"Big enough that we might be snowed in for days," he says. "Happens sometimes out here. The roads get impassable, and you just have to wait it out."
Snowed in.With Nikolai. Fordays.
I take a sip of cocoa to hide my reaction. It's rich and creamy and perfect, and exactly what I need right now.
"That's why we prep," Katya says, pulling out a large pot. "I make beef stroganoff for tonight. Then borscht, pelmeni, more things to put in freezer. That way, if the storm is bad, you and Mr. Morozov will have plenty of food."
You and Mr. Morozov.She says it like we’re going to be the only ones staying here.
“And you’ll both be here too, right?” I ask, taking another sip of cocoa.
“Stay here? No, no, no, we don’t stay here. We live in town.” Katya removes ingredients from the refrigerator. “By the time the storm hits, we will be tucked up in our beds in our own homes.”
Meaning Nikolai and I will be here alone.
Oh God.
"But I make you something nice for Christmas," Katya adds with a kind smile. "Can't let a little blizzard ruin the holiday, right?"
Christmas. I'd almost forgotten it’s only three days away.
I should be home right now. Should be with Nana, drinking eggnog and watching sickly sweet holiday movies.
I take a sip of cocoa to fight off the thoughts.
"How long have you worked for him?" I ask.
"Many years," Katya says, adding butter to the pot. It sizzles and fills the kitchen with a rich, savory scent. "Since he was boy. I knew his parents, God rest them."
Andrei pulls up a stool next to mine. "Katya basically raised him. Don't let her tell you otherwise."
"I didnotraise him," Katya protests, but there's a smile tugging at her lips. "His mother raised him. I’m just the cook."
I watch her work, mesmerized by the practiced ease of her movements. Beef goes into the pot, browning quickly. Mushrooms follow. The smell is incredible, making my stomach rumble.
"You like to cook?" Katya asks me.
"I'm okay at it," I admit. "Nothing like this though."
"Then you watch. You learn." She gestures to the ingredients spread across the counter. "Cooking is love, yes? You put good things in, you get good things out."
Andrei snorts. "That's Katya's philosophy for everything. Not just food."
"It is true philosophy," Katya says firmly, adding cream to the pot. "You cannot expect good if you do not give good."
The words hang in the air, and I wonder if she's trying to tell me something. Some kind of coded message about Nikolai, maybe.
“Katya, if I wanted to go into town?—”
"Mr. Morozov would not like that," she says, stirring more ingredients into the pot. "The roads are getting dangerous. The weather bleak. No, you stay here where it is nice and warm and I feed you."
She and Andrei share a look, and my stomach sinks. They know. Of course they do. And they're too loyal to Nikolai to help me, no matter how kind they seem.
If I press it, they might tell him, and he would probably lock me in my room all day and I couldn’t bear it.
"The storms out this way," I say, changing the subject. "Exactly how bad do they get?"
"Badbad," Andrei says, his eyes lighting up. "Last year we got snowed in for almost a week. The drifts were up to the second-floor windows. It was insane."
