Page 11 of Your Sharpest Edge
“But you already made them,” I said to myself.
I grabbed three Tupperware from the top drawer. If I kept all these cookies here, I wasn’t sure Dimitri would appreciate all the sweets. Deciding to leave the cookies at Dirks’s front door for when they returned, I imagined they would make a nice late-night snack after a few drinks. The second container was for my husband, and the last one was for... Alexsey. It was, of course, only fair to include him since he invited us into his home.
“He’s probably out with them.” I reasoned aloud.
I packaged up the two boxes, leaving the third one on the counter for Dimitri, and then headed out the door.
Despite their apparent gratitude for the meal I had prepared earlier, a sense of melancholy swept over me as I looked at the cookies. Delivering these cookies seemed childish, but I was lonely, and baking provided a small comfort in an otherwise miserable life.
Logically, I knew my mother was responsible for this situation. She had sent me here and insisted that getting married was for the best. I understood she only wanted better for me than what she had growing up. Her parents struggled to put food on the table, and it wasn’t until she married my father that she saw real financial opportunities. They both worked hard, bought an apartment together, and moved me to the city so I could pursue a future in skating.
As the elevator doors slid open, announcing my arrival on Alexsey and Dirks’s floor, I released a wary sigh. Since I’d already gone to the trouble of baking the cookies, I might as well deliver them, even if they found the gesture peculiar. Without labeling the containers with my name, I hoped they might be perceived as a gift from an anonymous well-wisher.
The hallway stretched out before me, its walls adorned with tasteful artwork and mirrors reflecting the soft glow of the sconces. Plush carpeting dampened the sound of my footsteps as I made my way down the hall.
I left the container at Dirks’s door, the very one he had pointed out to me when we had left after dinner earlier in the evening, suggesting I invite him over if I were cooking dinner again. Moving to the adjacent door, I heard faint sounds emanating from his apartment, likely what sounded like a television.
Drawing nearer to the door, I strained to discern any indication of movement, listening intently for the telltale soundof footsteps. I heard something, so I put my ear closer to the door.
Suddenly, the front door swung open, and I let out a startled shriek as my body pitched forward. In the split second before I hit the ground, a strong pair of arms enveloped me, preventing a painful collision with the floor. Yet, despite the rescue, the container of cookies slipped from my grasp, its contents scattering across the hallway in a chaotic display of chocolate chips and dough.
I glanced up, still reeling from the sudden turn of events, and found myself face-to-face with the man who had caught me. His thick build and powerful arms exuded strength, each muscle defined beneath the fabric of his shirt. But it was the warmth in his gaze that captivated me the most, a gentle concern mingled with a hint of amusement dancing in the depths of his eyes.
Drawing a shaky breath, I took in the details of his appearance—the rugged jawline, the slight stubble dusting his cheeks, and the tousled strands of hair that framed his face. There was an undeniable magnetism about him, an aura of confidence and reassurance that seemed to radiate from his very being.
But it was his scent that truly enveloped me, wrapping around me like a comforting embrace.
For a moment, we remained locked in each other’s gaze, the air thick with surprise.
With a soft chuckle, he spoke, his voice a soothing melody that washed over me like a gentle breeze. “Are you alright?” he asked, his concern genuine as he helped me to my feet.
“How did you know I was out here?” I asked.
He laughed as I pulled away from him, steadying myself.
He slowly grabbed my shoulders, turning me around so we were staring into the hallway, and gestured to a little camera doorbell next to his door.
“This guy. It alerted me that I had someone stopping by the door, and then I couldn’t see who it was?—”
“Because my body was blocking the view,” I finished for him, and he shrugged like I’d gotten the right answer.
“The better question is, are you okay?” He looked down at the mess on the floor, and I was so embarrassed.
This was so fucking stupid. I should have never come here.
“I’m fine, just a bit clumsy,” I replied, gesturing toward the scattered cookies on the floor. “I’m so sorry.”
His lips turned into a smile, but I was spiraling. “Wait.” I darted out of the door and then grabbed the container I’d left at Dirks’s door. I quickly ran back and handed him the Tupperware.
“I made these for both of you, but since he’s not even here, he doesn’t even know. So, I’m insisting that you have this to make up for my mess.” I paused, taking a deep breath. “Which, by the way, I’m absolutely going to clean up.”
Pushing past him, I made a beeline for the kitchen, where I spotted the paper towel holder sitting on the counter. Grabbing a bunch, I suddenly realized that he might use reusable ones for his messes, so I was already messing up. He stood there with his hands in his pockets and a smirk playing on his cheeks until he saw me, at which point I immediately burst into tears.
“I’m so sorry,” I kept repeating.
“Hey,” he whispered and came around to wrap me into his arms. “It’s okay.”
I slowed my breaths, trying to stop my tears, but he didn’t let go. He rested his chin on my hair and nuzzled into me.
