Lev leans back against the counter, arms crossed, watching me with that infuriating smirk. “Good?”
“Better than good,” I admit, glaring at him because I hate giving him the win.
His smile deepens. “Then tonight is already worth it.”
We eat, and the conversation starts light—more travel stories, favorite cities, little anecdotes from flights. I’m good at this kind of talk: polished, easy, surface-level. It keeps things safe.
But Lev doesn’t stay on the surface. He leans in, glass of wine in hand, gaze steady. “Tell me about your family, Sasha.”
The fork pauses halfway to my mouth. “My family?”
“Yes.” He doesn’t blink. “You. Where you come from. What made you into this woman who can light up a plane and still keep everyone at arm’s length.”
His words land sharper than I expect, like he’s been studying me all night. My throat tightens. I want to brush it off, toss something flippant back at him. But his expression—open, curious, unflinchingly focused—makes it harder.
So I lower my fork.
“My dad died when I was really young,” I say slowly. “So it was just me and my mom. After that, we moved to America from Greece to continue our lives. But she…she had cancer. Passed away when I was eighteen.”
He doesn’t interrupt. Just listens.
“I was barely out of high school when she passed. I didn’t go to college—just started working right away. Flight attendant was the first thing that felt like…freedom.”
The words spill more easily than they should, and I hate how raw they sound out loud.
Lev tilts his head. “And before her death? What was life like?”
I suck in a breath. “We moved a lot. My mom’s job kept us on the move. Different schools, different cities. Never long enough to get close to people.” I give a small, practiced smile. “Guess that’s why I’m good at smiling and moving on. Keeps things simple.”
His eyes never leave me. Not once.
“You keep things safe,” he says softly. “But safe isn’t the same as living.”
The remark lands heavier than I want it to, curling inside me like the wine I’ve been sipping.
Lev leans back in his chair, watching me with a slow smile tugging at his mouth.
“You finished it all,” he says. “I love a woman with appetite.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks, but I laugh it off. “It was good. Too good.”
He pushes his chair back and stands. “Ice cream?”
“Yes, please,” I say before I can think better of it.
“Good.” He gathers the plates, stacking them with practiced ease, and disappears into the kitchen. I hear the clink of dishes, the rush of water, then the soft hum of the freezer door. A moment later, he’s back with two bowls, each piled high with vanilla, edges already starting to melt.
He sets one in front of me. “For the woman with appetite,” he says, sliding back into his seat.
I smile as I take the bowl, spoon cool in my hand. It feels…domestic. Too domestic. Like we’ve done this a hundred times before.
The ice cream is sweet and cold on my tongue, but my attention is suddenly on Lev. He sets his bowl down, and suddenly he’s closer—too close. My breath stumbles in my chest when his hand brushes a curl from my cheek. His eyes hold mine like he’s unraveling me thread by thread.
“I’ve been thinking about this,” he says, voice low. “Since the first time I saw you.”
The words settle deep, heavy in my stomach. I can’t look away. My lungs forget how to work, and for a heartbeat, it feels like the whole house is silent—just me and him and the distance between us shrinking.
His thumb lingers near my jaw, not quite touching. His gaze drops to my mouth, then back up again. “I want to kiss you so badly,” he whispers. “Is that okay?”
