“I’m serious. I want you to teach me.”
“Okay. What do you want to start with?”
“What’s your very favorite thing to eat?”
When I raised a brow and trailed my hand all the way up her thigh, she smacked it.
“In the kitchen!”
“Same answer.”
“Argh. If you won’t tell me, I’ll make you my favorite thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Borscht.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll tell you. Paella.”
She breathed a sigh of relief.
“You think it’s easy?” I asked.
Katarina shook her head. “I’m just glad you didn’t go for the Borscht. I actually hate it.”
By the end of the week, I was her sous chef, and that was only when she allowed me in the kitchen with her.
On the seventh morning,I was on the porch before she was. That hadn’t happened all week.
She came out a few minutes later wearing jeans and a tank top.
“You’re dressed,” I said.
She bit her bottom lip.
“Out with it, Stepanova.”
“I’ve beenthinking.”
“About?”
“It’s time to go home.”
I nodded. “I was going to say the same thing.”
“You were? No. You love it here.”
“Ilikeit here. I love the mountains more.”
She cocked her head like she didn’t believe me.
“Tell you what. We’ll fly home tomorrow. How’s that?”
“One more day?”
I nodded. “What do you want to do with it?”
“Stay here. With you. No boat. No plans. And especially no clothes.”
