Beauty and the Assassin

Then I quietly slip out, not wanting to make any noise in case Tolyan’s still asleep. If he’s awake, I’ll ask if I can make myself some coffee instead of going out for a morning jog, since today’s my rest day.

“You’re up.”

I jump and put a hand over my tumbling heart. “Oh my God you scared me!”

“Me?” Tolyan gives me a look. “I was here first. It isn’t my fault you didn’t notice.”

He’s in a pale gray shirt that lies just so over his wide shoulders and thick chest and back muscles, and long black pants that don’t do much to hide the solid musculature of his legs. He’s in a pair of boots with thick soles.

The Dobermans are sitting at the edge of the kitchen, looking up at him longingly.

“Did you already take them out?” I ask.

“Briefly, but we’ll do the full walk after breakfast.” He lays strips of bacon into a pan, which immediately starts to sizzle. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Thank you, but I don’t eat breakfast,” I say even though the smell is making my mouth water. Although I did eat the leftover sandwich yesterday… But that wasn’t really breakfast food—and it was free.

“You do now. You are too skinny. Almost malnourished.”

I hate the idea that he can tell I haven’t been doing well in life and want to argue out of pride—tell him I’m skinny because I jog regularly, not because I don’t eat!—but I keep my mouth shut. I have a feeling that I’m not going to win an argument with him, especially when it’s about something that’s decidedly true. I am too skinny. And to be honest, I might be slightly malnourished. Cheap mac and cheese probably wouldn’t top a nutritionist’s recommendation list.

“So, your eggs?” he says. He’s going to feed me no matter what, so I might as well accept it. After all, the reason I quit eating breakfast is because I was too busy in the morning…plus the savings.

“Anything is fine. I’m not picky.” Only an ungrateful asshole would be picky about free food.

The Dobermans whine louder when Tolyan lays the bacon out on paper towels. Mussorgsky puts a tentative paw into the kitchen.

“Mussorgsky, no,” Tolyan growls, beating countless eggs in a bowl with brisk motions of his thick wrist.

The dog moves back, his head low.

“Is it okay if I feed them a little?” I ask.

“No more than two strips each,” he says. “And don’t let Stravinsky fool you into thinking you skipped him.”

“Got it.” I pick up six slices and give each dog two each. It’s weird to call their eager reaction cute when they’re so large and powerful, but they’re simply adorable. I can’t stop smiling.

Sure enough, after the bacon’s doled out, Stravinsky puts his head on my pelvis, whining loudly, licking the fingers that held the bacon moments ago. He has incredibly expressive eyes, and they’re saying he hasn’t been fed. At all.

“Sorry, kiddo.” I scratch him behind his ears with my other hand. “Your daddy told me not to fall for that.”

Soon, Tolyan puts scrambled eggs on two plates. He also puts a mountain of toast, a bowl of cut fruit and a serving spoon out on the table.

“Coffee or juice?” he asks.

“Coffee, please,” I say.

He pours and hands me a cup. “I only have sugar,” he says.

“It’s okay. I drink it black.” I’m surprised he thought about sugar at all. Based on how he dumped the coffee from the café, I wasn’t sure what to expect here.

“I don’t like fussy coffee.”

“So why did you throw out the coffee from the café? It was straight black.”

“I wasn’t there for coffee.”

Oh. Is he…trying to say he came to see me? But no. He couldn’t have known I was working there on Friday, and he didn’t know I was working Saturday, either.