Becoming Rain
Page 29“Tell me what this business with Nikolai is about.” No more time for relationship talk. It’s Saturday. We have a small window of time before the next customer comes in. Perhaps only minutes.
Dmitri pauses, eyeing me. I’m sure he still sees me as the fat little kid who came in here every Saturday, stealing pieces of ham and shoveling them into my cheeks when no one was looking. “We need to sell a car. Stefan . . .” His voice drifts off with a sigh, the displeasure in his face evident.
I don’t have to ask what he means. His grandson, Stefan, a fucking pothead and disgrace to Dmitri’s family, must have gone out and stolen a car. He’s a few years younger than me. I knew early on that he was short half a deck of cards. He has a penchant for theft and has caused Dmitri and his son, Nikolai, problems in the past.
“Hard to sell?”
A severe gaze levels me. “Likely impossible in America. Too risky. I was hoping Rust could help us get rid of it.”
I ask what Rust is going to ask. “You can’t just wipe it clean and ditch it?”
“What is that saying? When you are given lemons, you make lemonade.” Dmitri shrugs. “I could use some lemonade.”
“Right.” Too much money to just ditch, I gather. The bell announces an elderly couple and the end to our conversation. “I’ll talk to Rust. We’ll sort this out for you, I promise.”
He places his hand over his chest and then holds it outward. A sign of respect and love. Something my deda and he used to do when saying goodbye. My heart instantly warms.
“Talk to you soon.” I wave the package of meat at him on my way out the door.
And walk right into Rain.
CLARA
“You used, like, four ingredients. You’re telling me that if I do exactly what you just did, my sauce still won’t taste as good, just because I’m not Italian?”
I lick the tomato sauce off the spoon before dumping it into the sink. “Sounds about right.”
He chuckles from his perch beside my kitchen island, elbows resting on the granite, where he’s been sitting since we got back. “That’s bullshit.”
“Fine. Next week we’ll do this at your place. I’ll sit on my ass and watch you cook for me.” The perfect plant for another “date,” if all goes well tonight.
His eyes drop down at the mention of my ass, and I feel my cheeks burn under his scrutiny. Turning the sauce down to a low simmer, I move on to the meat mixture, pushing my sleeves up so I can begin rolling the meatballs into perfectly round spheres. Something I could do in my sleep. It used to be one of my Saturday morning chores, helping my mother make this staple in our household. As odd as it may seem, I’ve always found this process relaxing.
“I guess I should be paying more attention, then, shouldn’t I?” Luke slides off his stool and comes around to stand next to me, rolling a sleeve up over a defined forearm with slow, precise skill. He steps in until he’s hovering over me, his chest butting against my shoulder.
I pretend not to notice.
Just like I pretended that his hand on the small of my back as we walked home from the store didn’t affect me.
He leans toward the simmering pot. “My buddy’s girlfriend’s sauce smelled as good as this.”
“Russian.”
I groan. “Have you listened to nothing I’ve said today?”
A playful pinch against my ribs has me jumping. “That market has good stuff, from what I’ve heard.”
“Yeah. I’ll definitely be going back.” I barely noticed what they carried, too busy scrambling through, grabbing what I needed so I could get back to the butcher shop in time to overhear even a word or two of whatever business Dmitri and Rust have together.
Unfortunately, their discussions must have been quick or cut short, because I plowed right into Luke in my rush, already on his way out the door to meet me. We shared a laugh about it, as I hid my disappointment.
And now he’s standing so close, and I’m being hit with mental flashes of last night and the body that’s against me now heading toward the shower, and I’m needing to remind myself exactly why I’m here in the first place.
To arrest him, and put everyone he works with in cold, dark cells.
I’ve been in this deceitful place before. And yet this time, it feels completely new and different.
And somehow, more dangerous.
Minty breath grazes my cheek and I can’t help but breathe deep. Can’t help but turn into it. Can’t help but look up into a set of blue eyes that belong to a guy who helps young mothers pick up groceries and feeds homeless old men and doesn’t look criminal at all.
He breaks into a broad grin. Replaying the words in my head, I roll my eyes and laugh. “What are you, twelve?”
His gaze drops to my mouth. “I know this may sound chauvinistic, but I love a woman who can cook.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I answer, sensing him shifting in slowly. Preparing to let him have a small kiss before I break away with excuses.
But then his phone begins to ring.
The slightest groan escapes him. “Sorry, I’ve gotta take this.”
I swallow the mixture of relief and disappointment rising inside me. “Go ahead.”
He makes his way straight for the small patio off the living room, digging into his pocket.