Chapter 4 #3
Dinner had ended the night before. The almost-kiss had happened on her porch. She’d spent the night thinking about him anyway. By morning she’d convinced herself she was being ridiculous. By lunchtime she’d checked her phone more than once.
The message was simple: Farmer’s market Saturday.
No question mark. No attempt to disguise what he wanted — just the assumption that she’d respond.
She stared at the screen before typing back. You ask people out like you’re issuing instructions.
Three dots appeared almost immediately. And yet you’re considering it.
She rolled her eyes, fighting a smile. You sound very confident.
I am.
That irritated her enough to laugh. Fine.
Good.
The conversation ended there — no emojis, no unnecessary messages, no attempt to drag it out. Viktor got what he wanted and moved on, which somehow left her staring at her phone even longer.
The farmer’s market was already busy when she arrived. Local vendors filled the streets with tents, tables, flowers, produce, baked goods, handmade crafts. Families wandered between booths carrying bags and drinks while live music played somewhere near the center of the square.
She spotted Viktor immediately — near a produce stand, hands in his pockets, completely at ease despite standing a full head taller than most people around him. Several women noticed him walking past. He appeared unaware. Or uninterested. More likely uninterested.
His gaze found hers almost instantly, a slow smile touching his mouth. She felt the reaction she always felt when he looked at her directly: annoying. Consistently annoying.
She walked toward him. “You realize normal people ask if someone is available before scheduling their weekend.”
He looked her over slowly. “You came.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“No.” His eyes stayed on her face. “It wasn’t.”
She hated how much she liked that answer.
They started through the market together, an easy pace between vendors and displays. Viktor carried the same quiet confidence he brought everywhere — never rushing ahead, never drifting behind, somehow always remaining exactly beside her.
A woman selling handmade soaps smiled as they approached. “You two are adorable.”
Josephine opened her mouth to correct her. Viktor picked up a bar of soap instead. “How much for this one?”
The woman launched immediately into ingredients and scents. Josephine turned slowly toward him; he examined the soap with complete focus. The man was impossible. By the time they left the booth, she was still watching him.
“You didn’t correct her.”
He glanced down. “No.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“No.” The answer came so fast it nearly made her miss a step. She looked away first. Of course it didn’t bother him. Why had she expected anything else?
A few minutes later, at a pastry stand, the older man behind the table handed her a sample and smiled warmly. “Your husband better buy you a full box.”
She nearly choked. Viktor accepted the offered box without blinking, paid the asking price, and Josephine stared at him the entire time. “You are absolutely enjoying this.”
“I bought pastries.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
The corner of his mouth moved — not a full smile, which somehow made it worse.
They continued through the market, the box of pastries tucked under his arm.
Every few booths, someone assumed they were together.
Every time, Viktor let the assumption stand.
Every time, Josephine noticed. By the time they reached the weekend festival beyond the market square, she was painfully aware of how natural they looked walking side by side.
The festival stretched across several blocks — food trucks, music, local vendors, people moving in every direction, small pockets of congestion near the busiest stalls. Josephine stopped to examine a display of handmade jewelry while Viktor stood beside her.
“Beautiful pieces.” The unfamiliar voice came from her left — a man around her age, holding a festival drink, smiling easily as he stepped closer to the display. “You’ve got good taste.”
“Thank you,” she offered, polite.
He looked ready to continue. He never got the chance.
Viktor stepped forward without hurry — not aggressive, not confrontational, just deliberate.
One moment he stood beside her; the next he occupied the space between them, his hand settling against her lower back.
Firm. Natural. Possessive enough that she felt it immediately, and so did the stranger.
Viktor said nothing. He simply looked at the man — calm, unbothered, completely certain of himself. The silence lasted several seconds before the stranger’s smile faded, his gaze dropping briefly to Viktor’s hand before returning to his face. Message received.
“Well,” the man said, stepping back. “Enjoy the festival.”
“You too,” Josephine replied automatically.
He disappeared into the crowd. Viktor’s hand stayed exactly where it was.
She turned her head slowly. “You know, most people use words.”
His fingers flexed once against her back. “I’ve found they’re not always necessary.”
She stared at him. He sounded completely serious, which was somehow the problem. Her pulse jumped, and of course he noticed.
“You’re staring again,” she muttered.
“Yes.”
“That’s becoming a theme.”
“I like consistency.”
She looked away before he could see her smile — though she was fairly certain he already had.