Chapter 13 #2
But that was the problem. I'd never had whatever I wanted. Food had always been about survival—whatever was cheapest, whatever would fill my stomach longest, whatever I could steal without getting caught. The abundance paralyzed me, too many choices when I'd lived with none.
"I don't—" I started, then stopped, embarrassed by my inability to do something as simple as choose lunch.
Dmitry studied my face, and I saw the moment he understood. Not pity—never pity with him—but recognition.
"How about we share a bunch of things?" he suggested, casual like he hadn't just solved my crisis. "Make it an adventure. We'll get small portions from different places, try everything that looks good."
"Yeah?" The relief made me sag against him. "That's okay?"
"That's perfect," he said, kissing my temple. "Come on, I see ramen burgers that need investigating."
We got two ramen burgers first, the buns made of fried ramen noodles instead of bread, an absolutely unhinged creation that made me moan at the first bite.
We found a bench overlooking the Manhattan skyline, the city spread out across the water like a postcard.
Dmitry bit into his burger and sauce immediately exploded everywhere, making him curse in Russian while I laughed so hard I nearly choked.
"You've got some—" He gestured at my face, grinning.
"Where?"
Instead of telling me, he leaned in and wiped sauce off my nose with his thumb, then brought it to his mouth and licked it clean. The gesture was so casually intimate, so possessive without being aggressive, that heat flooded through me despite the breeze off the water.
"Dmitry," I breathed, and he smiled like he knew exactly what that move had done to me.
Bear sat perfectly between us, eyes tracking every bite we took, tail thumping hopefully against the ground. I snuck him a piece of beef when Dmitry pretended not to look, and Bear's whole body wiggled with joy at the forbidden treat.
"He's going to expect people food forever now," Dmitry warned, but he was smiling as he said it.
"Good," I said, giving Bear another piece. "He deserves people food. He's people."
We wandered after that, sharing pork buns and elote and something called a cronut that made me question everything I thought I knew about pastry. Each vendor smiled at Bear, some offering him water or tiny tastes, and he accepted it all like the prince he apparently was.
The afternoon had turned cooler, wind coming off the water with a bite that made me shiver.
Without asking, Dmitry pulled me against his side, arm around my shoulders, sharing his warmth.
We walked like that, joined at the hip, Bear's leash in his other hand, looking like every other couple enjoying Smorgasburg on a Saturday.
"You have to try this," he said, stopping at a lavender ice cream stand.
"Lavender ice cream?" I wrinkled my nose. "That sounds like soap."
"Trust me."
And I did. That was the thing—I trusted him completely, with my body and my pleasure and now, apparently, with my ice cream choices. The first taste made my eyes close involuntarily. It was floral and sweet and complex, nothing like soap.
"Oh my god," I moaned, taking another spoonful.
"Told you," he said, smug, stealing a bite with his own spoon.
We sat on another bench to finish the ice cream, the skyline golden in the late afternoon light. Bear had given up on begging and was passed out at our feet, exhausted from his big day. An older couple walked by, the woman stopping to coo at Bear's sleeping form.
"What a sweet baby," she said, then looked up at us with that particular smile older people got around young couples. "You have a beautiful family."
My instinct was to correct her, to say we weren't a family. But Dmitry's arm tightened around me, and something in my chest unclenched.
"Thank you," I said instead, the words coming out steady and sure. "We're pretty happy with it."
The woman beamed and moved on with her husband, and I sat there processing what I'd just done. Claimed us as a family. Accepted the title, the assumption, the normalcy of it.
"Eva," Dmitry said softly.
I turned to look at him, expecting questions or analysis. Instead, he kissed me—soft and deep and tasting of lavender ice cream. When he pulled back, his eyes were serious in that way that meant he was about to say something important.
"We are, you know," he said. "A family. You, me, and Bear. Maybe not traditional, definitely not perfect, but ours."
The words settled into my chest like birds finding their nest. Family. Not the kind that hurt you or abandoned you or sold you out for drug money. The kind you chose, and the kind that chose you back.
"Yeah," I whispered, throat thick with emotion. "We are."
The soft, floaty feeling started in the elevator ride up to Dmitry's apartment, that particular weightlessness that meant I wanted to be little.
It was different from the desperate drop into little space that happened when I was overwhelmed.
This was a choice, a gentle slide into that younger headspace where the world felt manageable and Daddy would take care of everything.
My fingers found the hem of the blue dress, playing with the fabric as the floors counted up.
Bear leaned against my leg, tired from our adventure, and even that small weight felt grounding.
Dmitry watched me with those dark eyes that missed nothing, and I knew he could see the shift happening—the way my shoulders dropped, how my voice had gotten quieter on the walk home, the way I'd started holding his hand with both of mine like a child crossing the street.
"Go change into something comfortable," he said when we got inside, his hand gentle on my cheek. "I'll order dinner."
I nodded, already moving toward the bedroom on feet that felt disconnected from my body.
The dress came off easily, replaced by one of his black t-shirts that hit mid-thigh and my softest pajama shorts—the ones with little stars on them that he'd bought me last week.
The fabric felt like being hugged, and I pressed my face into the collar of his shirt, breathing in his scent.
When I padded back out to the living room, barefoot and soft, I stopped in the doorway.
Dmitry had transformed the space. The coffee table was pushed against the wall, and in its place stood what could only be described as a fort.
Blankets draped between dining chairs and the couch, creating a cave of soft fabric.
The overhead lights were off, replaced by the warm glow of string lights he must have had hidden somewhere, threaded through the blanket ceiling.
Inside, I could see pillows piled like clouds and—my heart squeezed—my new books from The Strand stacked neatly beside a plate of sugar cookies.
"Daddy," I breathed, and my voice came out smaller than usual, tinged with wonder.
He looked up from where he was adjusting a corner of the blanket structure, and his smile was so tender it made my chest ache. "I thought my little girl might want a special reading space."
The words—my little girl, said in that tone that meant he saw exactly where I was emotionally—made me feel precisely that. Little. Safe. His.
I dropped to my knees to crawl into the fort without hesitation, and the interior was even better than I'd imagined.
He'd layered soft blankets on the floor, making a nest of comfort.
The pillows were arranged perfectly for lounging.
There was even a battery-powered lantern shaped like a moon, casting gentle shadows on the blanket walls.
Bear followed me in, immediately claiming a corner and curling into a ball with a contented sigh. His presence made everything feel more real, more permanent—our dog in our fort in our home.
Dmitry had to practically fold himself in half to fit inside, his large frame comically oversized for the space. But he managed it, settling against the pillows with a groan that made me giggle.
"It's perfect," I said, running my hands over the soft blankets, touching everything like I needed to confirm it was real. "You made this for me?"
"For my little girl who had a big day," he said, pulling me between his legs so my back rested against his chest. "Sometimes big days need soft endings."
I melted against him, that floaty feeling intensifying until I felt completely disconnected from my adult responsibilities and worries. In here, in our fort, I didn't have to be twenty-two and traumatized. I could just be Daddy's little girl with her puppy and her books.
My fingers traced the spines of my new books, each one a small miracle of ownership. The fairy tale collection called to me—hardcover with gorgeous illustrations that had made my breath catch in the store. I picked it up carefully, like it might disappear if I held it too tight.
"Please read to me, Daddy?" The words came out smaller than my usual voice, that particular tone that only emerged in little space.
He took the book gently, his arms coming around me to hold it where we both could see. "Any particular story?"
I shook my head, then pointed at the beginning. "Start from the start. Want to hear all of them."
His chuckle rumbled through his chest into my back. "That might take all night, little one."
"Good," I said decisively, already playing with Bear's soft ears as he snored in his corner.
Dmitry's voice was magic. Deep and rumbling, with that slight accent that made familiar stories sound new.
He read about princes transformed into beasts, about girls who slept for a hundred years, about mermaids who traded their voices for legs.
His free hand played with my hair as he read, gentle tugs and twirls that made my eyes heavy.