Page 153 of Fierce Pursuit

But he ate it without complaint.

Paid.

And left.

Like nothing had ever happened.

And that was more terrifying than anything else he could have done.

The next day, he came back.

And the next.

Every time, he asked the same question. “What should I have today?”—and every day, I gave him a different answer. Some choices were more adventurous than others, little culinary tests to see if he would balk. But Kostya ate every bite without complaint, paid his bill, and left.

It wasn’t long before I started bringing him my favorite dishes. The ones that meant something. I even had the kitchen make special orders just for him.VarenikiI helped shape by hand, the way my grandmother had taught me, the way I had never had the chance to show him before.

The day I placed a plate of crispy, golden potato and onion pancakes in front of him, something shifted inside me. Instead of walking away, I took my break and satacross from him, watching him expectantly as he lifted the first bite to his lips.

He didn’t speak.

But the moment his eyes fluttered shut in bliss, a low groan of appreciation slipping from his throat, satisfaction flooded through me in a way I hadn’t expected.

I did that. I gave him this moment of pleasure.

"Do you like it?" I asked, needing to hear him say it.

Kostya simply nodded, chewing slowly, savoring every second.

And that was how it started.

Day after day, he came in. Day after day, I brought our meals, and we sat together, lingering over lunch.

We talked about nothing. The weather, the best places to go in Chicago, how terrible the traffic was on Michigan Avenue. He didn’t push. He didn’t demand anything from me. And somehow, that made me crave him more than ever.

A month passed before I found the courage to ask the question that had been burning inside me since the moment he first sat down.

“Why are you here?”

He leaned back, taking his time, brushing the crumbs from his fingers before answering.

“My wife tells me that appreciating food is the second greatest pleasure in life.”

I tilted my head, heart already beating faster. “And the first?”

Kostya’s gaze locked onto mine, steady, unwavering. “The greatest pleasure in life? That would be my wife.”

Heat bloomed in my cheeks, but I didn’t look away.

“Kostya,” I whispered, my voice softer now, no longer teasing. “What are you really doing here?”

His lips twitched at the corners, a hint of amusement in his expression.

“I was informed that I am arrogant and heavy-handed.”

I scoffed, arching an eyebrow. “That couldn’t have come as a surprise.”

This time, he smirked.

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