Explain. Now.
“What are you… guys doing here?” she demands, the sharp edge in her voice making me want to melt through the floorboards.
“I—uh—” I start, but Anton cuts in smoothly, lowering himself into the creaking armchair.
“We just thought we’d swing by. Pick Mary up.”
Pick me up? From Grandma’s? Whodoes that?
The chair groans under his weight, and I swear the whole house groans with it.
Grandma folds her arms. “Pick her up for what?”
I want to shove them all right back out the door, but then the doorframe fills with a new shadow.
Dima.
Silent. Towering. Covered in tattoos that look like they belong in an FBI file. And he’s carrying enough grocery bags to restock Costco.
Grandma’s eyes widen so far that I think they might roll out of her head.
“Surprise?” I squeak, the sound somewhere between a laugh and a hiccup.
Because what else can I do? What else do youdowhen three heavily tattooed men invade your grandmother’s yellow kitchen with a week’s worth of produce?
“They’re my… friends,” I blurt. “From… the gym.”
“The gym,” Grandma repeats flatly, gaze darting between Lev unloading organic kale, Anton lounging like it’s poker night, and Dima silently lining up milk cartons like soldiers.
“Yes!Gymfriends. The… fun kind.” My laugh comes out way too high-pitched. “You know. Weights. Grocery delivery. Totally normal things.”
Grandma just stares.
“All right,” I mutter, face flaming. “That’s enough. Out. All of you.”
Lev looks up, affronted. “But we brought eggs!”
“Out!” I’m already herding them toward the door like unruly golden retrievers. “Grandma, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Don’t worry, everything’s fine.”
She’s still frozen by the fridge, eyes wide, lips pressed tight, but she nods once. Probably because arguing means keeping the three scary men inside longer.
I shove Lev through the doorway, Dima next with his arms still full of grocery bags, and finally Anton, who moves at the pace of a glacier just to spite me.
The door shuts behind us, and I whirl on them the second we’re on the porch.
“What the hell was that?” I hiss, waving wildly between them. “You can’t just… waltz into my grandma’s house! With… with spinach!”
Lev grins. “Technically, it was arugula.”
“Shut up, Lev.”
Anton slides his hands into his pockets, the breeze catching his hair. He doesn’t bother defending himself, doesn’t look even a little sorry. He just tips his head toward me like it’s already decided.
“It’s time to train.”
I gape at him. “You mean right now? After- after terrifying a seventy-three-year-old woman and breaking into her kitchen?”
Lev smirks. “Don’t be silly, your grandma likes us. I can tell.”
