Chapter 3
Yuri sat with his back to the cookstove, soaking in the warmth from the fire as he plunged his spoon into a bowl of borscht. Rain pummeled the ground and streaked the windows in a steady, relentless batter that didn’t seem inclined to stop any time soon.
The kitchen itself seemed incredibly small these days, especially with all of his family members crammed around what he’d once thought was a rather large table.
The table had fit him and his original seven siblings well enough. But now that three of them were married, and his sister-in-law Maggie had brought her two young half siblings into the marriage, there was no question that both the table and the kitchen itself were too small to host them.
They had a dining room, but it had always felt too austere and formal for a regular meal, so they crowded into the kitchen anyway, boots thudding against the floorboards, spoons clinking against bowls, and laughter filling the room.
And in another seven or eight months, the room was going to be even more crowded, because both of his sisters and Sacha’s wife, Maggie, were pregnant.
Kate’s baby was going to be born first, sometime around the beginning of June.
Yuri shivered, still not quite able to shake off the chill that had seeped into him earlier.
An hour and a half. That’s how long he’d waited for Rosalind in the secret cove.
No, it was more like an hour and forty-five minutes.
“It’s your last meal here.” His half-Aleut, half-Russian brother, Ilya, tore off a piece of bread from where he was seated at the table beside Yuri. “I thought you were supposed to pick what we’re having for dinner. Or does Evelina only do that for Alexei and Sacha and Mikhail when they leave?”
“I asked Yuri what he wanted,” Evelina said from several places down the table, then pressed a hand to her stomach, which hadn’t even started to grow round yet.
Ilya turned back to him and dunked his bread into the borscht with the type of bored look that only a thirteen-year-old could muster. “Of all the things you could have picked, you told Lina to make borscht?”
“I like borscht.” Yuri tore a chunk of bread from the slice on his own plate and mimicked Ilya by dunking it into his soup. “And Lina’s bread. I won’t be able to have either in San Francisco.”
Evelina sent him a bright smile. “Thank you, Yuri.”
“You’re welcome,” he said around his mouthful of food. Though to be honest, he couldn’t really claim to taste the borscht.
Just like he couldn’t really claim to be paying attention to the conversation Maggie, Sacha, Mikhail, and Bryony were all having on the opposite side of the table.
He’d even lost track of how many times he’d bumped elbows with his brother-in-law Nathan, on his right, and it must have been a lot, considering how crowded they were.
Because his mind kept traveling back to that dratted cove. If only he knew why Rosalind hadn’t—
“Maybe you should have sent Mikhail to San Francisco.” Ilya leaned forward and looked at Alexei, their oldest brother, who was sitting at the head of the table. “He always picks a bear roast on his last night.”
Alexei dabbed his face with his napkin. “Like Yuri, I happen to like borscht—and Evelina’s bread.”
Ilya scowled into his soup. “I still think Yuri should have requested bear, or at least venison.”
Laughter erupted from the other side of the table, and Yuri slanted a glance at his large, burly brother Sacha, who wore a grin that spread from ear to ear. Mikhail sat beside him, the back of his neck and the tips of his ears red as he slowly shook his head.
“Wait.” Bryony leaned closer to Mikhail, then peeked around him to look at Sacha. “Did he just say what I think?”
“Yes.” Mikhail pressed his lips into a firm line, but Bryony’s cheeks turned a bright shade of pink.
“Sacha, behave.” Sacha’s wife, Maggie, nudged him with her elbow.
Sacha only smirked. “They’re newly married. Someone needs to say it.”
“Do I even want to know?” Alexei murmured.
Jonas, Evelina’s husband, loosed a chuckle from the other end of the table. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mikhail look quite so guilty,”
“He’s not guilty.” Sasha sent Mikhail a wink. “Just embarrassed.”
Mikhail set down his drink, everything about his movements measured and patient. “One of these days, Sacha, someone is going to throw you into Sitka Sound.”
Sacha held up his hands. “You’ve been saying that for years, and yet here I am. Dry.”
“How unfortunate,” Nathan said as he reached for another slice of bread. “I have a feeling Sacha could use a good dousing.”
Kate shook her head. “Stay out of it, darling, or you’ll be the one tossed into the sound, and don’t ask how I know this.”
“That’s the key to survival in this family,” Evelina said around a mouthful of bread. “Stay out of things and don’t ask any unnecessary questions.”
“I can confirm this strategy works.” Jonas raised his mug in agreement before taking a sip. “And seeing how I was the first one to marry into this family, while you and Kate haven’t even been married a year, I would know.” He sent Evelina a wink.
Mikhail, meanwhile, continued to glare at Sacha, as though he truly was contemplating whether he could drag their giant, lumbering brother out the door and toss him into the sound in the middle of winter.
Honestly, Yuri wasn’t sure which brother would end up in the water if Mikhail tried it. Probably both of them. Sacha might be bigger, but as a frontier guide, Mikhail was fast and strong in his own way.
“In this case, though, I have a feeling Sacha’s just saying what everyone else is thinking.” Jonas set his mug on the table with a thunk.
“I highly doubt everyone is thinking that.” Mikhail shot a sharp look down the table at Jonas.
“Maggie’s thinking it,” Sacha said.
“I am not,” Maggie said primly, even though red bloomed across her cheeks.
“Maggie’s absolutely thinking it,” Sasha corrected, winking at her.
Mikhail dragged in a breath through his nose and took a deliberate sip of his drink, while Bryony sat in silence beside him, her cheeks just as red as Maggie’s.
Nathan chuckled and shook his head. “And to think, Yuri, that you’ll be leaving all this behind when you go to San Francisco. Don’t get too used to the peace and quiet.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Yuri looked around the crammed table.
The truth was, he might actually miss all of this.
In fact, he was quite certain that he would.
For all the times he’d begged Alexei to send him off on a business trip over the years, now that he was on the brink of leaving, he suddenly wasn’t sure he wanted to go.
Was this how his brothers felt whenever they needed to leave too?
But someone needed to go to San Francisco to buy the ship Alexei wanted, and there were too many things going on in Sitka for Alexei to go himself, especially now that Rosalind’s uncle was the governor of Alaska.
So it would have to be him, and he was supposed to be excited, confound it.
“I can write to you.” Sacha leaned closer to the table, that teasing grin still plastered across his face. “I’ll make sure to include every single embarrassing thing Mikhail does while you’re gone.”
Mikhail leveled him with a look. “I have never done anything embarrassing.”
“Is that so?” Sasha drummed his fingers on the table. “Then perhaps you’d like to explain why you nearly toppled over backward in your chair this morning when Bryony touched your arm.”
“The chair was unstable.”
Bryony raised a brow. “It seemed perfectly sturdy to me.”
Sacha grinned. “It’s not his fault, Bryony. Love makes a man forget how furniture works.”
Alexei sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I cannot believe this is the conversation we’re having over dinner.”
Kate smirked. “What did you expect? Manners and polite discourse? Half of this table is made up of Amos men.”
Alexei exhaled slowly, probably trying to summon a bit of patience. “I keep thinking they’ll grow out of this at some point.”
“We won’t,” Sacha quipped.
“Not ever. The house would be far too serious.” Yuri let out a mock shudder and glanced around the table. Everyone was smiling—other than Alexei, and he never smiled.
Oh, hang it all. He really was going to miss his family while he was in San Francisco.
What would it feel like that first night in the hotel where he knew nobody?
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a meal by himself.
There was always someone in the house eating with him, even if it was Maggie’s six-year-old half-brother, Finnan.
Was he supposed to eat every meal by himself in the hotel restaurant? He wasn’t going to know what to do—not that he’d ever admit that to Alexei.
Hopefully after that first night, he’d at least have businessmen to eat with.
But that still wouldn’t be the same as sitting at the table he’d eaten at for his entire life, laughing with his family.
And here he was, starting to feel homesick before he’d even left home.
He was being ridiculous. San Francisco was a large city bustling with people upon people upon people. Surely he’d find someone interesting there, or maybe ten someones. It couldn’t be that hard to make friends.
But there was someone who wouldn’t be in San Francisco.
Yuri dragged his gaze back to his bowl of half-eaten soup.
If only he had a way to contact her.
He shoved a hand through his hair. Maybe he was just conjecturing that something was wrong. Maybe there was nothing wrong and she simply forgot about their meeting, since it was usually on a different day entirely.
But what was he going to do about her letters?