I yank open drawers, cabinets, the fridge—assembling items like I'm on a timed episode of Chopped. Cold cuts. Dijon mustard. A mini wheel of brie because needless to say, Nadia's mother stocks brie like normal people stock string cheese. Crackers with embossed herbs. Bread that smells like it costs $14.
I turn to the marble island and drop everything onto the counter with a flurry of movement.
And freeze.
Because leaning against the far wall—silent, still, watching me like he's been standing there the whole time—is Aleksandr.
I squeak. Like, audibly. My hands twitch and I nearly drop the bread, cheese, and my soul.
"You scared me!" I blurt, cheeks flaming so fast I'm surprised I don't burst into actual flames. I scramble to put the ingredients down in one piece, trying not to fumble like I've been caught committing a crime.
Aleksandr doesn't say anything. Just leans there, arms crossed, storm-grey eyes fixed on me with unreadable intensity. Like he caught me stealing the family jewels instead of raiding the fridge for sandwich ingredients.
"I—uh—needed a snack," I manage, voice higher than normal.
He doesn't blink.
I consider throwing myself into the fridge.
Instead, I smile awkwardly and shove the brie a little further away from the edge of the counter, and stare at the raspberry jam I had grabbed, questioning what type of sandwich I was making.
I lose every ounce of confidence I walked in with. It slips through me like sand through open fingers, leaving behind only the dull throb of embarrassment.
"O-kay… I'm going to head back up to Nadia," I say, forcing a smile that feels wrong on my face. "I didn't even want a sandwich, you know Nadia and I had pizza for lunch so I'm actually like so full, so I'm just going to go."
My voice trails off, as I move away from the catastrophe of food in front of me and start to walk down the hall away from him and all of the nerves growing in my chest.
"So you take all the food out of my fridge and you're not going to put it away?" he murmurs, his voice sounds even and plain like he can't muster up the humor that should be there.
I stop in my tracks, running my hand through my hair, and turning back to the mess of food on the counter. "You're so right. I mean if I make the mess I should-"
All my breath leaves my body once he takes a step forward and starts to pick up the container of brie on the counter. His strides are lazy and long. I watch the way his body moves across the room towards the fridge, that just so happens to be behind me.
Every nerve in my body shakes, and I want desperately to crawl back upstairs with my tail between my legs.
I lean forward and stack the deli meats to put away as I curse myself for these events, because why would he be here now? Why would he come to the kitchen mid freak out? And why am I so freaking cold right now?
I wish I was wearing an oversize t-shirt right now, and not my rainbow polka dot tank, bright yellow sleep shorts and scrunchy socks. I wish I had thought about how exposed I would feel with his eyes on me, and with his body being the only source of heat in the room.
I hear the fridge open behind me, the soft suction pop of the seal releasing. I don't think much of it until I turn around—deli meats in hand—and nearly choke.
Aleksandr is standing there like sin made flesh, hunched slightly, staring straight at me. One arm rests against the fridge door, and the other hand is stuffed into the front pocket of his grey school slacks, which—unfortunately for my current sense of self-preservation—fit him like they were stitched onto his body by someone with very specific intentions and an ungodly level of inseaming around his…crown jewels.
My mouth is drier than the Sahara.
"Meat?"
I clear my throat and shake my head. "What?"
"Hand me the meat," he repeats, taking the hand out of his pocket and pointing at me. "In your hand."
"Right…this meat," I blow out a raspberry and pass the meat to him.
His finger grazes the side of my hands, and I can feel my skin erupt in flames, turning back around to the other ingredients on the table, of which are jam, and for some reason spotted bananas.
I swallow, try to clear the crack in my throat, and force my voice back to something resembling normal. "Why are you sneaking around? Seems a little creepy?—"
"Nadia said you wanted to ask me something."
