19. February 19, Saturday #2
Ilya made a small, humorless sound. “Tell that to Kira.”
“You don’t have to be perfect to be someone’s rock,” she argued. “You just have to try. To care.”
At the word care, his gaze snapped to hers, sharp and startled, as if a single syllable had landed on something sore.
“Your dad screwed up by choosing other things over you,” Zoey said gently. “He made you think love is earned by being useful. It isn’t. Trust me. I lived that. I tried to make Mitch’s life easier, and that didn’t make him love me more. It just made me tired.”
Ilya’s expression was serious, no hint of mockery. Just seeing, like he always did with her.
When she finished, she was proud her eyes stayed dry.
He let out a humorless laugh. “If someone has you and doesn’t see you…they’re an idiot,” he said quietly. “If they don’t appreciate all of this,” he waved a hand at her, “then they don’t deserve it.”
His compliment hit something in her chest. She looked away, trying to steady herself.
Desperate to lighten the suddenly heavy direction, she chirped, “I agree, but I’m not the problem.
He was your friend first. I figured if you liked him, he couldn’t be that dumb.
Now I know to trust but verify because you clearly have terrible taste. Just look at you and Tommy.”
Ilya barked a short laugh and, without pausing, hooked his arm around her neck in a loose headlock like he did with kids on the ice. His forearm was warm over the thick collar of her coat. She squawked and elbowed him, laughing.
“Physical intimidation is your response to vulnerability? Has someone warned PR?” she teased.
“I’ll draft a statement. Very remorseful. Lots of big words. If not, I know a cute PR whiz who will vouch for me,” he assured her, amusement roughening his voice.
Zoey tried not to giggle at his wink.
They found a rhythm again, him checking deep overhangs while she crouched between tires and pillars. Near the opposite corner, the air smelled like stale fast food. Ilya crouched to peer under a low lip and when he stood there was a dark smudge across his cheekbone.
“Hold still,” she said before she thought better of it.
He blinked as she stepped in close. The grease remained stubborn, a dark streak against his skin. Zoey rubbed slowly, the pad of her thumb dragging from the sharp plane of his cheek toward his jaw.
His breath hitched. Ilya’s eyes dropped to her mouth for a split second.
Her thumb lingered a beat too long. She yanked her hand away so fast she nearly fell backward. “There. Try not to wipe your face with your gloves on. I think you got junk on them.”
He didn’t look away. “Might be worth it. If I get special treatment like that.”
The air between them crackled, charged, and intimate. A car door slammed somewhere up the ramp; a distant noise but enough to jolt them both. He cleared his throat and pointed into a shadow by a jagged chunk of pillar base.
They crouched side-by-side. The hole vanished into black. Ilya stripped off a glove and slid his hand in.
She swallowed, irrationally nervous for his bare skin. “Careful. If a hungry rabid raccoon jumps out, I’m abandoning ship.”
“If a hungry rabid raccoon jumps out, I don’t need to run fast; I just need to run faster than you,” Ilya said dryly, his face distracted as he moved his arm blindly.
When his hand made something clatter, they both leaned closer.
“Maybe…” he murmured, then exhaled. “No. Nothing.”
Ilya withdrew, flexed his fingers, then pushed up on his knees next to her, staring into the hole like it failed him.
“Okay,” Zoey breathed. “Maybe not here, but he’s out there.
He’s smart. We’ll ask the coffee cart crew, post flyers—the works.
We’ll find him. Or at least make sure everyone in a five-mile radius knows to bribe any stray dog with cheese and call you immediately.
And if you’re on the road, I’ll be your emergency backup. ”
His face tightened at the mention of travel, an almost-invisible twitch.
She moved closer, shoulder brushing his. “I mean it. You’re not alone.”
Ilya turned slowly. In the dim, his pupils swallowed his blues. She could see the tiny scar through his eyebrow, the greenish bruise at his jaw. For a beat they just breathed the same cold air.
Something in him gave. The tension along his shoulders softened.
“Hey, Zo.”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
The single word dropped heavy. It was about more than the dog.
Zoey’s breath snagged. His gaze dropped to her mouth and, after a moment, he mirrored her movement from the night before and leaned in, measured. Deliberate. The controlled motion of a man who’d thought about it too long and finally stopped fighting himself.
An inch from her lips, Ilya stopped. His gaze dropped to her mouth, then flicked up to her eyes, holding. He was giving her an out, a neon-lit exit ramp.
She didn’t want it.
More than ready, Zoey quickly wet her lips.
That was all the consent he needed. He groaned a soft, “Fuck it,” and pressed his mouth to hers.
The kiss was gentle, careful, like he was handling something fragile.
Her fingers curled against the concrete. She breathed him in. It was a new, thrilling dance; one she hadn’t experienced in a long time.
When he stopped, they stayed close, foreheads touching. His eyes were bright in a way she hadn’t seen before.
“And thank you,” he murmured, voice rough, “for thinking I would be a good dad. I don’t agree, but I appreciate the vote of confidence. You…you will be the best mother someday. I know it.”
His thumb brushed her lower lip, slow, memorizing, distracting. But the word someday landed like a small kick. A worry flickered. Did he think she was still in the, “hopefully someday.” camp about kids? Was now the time to give a status update?
He smiled faintly. “I cannot fathom how any man could know you and not treasure you.” A corner of his mouth twitched. “Not for what you do, but for you. In all your…colorful, fantastic glory.”
Before she could form anything coherent, he dipped his head again.
The second kiss came deeper, more sure. His hand cupped her cheek; the other slid to her waist and hooked, pulling her closer.
She grabbed his hoodie, then his hair. He answered with a low groan and a shove that pinned her briefly to the car.
A car alarm screamed like a banshee, shattering the moment.
They jerked apart, laughing and breathless.
“Seriously?” she wheezed.
“Of course,” he muttered, rubbing his face like he needed to wake himself.
He helped her up and walked her to the ramp, Zoey giving quiet directions to her car.
Her compact felt oddly intimate sitting alone in its row.
After she unlocked it, Ilya opened her door, one hand on the frame, the other coming up to touch her cheek; gentle, careful.
The same hand that held her face during their kiss.
A hand she realized was not the one he’d used spelunking in the hole.
Her heart gave a little swoon at his consideration. She would have expected nothing less from her noble Ilya.
“You really are,” he said low, “the most exquisite woman I have ever met.”
She floundered. Exquisite. Not a word she’d expected, and definitely not from him.
When she couldn’t speak, he laughed softly and leaned in, thumb tracing her lower lip. “It’s weird to see you speechless,” he murmured. “I wonder what else I could do to make you speechless.”
She successfully choked back a moan.
“I’ll text you later?” he asked, the question honest and threaded with uncertainty, like he was afraid she might say no.
She nodded until it hurt. He chuckled, leaned, and kissed her again; this time fierce, all the things he’d held back spilling out. The car door cushioned her back. His hands at her hip anchored her as his mouth worked to leave her breathless.
When he eased away, he murmured, “Drive safe, Mama Bear.” His voice had a roughness that made her want to beg him to come back and experiment with all the ways he could make her speechless.
“Uh-huh,” she breathed.
Through the windshield, she watched him step back, hands automatically to his pockets, then patting at empty air where his gloves should’ve been.
He looked toward the ramp and she saw the moment he decided he didn’t care enough to go get them, not right then at least. Instead of walking away, he gave her a small shake of his head, like she was trouble and he had only himself to blame, and repeated: I’ll text you.
She drove off with a grin she couldn’t shake. Her phone buzzed in the cup holder before she even pulled out of the garage.
Ilya: Exquisite.