Page 84 of Ivory Ashes

I grit my teeth. “What is funny?”

“You sat behind your desk this morning and accused me of being needy.”

And now, I’m the one laying claim to her, demanding she never even thinks about another man, let alone touches one. Ironic.

Twelve hours ago, I was trying to pull away from Viviana and get some distance to clear my head. Now, she’s in the seat next to me and it isn’t close enough. She’ll never be close enough.

“And?” I snap.

Viviana smirks. “Nothing. I just find it funny, that’s all.”

There’s nothing funny about the chaos churning in my head or that, despite it all, I want her on top of me.

No, this isn’t funny. It’s a fucking mess is what it is. A mess I need to get out of now.

I’ll dump Viviana at home and go clear my head with a run. Just a light, easy half-marathon. If my feet aren’t numb and bleeding by the time I’m done, I didn’t go far enough or fast enough.

Next to me, Viviana’s stomach rumbles, cutting through the noise in my head.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

Probably because that asshole neighbor took her for coffee when he should have taken her for dinner.

She shrugs. “A bit.”

Instantly, I take the next right and head in the opposite direction of home. “I know a good place.”

30

VIVIANA

Up until the moment we walk through the front door and into the small Colombian café on the corner, I’m positive Mikhail is going to fake me out at the last second and whisk me away to some secret, fancy restaurant.

It would be more believable that a restaurant with three Michelin stars exists in some Mary-Poppins-like fold between buildings than to think that he is taking me to dinner at a place where you order at the counter.

“They call numbers here,” I whisper in awe as we wait in line. “They’re going to give us a number on a little piece of paper.”

“I’m aware,” he drawls.

More people come in behind us. A couple of teenagers laugh and shove each other. Half the tables in the cramped dining room are already taken by families or friends sitting around pitchers of beer.

Mikhail didn’t rent the building out for us. He isn’t trying to pay off the rest of the patrons to hurry up and leave.

And when the woman behind the counter hands him his receipt and tells him to step to the side to wait, he just nods and shifts over to wait for our food.

Huh?

“You’ve been here before?”

“It’s Raoul’s favorite spot in the city. He makes us eat here every time we’re in the neighborhood. They have great empanadas.”

Mikhail doesn’t want another man to touch me for the rest of my life.

Mikhail likes empanadas.

I gather up the random scraps of information and tuck them away like a squirrel hoarding acorns for winter. I don’t know when Mikhail is going to shut down again and pull away, so I have to get as much out of him as I can while I’m able.

A man calls our number and Mikhail grabs a plastic tray with our plates on it. He places a hand low on my back and directs me to a table. I sit down on a pea-green vinyl chair and pray the mess between my legs isn’t leaking onto my skirt.

---