“But you didn’t. You made fun of me, and you put me in my place and you opened up to me about things you don’t talk about to anyone. You trusted me enough to bring down the walls you’d built. You allowed me to see the real you and you liked me for me.”

“Loved,” I interrupted.

“You loved me for me,” he corrected before dropping a kiss on my nose. “I’m not leaving you. I’m not cheating on you. I am in love with you. It’s very hard to get a Russian man to back down once he finds his true love.”

I raised an eyebrow, cocking my head to one side.

“You didn’t know this about Russians?” he asked, the skin around his eyes wrinkling.

“I thought you were stoic badasses?”

“Yes, we are until it comes to love. In love, we are passionate and stubborn. My father was thirteen when he met my mother. He fell in love that day and never, ever had a second thought. I never understood it until I met you.”

“You have to leave tonight, don’t you?” I asked.

He nodded. “I have to meet the team in Pittsburgh.”

“I’m so proud of you.” I squeezed him. “Go kick some Penguins ass!”

It wasn’t about me right now. It was about him. His accomplishment. His life’s work all cumulating to this point in time. He deserved to enjoy it and be excited about leaving, instead of worrying about my insecurities.

“I love you, Audushka.” Aleksandr leaned in thisclose to my face, stopping shy of my lips. He understood my need to be in control. He wanted me to close the gap. He wanted me to trust in his love. I could feel his breath on my face, his lips hovering in front of mine.

“I love you, Sasha.” I leaned in, meeting his lips with my own.

Chapter 17

“Nasty,” I grumbled, wiping my gravy-covered hand on the towel I had draped over my shoulder. After I had gotten most of the congealed brown slime off, I resumed my task, placing dirty dishes into a large plastic bin sitting on the table I was cleaning.

“Saving that for later, sweetie? I can get Chef to make you a plate, you know?” Loretta, one of my fellow servers, joked, plucking a large chunk of bread off my rear end as she passed.

“Ha-ha,” I said, but I did laugh as I straightened up, hefting the bin of dishes off the table and carrying it through the kitchen doors. How the hell had a roll gotten stuck to my ass?

I’d been back at school for over a month. It had been a month and a half since I’d seen Aleksandr. He was still in Charlotte playing for the Aviators, which was amazing for him but hard on me. The original objections I had for not getting involved with him in the first place were pounding in my head. Separation was inevitable, whether he got called to Charlotte or not. There was no hockey team in my dinky little college town, and I couldn’t transfer anywhere in my junior year.

Absence must be easier for my brain to comprehend when I’m the one walking away.

How could I even think about transferring schools for someone I’d known for a little over a month? Thank goodness I’d never been in love before. I probably would have been on the first season of Teen Mom.

“Apple pie, coffee, and a fruit plate, right?” I asked my grandparents, who had taken a seat in one of the booths in my section at Johnny’s. They were in town looking at apartments. They’d put their house in Detroit on the market after the first of the year and would be moving to Bridgeland when the house sold. Slower pace. Closer to me? And I fantasized about moving to wherever Aleksandr happened to be. Guess I missed the Number One Granddaughter Award. Again.

“Did you get your loan check?” Grandpa asked. For someone who wasn’t helping me pay for college, he was overly concerned about my finances.

I was well aware of my grandparents’ stance on financing higher education. If I wanted to pursue anything past a high school diploma, I was on my own. I’d been okay with that because I’d had my small athletic scholarship to play soccer. The academic scholarship I received for my grades and test scores, coupled with student loans, covered the rest of my expenses.

Grandpa was concerned for me because I’d lost my soccer scholarship, but having to answer to someone not helping fund my education annoyed the shit out of me.

“Should be here any day,” I told him. “I saved most of the money from translating for Aleksandr.” Then I added, “I do well here, you know.”

“What about that opening at the steakhouse Kristen told you about?” he pressed.

I should never have told him about that. Johnny’s Diner was my first waitressing job. Sure, tips would be bigger at the steakhouse, but the diner opened only for breakfast and lunch, so the hours were great for working around my class schedule.

“It’s always busy during my shifts. Good tips and quick turnover work for me. Plus, I’ve got customers that come back just to see me.” I winked at my grandma.

“I’m sure you do,” she said, glancing at my purple shirt. Did my grandma just check out my rack?

“Hey! I’m the reason you guys will be regulars, right?” I asked, casting my eyes downward to make sure my uniform polo was buttoned up. Didn’t want my grandparents to think I got my tips in shady ways.

“No, Audushka, it’s the cooking. You can’t get home-cooked food like this at those chain joints,” Grandpa said as he perused Johnny’s menu. His wheels were turning, probably planning on dragging my grandma back here tomorrow before they left town.

He hated chain restaurants. He loved dumpy little dinners like this one claiming they served “home-cooked” meals. My grandma dealt with it because she hated to cook. Don’t get me wrong, she cooked throughout my childhood, but once Grandpa retired, her cooking became scarce. I had a feeling that once they moved to Bridgeland, they would be eating out quite a bit. I didn’t blame her. Almost forty years of putting meals on the table had to have gotten old.

“I have to run and get an order. I’ll be right back.” I spun around, flitting to another table, letting the two older men sitting there know I would be right back with their lunches.

When I pushed back through the doors of the kitchen with the sandwiches, I noticed another one of my regulars had taken his place at a table in the back of the restaurant. It was the same table he always chose, back against the wall, facing the restaurant. I figured it was a cop thing.

Jason Taylor had become a regular after we’d met at Aleksandr’s game. In our short interactions, I’d uncovered a few things about the strapping hunk of law-enforcement eye candy. He’d moved to Bridgeland after graduating from college because he didn’t want to be a cop in Detroit. Said he wanted to help people. He came from a big family. And he coached a youth hockey team in town.

“Be right with you, Officer,” I called, flashing him a smile as I delivered the sandwiches. I wouldn’t call him a friend, but we got along well and he was a good tipper.

Jason waved in acknowledgment.

“Who is that, Audushka?” my grandpa asked, staring at Jason.

“Officer Taylor. He’s another regular,” I told him as I filled a glass for Jason. Cola, no ice. Every time.

“Are you gonna switch it up today?” I teased, setting Jason’s drink in front of him. He always ordered a Cola without ice and a club sandwich with mustard instead of mayo.

Jason smiled and shook his head. “Not today.”

“Come on, man, live a little.” I winked as I jotted his order onto my little green pad. I wasn’t interested in him, but he was too cute not to flirt with. I spun around and took the ticket to the kitchen.

My grandpa was still staring at Jason when I came back to the table with my grandparents’ desserts.

“Dedushka, please stop looking at him. He could arrest you, or something,” I said, though I’m sure Jason couldn’t arrest him for staring. But he could stop eating at Johnny’s, and I could lose a regular customer who tipped me well.