Page 141 of Eternal
It does something to me. It shouldn’t sound good. It shouldn’t make my hands itch to touch her. It shouldn’t make my pulse stutter.
But it does.
I clench my jaw, forcing myself to focus. This is a mission. A target. A job.
She’s nothing.
She can’t beanything.
I repeat it over and over as I lean against the counter, watching her work. She moves with so much ease. “What are you making?”
She glances at me over her shoulder, her braid swaying with the motion. “Mansaf.”
I’m already half-focused on the way her hands move effortlessly, gracefully. But then she says the word, and I catch it.
I raise a brow. “That supposed to mean something to me?”
She huffs a small laugh, shaking her head. “Figures. It’s Jordanian.”
Jordanian. She’s Jordanian? What the hell’s she doing with the bratva if she’s not Russian? But then she adds, almost under her breath, “It’s my mom’s favorite dish.”
And for some goddamn reason, the way she says it hits me. Something raw. A tenderness I wasn’t expecting. Something sofragile, I can't stop myself from leaning in a little.
She’s cooking her mom's favorite dish... and she’s going to share it withme…
“Used to make it for every celebration, every big moment when she was still cooking.”
I open my mouth to say something, anything, to tell her I get it. But I stop myself. What do I know about losing someone? What the fuck could I offer?
Instead, I ask the question I already know the answer to, even though I shouldn’t. “You close with her?”
Her hands slow as she stirs the pot, and for a moment, I wonder if she’ll even answer. Then she does, softly, with a smile. “She’s gone.”
Fuck me.
It’s too much. Not because I didn’t know it, but because hearing it is different. Hearing it makes it real. It makes me want to… hug her?
And maybe that’s why I take a step closer.
I don’t think about it. I just do it. Like I need to be sure she’s still here, still whole.
She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away, she keeps stirring.
“Partner, you wanna talk about it?”
She huffs a laugh, shaking her head. “You make it sound like I’m sad about it.”
That smile… It's light, easy. A little too easy. I know what it means. In Voron’s alphabet, this is her way of saying drop it. That she hates talking about shit like this. That she thinks I’m gonna judge her for whatever the hell is running through her head.
Which I won’t.
I smile, exhaling through my nose. “What? You don’t think I’m capable of sympathy? You wound me.”
Her grin tugs wider. “No, I don’t. I think you’re too busy making sure everyone isn’t human enough for your sympathy.”
I roll my shoulders, shaking off the way her words hit me. “Maybe I don’t like people at all.”
She glances at me and shakes her head. “Well, you’re about tolikeme.” She nods toward the pot with a proud smirk. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll let you eat at my place more often.”
