Chapter 5 Micah
FIVE
MICAH
I look at my grocery list again. It’s in Adam’s familiar handwriting, and I check and double-check it. He didn’t specify which brand of yogurt he wanted, though, and that’s always a landmine to navigate.
If I text to ask, he’ll get angry because I should remember which kind he prefers by now.
If I don’t and I get it wrong, he’ll berate me for not asking to begin with.
And I’m already dreading the checkout process.
If the cashier isn’t careful enough and something gets bruised, bent, or torn, he gets upset about that too. “Be more forceful with them!” he’ll tell me. “Don’t let them get away with treating our groceries like garbage just because they hate their jobs!”
But I can’t see myself being nasty to a cashier for anything like that.
I shove those thoughts away. Adam’s not here, and if I ask politely for the cashiers to take extra care with everything, they will. There’s no need to get stressed out about something that might not even happen.
Adam
Where are you?
I sigh at the text. He already knows. He has me on his family phone plan, and I know he has parental tracking enabled for me. This is a test, I know, and I hate it.
Micah
The grocery store. Which brand of yogurt do you want? The store brand is on sale right now.
Adam
The store brand tastes like mold.
Of course he doesn’t actually mention which brand he does want. I glance at the shelf of yogurt and try to remember which of these brands he hasn’t complained about.
Somebody comes up next to me to grab a large container of yogurt. He has a big, hairy hand, and I instinctively glance at the man.
At Ilya.
My breath catches in my throat.
What is he doing here? I’m nowhere near the bar. Did he find out what I was trying to do? But there’s no way he could have. I haven’t even really left the house in the last five days since I met him.
It’s a coincidence, nothing more. Maybe he doesn’t even remember me. I focus on that, on pretending we aren’t both here. We’ll buy our yogurts in silence and never even utter a word to each other.
I wonder what Adam would think of me choosing the same type as the Russian trash.
I busy myself sifting through the yogurts, looking for the ones with the expiration dates that are the furthest out, and pretend I didn’t notice Ilya.
“Do you need help choosing one?” Ilya asks, his deep voice surprisingly soothing in a way it has no right to be for a mafia man with the violent history Adam had described. “What flavor are you looking for, Micah?”
“I—” I stumble over my words, trying to breathe. What do I do? I should blow him off, to get away from him as quickly as possible. Instead, I say, “Cherry. The fruit on the bottom kind.”
The kind I hate but eat anyway because it’s the only type Adam wants me to buy.
“I like this one,” Ilya says, pointing to one. After a second, he adds, “No, that’s a lie. I don’t like little soggy fruit pieces in my yogurt. But this is best brand from the ones I’ve tried.”
I try not to smile, but my lips curve into a little one anyway. “Thank you.” I sort through them by expiration date. “I like the cheesecake ones you can add the little crumbles to,” I tentatively add, though I’m not sure why I’m telling him that.
Ilya wrinkles his nose, and my heart drops. Of course he’s judging me. “Cheesecake is too sweet for me. But if you like sweet ones, you will probably like this coconut yogurt with the small chocolate chips.”
I probably would, but if he thinks cheesecake is too sweet, he’s in good company with Adam.
Besides, it’s not on the list.
“Thank you. Maybe I’ll try it next time.” I try to think of something to say to get out of buying it, but I don’t think ‘I’m on a budget’ would go over well. Adam would be furious if I said something like that and made people think we don’t have much money.
Although, wasn’t that supposed to be my cover story? That I was poor and homeless and desperately needed a job?
Ilya gives me a glance. “Are you almost done with your groceries? I’ll buy us the yogurts.
We can eat them outside in the little park.
” He reaches for the cheesecake flavor as well as the coconut one, in addition to the plain vanilla he’d already picked out for himself.
“Do you like the crunchy toppings? Like in a parfait.”
“I…” My mouth is parched. I want it. It’s been so long since I’ve gotten one for myself, but Adam looks at the receipts and the bank statements, and I don’t have my own account. I’d just told Ilya I liked the ones with the crumbles, though, so I can’t lie. “Yes,” I say, licking my lips.
They still feel so dry.
Ilya puts more into his grocery basket, then goes for the extra toppings that are in a display case off to the side of the yogurt.
Why am I following him like a lost puppy?
Why am I doing this at all?
My heart is racing, pounding against my ribs, and I wonder if this is what having a heart attack feels like.
But Adam had made it clear that my fuck-up had potentially cost him his promotion. I have the opportunity to help, to fix all of that. If I can get Ilya to talk about anything important, anything at all, and get information…
Adam might be pissed that I did this anyway.
Or he might be happy with me if I succeed.
I wish I knew which was actually going to happen.
“We will need spoons too,” Ilya says. “Maybe there are a few by the deli counter. But cups would be good too, if we want to make parfaits. I have fruit we can add too.” He smiles at me. “Fruit in yogurt is good when it isn’t soggy.”
I return his smile, albeit tentatively, and I can’t hold it for long. “I don’t know,” I say. “My groceries… I have frozen things. They’ll melt if I sit outside.”
Ilya peers at my grocery cart. There are no frozen items in it yet. “We can eat yogurt first, and buy your frozen items later,” he suggests.
“I can’t do two transactions,” I say, my voice going high with anxiety. If Adam sees that, he’ll want to know why I didn’t do it all at once — especially if there are time stamps on the receipts. “And I—”
I cut myself off.
This is an opportunity I can’t pass up.
I’ll prove to Adam that I am capable, that I can handle things and be his partner. I’ll show him he doesn’t need to baby me.
It has nothing to do with how kindly Ilya kissed me, or how much I want to share a parfait with him.
I wonder what it would feel like to have Ilya’s arm around me again.
I’m not going to kiss him this time, no matter how good it had felt.
I’m going to focus on getting close enough that he’ll tell me the kinds of secrets that will get Adam that promotion, so he won’t need to stress anymore.
Then we can go back to how things were at the start when Adam had been sweet and loving and kissed me as gently as Ilya had.
“Maybe they can hold my cart for me,” I say, pretending to still be on the fence.
“If they don’t, we simply pick everything up again,” Ilya says gently. “I’ll help you carry things.”
I take a shaky breath. “But I can’t take too long,” I say. “And I might have to answer texts or even phone calls. Okay?”
That much is non-negotiable.
I might be doing this for Adam, but I can’t ignore him if he tries to contact me.
I don’t expect Ilya to agree, but he nods.
“Of course.” Ilya lifts his grocery basket—filled with yogurt and several kinds of fruit—higher. “Now come, pretty Micah. I’m very good at making parfaits.”
My cheeks flush red at his words. “I… Okay.” I nod, following him to the self-checkout after a quick stop in the small home goods section.
Adam hates self-checkouts. He thinks it makes cashiers lazy when all they have to do is watch us do their work for them. At least, that’s what he says. I’m pretty sure he just likes being able to lord over people.
My thoughts about my boyfriend aren’t very flattering, I realize as Ilya pays for his groceries.
I wince. Maybe I’m still not quite over the other night.
I have every reason to still be upset by the way Adam had thrown me into the deep end, only to then hunt me down and drag me home for doing the job wrong.
Is it even “home” anymore?
It doesn’t feel like a home.
It hasn’t in a long time.
I don’t want to think about it right now, not when I have Ilya at my side.
With him there, I almost feel safe, and it’s so ludicrous that I don’t know how to reconcile that with the truth. I should never feel safe with someone as dangerous as Ilya Zima.
There’s a small park near the grocery store, and Ilya leads us to one of the picnic tables. A few office workers are sitting on the edge of the central fountain while they eat their lunches, but other than that, the area is fairly empty.
Ilya sets out the plastic champagne flutes he’d bought and grins at me.
It’s surprisingly disarming, and I find myself smiling back.
“Presentation is everything.” Ilya starts layering the yogurt, fruit, and granola, and I watch in fascination. Adam has never done anything fun like this with me. The extent of his contribution in the food arena is grilling.
When the champagne flute is full, Ilya adds the plastic spoon and pushes it at me. “Here you go.”
“Fancy,” I say, taking it from him. I push the spoon into the top layer, scooping out a little bit of the granola with a taste of the coconut yogurt. I don’t get anything with chocolate very often either because Adam isn’t a fan, and—
Fuck.
My thoughts keep circling back to him. Adam is right about me being obsessed with him, isn’t he? Otherwise, I wouldn’t keep thinking about him over and over again when he’s not even around.
But no.
It’s only because I love him, because I want to do good things for him and make him proud — which is why I’m doing this.
It’s definitely not because I’m enjoying this venture into something unfamiliar.
Ilya makes his own parfait with the plain vanilla yogurt. He holds up the flute to me. “A toast, then. To our re-acquaintance.” He smiles warmly. “I’m very glad I ran into you, Micah.”