Dmitry studied my face, and I saw the moment he understood. Not pity—never pity with him—but recognition.
"How about we share a bunch of things?" he suggested, casual like he hadn't just solved my crisis. "Make it an adventure. We'll get small portions from different places, try everything that looks good."
"Yeah?" The relief made me sag against him. "That's okay?"
"That's perfect," he said, kissing my temple. "Come on, I see ramen burgers that need investigating."
We got two ramen burgers first, the buns made of fried ramen noodles instead of bread, an absolutely unhinged creation that made me moan at the first bite. We found a bench overlooking the Manhattan skyline, the city spread out across the water like a postcard. Dmitry bit into his burger and sauce immediately exploded everywhere, making him curse in Russian while I laughed so hard I nearly choked.
"You've got some—" He gestured at my face, grinning.
"Where?"
Instead of telling me, he leaned in and wiped sauce off my nose with his thumb, then brought it to his mouth and licked it clean. The gesture was so casually intimate, so possessive without being aggressive, that heat flooded through me despite the breeze off the water.
"Dmitry," I breathed, and he smiled like he knew exactly what that move had done to me.
Bear sat perfectly between us, eyes tracking every bite we took, tail thumping hopefully against the ground. I snuck him a piece of beef when Dmitry pretended not to look, and Bear's whole body wiggled with joy at the forbidden treat.
"He's going to expect people food forever now," Dmitry warned, but he was smiling as he said it.
"Good," I said, giving Bear another piece. "He deserves people food. He's people."
We wandered after that, sharing pork buns and elote and something called a cronut that made me question everything I thought I knew about pastry. Each vendor smiled at Bear, some offering him water or tiny tastes, and he accepted it all like the prince he apparently was.
The afternoon had turned cooler, wind coming off the water with a bite that made me shiver. Without asking, Dmitry pulled me against his side, arm around my shoulders, sharing his warmth. We walked like that, joined at the hip, Bear's leash in his other hand, looking like every other couple enjoying Smorgasburg on a Saturday.
"You have to try this," he said, stopping at a lavender ice cream stand.
"Lavender ice cream?" I wrinkled my nose. "That sounds like soap."
"Trust me."
And I did. That was the thing—I trusted him completely, with my body and my pleasure and now, apparently, with my ice cream choices. The first taste made my eyes close involuntarily. It was floral and sweet and complex, nothing like soap.
"Oh my god," I moaned, taking another spoonful.
"Told you," he said, smug, stealing a bite with his own spoon.
We sat on another bench to finish the ice cream, the skyline golden in the late afternoon light. Bear had given up on begging and was passed out at our feet, exhausted from his big day. An older couple walked by, the woman stopping to coo at Bear's sleeping form.
"What a sweet baby," she said, then looked up at us with that particular smile older people got around young couples. "You have a beautiful family."
My instinct was to correct her, to say we weren't a family. But Dmitry's arm tightened around me, and something in my chest unclenched.
"Thank you," I said instead, the words coming out steady and sure. "We're pretty happy with it."
The woman beamed and moved on with her husband, and I sat there processing what I'd just done. Claimed us as a family. Accepted the title, the assumption, the normalcy of it.
"Eva," Dmitry said softly.
I turned to look at him, expecting questions or analysis. Instead, he kissed me—soft and deep and tasting of lavender ice cream. When he pulled back, his eyes were serious in that way that meant he was about to say something important.
"We are, you know," he said. "A family. You, me, and Bear. Maybe not traditional, definitely not perfect, but ours."
The words settled into my chest like birds finding their nest. Family. Not the kind that hurt you or abandoned you or sold you out for drug money. The kind you chose, and the kind that chose you back.
"Yeah," I whispered, throat thick with emotion. "We are."
