Page 30 of Heritage of Fire

I don’t know why, but his last comment makes me smile, and I tip my face down, trying to hide it. Nik in a kitchen draining pasta is hard to picture.

His nostrils flare and he stands up, crossing his arms in front of him. “We should probably stop lingering in the bathroom. Get your coat.”

“My coat?”

He nods. “You like pizza?”

If you had told me an hour ago I’d be sitting across from Nikolai Balakin, watching him shove pizza into his mouth by the slice, I never would’ve believed you.

The small pizza shop, only five miles down the road from the warehouse, is all weathered brick with a vintage neon sign out front. There are only four checkered tables, as well as five booths lining the outer walls—all offering a perfect view into the kitchen. The employees toss dough in the air and layer toppings, while already adorned pies go into a massive stone oven.

Nik ordered a large pepperoni pizza and some breadsticks, and since it’s been at our table—all of three minutes—he has already shoved three huge slices in his mouth.

I can’t stop staring.

Devouring a slice of pizza in two bites. Impressive.

I’ve managed to pick at half of a breadstick, embarrassment from earlier souring my stomach.

“I know it’s probably not the best, you being Italian and all, but this is the closest pizza place around here. The guys and I come here a lot for lunch,” Nik says, before finishing the last bite of his current slice.

“Um, no. It’s good.”

He gives me a pointed look, lifting another slice off the tray. “You haven’t eaten any, Luna. You wouldn’t know.”

I raise the half breadstick and wave it in front of his face. “This is.” I take a large bite to prove my point, and his eyes seem to focus on my mouth as I chew. I snatch a napkin off the table, hiding my lips and the crumbles of parmesan stuck to my face.

Nik snickers and reaches for his phone. I busy myself as he types something out, finishing my bread and scrolling through a bunch of recipes I saved earlier today.

I texted my sister on the way here to make sure she’s holding up okay. She responded that she’s fine, but then my mother and my fatherbothtexted me. They each expressed disappointment I hadn’t given them my new number, and I immediately sent my sister athanks a lot. I received an emoji back with its tongue sticking out.

The bell above the door chimes, and three women, probably in their mid-twenties, walk in. A blonde woman’s eyes widen when she sees Nik, and she beams a smile in his direction.

“Nik! I’ve been calling you the past few days. Where have you been?”

She pops her hip to the side and crosses her arms. Of course, this in turn, lifts her ample cleavage. Nik’s eyes naturally falter there, and I internally roll mine. While I may have hips, my boobs didnotget so lucky.

“I’ve been busy, Sadie.” He grins his charming Nik grin, and she melts in front of him. Her eyes soften, and the irritated glare she pointed at him seconds ago poofs out of existence.

Then, as if only now realizing I’m here, her gaze darts to me, then back to Nik.

“So …” she says, drawing out the O past the acceptable amount of syllables.

“Oh, sorry,” Nik mumbles. “Luna, this is Sadie. Sadie, this is my … this is Luna.” His face wrinkles as he corrects himself mid sentence.

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone,” Sadie says, a hint of anger evident in her voice.

I bristle as a thread of annoyance slithers through me, pulling taut in my belly. I shake my head, willing it gone, but the damage is done. My cheeks heat. I need to get out of here.

“Excuse me. I’m going to use the restroom.” I push up from the table, knocking my cup into my lap in the process. Ice water lands right between my thighs, and I hiss at the shocking, unpleasant sensation.

I grapple with the napkin dispenser, pulling a tree’s worth of paper out to sop up the mess.

Shoot.

None of these napkins are doing the trick. How does a place where you eat food with your hands, not have absorbent napkins?

Nik and Sadie both look at me, her expression annoyed, and Nik—his lips are rolled into a thin line, clearly trying not to laugh. I fight the urge to shove a piece of pizza in his face.

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