Page 81 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

"I'm making pelmeni."

"You're making what?"

"Russian dumplings." He's already moving toward my kitchen, opening the refrigerator and rummaging through its contents. "You'll see."

I follow him, watching as he pulls out ground beef, an onion, and a few other ingredients I'd forgotten I had. "You're seriously going to cook right now? It's almost midnight."

"The best meals happen after midnight." He finds a mixing bowl and starts working, his brows drawn down in concentration. "Besides, someone needs to show you what real comfort food tastes like."

Russ appears in the doorway, grinning. "Are you really making pelmeni?"

"Someone has to defend our culture."

"I'll help." Russ rolls up his sleeves and joins Alex at the counter. "Marla, watch and learn."

I perch on one of the kitchen stools, fascinated as they work together. Their hands move in practiced synchronization, mixing, rolling, and folding. They argue good-naturedly about the proper meat-to-onion ratio and whether the dough is too thick. Nick eventually joins us, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, but I catch him smiling when he thinks no one is looking.

"Your grilled cheese technique is probably shit, by the way," Russ says at one point, glancing at me. "You're probably burning the bread and leaving the cheese cold in the middle."

"I am not!"

"Prove it."

So I make grilled cheese while they finish the pelmeni, and we end up with a bizarre late-night feast spread across my kitchen counter. The pelmeni are incredible, savory and rich, served with sour cream and fresh dill Alex found in my refrigerator. My grilled cheese is perfectly golden and melty, thank you very much.

We eat standing around the kitchen, stealing food off each other's plates and continuing to argue about cooking techniques. At some point, I realize my face hurts from smiling and my stomach aches from laughing. The fear and tension that's been suffocating me for days has started to lift, leaving me feeling more at ease than I've felt in... well, perhaps my whole life.

These men are dangerous. They're criminals. They operate outside the law and do things I probably don't want to know about. But in this moment, watching Russ steal a bite of Alex's pelmeni and Alex swat his hand away while Nick tries to hide his amusement, they're just three men who've somehow become important to me.

We eventually collapse near the fireplace again, too full and tired to do anything but sprawl across blankets and pillows. The fire has burned low, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Russ is on my left, his arm thrown across my waist. Alex is on my right, his breathing already evening out into sleep. Nick is behind me, solid and warm, one hand resting on my hip.

I feel safe and protected. Like nothing can touch me as long as they're there. An asinine thought, I know, since they could just as easily snap my neck. But I can't help how I feel.

For a few hours, I forget how dangerous they are. I forget about the warehouse attack and the mayor's corruption and Zach hunting for me. I just exist in this moment, warm and content and surrounded by men who make me feel like I matter.

I fall asleep with a smile on my face.

When I wake in the morning, the cottage is quiet. Sunlight filters through the curtains, casting soft golden light across the hardwood floors. I'm alone in the nest of blankets and pillows. I stretch slowly, my muscles pleasantly sore, and push myself up. Wrapping a blanket around my shoulders, I pad barefoot into the kitchen to make coffee.

Alex stands at the window above the sink, staring out toward the woods, his hair slightly mussed from sleep. His posture is tense, his jaw tight.

I start the coffee maker, and the sound makes him glance over his shoulder. Something in his expression softens when he sees me.

"Morning," I say quietly.

"Morning."

The coffee brews, filling the kitchen with its rich aroma. I pour two mugs and cross to him, handing him one. He takes it with a nod of thanks.

For a moment, we stand in comfortable silence, sipping our coffee. The morning feels peaceful, almost normal.

"Last night was fun," I say finally.

"It was." Alex's mouth curves into something that's almost a smile. "I haven't danced like that in years."

"You were annoyingly good at it."

He smirks and takes a sip of coffee before focusing his attention on the window again. I follow his gaze out the window, seeing nothing but trees and morning sunlight shining through the branches. But his expression has shifted again. The warmth fades, replaced by something darker and more calculating.