“I am.” She kissed his cheek, enjoying the prickle of his short scruff against her lips. “You look nice.”
“Yeah, well—” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I came down in jeans, and the boss sent me back up to change.”
She fingered the collar of his crisp blue dress shirt. “This color looks great on you.”
He gave her a shy smile and wound one of her curls around his finger. “Reminds me of you.” His fingertip brushed her earlobe. “I like being reminded.”
His touch triggered a smorgasbord of sensations—flutters and tingles and a flush of heat. Who knew ears could be such an erogenous zone?
“Are you done kissing?” Alina called. “Dinner’s getting cold.”
Eddie rolled his eyes and whispered, “Sorry.”
Surrendering to a foolish impulse, Rosie slipped her finger inside his collar, tugged him forward, and pressed her lips to his. Just a quick, chaste peck. “There. Now we’re done.”
Eddie flushed and blinked, then grinned. “You’re really good at this fake dating thing.”
“Anything to help a friend.” He looked so adorably flabbergasted that she kissed him again.
Alina popped her head through the door frame. “Enough, already. Let’s eat.”
They sat on opposite sides of the table—just as well, since that removed the temptation to nudge him whenever something struck her as funny, which was often.
Alina preened as she cut into the monstrous pastry. “Kulebyaka,” she intoned. “My grandmother’s recipe.”
“So fancy,” Rosie said. “Smells marvelous.”
Alina plated a thick slice, using the spatula to point out the layers. “Pastry, beef and rice, pancakes, egg and rice, pancakes, mushrooms and onions, pancakes, pastry.” She passed the plate, then watched as Rosie forked up a big bite.
“Mmmm. Delish.” It really was, thank God. Sour cream and dill gave the carb-and-meat bomb a silkiness that belied its heft.
Eddie mouthed “thank you” and dug in.
While Vadim silently plowed through his meal, Alina peppered Rosie with questions about her family, her artwork, and whether Eddie was as quiet at Bangers as he was at home. “A shy little mouse, our Eduard.” She leaned in and stage-whispered, “Between you and me, I was surprised to see him so taken with a colorful girl like you.”
“Mama,” Eddie groaned.
She batted away her son’s objections. “What? That’s not an insult. I like her.”
Poor Eddie squirmed in his seat. She knew that feeling well from dinners with her extended family.
“Eddie’s given me some great ideas for my art portfolio. Speaking of which—” She pulled her phone from her skirt pocket. “I’d love to take some photos of this tablecloth. The design would make a—it’s very interesting.” Better not to rub the tattoo business in their faces.
Alina dropped her fork onto her plate with a clatter. “No problem.” She clapped her hands. “Fellas, clear the table, please. I’m going to give Miss Rosie a tour of the house.”
Eddie’s brow rumpled. “Mama, please don’t—”
“My house, my rules.” She patted her son’s cheek. “You can show her your place later.”
Vadim coughed into his fist. “She’s already seen it.”
Rosie bet her cheeks flamed just as bright as Eddie’s.
Alina linked her arm through Rosie’s and towed her toward the hallway. “First, my sewing room.”
The little room’s shelves were stuffed with neatly folded cloth in every color, an expensive-looking Pfaff sewing machine, and a dress form displaying a chiffon gown in deep aubergine. Alina fingered the half-finished jacket. “For my niece’s wedding. The bride, she likes purple.” She nudged Rosie with her hip. “As soon as this is finished, I’ll start on a purple baby quilt.” She pantomimed a pregnant bulge. “I hope you and Eddie are more careful.”
Despite her distractibility, Rosie was scrupulously careful with birth control. Still, Alina’s comment left her spluttering. “I, uh, we—”
“Of course you are.” The older woman grabbed her arm. “Now, we go upstairs.”
A loud clatter rang out from the kitchen.
“Eddie, get the dessert from the fridge, please. Come, Rosie.”
The stairway wall was a patchwork of family photos: a much younger Alina and Vadim on a dance floor, gazing raptly into each other’s eyes, stiff wedding photos, and shots of little Eddie, a solemn, skinny tot with huge brown eyes and unruly curls. Alina tapped a frame. “Always so serious, our Eddie. I expect great things from him.” She shot Rosie a sharp glance that melted into a smile when they reached the top. “And this is Eddie’s room.”
He wasn’t kidding—the room really was a shrine stuffed with trophies, framed certificates, photos, and ribbons. A twin bed with a faded Spider-Man comforter held well-loved cuddly toys, including a threadbare Incredible Hulk.
Footsteps pounded up the stairs. “Mama, wait.”
Puffing, Eddie burst into the room. “Do we really have to do this tonight?”
Alina lifted her chin. “Son, if you care about this girl enough to bring her to our family table, you care enough to show her your trophies.”
He slipped an arm around Rosie, buried his face in the crook of her neck, and murmured, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she whispered back and rubbed her cheek against his soft, soft hair. “Your mom’s adorable.”
“Which year was this, Eddie?” Alina pointed to a trophy depicting a snarling wrestler.
Eddie sighed. “Junior year.”
“State champion in his weight class.” Alina whacked his arm. “You didn’t tell her? His coach called him Volkov the Vicious. Look here.” She pulled a framed newspaper clipping from the kid-sized desk and pressed it into Rosie’s hands.
“Wow. Very impressive.” A teen Eddie growled at the camera, neck corded and biceps bulging. Skinny, yes, but muscly and fierce, and sexy as hell in a singlet that left nothing to the imagination. Even back then, he packed an impressive package. She read aloud, “Stadium High student brings home state championship again…” A hundred thirty-two pounds? Her stomach lurched. God help me.
Eddie pried the frame from her fingers and set it face-down on the desk. “Nothing like a photo of me looking like a plucked
