Not now,she thinks.Please, don’t make me look at that now.
He holds her gaze for a long moment. She holds her breath, before: “Alright, breakfast, I suppose.” Relief washes through her. “What would you like?” he asks, a small smile. “The staff have the day off, I can order something—”
“Absolutely not!” Lili protests. “You’re not making someone deliver food to us in this weather.”
Aleksandr frowns, as if confused. “Alright, I can go get food, then—”
Her hands around his forearm tighten. “Don't you have any food here?”
“I don’t know; apparently, you’ve been turning away housekeeping,” he teases.
“Well, let’s cook something.”
It’s cold, storm in summer. Before Lili can find her own clothes, he gives her a sweater: dark green, worn knit. In the kitchen, she hops onto the counter, while Aleksandr opens the fridge. “Do you have flour?” she asks. “I have strawberries, there’s oat milk—we could make pancakes?”
“Sure,” he says. He flicks on the espresso machine, the click of the ridiculous Lacanche oven. Comfortable in his own home, and Lili frowns. She’d never have thought he spent time in his kitchen.
Aleksandr stares at the oat milk suspiciously, before pouring it into a mixing bowl. Lili laughs, a small sound. “You know how to cook?”
“I would have died an early death otherwise. My mother was never home.”
“What would the markets think?” she teases, swinging her feet.
He smirks. “Well, don’t tell, Lili.”
The espresso machine finishes pulling a shot, and he hands her the first coffee. Lili takes it gratefully, shaking back the long sleeves of her borrowed sweater.
It’s a comforting, familiar feeling: this spacious loft on a gray morning, city quiet under difficult weather, her books on the dining room table. Like a held breath, serene and lovely. A suspension, a moment of fantasy.
“If you own the building, what’s on all the other floors?”
“Just raw floors, original warehouse.”
Lili frowns. “Why so much space? Do you plan for, like—a family?”
Aleksandr makes a face, turning to the stove. “Jesus, no. I dislike children.”
She nods, taking a sip of coffee. “You do realize we’re in a housing crisis?”
He shrugs. The pan hisses as the pancakes sear. “I like space.”
“Were you always this spoiled?” she asks.
“I grew up inkommunalka.”
“And yet you aren’t enamored of the great socialist vision?”
Aleksandr rolls his eyes, setting a cutting board on the counter next to her. As he slices strawberries, Lili drinks her coffee, listening to the sizzle of pancakes. She rests her head against his shoulder, watching him work. She wants the physical comfort of him, close to her.
“The painting in your closet, what is it?” she asks.
“Ah. Rublev.”
“And the cigarettes? What’s with them?”
He grimaces. “Michael doesn’t let me smoke anymore.”
Lili is delighted. “And you let him make your decisions for you?”
