Then he turns and walks out, the bell chiming cheerfully behind him.
I stand there, frozen, staring at the door.
What the hell just happened?
My phone buzzes on the counter.
I glance at it.
Unknown Number
Be ready Beda.
Fuck.
***
The rest of my shift drags like nails on concrete.
Every time the door chimes, my heart stops. Every time someone walks past the window, I expect to see blue hair and cold eyes.
But Maksim doesn’t come back.
At 7:45, Cara corners me by the sink.
“So,” she says, voice pitched low. “You and Maks, huh?”
I scrub a baking sheet harder than necessary. “There is no me and Maksim.”
“That’s not what it looked like.”
“Well, that’s what it is.”
She leans against the counter, arms crossed, studying me with those too-bright eyes. “You know he doesn’t date, right?”
“Good for him.”
“I’m serious.” She drops her voice even lower. “He fucks around, sure. But he doesn’t do relationships. Doesn’t do feelings. He’s like an actual psychopath. So whatever you think is happening—”
“Nothing is happening,” I snap.
She holds up her hands. “Okay, okay.I was just trying to help you.”
I meet her eyes. “Then help me by dropping it.”
She hesitates, then nods. “Your funeral.”
At 7:58, Ivan appears in the kitchen doorway.
“Go,” he says. “He’s waiting for you.”
Of course he is.
I grab my jacket and backpack and head out front. The street is dim now, but there he is leaning against a motorcycle. Black. Chrome gleaming under the streetlights.
Guess he got a new one.
He straightens when he sees me, and hands me a helmet.
