Chapter Twenty-Three #3
Tessa laughed.
Matvei got out and walked around the truck before she opened her own door.
He offered his hand.
She looked at it.
“What?”
“You’re being formal.”
“Date.”
The word made her smile.
Tessa placed her hand in his.
The restaurant’s rear door opened before they reached it.
A host greeted them by name and led them through a narrow corridor into the dining room. Most of the lights had been lowered, leaving warm pools of gold across dark wood, stone walls and tables that carried no signs another party had recently occupied them.
Only one table remained set.
It stood near an old fireplace, far enough from the windows that nobody passing outside could see who sat there.
Candles flickered between two glasses.
Tessa stopped.
Matvei watched her face instead of the room.
“You did all this.”
“Yes.”
The host pulled out her chair.
Tessa sat.
Matvei took the seat across from her.
For the first time since Helsinki, they were together somewhere designed for other people to see.
There simply were no other people.
A server poured water and offered menus, treating the unusual arrangement with enough professionalism that Tessa wondered how often wealthy people purchased privacy without explaining why.
After the server moved away, she looked across the table.
“This is beautiful.”
Matvei’s shoulders relaxed slightly.
“Good.”
“It is also completely excessive.”
“Yes.”
“You agree?”
“I do not care.”
Tessa smiled.
A small wrapped box sat near his hand.
She noticed it.
Matvei placed his palm over it.
“Later.”
“You got me something.”
“Birthday.”
“The dinner is already the gift.”
“No.”
“Matvei.”
“Later.”
She allowed it because arguing before ordering would turn the night into exactly what he did not want.
They chose dinner.
Tessa understood only half of the menu descriptions and asked enough questions that Matvei accused her of interviewing the server. Matvei ordered steak. Tessa selected seafood after the server described it twice.
They ordered wine.
One glass each.
The absence of a crowd changed the restaurant’s silence into something intimate rather than empty. Music played softly from hidden speakers. Somewhere beyond the dining room, dishes moved and staff spoke in voices too low to understand.
Tessa rested one hand on the table.
Matvei covered it with his.
“Normal?” she asked.
His mouth shifted.
“Some.”
“We entered through the back door of an empty restaurant.”
“Dinner is normal.”
“The restaurant is closed.”
“Still food.”
“You have a very flexible definition.”
“You are here.”
The simplicity of it stopped her.
“Yes.”
Matvei turned her hand and traced his thumb along the center of her palm.
“Happy birthday.”
“Thank you.”
“You like twenty-seven?”
“I have been twenty-seven for less than a day.”
“So?”
“So far, it involved a playoff-odds story, a call with a salary-cap analyst and you secretly buying an entire restaurant.”
“Good day.”
“It has improved.”
Their first course arrived.
The food was excellent, though Tessa became more interested in how easily Matvei settled into the evening once he understood she was pleased.
He had been nervous. She recognized it now in the way he checked her expression after the first bite, the same way he watched her try the homemade long drink.
He needed the effort to succeed.
They talked about everything except hockey for almost twenty minutes.
Nina’s latest relationship complaint.
Andrew’s plan to move into a new apartment in Charlottetown.
A Russian novel Matvei insisted was funny despite the title sounding like it involved nothing but death and political despair.
Then hockey returned because it always did.
Not the Convoy.
The women’s team.
Tessa told him about Claire Dunning’s plans and the general manager search. She explained how strange it felt to cover an organization before it possessed anything recognizable as a team.
“You like first,” Matvei said.
“First what?”
“First things.”
Tessa considered that.
“Maybe.”
“You take first NHL job.”
“That was not the first NHL job. Frank had it for thirty-nine years.”
“First for you.”
“That is true.”
“You like not know.”
“I hate not knowing.”
“You like find.”
The distinction stayed with her.
She smiled.
“That might be true too.”
Dinner arrived.
For a while, the room contained only food, wine and the quiet ease they had built inside their homes.
The restaurant did not make them different people.
Matvei still objected when Tessa left part of the bread untouched.
Tessa still corrected his use of good when he meant well.
He still moved the vegetables from his plate toward hers as though assuming she would accept them without comment.
She did.
The domestic routine had followed them.
It made the restaurant feel more normal than the empty tables should have allowed.
Matvei looked around after the plates were cleared.
“You should have this.”
“What?”
“Dates.”
Tessa’s chest tightened.
“We have dates.”
“Houses.”
“We cook. We watch movies. You complain about my apartment.”
“Not same.”
“No.”
“I want take you places.”
“I know.”
“Restaurant. Game. Walk.”
“We have walked.”
“In Finland.”
“That counts.”
“Not home.”
Tessa looked toward the candle between them.
Home.
He considered Halifax home.
So did she.
That was what made the secrecy heavier here.
“I wish we could too,” she said.
Matvei’s fingers tightened around hers.
“Maybe later.”
The words carried no demand.
Only hope.
Tessa held his gaze.
“Maybe.”
Dessert arrived with a candle.
No singing.
Tessa had specifically told Matvei she would leave if anyone sang. He apparently communicated the threat.
A small chocolate cake sat between them.
The server wished her happy birthday and disappeared.
Matvei nodded toward the candle.
“Wish.”
“I am twenty-seven.”
“Yes.”
“This feels childish.”
“You make wish.”
Tessa looked at the flame.
She knew what she wanted.
That made wishing more dangerous.
She closed her eyes anyway.
For one second, she imagined a version of Halifax where they could leave through the front door. Where she could sit in the stands near his family or stand on the ice after something important. Where loving him did not automatically become evidence against her work.
Then she blew out the candle.
Matvei watched her.
“What?”
“You wish?”
“Yes.”
“Tell.”
“That defeats the purpose.”
“I tell no one.”
“You are part of it.”
The admission escaped before she could soften it.
Matvei became still.
Tessa looked down at the cake.
His hand moved across the table and covered hers again.
“Good,” he said.
The word contained enough emotion that she did not correct it.
They shared the cake.
Then Matvei pushed the wrapped box toward her.
Tessa frowned.
“You did not need to get me anything.”
“I know.”
She removed the dark paper carefully.
Inside was a small leather notebook.
Not expensive in the way the watch was expensive. Not branded with the Convoy or connected to hockey. The cover was deep green, soft and plain except for her initials pressed discreetly into the bottom corner.
T.B.
Tessa opened it.
The pages were blank.
On the first one, Matvei had written a single sentence in careful block letters.
For stories that are yours.
Tessa read it twice.
Her throat tightened.
“What does that mean?” she asked, though she already understood enough.
“Not work.”
“You bought me a notebook and do not want me to use it for work?”
“You write other things.”
“I don’t.”
“Maybe.”
Tessa ran her fingers over the words.
The gift was not about her job exactly.
It was about the parts of her that might exist beyond it, even if she had not discovered what they were yet.
“I love it,” she said.
Matvei looked relieved.
“It is not too expensive.”
She laughed softly.
“You checked.”
“Yes.”
“That is growth.”
“I learn rules.”
“Some of them.”
He stood.
Tessa looked up.
“What are you doing?”
Matvei moved around the table and held out his hand.
“Dance.”
She stared at him.
“There is no dance floor.”
“There is floor.”
“You do not dance.”
“No.”
“This evening keeps getting stranger.”
“Birthday.”
Tessa placed her hand in his.
Matvei drew her to her feet.
The music remained low, a slow song neither recognized. He placed one hand at her waist and held the other near his chest.
Tessa moved closer.
“You really do not dance,” she said.
“No.”
“You are counting.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I do.”
She smiled and rested her cheek near his shoulder.
They moved slowly between the empty tables.
It was not graceful.
Matvei’s steps were too deliberate, hers adjusted around his until they found something resembling a rhythm. The restaurant staff remained out of sight. The windows reflected only candlelight and the two of them in the center of the room.
For several minutes, they did not speak.
Tessa listened to his heartbeat beneath the black shirt.
The effort behind the night sat everywhere around them. The closed restaurant, the chosen table, the notebook and the terrible dancing. Matvei had tried to give her something ordinary by making extraordinary arrangements.
She loved him a little for that.
The realization arrived quietly enough that she almost missed it.
Not love in the complete, finished sense. Not yet.
Something moving toward it.
Something no longer contained by Helsinki, sex or secrecy.
Tessa lifted her head.
Matvei looked down.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That is something.”
She smiled.
“You’re getting better at that.”
“At what?”
“Knowing when I’m not telling you everything.”
His expression became more serious.
“Tell.”
Tessa considered it.
Not here.
Not yet.
Instead, she rose onto her toes and kissed him.
Matvei’s arm tightened around her.
The kiss remained slow. Warm. Public in a room made private for them.
“Normal?” Tessa whispered.
“Some.”
She smiled.
Some was more than they usually had.