the end of the day.” He put his plate down and took the chair across from me. I noticed how he’d known where everything was to set the table, from the placemats to the napkins to the utensils, and got a ridiculous kick from seeing him so familiar with my kitchen.

“I’ll try,” I promised. Unable to wait a second longer, I picked up my fork and knife and cut a bite, making sure to get a little of everything so I’d taste all the flavors. I put it in my mouth and moaned again.

Maxim grinned. “Good, right?”