Page 16 of Night So Silent
“I have—” but then I stop myself and clear my throat. “I used to have a white cat. His name was Roux.”
Sergei looks over his shoulder. “Like the sauce?”
I let out an unexpected laugh. “No, like Johnny Depp’s character from the movie,Chocolát.What’s your cat’s name?”
“Her name is Edie,” he replies. “As in,Scissorhands.”
I still my hand on the cat’s back, frozen with astonishment.
He also named his cat after a Johnny Depp character?
“She scratches everything,” he mutters with a quick glance to the side.
I follow his eyes as they move down to the floor. Everything else in this space is immaculate except for the corner of the sectional, which is all but shredded, with threads hanging in wisps from the frame. I’m not sure why, but I find this incredibly amusing. Maybe because Sergei has such a menacing presence, but a little black cat named Edie Scissorhands can shred his furniture without a second thought. But isn’t that why cats are so wonderful?
They don’t give a fuck.
I run my hand over Edie’s back one more time and rise as she turns and scurries toward the kitchen, hearing the familiar clatter of her food hitting her metal bowl.
“How long does it usually take for the airport to open after a storm like this?” I ask, gazing around at the house that looks like it belongs in Scandinavia, with its clean, sharp lines and minimalistic décor. There’s a wood-burning stove in the corner, much like the one at Brett and Colson’s house, which fills the house with a cozy warmth.
“A couple days,” he shrugs, “and maybe another one or two for the roads to be cleared.”
My eyes round. “Four days?”
“Depends.” He’s so nonchalant about it. “The power usually stays on here, but I have a sat phone for work and emergencies.”
I’m about to ask why he’s so calm about this when it dawns on me that this probably isn’t anything new for someone who’s lived and worked in the Arctic. I can’t remember exactly what he and Colson do, but I think it pertains to security, which also probably explains his total lack of concern. Other than Brett mentioning that it’s Sergei’s company, that’s about as much as I know about it.
Soon, it starts to sink in that even though I’m not stuck at the airport, I also can’t leave this house until the snow clears. And I’m here with a man that seems utterly indifferent to my presence, which is shocking, considering what he said to me on my first night in Gunnison. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been thinking about it—a lot.That is, after I picked my jaw up off the floor and gathered my wits.
What the hell was that?I am never caught off-guard. I listen to some of the most heinous stories all day, but, somehow, Sergei’s casual admission rendered me speechless. Regardless of how inappropriate it was, I’m still intrigued by the Russian leviathan who’s incredibly reserved until he lets something wild slip. Then again, maybe it wasn’t a slip. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who makes mistakes or lacks impulse control.
It makes me keep my guard up, though. Part of me thinks I should’ve stayed at the airport. I don’t need to deal with another unhinged man on such short notice after Caleb’s unsettling reaction to the end of our relationship. But, also, the thought of staying in the airport in limbo overrode my apprehension at the time.
Sergei glances up from the counter. “You can sit down.”
I forgot I was still standing in the middle of his living room. And his invitation sounds more like a command.
“Thanks.”
I slip my boots off next to the front door and make my way to the dining table next to the kitchen, surveying the massive flat screen TV and variety of gaming consoles and controllers neatly tucked onto the shelves below. The windows stretch from floor to ceiling, but there’s nothing but a hurricane of snow visible in the failing light. Between the stormy sky and all the trees, I still can’t get over how quickly it gets dark here in the winter.
“Do you like ramen noodles?” Sergei asks as he moves through the kitchen.
“Uh, yeah, I guess so.”
I know I’m not one to complain right now, but please tell me he doesn’t survive on ultra-processed, pre-packaged meals.
Sergei’s pretty fit, though. Based on the triangular shape of his back and the size of his arms, he must not subsist on total trash. He also has a nice jawline…with short, manicured facial hair…and a darkness around his eyes that make them pop when he looks up…
What was I just thinking about?
Oh yeah…ramen.
“So,” I take a deep breath, trying to focus on something else, “did you finish your book?”
“Yes,” he replies, not looking up as he continues back and forth from the pantry and refrigerator. “It was a quick read. Very engaging.”
