27. Tasha
CHAPTER 27
Tasha
H ad I known Nana was going to grill me about Vlad for an hour and a half, I would’ve driven separately so I could leave. Or maybe I wouldn’t have come at all.
I practically ran to Vlad’s sports car when he arrived.
“Thanks for picking me up here,” I said as I buckled my seat belt.
“No problem.” He handed me a peach envelope. “Words I wish I could say out loud.”
I smiled and opened the letter as he drove.
My Tasha,
Translating the feelings of my heart into words is tedious, for no words are sufficient to adequately account for your beauty, your selflessness, and the way you encourage others. My feelings live deep in my heart, and it is only here I can confess them, for I fear if I speak them aloud, they would lose value. Can you feel my soul reaching out to you? It cries for your love like a desert flower cries to be watered .
Always yours,
Vladimir
“Oh, Vlad,” I breathed. “You have the soul of a poet. How do you write such beautiful words in a new language?”
He shrugged. “It is heavily edited. But it is good, no?”
Heavily edited, huh? By AI or a human? I wondered. And to what extent?
I concurred. “It is good.” But for the first time, I wondered if he even knew what he was writing. He seemed more excited about impressing me than advancing our relationship.
Astoria greeted us at the host stand at Pasta Nacht’s. “You two look amazing. New suit, Vlad? Love the plaid. That rhymes! Special night? Birthday?”
I shook my head and looked up at Vlad. He did look good in plaid. But nothing about him gave me that fluttery feeling inside—unlike his letters, which spoke directly to my heart.
“No birthday,” Vlad said. “Just a nice dinner with beautiful hard-working woman who finally has Saturday night off.”
I poked him playfully. “Hey, now. You play on a lot of Saturday nights.”
Astoria laughed. “I get that! Follow me.” She led us to one of the small, private crescent-shaped booths in the back of the restaurant, set the menus down, and held her hands out for our coats. “Coat check number is fifteen.” She winked at Vlad.
He grinned, and we slid into the booth from opposite sides, meeting in the middle. “Specials tonight are a filet mignon with traditional German rahm sauce reduction, served with steamed green beans and heirloom potatoes or over rice. Tasha, we can whip up a dairy-free version with plant butter and coconut cream for you if you’d like to try it. We’ve also got Maine lobster, served with beer-battered onion rings and coleslaw, and we can also sub ingredients for those. Oh!” She turned to Vlad. “And Keegan’s debuting a new seasonal beer that he’s featuring here. I haven’t tried it because, well—” She patted her baby bump. “But it sure smells good!”
“Baby does not drink the beer, eh?” Vlad asked. “Just kidding!”
Astoria laughed. “Well, we do plan to name her Shandy…”
“Clever,” I said. Astoria and Keegan had fallen in love over crafting the perfect lemon shandy for Brewski’s. They’d used her mother’s lemonade recipe, which featured lemons from the family’s grove in Italy.
“Your server will be over in a few minutes,” Astoria promised. “Let me know if you need anything.”
We thanked her and looked over the menus. I startled when Vlad’s phone buzzed in his pocket, sending vibrations through the seat. He reached down to silence it, and I went back to reading the menu.
The server arrived, and Vlad’s phone buzzed again as we were ordering.
And again when our drinks arrived.
“I think you should answer it,” I said. “I don’t mind.”
“It is not as important as you,” he said.
The phone buzzed again. “I really don’t mind. What if it’s family news?”
With a sigh, he pulled his phone from his pocket and swiped to check the screen. “Agent,” he said. “I am not expecting call.”
“Did he leave a text? ”
Vlad scrolled his screen. “Da. Yes. He says must speak now. Urgent. I text him back to see how urgent.”
His fingers flew over the screen, and then he set the device down on the table. The phone didn’t ring anymore, but two short vibrations indicated he’d received a reply.
He pointed to our server walking toward us with our meals. “Eat first. Then I call, okay?”
“Okay.”
While we ate, we swapped stories from hockey and cheer camps. He had a twin brother he’d come up with that still played in the KHL. They’d been competitive, and so I told him about how Monty and I sharpened each other growing up.
“Like brother, sister, you are. Work together. Competitive. But always support.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “He and his Nana are pretty much family.”
I set my knife and fork on my plate to signal I was finished. When I saw Gia Kubek heading toward us, I sat up straighter.
“Tasha! Vlad! So great to see you both. I hope the meal was good?”
“Perfect,” I said. Vlad nodded as he chewed his last bite.
“Wonderful. I’m glad I stopped in. I’m prepared to make an offer to publish your cookbook, Tasha. When can we meet?”
“A cookbook!” Vlad nudged me with his shoulder. “Secret project, eh?”
My cheeks reddened. “You could say that.”
“My schedule is open next week,” Gia said. She placed a business card on the table. “Call me.”
“Oh—okay. Thank you. ”
She smiled. “My pleasure.” She pointed to Vlad. “Don’t skip dessert. I recommend the New York cheesecake.”
Gia left us, and Vlad turned to me. “I leave to take call?”
“You don’t have to.”
“I will call here. Do not want to miss a minute with you.” He was sweet, but the endearment landed flat. My thoughts drifted again to the letters as he dialed his agent.
“Hello, I … I see. But—it is only November. We are still working on lines … Then there is nothing to do…”
Vlad’s shoulders sagged. Whatever the news was, it wasn’t good.
He ended the call and closed his eyes, pressing them shut tight. Then he set the phone down and tugged at his carefully combed hair.
“What is it?” I asked softly, laying my hand on his shoulder. “Is everything all right?
He shook his head, opening his eyes and dropping his hands into his lap. “Nothing is right. It is nightmare. They have traded me to Miami. I must be on plane at nine in morning.”
I gasped. “How—how can they do that?”
Vlad shrugged. “Happens all the time. At least I am still in USA.”
“But—didn’t they recruit you from the KHL because they wanted you?” I didn’t understand any of this.
“Da. Yes. But I am not playing here the way I played in Russia. Chemistry is off. Mixing up is not improvement.”
“And they can just trade you away, with less than a day’s notice? Where will you live?”
“Yes. There have been rumors this week. I am small piece in a bigger deal. My agent says we will find out in a few hours what happened. ”
I frowned. “So, this is goodbye?”
He turned to me and cupped my shoulders, his eyes pleading. “You must come with me.”
I shook my head. “I can’t go to Miami. My jobs are here. My cheerleaders are depending on me.”
“They can hire new coach, no?”
“Vlad.” I placed my hands over his and drew them off my shoulders to hold them between us. “I can’t go with you. I’m sorry.”
“At least say you will come to Miami to see? And we can talk plans for future? Football season is almost over, no? And your Worlds team—you say they can coach themselves. After Christmas, perhaps?”
His earnest plea hurt my heart.
Future. This was what I’d wanted. The whole point of dating a hockey player. A future where I wouldn’t have to struggle over money.
But, thanks to Monty, I might have another option now, one where I wouldn’t have to be dependent on anyone.
What divine timing.
“No. I’m sorry.” I shook my head. “I can’t.”
His expression cracked my heart further. Vlad was a sweet guy, and one day, he’d find someone who would uproot herself in a heartbeat for him.
Someone that wasn’t me.
I keyed open the door to my apartment and was surprised to find the kitchen light on. I was sure I’d switched it off when I left .
“Oh!” A figure rose up from the sofa, and I jumped so high I nearly hit the ceiling.
“Sorry! So sorry!” Monty apologized. “I texted you I was coming over. I forgot my, um, pillow?”
“You didn’t.” I narrowed my eyes. “’Fess up. Why are you really here?”
He hesitated, sliding his hands into his pockets and lifting his shoulders. “I heard about the trade and thought you might be upset, so I came over once Nana got settled with the night nurse.”
“Oh.” I hung up my coat and slung my purse strap over the peg next to it. “That was thoughtful of you.”
“So? Did Vlad ask you to go with him?”
“To Miami?” I asked.
Monty nodded.
“He did.”
“And? Do I need to find a new coaching partner?”
I studied his expression. Tense, like a little boy who wanted to know if he was in trouble. I rushed to reassure him. “I’m not going to Miami, Monty. I wouldn’t leave you hanging like that. Especially after you stepped in to help me when Nate quit. And you got me a book deal.”
“After the season?”
Monty’s tone lacked its trademark self-assurance. I walked over to him and patted his arm.
“No.” I sank into the sofa. “Not ever.” I pulled a pillow onto my lap. “It’s not meant to be.”
His shoulders seemed to relax—or maybe I imagined it—and he lowered himself into the cushion next to mine, folding his arms across his chest. “He’s a chump.”
“He’s not. I’m sad to see him go. But not for the reasons I should be sad.” I rubbed my eyes with my fingertips. “It’s confusing.” My head found his sturdy shoulder, and I sighed. “Shouldn’t I be sad? Like breakup-level sad?”
“You’re not? You’ve been dating the guy for months.”
“Not really. We’ve been going ON dates for months. Weeks, really.” I thought back over our time together. “Six total, I think? Some group events. Games. Inconsistent texting. We’re still getting to know each other. We’re not even official.”
“He never asked you to be his girlfriend? You wore his jersey to games. That looked pretty official to me.”
“Nope. But those letters … and when he asked me to go to Miami, he implied that he wanted to plan a future with me. He’s very sweet and very shy, I think. He told me today it’s easier for him to write his feelings than to speak them.”
“I don’t think he’s shy at all,” Monty said. “I think he’s toying with you. I think he wants a trophy wife he can eventually use to gain citizenship. It’s clear he’s in no rush to commit.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say.” I glared up at him, surprised by his vitriol. “I’m no trophy wife.”
“No kidding. Your resting face is scarier than mine.”
“Hey!”
“Kidding.” He held up his hands. “But he’s still a chump.”
“You think you know so much. If you’d read his letters, you’d know how much he cares about me. I think I broke his heart tonight.”
“Words. They’re meaningless unless they’re backed up by actions.”
“Oh really?” I huffed. “And what actions do you think would be appropriate? He’s a gentleman.”
Monty snorted. “Hypothetically? ”
I nodded, and he shifted on the sofa, scooching back and turning sideways to face me.
He locked his eyes on mine, and his tone became earnest. “If you were my girl, I’d make sure you knew it. There would be no doubt in your mind. I would look at you like a man in love, and you’d be confident that there was no one else for me but you. Admit it. Be honest—Does he look at you that way?” Monty didn’t wait for an answer. “He didn’t even walk you to your door tonight. Does he even care about your safety?”
“This building is pretty safe.” I felt compelled to defend my not-boyfriend. “Nothing is going to happen to me between the entrance and the apartment.”
“Oh really? What about walking in to find a strange man inside sitting on your sofa?”
“You are definitely strange,” I muttered.
“I’d certainly text you more than once every few days, and I’d call you every day, twice, when I was on the road, just to hear your voice. You think Xavier and Penny or Gabby and Noel go more than eight hours without talking to each other?”
“They’re newlyweds. They don’t count.”
“Ask them. Ask Gabby how often she and Noel texted when they first started dating.”
I didn’t have to. It was constant.
“So?” I looked down at my hands. “Every couple is different.”
“Yeah, but you weren’t even a couple. And he kissed you like he was obligated.”
My head snapped up. “Ugh! You watched him kiss me?”
“Not on purpose, but I saw him kiss you after the last game, and it was …” He seemed to fumble for words. “All wrong.”
“All wrong?”
“Unequivocally. If you were my girl”—his voice turned hoarse, husky and ragged—“I’d kiss you like you’re the only source of oxygen in a burning building. Like the air in your lungs was the air I needed to live, and I wouldn’t stop until I stole all but your last breath from you. Until our shared breath became our lifelines and our souls were filled.” He cleared his throat. “Hypothetically, of course.”
“Of course.” I could hardly breathe right now. Fire flickered through me like a Fourth of July sparkler.
I had to look away.
“Kisses like that aren’t real, Monty. Pure fiction,” I said. The way he described what kissing should be … like it was in books and movies.
“I guess you’ll never know because you only date chumps.”
“Not fair.” I pointed at him. “You just have super high standards. I’m realistic.”
“You should be less realistic and demand better. You deserve better, Tasha. And you definitely deserve to be kissed right.”
Why was he so hung up on how Vlad kissed me? Did it reveal some kind of vibe I wasn’t aware of?
“Hypothetically,” I said slowly, “and in the pure interest of proving you wrong, how would a kiss like that go?”
Monty pulled the pillow from my lap and tugged me up off the sofa so that we were standing only a few inches from each other. “Hypothetically? First, I’d look into your eyes, tell you how blue they are. My favorite color, a mirror image of my own, like the sky on a clear day. ”
“Cheesy,” I scoffed. “Then what?
“Permission to touch your face and hair?”
“How romantic.” I shrugged. “Go ahead.”
Monty cleared his throat and swallowed. He held my gaze as his hand rose slowly until his fingers were threaded through my hair over my ears. “Then I’d run my fingers through your hair from the top of your head to the ends.” As he spoke, he did just that.
I was suddenly feeling warm. Way too warm. Had he messed with the thermostat again?
“And tell you how soft and stunning it is and how good it smells and how it’s my favorite scent and that I even sneak some of your shampoo sometimes.”
“Say what? That’s my super expensive gluten-free shampoo! I wondered why it was going so fast!”
“I left two new bottles under the sink in my bathroom for you.”
“This isn’t very romantic.”
“Then I’d step closer. Tell you how beautiful you are, not just on the outside but on the inside, too. That I admire your strength and your intelligence and your ability to do all the things you set your mind to. How you’re in the gym practicing tumbling and kickouts and getting your partner-stunting back after all these years, for yourself, not because you have to prove you’re better than anyone else. How you care for others and selflessly work day and night to make sure everything and everyone is okay and how unique and amazing of a person that makes you.”
“Hypothetically.”
“No. That’s all true. And any guy who doesn’t see it and remark on it and compliment you regularly—out loud, to your face—is a chump. ”
“Um. Thank you?”
“Then I’d reach for your cheek and hold it in my hand and tip your chin up so that we could look into each other’s eyes.” His voice dropped lower. He did as he described, and I held my breath.
“Then?” I whispered back. Monty’s face was so close. His warm breath caressed my nose and cheeks and lingered on my lips.
“Then, I’d drop my gaze from your eyes to your lips and tell you how perfect they were and how much I wanted to feel them against mine. To show you with a kiss what my words claim, that you are the sun and the stars and every source of light in my world.” He rubbed his thumb over my cheekbone. “Hypothetically,” he whispered.
“Hypothetically,” I whispered. “Then?”
“Then, I’d lean in. My other hand would come up and cup your other cheek. I’d hold you in my hands like you’re the most precious fragile porcelain. And touch my lips lightly to yours.”
Neither of us were moving—or breathing.
“But I wouldn’t stop there. I’d trail my lips to your ear, your jaw, the side of your neck.” Monty’s thumb lightly traced a path as he spoke. “My lips would brand your skin in such a way that you’d have no doubt you were mine. And I’d want you to do the same to me. Sealed with a kiss would take on a whole new meaning.”
“Hypothetically?” I searched his eyes. Nothing about this felt hypothetical anymore. Were these his feelings?
He didn’t answer. Not even a nod. His lack of confirmation was sending my thoughts and heart into a tailspin.
“I’ve never been kissed like that before,” I admitted hoarsely. “What’s wrong with me, Monty? ”
He snapped back to attention and dropped his hands. “What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong with you.”
I hung my head and sank back into the sofa. “Why couldn’t I ever inspire that kind of passion in any of my relationships? Or make it work with Vlad? He’s a great guy, but even I can see that four months of inconsistent dates and communication are never going to sustain a relationship. It went both ways. I wanted to fall for him. But it just didn’t happen. I’m too … icy? Prickly. Was he so afraid to even talk to me that he had to write letters for fear of how I might react to his spoken words?”
Monty plopped down next to me and crossed his arms over his chest. “Chump.”
I sighed. “Not a chump.” I rushed over to my purse and pulled out the latest letter. “Read this.”
I pulled the letter out of the envelope and handed it to him. As he began to read, I closed my eyes, wanting to get the full effect of the beautiful words.
“My feelings live deep in my heart, and it is only here I can confess them, for I fear if I speak them aloud, they would lose value.”
He paused, and I snuck a glance over at him.
His eyes flicked to the letter, then to me as he read the remaining sentences:
“Can you feel my soul reaching out to you? It cries for your love like a desert flower cries to be watered.”
How had he memorized it so quickly? And the way he was reading it … like, he, Monty, meant it.
But that was just because he was a good reader, right? He couldn’t possibly feel that way about me. I was love-starved and trying to grab hold of any string of affection that dangled in front of me. He was just being a good friend and looking out for me, like old times.
Right?
“Another thing?” Monty leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. “He’s got this love letter thing nailed down. How many other women has he written to? He doesn’t even use nice paper. I would never write my girl letters on cheap cardstock. Only the finest, most elegant stationery, like what my grandpa used to use to write to Nana.”
“He wrote her letters?”
“He did. There’s a whole bag full in her closet.”
“You were snooping?”
“I was nine and looking for a place to hide. My parents didn’t find me for hours.”
“I bet. Anything juicy?”
“Nah. Grandpa wasn’t very sentimental. Mostly accounts of his time and how much he missed her. Nothing flowery like your letters.”
I held the peach card in my hand. It was cheap. Part of a multicolor pastel bargain set at Target.
“I should go,” he said, popping up from the sofa. “You’ll be okay if I leave you?”
“I’m fine. Just another breakup.”
“Sort-of breakup,” he reminded me. “The chump never made it official, remember?”
“Right. So I shouldn’t cry about it.” I sighed. “Thanks for coming over to check on me and reminding me I have worth.”
“I shouldn’t need to remind you, Tasha.” He pulled on his hoodie and picked up his keys from the dish by the door. “But I will, anytime you need to hear it. Hug? ”
I walked into his open arms and wrapped mine around his waist. “Thanks.”
“Like I said, anytime. Anyone who’s intimidated or afraid of your hedgehoggy prickles doesn’t deserve your good stuff.”
I swatted him and booped him on the nose. “Go home to Nana. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He grinned. “See you tomorrow.”