Page 42 of Tattooed Vow

“Also, excellent coffee and passable eggs. The full breakfast experience,” I remark, pulling open utensil drawers.

His lips quirk in what seems to be a genuine smile. It transforms his face, softening the hard edges and making him look younger, almost boyish. “I'll believe it when I see it.”

I set to work, determined to prove myself. But the unfamiliar kitchen and the intensity of his gaze make me clumsy. Ten minutes later, I burn the eggs and spill the coffee. Dimitri plucks the spatula from my hand, stifling a laugh.

“I see your talents lie elsewhere,” he teases, his voice warm in a way I hadn't heard before.

“Shut up,” I pout, folding my arms.

He takes over, cooking eggs with herbs and butter, and the result is far better than it has any right to be. I watch him move around the kitchen with unexpected grace, adding touches of seasoning I wouldn't have thought of. For a moment, it is possible to forget why we are here. To pretend this is just a mountain getaway with a handsome man who happens to cook breakfast for me.

But then he pauses to look out the window, scanning the tree line, and reality crashes back in.

We eat side by side at the little table as if we’d done it a hundred times before. It feels natural. Too natural. That is the problem. The warmth, the quiet, the way his presence settles next to mine like it belongs there. It all feels like something I can get used to, and that scares the hell out of me. I’m not built for comfort like this. I’ve spent so long relying on only myself that the ease makes me want to pull away, though part of me aches to stay.

Later, I read near the fireplace while Dimitri cleans his gun. The scent of oil and metal mingles with woodsmoke, and the soft click of his movements is oddly soothing. We don’t speak much, but I feel every second like its own kind of conversation.

The rhythm of his hands as they work, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, the occasional glance he'll send my way when he thinks I’m not looking. It all speaks volumes in a language I’m just beginning to understand.

At one point, I catch him watching me. “What?” I ask.

“You’re different than I expected.”

I dog-ear the page I’m reading and set the book aside. “Better or worse?”

“More dangerous,” he states matter-of-factly.

I blink in surprise. “Me?”

He nods. “You’re smart and observant. You see people.”

“Most people don’t consider that dangerous.”

“They should,” he says, sucking on his front teeth. “Seeing people—really seeing them—means you see their weaknesses, their fears. The things they hide.”

“And what do I see in you?” I ask, my heart hammering in my chest.

His eyes hold mine, intense and unyielding. “Everything I've tried to forget.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t know how to navigate the current, which seems to be pulling us inevitably closer.

As night falls, the fire glows brighter. Dimitri tosses another log into the hearth and sits on the floor, one knee bent, forearm resting casually across it. The light flickers over his face, softening the harsh lines and highlighting the scar that curves beneath his jawline.

I find myself wondering how he got it. Wondering about all the stories written on his skin in scars.

“You keep looking at me like you want to say something,” he murmurs.

I hesitate, then decide the truth is all I have to offer. “You scare me…in a way I can’t explain,” I whispered.

“Good,” he says quietly. “I scare myself sometimes, too.”

I stand slowly, my hands shaking just a little, and cross to where he sits. The fire crackles, but the heat in the room has very little to do with it.

“I don’t know what this is,” I breathe.

“It doesn’t have to be anything.” His voice is a low rumble that I feel in my chest.

“But it already is.” I cup his face, my fingers brushing the stubble along his jaw, and kiss him deeply. His hands hover at my waist but don’t pull me closer like he knows I need to be in control.

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