When I stumble for a word, Wren fills it in—not for me, but with me. I feel it then, the thing that matters: she’s not bridging a gap to protect me. She’s standing there because she wants me understood.
Buni clocks that too.
She says something again, shorter this time, her gaze flicking briefly to where our fingers rest together on the table.
Wren hesitates, then translates anyway.
“She says people don’t hold on like that unless they mean to.”
My throat tightens. I look at Wren, then back at her grandmother. “I mean to,” I say quietly.
Buni’s expression softens. She nods once, and I know, somehow, that I just passed a test I didn’t know I was taking.
When lunch winds down, it does so without ceremony.
The bowls are cleared. The coffee pot sits empty. Larisa drifts back to the window with her sketchbook, half lost in whatever she’s been seeing all afternoon.
I stand first.
Wren looks up at me, a question forming that she doesn’t quite ask.
“I’m going to clean up,” I say. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
Her brows lift a fraction. Surprise, more than hesitation.
“Seven,” she repeats.
“A date,” I add gently, making the shape of it clear. “Dinner.”
She blinks, recalibrating. Then her mouth curves. “Okay. A date.”
She walks me out. I pause on the threshold, swipe my thumb lightly over her lower lip, then graze my mouth over hers softly.
“I’ll see you tonight,” I say.
A breath passes.
Then, carefully, “Irina.”
The name sits between us. Her eyes search my face, measuring, steady, unguarded.
She smiles. Not bright or careful. Real.
“I’ll be here.”
I take that with me down the stairs.
I’mearly by five minutes. Long enough to look up at the building and remind myself to breathe.
I showered. Shaved. Changed. Checked my reflection more than once. This matters. I’m done pretending it doesn’t.
At seven on the dot, I knock.
The door opens, and the world narrows.
I’ve seen her in shorts and bathing suits, soaked in river water, sunburned and scraped, hair pulled back and hair cascading down her back. I’ve seen her in sweats and jeans and oversized hoodies. In her gi. Exhausted, furious, controlled to the point of fracture.
But I’ve never seen her like this.
