Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ANTON
I drive toward Thora’s place with a basket in the passenger seat.
Me. With a fucking basket.
Completely overfilled too. Because once I got to the store, I realized there was an entire section of chocolates with too many choices and I don’t know if she likes milk chocolate or dark chocolate or the ones filled with caramel, so I bought one of everything.
The gray hippo sits right in the middle of it all, propped up between the candy and the blanket, staring straight ahead with his one good eye like it’s judging.
Who can blame it? I’m judging myself.
I glance at it again, then back at the road. I can’t believe I’m doing this.
The closer I get to her place, the more ridiculous it seems. My hand squeezes the wheel as I consider turning around and throwing the whole damn basket into the woods.
Then her house comes into view, and instead of turning around, I keep going. Maybe I can leave the basket at the door and text her once I’m gone.
I park, cut the engine, and sit there for a bit, staring at the front of her house.
This is fine. It doesn’t mean anything. I just…did something nice for a woman for the first time in my damn life.
That’s not nothing.
Tvoyu mat. God damn it.
Climbing out of the car, I retrieve the basket and head for the door, hoping she doesn’t spot me before I get back behind the wheel. I place the basket in the corner so she won’t trip if she walks out…and that’s when the door opens.
Fuck me.
THORA
When I hear the noise outside and look through the peephole, I expect a package delivery maybe. Definitely not Anton standing on my porch.
Of course today has to be the day he randomly shows up, when I look like absolute crap.
My hair is in a messy bun that took all of two seconds with flyaways sticking out everywhere.
My T-shirt is too big, my leggings are old, and my face is probably pale enough to make me look half dead.
There might even be a stain on my shirt from the granola bar I ate earlier, but I didn’t care about any of that.
Not until now.
As soon as I open the door, my gaze sweeps over him, and I internally sigh, because of course he looks perfect. Faded dark denim, a white T-shirt stretching across his muscular frame like it was made for him, his skin somehow tanner, his jaw sharper and more defined.
And those eyes. My God, those dark, sexy eyes are fixed on me, making it impossible to stop the way my body tightens for him.
Clearing my throat, I straighten, as though that will magically help me look more put together.
“Anton?” My hand grips the edge of the door. “What are you doing here?”
And why is there a basket at my door?
It’s packed with candy and chocolate, an insulated bag tucked off to the side, and a gray stuffed hippo sitting right in the middle of it. One of its eyes is missing, which only makes it cuter. My attention swings from the basket back to him.
“Did you see who dropped this off?” I point a finger toward the basket.
But who?
He runs his fingers through his hair, avoiding me, and it takes a few long, aching seconds before he says, “I did.”
My eyes widen.
No effing way.
“You…really?”
Is he pulling my leg?
He gives a low, humorless huff. “Trust me, I’m more surprised than you are.”
Why would he do that? Is it because I told him I wasn’t feeling great?
Oh my God, this is so damn cute.
“Anton…” I place a hand over my chest, emotion climbing up my throat.
“Don’t make it a thing,” he mutters, picking up the basket, while I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling too hard.
He looks so uncomfortable that it’s almost hilarious. But no matter what he says, I’m so making it a thing. He cared that I wasn’t feeling well and showed up in a big way, and that means something.
Maybe Anton Marinov doesn’t know how to say what he feels. Heck, maybe he barely knows how to feel it. But this? This says plenty.
“You’re so sweet,” I tell him. “Thank you.”
His eyes cut to mine with a glare that does nothing but make me grin wider. “I’m not sweet.”
“Whatever you say, buddy.”
He groans, which of course only makes me laugh.
I pull the hippo out of the basket and hold it against my chest, my thumb brushing over its worn gray fur. “This is the cutest thing ever.”
“It’s my nephew’s.”
My eyes lift to his. “Lev’s?”
He nods.
“Oh my God, I love Lev. Now it means even more to me.”
“Well, that’s good, because if you hated it, you could blame him.”
“I could never blame him for anything.” Looking down at the hippo, I hug it a little tighter. “And how could I hate something this precious?”
Anton says nothing, his attention lingering on the stuffed animal.
Poor guy. He is so obviously out of his comfort zone, which only makes the whole thing mean more.
A stretch of silence falls between us before I glance down at my current state of disaster and grimace.
“You probably shouldn’t see me like this or you’ll never want to fuck me again.”
He catches my chin in one quick move, his gaze dropping to my lips before dragging slowly back to my eyes. “Unlikely.”
My stomach flips under his stare.
“Well…” I say, trying to sound unaffected and failing miserably. “Since you’re here and you’ve already seen me at my worst, I guess I can invite you in. Just don’t expect much, because I’m definitely not putting out today.”
Obviously, I meant it as a joke, but a low growl escapes him while his eyes drag over me in a way that makes my pulse jump again.
“If you think a little blood scares me, then you don’t know me at all.”
Okay, that was hot.
My thighs clench as need sweeps through me, and I have to look away and head inside before I take him up on his offer…if that’s what we’re calling it.
He follows me in and sets the basket on the kitchen counter. I start digging through it the second we get there because apparently I have no self-control today. Honestly, after hours of cramps and misery, I’ve earned the right to be dramatic about sugar.
“Oh my God…” I pull out the insulated bag, the hippo under my arm. “You got ice cream too? And wow, there is every type of chocolate in here.” I look up at him, my chest squeezing a little. “You’re truly amazing.”
Clutching the hippo, I throw my arms around him, and his mouth lifts into the faintest half-grin.
“I covered all my bases.”
“Clearly.” My lips brush his cheek while I fight the urge to turn my face and kiss him for real instead.
When I start to pull away, he cradles the back of my head, holding me there a little longer, and I feel him breathe me in before he lets go.
Slowly, he perches back, and I register the loss of him immediately.
Pushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear, I place the hippo on the counter, take out the ice cream, and grab two bowls from the cabinet.
“Do you want some?”
“Sure.”
I bite back a smile. “You don’t have to sound so enthusiastic.”
“I said sure.”
“You’re right. That’s practically a love letter coming from you.”
His eyes cut to mine, and my stomach does that annoying little flip it keeps doing whenever he looks at me like he wants a taste of me instead.
I scoop chocolate ice cream into two bowls and hand him one before carrying mine to the sofa, where the movie remains paused on the screen.
“So…” I settle on the cushion, and when he sits beside me, his thigh presses against mine, sending heat rushing through my body. “I was in the middle of a movie when you got here.”
He looks over at me. “Okay.”
“It’s probably not your thing.”
“What is it?”
“A romance.”
His expression stays flat, but his mouth presses into a harder line.
“It’s fine.” I reach for the remote. “I can finish it later.”
His hand closes around my wrist before I can change it. “Don’t. I’ll watch it with you.”
“Really?” I can’t help the grin tugging at my mouth.
“Yes. It’s a movie. I’ll survive.”
“That’s the spirit.”
I laugh and press play. As the movie continues, he gets drawn in, shaking his head whenever one of the characters does something stupid and muttering under his breath in Russian. When the heroine runs into the rain with tears streaming down her face, the hero chasing after her, he scoffs.
“How do you watch this?”
I glance at him, offended on behalf of the movie. “Because it’s beautiful.”
His mouth barely moves. “Yeah, that’s not what I would call it.”
“What would you call it, then?”
“Pathetic.” There’s no hesitation in the answer, and that tells me more about him than any romantic confession ever could.
I’m not even sure how to respond. I’m sorry? I wish someone had shown you how amazing love can be?
And I know no matter what I say, he’ll just tell me I’m wrong. But at the end of the day, he’s the one who showed up with gifts, so I already won.
We keep watching—or at least I try to, but every time he shifts, the heat of his body keeps pulling my attention away from the screen. And every time I take a bite of ice cream, I can feel his gaze drifting back to me.
I eat another spoonful, sneaking a glance at him. “If you want, I can just turn it off.”
“I’m watching.”
“You’re watching me.”
“I can do both.” His lips pull up at the corner as he reaches over to brush my hair away from my forehead.
My heart gives a small kick, and I turn back to the television before he can read too much from my expression.
His arm stretches along the back of the sofa behind me, not touching at first, but close enough that my body registers every bit of him.
I keep my eyes on the screen, even though I have no idea what the heroine is saying anymore because his fingertips trace along my shoulder a second later, sending a shiver across my skin.
I finish my ice cream and pretend I’m not melting into the couch, while Anton’s bowl stays almost completely full.
He takes mine from me, places both bowls on the coffee table, and then pulls me against his side until my cheek rests against his chest and his palm curves at my waist. The movie keeps playing, but all I know is the feeling of him holding me and the slow sweep of his thumb against my side.
My eyes grow heavy, and I try to fight it because I don’t want to waste these moments.
“Sleep.” His mouth touches the top of my head. “I’ve got you.”
A quiet groan slips from me as I burrow closer. “I shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
Because you’re here, and I’m afraid once I close my eyes, you’ll walk out the door.
The words sit on my tongue, but I can’t make myself say them. Instead, I tilt my head back enough to look at him. His face is close, his expression unreadable, except his eyes aren’t empty. They’re filled with a maddening intensity.
“It’s okay.” His fingers brush along my waist. “Close your eyes. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”
My hand lifts to his face, fingertips tracing the hard line of his jaw. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For all of it.” My fingers glide across his cheek. “For staying.”
Anton doesn’t answer with words, but as I close my eyes and press my cheek into his chest, his hold on me tightens and he doesn’t let go.