Page 12 of Love Spell

“That’s not fair.I mean, how many famous-enough-to-be-translated-into-English Russian novels are even around?Yet your American pick could be one among tens of millions.”

“Okay, I’ll go first —”

“No, I’ll have a guess.”Noah looked at him, frowning, while Timo kept grinning, having moved on from ears and imagining the taste of rum and passion fruit soon to be on Noah’s tongue.

Abruptly, Noah looked away.“You better go first.”

“What were you going to say?”

“Nothing.”

Pause.

Timo arched an eyebrow.

Noah laughed.“Oh, I don’t know.The Talented Mr.Ripleymaybe?”

“American Psycho.”

“No … That’s what I was going to say but … you know.”

“What do I know?”

“That you can’t suggest to your boss thatAmerican Psychomight be his favourite book?”

“We’re talking as friends, Noah.”

Noah’s bewildered expression was back in place as their new drinks arrived.Timo couldn’t decide which was more adorable: scared or confused?Then there was that smile, in those few fleeting moments when he laughed, when he really smiled and it was like a quick slap right in the testosterone.Would Noah hold it against him if he reached over and —?

“To getting to know one another.”Timo lifted his glass.

Noah shyly touched glasses with him, drank, and gasped.“Whoa, that’s …” He coughed.“Strong.”

“Delicious, you mean?Like I said, don’t feel like you have to finish it.But you’re not driving; night’s young; you should be enjoying yourself, Noah.”

“Should I?”His cheeks reddened.“Sorry —” Clearing his throat.“So, uh, you were going to tell me my favourite novel.”

Was Noah or wasn’t he?That was the question.Before those five seconds of eye contact, Timo had been infuriatingly sure he was investing attention in not only a man too young for him, not only in his employ, not only as boring as a sliced baguette but also, worst horror of all, straight.Then the eye contact.Then the laugh.Then the flush because of an entirely unembarrassing bit of impulse speech.Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t.Maybe Alaska was almost as unforgiving as Russia when it came to anything infringing upon the institution of heteronormativity.But Timo wanted Noah to be who he needed so much that he hardly hesitated in his guess.

“Anna Karenina,” Timo said.

Noah’s head snapped back half an inch, a reflex hardly bigger than a micro-expression, less noticeable than a sudden chill.

“How did you know that?”His voice was so hushed Timo barely caught the words in the increasingly loud crowd circulating around bar and tables.“I know there aren’t loads to choose from, but even so …?”

Timo smiled dreamily into his eyes, his own head on one side.It wasn’t that straight men couldn’t go starry-eyed over inane romantic tragedies as much as the next queer, but Timo wasn’t about to second guess his own triumph.

Noah glanced to his left, as if he thought something was behind his head that had captured Timo’s attention.“Are you —?”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing.”

“Naturally.”

Noah winced, took a proper drink.“Should we, you know, join the table?”

“Why?”

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