A Girl's Guide to Moving On (20 page)

“Are you saying you'd like to be in a committed relationship with me?” I asked.

His eyes held mine. “Hell, yes…if that's what you want, too.”

I wasn't sure how to answer. “I'm meeting Matthew Brown after school next week for coffee.”

Rocco's face tightened, but his voice remained level. “You dating him?”

“No. He's another one of the English literature teachers and he asked me to have coffee with him.”

“You going?” His gaze held me prisoner.

“I said I would.”

He shrugged as if it was no big deal. “Then you aren't ready.”

I studied Rocco for a long moment. He was open, honest, sincere, and responsible. He reminded me of Steve, my sister Cassie's fiancé. Steve was a little rough around the edges, too. Beyond a doubt, I knew Rocco wasn't a man who would cheat on his wife.

I looked down at his hand. I'd laced our fingers together. “I'm going to tell Matt I won't be able to have coffee with him after all.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm seeing someone else and we've decided to only date each other. To have coffee with Matt would mislead him.”

Rocco's fingers tightened around mine. “I'm going to need a bit of guidance now and then, so if I do something wrong let me know, okay?”

“You got it.”

“You don't mind introducing me to your friends?” He asked this in a way that suggested I might have a problem with that.

“I'd like that, only I don't have as many friends as I once did…before the divorce.”

“Then they weren't your friends,” he told me, and he was right.

“There's a family wedding coming up in three weeks. Would you like to attend with me? I'd like you to meet my two sisters and their husbands and families.”

He hesitated, as if this was a big step for him. “You sure you want me there?”

“Very sure. Kaylene, too.”

His eyes softened and he released my hand, stood, and walked around to my side of the table. Slipping his arm around me, he brought me upright and then took my mouth in a kiss potent enough to make me dizzy and breathless. It'd been no exaggeration to tell him he was a good kisser, which naturally led me to anticipate other things he was good at. He saw me as a good girl, and I was, but I was a woman, too.

We continued kissing until I heard my phone buzz. Rocco reluctantly broke off the kiss. “Is that your phone or mine?”

“Mine. I better check. Jake's got Owen this weekend.” I didn't catch the phone in time and saw that the call had been from Jake. I called him right back.

“Is everything all right?” I asked. Owen had been cranky earlier and had a small tantrum when he'd left with Jake.

“What's this stupid jumpsuit Owen's wearing?” Jake demanded.

“Why?”

“He refuses to take it off. He keeps talking about driving a tow truck.”

“Yes. Rocco took him out in the truck and bought him the uniform.”

“And who exactly is Rocco?”

My eyes connected with Rocco's. “Rocco and I are dating. He owns a towing company.”

“This is a joke, right? You're dating a guy who drives a tow truck?” He made it sound like it was some hilarious joke.

“Yeah, I'm dating a guy who drives a tow truck. If you were half the man he is, Jake, we'd still be married.” And with that I disconnected the call.

I spent my Saturday morning on the Internet, poring over recipes from the Ukraine. I'd asked Nikolai to dinner, promising to cook for him, and hoped to surprise him.

My first thought was to cook borscht, a beetroot soup that was well known. The recipe looked easy enough. As for the main course, it was a toss-up between the potato-and-mushroom dumplings, the cabbage rolls in sour-cream sauce, or the kruchenyky, which, if I read the recipe correctly, was stuffed pork rolls. I had no problem deciding against fried liver in sour-cream sauce. It seemed Ukrainians were keen on sour cream and beets. In case I needed something else to go along with the dinner, I copied the recipe for horseradish-and-beet relish.

My next stop was the market. By the time I finished reading through all the recipes, I had a lengthy list of items I needed to purchase. Doing this for Nikolai as a surprise filled me with joyful excitement. On the way back to my apartment I heard myself humming. I couldn't remember the last time I sang or hummed. Nikolai had brought music into my heart, into my life. Memory escaped me when I'd felt this excited about doing something for someone else.

Once back in my apartment, I set about getting everything organized for this special dinner. Having never tackled dumplings before, I was surprised by how time-consuming they were. I had the borscht simmering on top of the stove, the dumplings resting on a lined cookie sheet, and the horseradish-beet relish in the refrigerator. I was working on the cabbage rolls when my doorbell chimed.

I glanced at the clock and saw that it was another hour before Nikolai was due. Wiping my hands on a kitchen towel, I headed for the door and was surprised to find it was him.

“You're early,” I cried in dismay. I'd hoped to have everything prepared and ready before he arrived. Although time was fast slipping by, I'd wanted to change my clothes, too. As it was, the kitchen was a mess and I was sure I'd gotten flour down the front of my blouse and slacks.

Nikolai's face fell at my distress. “I come early to help. I go now, come back later.”

“No…stay.” I reached for his arm and half dragged him into the apartment. “I want you here.”

“I am sorry.”

“No, don't apologize.” In an effort to show him how glad I was to see him, I leaned forward and kissed him. He moaned when our lips met, or maybe it was me. He tasted of mint and spice and everything that reminded me of Nikolai. Everything that filled me with happiness.

He smiled at me with a look of such tenderness it almost brought me to tears. He placed his hand over my chest. “My heart beat with your heart until we like one person. I feel it. You feel, too?”

I bit into my lower lip and nodded.

He raised his head and sniffed. “What I smell?”

“Dinner,” I whispered.

“It smells like home.” He walked past me and into the kitchen. When he saw what I'd done he whirled around. “You cook Ukrainian dishes?”

“I'm trying. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“I am surprised. I am happy, so happy.” He came back to me and gripped hold of my upper arms and brought me close to kiss me again. “What you make?”

I pointed to the recipes I'd printed out. Most were wet and smudged from repeated readings, often with my wet or doughy hands.

Nikolai noticed the cabbage leaves soaking in the hot water. “Stuffed cabbage not easy.”

“You're telling me.”

“Yes, I tell you already.” He shucked off his jacket and then rolled up his long sleeves. “I help. My mother teach me as boy.”

I'd already prepared the pork mixture for the stuffing and had the baking pan ready to lay the rolls. The tomato-based sauce simmered on the back burner.

Before he dug in, Nikolai opened the drawer for a spoon and dipped it into the borscht. I held my breath as he tasted it. I'd sampled it earlier and it tasted fine to me, but I had no idea if it would meet his expectations. I watched him closely and saw the appreciation come over him as he closed his eyes and savored the soup.

“Perfect,” he whispered, before setting the spoon in the sink.

“You're sure?” I knew recipes varied from region to region, and I'd hoped the borscht was close to the flavors most familiar to him.

“You most wonderful woman. I not know why I so lucky man.”

I didn't contradict him, but I didn't think luck had anything to do with our meeting. I felt as if Nikolai was a special gift God had sent into my life.

I reached into the bottom drawer and brought out an apron and tied it around Nikolai's waist. He washed his hands and then drained the half-boiled cabbage leaves and flattened them out on the large cutting board.

“I show you,” he said.

“Okay.” I stood beside him and watched as he expertly filled the cabbage leaf and then folded it with such precision it didn't need anything to hold it together. He set the first roll in the prepared pan. “You try.”

“All right.”

Nikolai stood behind me, his hands resting on the curve of my shoulders. I flattened the cabbage leaf and was about to scoop the pork into the center when he leaned forward and kissed the side of my neck. The spoon splattered against the pan.

“Nikolai!”

“Sorry. I not able to stop. I am so happy. I'm with you, my Leanne. I smell food from my country and I think I not ever been this happy.”

“I don't think I've ever been this happy, either,” I whispered, abandoning all pretense of rolling the cabbage leaf. Twisting around, I pressed my head against his chest. I could have stood with Nikolai's arms around me for an eternity and been perfectly content for the rest of my life.

He kissed me and I kissed him, and all thought of the cabbage rolls was abandoned until I heard my doorbell.

Nikolai groaned as though resenting the intrusion.

I didn't appreciate the interruption. I sighed, not eager to leave Nikolai's arms. Worse, I had a premonition it was Sean.

I was right. My ex had called twice in the last week and I'd let the calls go to voice mail, unwilling to talk to him. The pain from the shingles still bothered me and I wasn't in the mood to deal with Sean. As far as I was concerned, we had nothing to discuss. I should have known better. Sean wasn't the kind of man who took kindly to being ignored.

When I opened the door, he was holding a large bouquet of flowers in front of his face. He peeked around the arrangement with a huge smile.

“Surprise,” he said, as if I should be overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness.

“Hello, Sean,” I said, with little enthusiasm.

He stared back at me with that hurt-little-boy look, as if shocked by my lack of welcome. “Can I come in?” he asked pointedly.

I stepped aside and he walked into my apartment. Nikolai came to stand behind me, hands on my shoulders. I noticed that he'd removed the apron and that he stared back hard at Sean.

Sean didn't take kindly to finding Nikolai with me, either. “This is that Russian
again,
isn't it?”

“Nikolai is from Ukraine,” I corrected, when I felt Nikolai's fingers tighten on my shoulders. Ukrainians weren't Russians and didn't like to be referred to as such. “What do you want, Sean?” I asked, getting to the point.

“I heard you had shingles.”

“I did two weeks ago. The pain is mostly gone now.” It was worse at nights, but I preferred to downplay any discomfort, especially to Sean.

“I brought you flowers.” He lifted them slightly, in case I hadn't noticed them earlier.

“Yes, I see.” Once Sean left, I'd give the arrangement to an elderly neighbor lady who would appreciate them far more than I would.

“You didn't answer my calls.” His voice was full of accusation, as if he assumed I would fall all over myself to talk to him.

“I've been busy.” Although Sean spoke to me, his gaze landed squarely on Nikolai, his eyes narrowed and wary.

“I wanted to ask about Nichole,” Sean said.

Why he would come to me about Nichole was a mystery, and not one I was willing to solve. “She has her own cell. I'll give you her number if you'd like.”

“I have it.”

I knew he did. “Then I suggest you contact her yourself.”

Sean shifted his feet. I hadn't invited him to sit down and I hoped he got the message that I'd rather he left. In the last few weeks he'd paid more attention to me than he had in the last two years of our marriage, and certainly since the divorce was final.

“I wanted to ask you about this man she's dating,” Sean said, looking concerned. “That tow-truck driver.”

“Rocco is none of your business.”

“Rocco,” he repeated, as if it was a swear word. “Jake tells me this…Rocco has a negative influence on Owen. As Owen's father, he's deeply concerned. I wanted to know if you've met him.”

“I believe this is something you need to discuss with Nichole and not me.”

“Have you met Rocco?” he said, a bit louder, more insistent.

“I have.”

“What kind of name is Rocco, anyway?” He shook his head, as if he found it distasteful.

“Italian, I believe.” I immediately regretted giving my ex any additional information. As far as I was concerned, this conversation had gone on long enough. “As you can see, Nikolai and I are busy. I don't mean to be rude, but it's time for you to go.”

A hurt look came over Sean. He looked down and slowly exhaled. “I have something to tell you, Leanne, but I can see now isn't the time. Would it be possible to have a conversation later…just the two of us?”

Again Nikolai's fingers tightened, pinching my shoulders. “I'll call you when it's convenient,” I said, and it would be a long time before I found it convenient.

Sean turned toward the door and then looked back. “You've changed, Leanne.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “I have.”

He nodded, cast a frosty look toward Nikolai, and then left, closing the door behind him.

I released a deep breath, relieved he was gone. Nikolai dropped his hands from my shoulders. As soon as the door closed he started pacing my living room, his fists knotted at his sides. He spoke heatedly in his mother tongue and shook his head.

I watched for several moments before I spoke. “Nikolai.”

He whirled around to face me and spat out, “I no like this Sean, this man who no love you. He no real man. He pretend man.” Nikolai continued to pace. “I no like he come to you. He up to something.”

I shook my head. “Are you jealous?” I asked him softly.

Nikolai didn't hesitate and quickly nodded. “I look at this man and I see blue.”

“You see red,” I corrected gently.

“That color, too. I not like him close to you. I want to be the one close to you.”

“You are close to me,” I assured him. No matter where this relationship led, I would always treasure Nikolai. He'd given me so much. When I'd separated from Sean I felt like a dried-up prune, useless, old, used up.

How thankful I was that my daughter-in-law had given me the courage to do what I should have done years earlier. And I was grateful for our guide, the list of things to help us adjust to our futures. Until Nichole, I'd been resigned to remaining in a loveless marriage, not realizing that year by year I was slowly dying.

Nikolai seemed to need an outlet to vent his anger, and he continued pacing. I stood in front of him, blocking him.

“Stop,” I said, planting my hands in the middle of his chest. “You have no reason to be jealous. Sean means nothing to me. Whatever love I felt for him died a long time ago.”

Nikolai studied me as if to gauge the truth in my words. “I not know this jealous before. I had no reason to know this word. Magdalena only love me and I only love her. Sean not like me and I not like him.”

He'd accurately stated the truth. I could see the dislike in Sean's face as he'd studied Nikolai. And Nikolai didn't bother to hide his disdain for my ex-husband. I could only imagine Nikolai's response if I were to mention that Sean thought he might be part of the Russian Mafia. To even suggest it was preposterous.