Page 23 of Sweet Dreams

Yuri's expression softened. He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "It's my pleasure, moye solnyshko. Now, finish your breakfast. We have a busy day of espionage and pastry sampling ahead of us."

An hour later, they were strolling hand in hand through the bustling Christmas market. The air was filled with the scent of spiced wine and fresh-baked goods, colorful stalls lining the streets as far as the eye could see.

"Oh, Yuri," Beth breathed, taking it all in. "It's magical."

Yuri squeezed her hand, his eyes crinkling as he smiled down at her. "Just wait until you taste the food. Come, I know just where to start."

He led her to a stall manned by a jolly-looking woman with rosy cheeks. A sign proclaimed "Babushka's Best Bakery" in both Russian and English.

"Ah, Yuri!" the woman exclaimed. "It's been too long! And who is this lovely young lady?"

"Privet, Anya," Yuri greeted her warmly. "This is Beth. She's visiting from America and happens to be an excellent baker herself."

Beth felt herself blush at the compliment. "It's nice to meet you," she said, suddenly shy.

Anya's eyes twinkled. "An American baker! How delightful. You must try my pryaniki. They're an old family recipe."

As Anya bustled about, preparing a sampler plate, Yuri leaned down to whisper in Beth's ear. "Anya makes the best Christmas cookies in all of Belarus. If anyone can give you ideas for your competition, it's her."

Beth nodded, touched by Yuri's thoughtfulness. Beth’s professional interest was piqued when Anya returned with a plate piled high with intricately decorated cookies.

She bit into one, and her eyes widened. "Oh, my goodness," she mumbled around the mouthful. "These are incredible."

Anya beamed. "You're too kind. Now, tell me about your bakery in America. What sort of treats do you make?"

As Beth launched into a description of Sweet Dreams, she felt Yuri's arm slip around her waist. He listened intently,occasionally chiming in with a comment or question. Beth was struck by how genuinely interested he seemed in her work.

They spent the next few hours exploring the market, sampling treats from various stalls, and chatting with the bakers. Yuri seemed to know everyone, effortlessly translating and making introductions.

By early afternoon, Beth's head was spinning with new ideas, and her stomach was pleasantly full. They found a quiet corner near a roaring fire pit, settling onto a bench with steaming cups of mulled wine.

"So," Yuri said, his arm draped casually over her shoulders, "do you think you've gathered enough intel for your baking spectacular?"

Beth nodded, leaning into him. "Definitely. I can't wait to try out some of these techniques when I get home. Thank you for this, Yuri. It's been amazing."

Yuri pressed a kiss to her temple. "I'm glad. Although," he added, a hint of sadness creeping into his voice, "I have to admit, I'm not looking forward to you leaving."

Beth felt her heart clench. She'd been trying not to think about the end of her trip, about having to say goodbye to Yuri. "Me neither," she admitted softly.

They sat in contemplative silence for a moment, the reality of their situation settling over them like a heavy blanket. Then Yuri straightened up with a determined look in his eye.

"Well then," he said, his voice full of forced cheer, "I suppose we'll just have to make the most of the time we have left. What do you say we head back to the hotel, warm up a bit, and then I'll take you out for a proper Belarusian dinner?"

Beth smiled, pushing aside her melancholy thoughts. "That sounds perfect."

As they made their way back through the market, hand in hand, Beth found herself stealing glances at Yuri. She wonderedwhat would happen after she left.Would she feel the same way? Would he?

For now, she decided, she'd focus on enjoying every moment with Yuri. The future, with all its complications and uncertainties, could wait. After all, they still had a few days left of their Belarusian Christmas adventure.

And she intended to make every second count.

Eleven

The hotel room was illuminated by the gentle flicker of candlelight, creating a dance of shadows on the walls. Beth stood by the window, watching snowflakes in the streetlights below. Behind her, she heard the pop of a champagne cork.

"To unexpected adventures," Yuri's voice was low and warm as he handed her a flute of bubbling champagne.

Beth turned, her breath catching at the sight of him. Yuri had changed for dinner, trading his casual day wear for a crisp white shirt and dark slacks. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, offering a tantalizing glimpse of his collarbone.

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