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“Where have you been keeping yourself, tovarisch?”

“Here an’ there, Petey.”

“Is that a new shirt?”

“Yep.”

“Hm.” Logan was working cleanly through another set of reps on the lat pull bench. He looked like he’d had a recent haircut. In fact, Piotr mused, Logan looked different altogether. Not to mention, distracted.

“How’s work?”

“Good.”

“How’s the bike running?”

“Good.” He continued to lift through, beginning to strain a bit through his fifth set. He selected an additional weight plate and began breathing more harshly through his nose. His face was still calm and tranquil despite his efforts.

“How’s the weather on Mars?”

“Good…hey!”

“That’s what I thought,” Piotr grinned. “And how’s Ororo?”

“Shit. Like I didn’t see that comin’,” he huffed, leaning down to grab his towel and scrub at his hair and neck. He sat back up and tightened the Velcro on his weight gloves and flexed his fingers. “Ro’s doin’ fine. Just skippy. She just landed a big client and she’s redesigning their travel and leisure portal. We’re goin’ out tonight ta celebrate. She wants ta take in that new Hugh Jackman flick.”

“Figures. Every woman I know loves that guy,” Piotr grimaced.

“Eh.”

“She seems nice.” He nodded at the jersey Logan had on. “Did she pick that out?”

“Yeah,” Logan chuckled. “I didn’t have the heart ta tell her I’m more of a ‘winter.’” The shirt was Lycra knit and molded to the planes and bulging muscles of his torso, and it was a bold shade of garnet red. Secretly, he’d been tickled with the gift, and with how she carried on when he tried it on for her. Not to mention how she’d taken it back off of him…Logan flushed at the memory of the shirt and everything else he had on ending up in a puddle in the corner of the bedroom.

“It could have been worse, my friend.” Piotr approached the rack of dumbbells and selected a pair of twenty-fives. He assumed his stance with textbook-perfect posture and began shrugs, his trapezius muscles rippling in a smooth, broad arc. Piotr thought back to the day that Laynia told him it was over. He went through his drawers and began cleaning out “girlfriend gifts” gone wrong. Red silk boxers with hearts. Cotton boxers with cartoon characters on them. A pair of paisley dress socks. A necktie that looked like something a used car salesman would wear. Matching his-and-hers tee shirts; he’d only worn his once. Black cotton briefs that were too snug and that made him feel like “beefcake” whenever he was down to that as his last pair before he had to do laundry.

The only thing he ended up keeping was a bottle of cologne that was down to its last gasp, and a gold pinkie ring that they’d picked out together for Valentine’s Day. He wore it every now and again, if he was already getting dressed up, or even if he didn’t feel like feminine attention when he went out. Jewelry was the quickest, easiest feminine repellent. Nothing said “I’m still obsessed over my ex, come share my baggage” like a promise ring.

“Stop doing that,” Piotr grunted at Logan’s reflection in the mirror.

“What?”

“Looking so happy and sappy like that.”

“Fucker.”

“S’true.”

“Man,” Logan sighed. “It’s some crazy shit. She’s great. We’re havin’ a ball. I keep waiting for someone to pop it with a pin and let it blow up in my face.”

“That’s what you’re not supposed to do. That’s usually when it does blow up in your face.”

“She’s different. She’s awesome.” Then another memory tickled Logan. “And she’s hella funny. She had me in stitches, doing her impersonation of Dave Chappelle, in that episode of his show where’s all like, ‘I’m Rick James, bitch!’ Man, I love that.”

“Sounds like you’ve been spending a lot of time with her.”

“Yeah, no shit. More often than not. It ain’t even a matter of when she wants me ta call her. Half the time, she’s at my place just as I’m gettin’ off of my shift. It’s weird, though.”

“What?”

“She usually hangs out with her friends and goes shopping with ‘em. Movies. That kinda thing. Girl shit. I don’t have any problem with that. But lately, it seems like she hasn’t been hanging out with Summers’ wife, Jeannie.”

“The one with a bug up her butt?”

“Yep.”

“Did she say why?”

“I kinda don’t wanna ask. I talked to Summers at work, and I said I was sorry about throwing down on his porch…”

“Wait…WHAT?”

“Me an’ ‘Ro’s ex got into it at his place. We weren’t expectin’ ta see him there.”

“Who started it?”

“He did, when he laid his lips on ‘Ro after she said we were leavin’. He’s an asshole. He was cheating on her.”

“Nice.” Piotr shook his head in disgust, then resumed his workout, leaning back into the inclined bench and starting his flies.

“Yeah. He was a dumb ass. I even caught him once myself.”

“Wow. Does she know about that?”

“Nope.” Logan’s brow furrowed as he reached for another set of dumbbells. Aerosmith blared from the overhead speakers as the gym’s occupants labored through their lunchtime workouts. “That ain’t something I wanna get into with her yet. The night we hooked up, she told me she found out he’d been stepping out on her, in their bedroom no less. Found panties under the bed.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. Like he needed ta get his jollies with someone else!”

“Did she know who he had been cheating on her for?”

“She never went into detail.”

“Maybe you should ask.”

“I don’t think I wanna know. Sometimes it ain’t so great, havin’ a face ta put to “the other man,” I’ve been on the other end of it before. Sucks.”

“Women are different, tovarisch. They take it personally when you withhold knowledge, even if it seemed like something that wasn’t worth mentioning. It’s like Eve and the apple.” Piotr grunted as he edged his hands up again, feeling the burn in his muscles. The dumbbells clicked together as he finished the lift. “They want to know what you know.”

“I ain’t gonna open that can of worms.”

“Suit yourself.” Piotr finished his set and reached for his bottle of water, taking a hearty pull. His swallows were loud and thirsty. He sucked a bead of water from his upper lip before scanning the gym, then tensed, hissing “Heads up.”

“Eh?”

“Vic.”

“Shit.”

“Whassup, Runt! And Piotr, ya big pussy! What are you fuckers doin’ over here? This ain’t water aerobics!” Piotr winced, then waved. Half the gym seemed to turn their heads toward his bellowing dramatics. They were used to it by now. “Where’ve you been, lazy ass? Yer gettin’ soft, man, ya ain’t been showing up here lately! What’s yer alibi?”

“Fuck off,” Logan muttered good-naturedly. “I only came back cuz I missed yer pretty face.” Logan rolled up his gym towel and snapped it, nailing Victor in the ass.

“GAH! Fucker!” He hissed when Logan zapped him again. Vic came after him, and Logan was ready for it (as usual), dropping into his favorite sparring pose and throwing a few jabs at him. Vic relaxed, shaking his head and grinning at him.

“Asshole. Seriously, where ya been?”

“Working. Hanging out with my girl.”

“Shit, alert the media. Better yet, Rasputin, design him an ad, we’ll plaster it across the buses like ya did with them girly dolls. ‘Local Pussy Ass Gets Some.’” He made blocklike headline gestures with his hands, his smile wolfish.

“Jealous?” Vic huffed. Piotr smothered a chuckle as he resumed his weights.

“That’ll be the day.” Vic motioned for Piotr to come away from his bench and come spot him. Piotr sighed and obliged him as Vic stacked the barbell with one fifty plate after another. “I can get more pussy than you on my worst day, with one hand tied behind my back, wearing a blindfold, and with one busted nut.”

“Damn. That’s one lucky babe, gets herself a piece of that,” Logan deadpanned.

“She got big tits?”

“Ain’t none o’ yer business.”

“She’s stunning,” Piotr chimed in.

“Yeah, but has she got tits?” Piotr sighed. Logan looked ready to stuff his gym towel in Vic’s mouth.

“Ororo’s a fine woman.”

“What kinda name is Ororo?”

“Her mother gave her that name. It’s African. Her people were from Kenya.”

“Hnh. Cool. What’s she look like?” Logan considered that for a moment.

“Really, really tall.” Vic released a bark of laughter.

“Bet the two of ya look like Mutt an’ Jeff!”

“I gotta go,” Logan barked. He stuffed his towel into his duffle, shrugged into his hooded sweatshirt, and waved back to them as he departed. “Gotta meet her soon, before my shift.”

“Get some for me!” Vic yelled after sitting up between his sets for a sip of water. “OW!” He glared up at Piotr, rubbing his head after he clopped him upside it.

“Later, comrade.”


~0~


Piotr had a relatively smooth workout after that, once Vic resumed his own reps without further discussion, except for his usual lecture about how Piotr needed to try his “supplements” if he really wanted to get serious about getting ripped. He shrugged it off, spent a few more minutes defending his job, and headed out. He checked his Palm pilot on his way to his car. He scrolled through his contacts, and found Sage’s number.

He punched it into his razor phone and hit send. He sat behind the steering wheel, fumbling with his air vents and stereo while he waited for her to pick up. One shrill ring. Then two. He adjusted his rearview mirror. Three. He moved his duffle into the back seat. Four…

“Hello?” Her familiar, throaty voice answered him just as his heart had stuttered in his chest with disappointment, thinking he had missed her.

“This is Piotr,” he announced crisply. “Hi.”

“Oh. Hi. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

“I just wanted to see what you were doing today.”

“Not much. Just going through paperwork. Watching a little TV.” As if supporting her claim, clamor from her television cut through the background static of her land line. He heard what sounded like the soundtrack for a children’s toy commercial.

“Sounds like something intellectually stimulating.”

“Hey, don’t knock Spongebob,” she warned him. He chuckled, and felt some of his earlier tension leave his chest.

“Wouldn’t think of it. If you want, you can teach me about his finer points over dinner.”

“Oh…well, I don’t know. I was just going to reheat some leftovers, and ““

“Then reheat them tomorrow. Sage, you know how we had lunch and talked about the possibility of going out on a date, or something like it? Well, I kinda wanted to take you up on that.”

He heard the sound of her footsteps moving through her apartment to turn down the volume on her set.

“Okay, I’m back…you were saying?”

“I’d like to take you out to dinner tonight.” He heard her exhale, and could almost feel the questions on her lips, ready to leap out. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure what to think.” She sighed gustily. “I thought you wanted to be let off the hook from what happened at lunch that day.”

“Maybe I didn’t. Maybe I wasn’t ready to be let off the hook. I’m not sure what you were even letting me off the hook from, now that I think about it.” He exhaled through his nose. “I like you, Sage.” He smoothed his palm over the pantsleg of his canvas sweats. “I like you a lot, and I was thinking it would be nice to spend some time together.”

“On a ‘date’ date?”

“On a ‘date’ date.”

“On one condition, buddy boy.” He held his breath, trying to squelch the bubble of relief and excitement in his gut, thankful that it wasn’t gas. “No regrets. No telling me after the fact ‘We shouldn’t have done this.’ You get one shot. No do-overs. This could be a disaster, but if it is, neither of of us gets to say ‘I told you so.’ None of this business of being ‘awkward’ with each other if it goes sour, no avoiding each other at work, no bullshit. No games. No mincing words. By the end of the night, I want you to be honest with me if you think us spending time together is going to be a problem going forward. Or there will BE no going forward, capice?” Her voice was no-nonsense, and she barked each admonition like a drill seargeant whipping her platoon into shape.

“If you want honesty, I’ve got honesty,” he promised. “That being said…Sage?”

“Yes, Piotr?”

“Wear something black.” He clicked his phone shut and grinned.

Across town, in her tidy two-bedroom apartment, Sage cradled the handset and drew a shaky breath.

“Mama! Want Spongebob! Come watch with me, Mama!”

“Coming, sweetie,” she assured the occupant of her living room, strolling over to sit next to her on the couch. Aliyah scooted closer and lolled her head against her mother’s shoulder, tickling her with her mop of wiry curls.

“They’re gonna sing the Campfire Song song,” she giggled, pointing at the screen. Sage indulged her daughter and began singing the opening bars of the song in question, provoking her daughter to try to cover her mother’s mouth with her chubby little fingers.

“Nooooooo! YOU don’t sing, Mama!”

“But…but I MUST! I absolutely HAVE to!” Sage insisted, grinning at her daughter with the same smile and poking the tip of her nose with hers. She warbled a few bars of the song off-key, sending Aliyah into fits of shrieking laughter.

She mentally kicked herself. Where was she going to find a sitter at this hour?



~0~

Elsewhere:

Eric Lensherr pulled into the driveway and parked his Mercedes inside his three-car garage, relieved to be home. His favorite sweats were calling his name, and Aleytys was making his favorite, pot roast, for dinner. He walked back outside to check his mailbox out front, strolling down the pebbled stepping stones leading over his immaculate lawn.

He extracted a handful of letters and began leafing through them. Bill, bill, bill, statement, bill, credit card offer, bill…a buttercream-colored envelope handwritten in girlish script caught his eye. It was addressed to him, and didn’t look like it came from Wanda. He pondered it thoughtfully as he made his way inside. He decided to save it until after dinner once Aleytys playfully greeted him at the door, making him forget his initial curiosity about the correspondence. His kiss hello from his wife was long and deep.

Yes. It could wait until after dinner.


~0~

“Ororo?”

“Hmm?” Ororo was bent over a mixing bowl, pounding her fist into a mound of fresh bread dough, knocking the air out of it with a satisfying thud. It released the faint aroma of butter and yeast as she began to roll it out onto a floured cutting board and knead it.

“Have ya called Jeannie lately?” She paused in her work a moment, then shook her head.

“No. Why?”

“Just wondering, that’s all. Ya haven’t spoken to her much since that whole thing on her porch.”

“You kicked Pietro’s ass practically on her front doorstep. What am I supposed to say?”

“I already told Scooter I was sorry. Seems like that should make things less ugly, eh?”

“If you like.” She continued to punch the dough.

“Are you two not getting along?”

“Eh.”

“Eh?”

“Eh.” Thud. Whack. Bop. Knead, knead, knead. Whack!

“Why aren’tcha talkin’?”

“Sometimes we don’t talk. No big deal.”

“I saw what looked like a message from her number on the answering machine. Ain’t ya gonna call her back?”

“No. Not really.”

“Er, ‘Ro, not like I wanna tell ya how ta be with yer friends, but ain’t she yer best friend?” WHACK! She dough was doubled up and pummeled into a sorry heap as her shoulders sagged and stilled. She bowed her head over the counter. “’Ro, ya okay over there?”

“No,” she whispered. “Logan, Jean and I aren’t speaking anymore.”

“Didja have a tiff?” His eyes were full of concern, meeting the pain written in hers.

“I don’t trust Jean anymore. It’s probably best that we don’t talk anymore. That’s all.”

“No it ain’t. If she did something ta hurt ya, and she’s still calling, it’d be better if ya either patched things up, or if ya told her once an’ fer all ta fuck off. Don’t just bottle it up, and don’t act like I can’t handle it if yer havin’ a little catfight.”

“Jean was the one who invited Pietro to the party.” That knocked the wind out of his sails.

“Shit.”

“I don’t know what she thought she was doing, Logan. Maybe it was some weird attempt to get us back together again, but whatever it was, it was retarded. And that should tell you what she thinks of you and me.”

“What friggin’ business is it of hers?” The vein in his neck stood out in stark relief, and his nostrils flared.

“None.”

“Good.” He walked off, and she wiped her hands on her apron, knocking off some of the sticky dough and flour caked onto her fingers.

“Where are you going?”

“Ta delete this message where she’s whinin’ at ya ta meet her fer lunch.”

“Shit…WAIT!” She galloped after him and covered the answering machine in the living room with the flat of her palm. “Wait, Logan. I’ll take that.”

“Suit yerself, darlin’,” he muttered, patting her butt and kissing the crown of her cheek. He wiped away a stray smear of flour on her skin. She waited for him to retire upstairs before she hit play.

“Ororo? This is Jean. Hey. Um, I was wondering…could we do lunch, one of these days, maybe on Wednesday? That’s my day off from the spa. I was hoping you could maybe meet me, we could go out to that little pasta café we always talked about?” She heard the tension in her voice. “It’s just that I really miss you, and we haven’t talked for a while, and I don’t think we ended things on a good note last time…Ororo, I’m sorry. I’m SO sorry. Please give me a call, I need to talk to you really badly.” She heard her shuddering breath. “Call me. Bye.” The machine beeped at her and told her the message was erased when she hit the clear button.

“Don’t think we ended things on a good note…no shit, Sherlock,” Ororo muttered under her breath. “Next time stick the panties in your purse, not under my bed, heifer.”

She resumed her work in the kitchen, rolling out clover-leaf rolls and popping them into the prepared muffin pan. She was weary and aggravated, and just about ready to kick something.

It wasn’t just that Jean had slept with Pietro. It was that she’d acted like there was nothing wrong with it. That she could say “Oops, baby’s been bad,” and everything would be fine. The longer she thought about it, the angrier Ororo got. She’d been in her wedding, with herself and Pietro standing up for Jean and Scott like next-in-lines. It was such a farce. She’d thrown her the shower. She’d helped her pick out dresses. She’d been nothing but a good friend when Jean had cold feet.

It was worse when she thought back to the months after Pietro had left during their first breakup. Jean had been all “aw, poor baby” and “he’ll come around” in the wake of heartbreak, coming over with mocha almond fudge and offering to turn old photos of him into a custom-made dartboard, all the while validating that Ororo wasn’t wrong to love him. She’d been following the girlfriend’s code: Hate him when you hate him, love him when you love him, and nary a bad word shall be spoken when he acts like an ass.

How long had she been diddling her man behind her back?

If Logan was unsettled by how quiet Ororo was during dinner, he didn’t press it. He simply ate, complimented the food, and helped clear the table when it was done. He made himself her pillow when they adjourned to the couch to watch CSI, stroking her long hair and kneading her neck.

“Don’t let her make ya feel bad, ‘Ro. If ya want, I can call her myself and tell her I was wrong ta do what I did that night.”

“Don’t. You don’t have to.” She stared ahead and snuggled more deeply into his lap. “This isn’t actually about you.”

“Yer confusing me, babe.”

“Sorry. Don’t worry. I’ll fix this.” He tugged a lock of her hair to get her to look up at him. She met his eyes, noticing he still looked unconvinced. “I’ll fix it, Logan.”

“Okay.” He bent down to kiss her, lingering over it like an after-dinner glass of wine.


~0~

7:00PM

Piotr felt knots clenching at his gut on his climb up Sage’s apartment steps, deciding he could walk off some of his nerves by skipping the elevator. The bouquet stems were digging into his palm as he tightened his grip; the cellophane wrap made his fingers sweat at the seams. He counted the row of doors, searching for unit 6C. He found it three doors down on the left.

He knocked on her door briskly, peering at the pinpoint of light through the peephole. His throat closed up momentarily, and he bent over to wipe a smudge of something off of his good shoes. When he straightened up, he noticed the brief blackening of that prick of light through the lens, and he heard the dead bolts being unfastened, and a chain sliding back. He stepped back courteously, prepared to find Sage dressed and ready to go.

He peered down at her outfit. Bunny slippers peered back up at him with googly eyes. Her hair was slightly tousled and still in its bun, but tendrils hung down around her face, and her clothes were in disarray.

“Piotr…I wanted to call you. I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to make it out tonight.”

“Why?” He studied her. “Are you sick?”

“No, no, it’s not that, I’m okay. It’s crazy…here, come on in, make yourself at home, you came all this way.” She led him inside and locked up after him, then looked guiltily at the flowers. “You really took this one shot thing seriously.”

“Did you ever doubt it?”

“Not really.” She smiled sheepishly at him, and then turned toward the tiny voice calling out from her living room.

“Mama! Want juice!” The voice was plaintive, and Piotr was shocked when Sage answered the call as though she had always responded to that name, and that function.

“Boszhe moi,” Piotr muttered. Wordlessly, he followed her as she padded back to the living room, which was softly lit with two floor lamps and the glow from the television set. A Blues Clues episode was playing, and a stirred the couch cushions. Piotr held his breath and circled the couch, unable to describe what he saw.

An adorable girl of about five, with caramel brown skin and bouncing, wiry chestnut curls peered weakly at him from a cocoon of blankets. She wore pink Dora the Explorer pajamas, and she was piquantly beautiful. Sage’s features squinted and twisted with curiosity when he seated himself on the recliner.

“Who’s he, Mama?”

“He’s my friend, sweetie, he was going to take me out tonight. His name is Mister Rasputin.”

“That’s a funny name,” she remarked casually. Piotr fought a tiny smile pulling at him.

“That isn’t nice to say,” Sage reminded her.

“He’s so big.”

“Is that so?” Piotr replied. He stood to his full height, looked himself over, and announced, “Well, sonofagun, look at that, I’m HUGE!” She giggled, despite looking exhausted. “How did I get all the way up here?”

“He drank his milk and took his vitamins,” Sage explained, taking the opportunity to enforce the rules of the house when it presented itself. “Aliyah has a fever. It just came on out of nowhere. I already called her pede, and they called in a prescription a little while ago, I have to run out and pick it up.”

“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, snowflake,” he murmured soothingly. He shucked his overcoat and laid it on the recliner before lumbering over to the couch. He knelt beside her and said “Did you tell those nasty germs to go away and quit spoiling your fun?”

“No. Germs don’t have ears, silly,” she pouted, and Piotr chuckled, quite taken by the little cherub educating him properly.

“She just walked up to me and announced that her tummy hurt, then threw up everything she ate before I could even call the sitter. It was awful.”

“I know. It’s hard when the ones we care about don’t feel well.”

“I’m the one my mama cares about,” Aliyah bragged smugly, clutching her teddy bear more tightly.

“I know,” Piotr replied, gently laying his large palm over her forehead. “She’s quite warm, Sage.” He stood and loped off to her kitchen. “Do you have any juice?” He was already in her tiny kitchen before she could even resume the task herself, looking in her cupboards for cups. She retrieved a plastic sippy cup from the dishrack and pressed it into his hand. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” Suddenly she hated her outfit and messy hair, and those horrid slippers, but there was no help for it. Her earlier fantasy of wanting to meet him at the door was squashed. She settled for taking the flowers and putting them in water. Red Shasta daisies with yellow centers erupted in a burst of color from the squat vase she found after she trimmed the stems and dropped an aspirin tablet into the water.

Piotr, on the other hand, was managing just fine with the night’s development. She looked soft and vulnerable, naturally beautiful with her face scrubbed clean of any makeup. Her navy sweats and Gap tee were slightly loose but didn’t hide her generous curves; the jersey was stretched snugly across her breasts and flat belly. Her dark blue eyes looked tired, he noticed, and worried.

Piotr took the juice to Aliyah and offered it to her, suggesting she sit up to drink it.

“Piotr, you don’t have to stay.”

“I know. I was actually wondering if you needed anything? You have to pick up that prescription, right?” He was already shrugging back into his overcoat.

“Well…yes, but-“

“Stay here with your little girl. Don’t take her out tonight, it’s chilly. I don’t want her to get any sicker. Sit tight, Sage.” He cupped her shoulder, letting his hand caress the length of her arm reassuringly. She felt a funny, warm tingle in her stomach at his touch.

“Okay.”

“Lock up after me.”

A half an hour later, Sage heard the low knock at her door. She hurried to answer it on light feet, and unbolted it before she even looked out the peephole this time. Piotr didn’t disappoint her. He smiled through the crack in the door before she let him in, carrying a few shopping bags and a pastry box.

“You didn’t just stop at the pharmacy,” she remarked.

“We missed dinner tonight,” he replied, handing her the box as he stepped inside. “I decided to pick up dessert.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she exclaimed, peeking under the lid. “Oh, you really idn’t have to do that, you stinker!” There was a gorgeous array of pastries, most of them chocolate, each one richer and more decadent than the last. Her eyes twinkled up at him, leaving him with a flush of warm fuzzies.

“How is she? Sage looked less fretful than she had before, and he noticed the apartment was silent.

“It’s all right. Come on,” she beckoned. He followed her into the living room. “She’s asleep,” Sage whispered. They tiptoed around the couch and peered down at her. “She talked about you a mile a minute while you were gone. I just gave her a dose of Motrin a few minutes ago, so she should rest easily.” Her cheeks were still flushed, andher eyelids reminded him of flower petals. Long, curling lashes fanned her cheeks, and she rolled slightly, gently smacking her lips.

“Here was our Princess Poppy girl, right here,” he mused. His smiled was full of quiet wonder. “When’s her birthday?”

“August first. She’s a Leo.”

“I thought as much.” He knelt down and straightened her blanket, and she moaned, scrubbing her palm across her face. Piotr suppressed a laugh. “She’s so much like you.”

“I see bits of her father in her when she laughs, or when she gets angry.”

“How often do you see her father?”

“It’s been six months. He hasn’t called in at least three.” She unburied her daughter from the covers and gently sat her up, fumbling with the childproof bottle of pink liquid and the measuring spoon. Aliyah mumbled something into her mother’s neck and plucked at her as she poured the dose. “C’mon, sweetie, just a quick drink, that’s my good girl.” Sage’s voice was tender and persuasive. She managed to feed her daughter the medicine without spilling more than a dribble from the corner of her mouth. Sage wiped away the pink drippings on her shirt.

“Time for night-night, Mimi,” she murmured. Piotr swept the covers aside and followed Sage as she carried her sleeping daughter to the bedroom at the end of the hall. He opened the door for her, earning a nod of thanks from her. He turned down the covers as she tucked her in, curling her teddy bear into the crook of her arm.

“Does she have a night light?” She pointed to it, and she flicked the little switch, illuminating that corner of the rom with a soft glow. He felt a hollow pang at the cover, shaped like Elmo. He had been Illyana’s favorite.

“She’ll sleep like a bear,” she whispered, tiptoeing back out and leaving the door slightly ajar. They were silend until they reached the kitchen. Sage flicked on the light over the oven range and asked him, “How about we sampled one of those goodies, if I haven’t scared you off?”

“Only if you’re up to it. You look exhausted.”

“I’m okay, I just need to unwind.”

“Want me to go?”

“No. I could use the company and some adult conversation, just for a little while. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” She welcomes him to sit while she gathered plates and napkins and fished through the other shopping bags.

“What all did you get?” she inquired, pawing through the first sack. “This looks good, how did you know I liked Chardonnay?” She held the bottle aloft and beamed.

“Shot in the dark.”

“I’m not trendy about my wine. I only like what I like, not what other people say is good. Merlot tasted like paint thinner to me.”

“I’ve never had any.”

“You aren’t missing anything,” she promised, extracting two slightly mismatched goblets from the cupboard and filling them both halfway.

“Cheers,” he offered, toasting her once she sat down. The faint clink resonated in the dimly lit kitchen as she took a sip.

“This is lovely.”

“One more detail,” he pointed out. “Sit.” She obeyed and watched him move through her kitchen, as though he were already comfortable in her home. He opened her small utility drawer and found a box of matches.

“What are you doing?”

“Setting up the ambience I brought with me,” he joked. He pulled out two fat pillar candles and unwrapped them. She made a sound of delighted surprise.

“You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to.” He lit them and watched them cast flickering shadows dancing along the walls. Sage was beautiful by candlelight, her skin flawless and luminous, her features patrician and delicately rendered. “This wasn’t how I planned this.” He flipped open the box and selected a small chocolate éclair, setting it on a dessert plate and sliding it to her. The puff pastry was dusted in powdered sugar and looked supremely messy. He peered into the box and lifted out a raspberry tart.

“What did you have planned?”

“Date stuff. Lots of it. I pictured you in a little black dress. Dinner, at a nice restaurant with glassware and cloth napkins.”

“Oooooooooh!” she cooed dramatically, dragging her finger through the fudge sauce and pursing her lips around it. Piotr swallowed stiffly at the gesture, feeling an uncomfortable heaviness in his loins. “What else?”

“Live music. Lila’s going to be at the cabaret on Ninth Street.”

“I love Lila.”

“After that, I would have let you choose.”

“Darts.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. I could’ve beaten the socks off of you. Little black dress and all.” Her smile was wicked. Piotr snickered.

“I’m not much of a dancer, so that would have been fine. I would have held my own.”

“It would have been too soon.”

“Too soon for what?”

“Going dancing’s more for a third date, once you’ve broken the ice, exchanged embarrassing moments and high school fashion blunders.” She sipped her wine thoughtfully. “Dancing’s fun…it just throws you off balance. When you dance with someone, it says so much about who you are. How close you’re willing to get. How many chances you want to take. How fast you want to move.” She blamed the tingles creeping over her flesh on the wine. “You came here looking for little black dresses, and I give you bunny slippers and kitchen chairs.”

“I’m not complaining. I didn’t have to make small talk “ and this isn’t my idea of it “ and I found out more about within an hour than I would have doing things the old fashioned way.” He watched her fumble with the éclair, attempting to bite into it gracefully and failing miserably. She mumbled around it, and he laughed at her expression. She lapped up a dab of cream from her finger.

“I’m a mess,” she complained. His smile was contemplative, bringing out tiny crinkles around his eyes and dimpleds that tempted her to touch.

“You missed a spot.” Sage hears the faint squeak of the chair against her linoleum as he scooted back from the table. She leaned back in her chair to better lock eyes with him. He looked larger than life, formidable and sturdy, looking for all the world like someone who cold catch her should she fall. He leaned down and reached for the pastry, plucking it up between his finger and thumb. He examined it briefly, his eyes flicking back to hers. “Is it good?” His voice was husky and low, and the sweet tidbit drifted closer to her lips.

“Piotr.” She couldn’t turn away. He was so close, and her fingers itched to reach out and stroke him, to palm his heartbeat. Taste his pulse. Hear and feel his breaths. The cool sticky cream feathered the corner of her mouth, and she instinctively licked it away. The flaky pastry slipped so slowly between her lips, crumbling onto her tongue ,but all she felt was Piotr’s fingertip grazing the barest edge of her teeth, tickling her. He fed her another bite, this time thrilling to her caress of his hand as she guided him back to her mouth. The sight of her mouth opening and closing around him nearly undid him. He stole the last morsel for himself, barely tasting it as he wiped up a stray fleck of cream from her mouth, lapping it up to let it mingle with what he already had. He swalloed the sweet, impatient with how dry it felt in his mouth, and bent down, slowly approaching and zeroing in on her lips, still faintly slicked with a residue of wine and shared treats. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks when she met him halfway, tilting her face toward him. Fingertips grazed his jaw, but the attraction sizzling between them pulled them inexorably toward each other, and he couldn’t say which of them grabbed the other first. She didn’t fight it when he grasped her waist, hauling her against him and plundering her mouth, slanting over and over it again, devouring her cries. He stole her breath, drinking her kiss with a thirst unslaked by the wine, and she pressed herself flush against him, so tightly she could almost hear his heartbeat as well as her own hammering in her ears. She took shelter in his embrace, and felt as though she had come home. They stood, and she cupped his face between her hot palms, treasuring him and tangling her fingers in his silky waves.

He couldn’t get enough of her. His hands sought her curves and the soft slopes of her body as his lips danced over her eyelids and cheekbones. The ragged sound he rasped into her ear shivered down her spine before he nibbled her throat, and her arms tightened their hold around him, craving him, wanting his sleek, broad bulk pressing her into the mattress…

A voice of reason screamed in her head that she had a sick child in the next room, and no feasible explanation if her daughter climbed into her bed in the middle of the night and found it occupied.

“All right,” she blurted. “God…Piotr. I…we can’t ““ She never finished her admonition to him. He was already pulling away, panting raggedly and staring down at her with smoldering eyes.

“It’s getting late.” He leaned his forehead against hers, caressing her cheek with his knuckles and freeing a strand of hair from the corner of her mouth. “I’d better let you go.” She knew those words were supposed to come out of her own mouth. She was supposed to be the sensible one.

Right?

It was killing her. “All right.” She gently disengaged herself from him, letting her hand slide down the length of his arm to his fingers, watching him back away until they no longer touched.

“Good night.”

“Drive safely.”

“Lock up after me.”

“I will.” She followed slowly after him, not wanting to indignity of chasing him to the door, even though every cell of her body begged him to hang up his coat and turn off the lights. He was nearly out the door, and she couldn’t stand it.

“Piotr!”

“Da? “ Mmmmmph!” She practically tackled him, knocking him against the doorjamb and stealing another kiss that left him weak in the knees. One more for the road.

She didn’t want to admit to herself that if things looked crazy in the morning, this was the last taste of him she’d ever have.

“Good night,” she murmured finally. She straightened the lapels of his coat and backed off. He nodded, looking dazed but pleased as he backed out the door. She waited until his footsteps faded down the hall before she secured her deadbolts.

“ERRRRRRGGGGHHhhhhhhh.” Sage planted her palms against the wall and rapped her forehead against it, just for good measure. Oh, yeah. It was official. She had it bad.





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