13. Gabby
Gabby
The kitchen is enormous, and I’m certain there is food, but the very large Russian woman who appears to be the cook makes it clear that I’m not allowed to open the fridge.
We’re guests, and I don’t want to be rude, but I need to feed my son. Galina told me we were welcome to help ourselves. This woman has decided otherwise.
“Eggs?” I say. “Fruit?”
She stares at me.
I mime cracking an egg. I feel insane.
Nikolai walks in, wearing all black. His hair is slightly damp. He looks at me, then the cook.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
I feel terrible for being ungrateful, like I’m taking advantage of his generosity, but dammit, it’s not like I can walk to the store.
“I was hoping to find something for Luke,” I say softly.
“The kitchen is stocked.”
“I believe it, but there’s a bit of a, uh, language barrier.”
A six-foot Russian female barrier.
He looks at the woman, who is suddenly very busy wiping down the quartz counter.
He says something in Russian. Short. Two sentences, maybe three.
The woman turns to me.
“What would you like?” she says in perfect English. Zero trace of an accent.
I throw my hands up. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“Irina will get you whatever you and Luke would like,” he says.
I shoot her a glare. I don’t appreciate being made a fool.
Nikolai moves to the coffeemaker and pours a cup. He looks at my empty hands, and I suspect the longing in my eyes, and hands me the coffee before reaching for another mug.
I hadn’t dared to tackle Irina to get to the coffee. She’d given me the impression that the kitchen was her domain, and I wasn’t allowed to touch a thing.
“Whatever Luke needs,” he says. “Just tell her.”
"That’s what I was doing."
"She's particular about her kitchen."
"I noticed." I look toward the hallway, suddenly too aware of him standing beside me.
"Did you sleep well?"
Like a freaking baby on a cloud.
"I did. Thank you again for letting us stay for a couple of nights."
I sip my coffee, letting the caffeine hit my veins. Trying to enjoy how good it is without feeling guilty that someone else provided it.
"I'm going to reach out to a shelter today," I say. "There's one off Flamingo that takes families. I called once a few months ago. They had a waitlist, but things change." I take another sip of coffee. It’s only then that I realize how unfairly hot he looks. Well, good morning, Mr. GQ cover model. I haven’t even brushed my teeth. I’m wearing leggings and a loose shirt, and I’m very aware of the contrast.
As he watches me drink my coffee, I become even more aware of myself.
“I really do appreciate this,” I say. “It’s very comfortable. Luke thinks your house is amazing.”
I smile, thinking of how thrilled Luke had been last night. We took advantage of the cinema room, eating popcorn and watching SpongeBob on the big screen. He ate all his dinner and slept through the night.
“Stay.”
“Thank you, but I can’t. I don’t take charity.”
“It’s not charity.”
“Then what is it?”
“Help. Protection.”
I don’t know what to make of him. I’ve spent the past five years learning to read people quickly because my life depended on it, but Nikolai is unreadable.
“I’ll figure out something,” I say. “I always do.”
“You don’t have to figure it out. It’s figured out. Stay.”
The sound of small footsteps in the hallway startles me. I check the time. It’s early for Luke. And we stayed up a little later than usual last night.
Luke comes around the corner in his pajamas, the ones with the small dinosaurs printed on them that are slightly too short in the leg. His hair is sticking up on one side. He’s dragging his blanket behind him, and Galina is two steps back, moving at his pace.
He stops in the doorway and looks at me.
I set down my coffee and go to him.
“What are you doing up so early?” I ask.
I scoop him up, put one arm under his legs, and pull him against me. He tucks his head under my chin, and I feel the particular relief that only comes from having him in my arms.
I press my mouth to the top of his head. He smells like the expensive shampoo from the bathroom.
“You weren’t there,” he says.
I hold him a little tighter, guilt pressing in. “I know. I’m sorry, buddy. I was getting breakfast for you.”
I realize we’re not alone. I’m not used to that.
“Is there cereal?” Luke whispers.
Nikolai hears him. “There is. Do you like cereal?”
Luke lifts his head from my shoulder and makes eye contact with Nikolai. He nods once.
“Come,” Nikolai says.
He doesn’t look back to see if we’re following.
He just moves toward the far end of the kitchen, past Irina, who has suddenly found a great deal of interest in the stovetop.
Nikolai opens a door I hadn’t noticed. It’s flush with the cabinetry, which is why I missed it.
Everything in this house is designed so that nothing looks out of place.
I put Luke down, take his hand, and we follow.
The pantry is not a pantry.
I stop in the doorway and stare.
It’s the size of my old bedroom. Shelves run from the floor to the ceiling along three walls, lined with food and organized with a clinical precision. Everything faces forward. Labels out. Grouped by category. Little printed labels on the shelf edges dictate what belongs where.
A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth, but I shut it down.
This would be Luke’s dream pantry. It’s what the inside of my son’s brain would look like if it were a room.
The cereal is on the second shelf from the bottom on the left wall. I let go of Luke’s hand. He wanders in ahead with his blanket trailing behind him across the clean tile floor.
He moves with the reverence of a priest entering a cathedral. Again, I don’t know if I should laugh or cry. Few things excite my son. This is heaven for him.
He stops in front of the cereal.
There are at least twelve boxes, all lined up with their fronts facing out. The row is so neat that it looks staged.
Luke studies them with the intensity he usually reserves for his dinosaur books.
Nikolai comes to stand beside him. He crouches down, rests one arm on his knee, and looks at the row of boxes at Luke’s level.
I lean against the doorframe with my coffee and watch them.
“That one.” Luke points.
“Cocoa Puffs,” Nikolai says.
“No,” Luke says. He points again. “That one.”
“Frosted Flakes.”
Luke looks at him like he’s said something offensive.
“No.”
“Agreed. Those are for Mila. She likes them. I don’t. They get soggy too fast.”
Luke nods. “Soft.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, thinking about what he said at the park. He’s quiet. Like me.
He’s not wrong.
Nikolai reaches for the Froot Loops, and Luke’s face lights up.
“That one,” he says.
Nikolai takes the box off the shelf and hands it to him. Luke hugs it to his chest with both arms, his blanket bunched under one elbow.
“Good choice,” Nikolai says.
I look at the box in his hand, then at his face. Sometimes, I can afford the generic version. I’m not sure he’s ever had the real thing. I doubt there’s a difference in flavor, but if there is, Luke will know.
I follow them back into the kitchen.
Irina materializes from wherever she’d been lurking and produces two bowls, two spoons, and a carton of milk. She sets them on the small table in the breakfast nook.
Luke follows Nikolai. Irina turns and catches me watching. We hold eye contact for a few seconds before she walks away.
Nikolai gestures for Luke to take a seat. He sets his blanket on the other chair and waits. Nikolai opens the box, fills their bowls, and then adds milk. All of it happens without a word.
I stay by the counter and watch.
They eat in silence. Luke’s legs swing slowly back and forth while he eats. He’s looking into the bowl. Nikolai reads something on his phone with one hand and eats with the other.
It’s the most comfortable silence I’ve witnessed between my son and another human being. Luke doesn’t do comfortable silences with people.
He’s present. He’s aware of Nikolai sitting with him.
And he’s fine.
Luke finishes before Nikolai does. He carries his bowl to the sink without being asked. I taught him that. It makes me proud to see his good manners.
“Come,” Galina says to Luke.
“I’ll get him dressed,” I say.
“Eat.” She waves her hand.
I want to argue, but Luke is already walking out of the kitchen with her. And I need to talk to Nikolai.
But do I dare interrupt his cereal?
He finishes his bowl, sets it aside, and puts his phone face down on the table. He looks at me directly then. Under his gaze, I feel… squirmy.
Not in a bad way. Nikolai’s gaze confuses me. I haven’t felt desire for a man in… well, ever. I never got the chance to have a crush.
“You’re staying,” he says.
I blink. “What?”
“You’re staying. You’ll live here.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Don’t be stubborn. This is what’s best for you and your son. I have the room. Luke likes it here.”
“I don’t want to be a burden. And I don’t accept help that comes with strings attached. I learned what that costs a long time ago.”
“I’m not collecting a debt,” he says.
“Then what are you doing?”
“You have nowhere else to go. Luke needs stability.” He pauses. “I have a ten-bedroom house and a staff that has nothing to do.”
I look at the ceiling, then back at him. “You can’t just tell people they’re staying in your house.”
“I just did.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“How does it work?”
I don’t have a good answer for him. I hate that my options are so limited that a man who randomly punches people is somehow my best one.
Nikolai is a good bad man.
I hate that I like him for it.
I hate that my son ate cereal next to him and looked more at ease than he has in months.
I hate that he makes me feel safe.
“I’ll have an agency send over nanny candidates,” he says. “You’ll interview them. Choose the one you trust with Luke. When you find someone acceptable, you’ll go back to work.” He glances up. “You have the next week. Use it.”
“Use it for what?”
“Whatever you need.” He stands, slides his phone into his pocket, and looks at me. “Rest. Get the boy settled.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple.” He moves toward the kitchen doorway and stops. He doesn’t turn around. “You’re not a burden, Miss Collins. If you were, you wouldn’t be here.”
And then he’s gone.
I stand in his enormous kitchen and allow myself a second to freak out, staring at the doorway he walked through.
You’re not a burden, Miss Collins.
I pick up my coffee and drain the rest before I stand here any longer and talk myself into believing him.
Then, I go find my son.