Page 11 of Salvation

That brief touch sent electricity racing up my arm. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to focus on the vegetable and not on the heat of his body so close to mine.

Whisper’s words echoed in my head: Be honest with him. But how could I form words when my pulse hammered at the base of my throat, when every fiber of my being seemed drawn to him like a magnet?

We worked in silence for several minutes, the only sounds the rhythmic chopping of knives and the sizzle of oil heating in the pan. I snuck glances at him when I thought he wouldn’t notice -- the concentration in his brow as he sliced the chicken into perfect strips, the play of muscles in his forearms, the way his dark hair curled slightly at his collar.

When our hips bumped as we both reached for the cutting board, I nearly jumped.

“Sorry,” we said in unison, then shared an awkward smile.

“Cramped space,” Salvation murmured, stepping back to give me room.

But I didn’t want room. I wanted closer. The realization shocked me with its intensity.

“It’s fine,” I said, my voice sounding strange to my own ears. “I don’t mind.”

His gaze met mine, something dark and questioning in their depths. Had he spoken with someone too? Something felt different about him tonight -- a tension in his shoulders, a deliberateness to his movements that hadn’t been there before.

We continued preparing the meal, orbiting each other in the small kitchen like planets caught in each other’s gravity. When he reached past me for the salt, his chest brushed against my shoulder. When I moved to the sink, he shifted to let me pass, his hand briefly settling on my waist to steady me. Each touch, however fleeting, left my skin burning.

The stir-fry sizzled in the pan, filling the kitchen with the aroma of garlic and ginger. Salvation stirred it with practiced ease, adding soy sauce and a splash of something from a bottle I didn’t recognize.

“We need the red pepper flakes,” he said, glancing at the spice rack mounted on the wall above the stove. “For heat.”

I followed his gaze to the small jar on the highest shelf -- just out of my reach. “I’ll get it.”

I stretched up on my tiptoes, fingers grasping for the jar. It remained stubbornly beyond my reach.

Suddenly, Salvation was behind me, his chest pressed against my back as he reached up. “Here,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “Let me.”

Time seemed to stop. His body caged mine against the counter, solid and warm. I could feel the steady thud of his heart against my back, smell the familiar scent of his soap mixed with leather and something uniquely him. My breath caught in my throat.

He grabbed the jar but didn’t move away. Instead, he lowered his arm slowly, his body still pressed against mine. I turned within the circle of his arms, my back now against the counter, my face tilted up to his.

Our eyes locked. The spice jar dangled forgotten from his fingers.

“Yulia,” he said, my name a rough whisper.

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. All I could do was look up at him, at the question in his eyes, at the way his gaze dropped to my lips. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in. My eyes fluttered closed, my heart hammering so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

I felt the heat of his breath against my lips, the slightest brush of contact --

“Is dinner ready yet? I’m starving!”

Clover’s voice shattered the moment like glass. We sprang apart, Salvation nearly dropping the spice jar as he stepped back. I turned to the stove, my cheeks burning, hands shaking as I pretended to check the food.

“Five more minutes,” Salvation answered, his voice unnaturally gruff. “Just finishing up.”

I risked a glance at him. His jaw was tight, frustration evident in the set of his shoulders as he added the red pepper flakes to the pan. When our eyes met briefly, I saw something smoldering there that made my stomach flip.

Clover leaned against the doorframe, looking between us with narrowed eyes. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No,” we said in unison, too quickly.

Her lips curved into a knowing smile. “Right. Sure, I didn’t.” She pushed away from the doorframe. “I’ll set the table, then.”

As she gathered plates from the cabinet, I continued stirring the stir-fry, trying to calm my racing heart. So close. We’d been so close. And from the heated look Salvation had given me, the moment hadn’t been one-sided.

“Almost done?” he asked quietly, coming to stand beside me again.

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