The day drags on. We read, we cook dinner, we maintain the careful distance we've established. But I catch her looking at me when she thinks I'm not paying attention. Her gaze lingers on my chest when I reach for something on a high shelf, on my hands when I'm chopping vegetables, on my ass when I bend to add wood to the stove. That last one makes me grin. She may be uncertain about me, but she still desires me.
And I'm no better. I watch the way her jeans hug her curves, the swell of her breasts under her thermal shirt, the graceful line of her neck.
Night falls early, and with it comes the storm Maya predicted. Wind howls around the cabin, rattling the windows. Snow falls in thick sheets, erasing the world beyond the glass. We're trapped together again, and the cabin feels smaller than ever.
We sit in silence, listening to the wind. The fire crackles, casting dancing shadows on the walls. It should be peaceful, but the tension between us makes the air feel electric.
"I'm sorry," she says suddenly. "For this morning. For pulling away."
"You don't have to apologize."
"I do, though." She looks at me, and in the firelight, her eyes are almost black.
I'm about to respond when a sharp knock echoes through the cabin.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid. My hand flies to my waistband where a weapon should be, and I'm on my feet before conscious thought kicks in.
7
LENA
I'm already moving toward the door when Sasha stops me with a hand around my arm.
"Let me," he says, his voice low and commanding in a way that makes my stomach flip.
I nod, stepping back as he moves to the door with the fluid grace of a predator. He doesn't ask who's there, doesn't call out a greeting, just positions himself to the side of the door frame and pulls it open in one smooth motion, his body coiled and ready for violence.
"Oh! Hello there." Pavel Galkin stands on my porch, his arms full of supplies, his wire-rimmed glasses fogging in the temperature difference. "I didn't realize Maya had company."
The tension drains from my shoulders so fast, I feel dizzy. "Pavel. Hi. Come in, it's freezing."
Pavel steps inside, his pale blue eyes darting between me and Sasha with obvious curiosity. My closest neighbor, which is still quite a distance away, is dressed in his usual practical outdoorgear, a thick parka and worn boots, his prematurely gray hair sticking up in tufts where his hat compressed it.
"I brought your weekly supplies," he says, setting two canvas bags on my kitchen counter. "Extra firewood's in the truck. Figured with the storm and all, you might be running low."
"That's really thoughtful. Thank you." I move to help him unpack, acutely aware of Sasha watching from near the door, his gold eyes tracking Pavel's every movement.
Pavel pulls out canned goods, coffee, and fresh bread wrapped in paper. "I also grabbed those batteries you mentioned last time. The hardware store had a sale." He glances at Sasha again, then back to me. "I, uh, I didn't know you were expecting anyone."
"I wasn't." I gesture toward Sasha, who hasn't moved from his position near the door. "This is Sasha. He's a friend who got caught in the storm. His car went off the road about a mile from here."
"A mile?" Pavel's eyebrows rise behind his glasses. "That's quite a walk in a blizzard."
"I'm lucky Maya found me," Sasha says, his accent more pronounced than usual. He crosses the room with deliberate slowness, extending his hand. "Sasha."
Pavel shakes it, and I notice how his hand trembles slightly. "Pavel Galkin. I live about three miles east. I check on Maya every week, make sure she has what she needs."
"That's very neighborly of you." Sasha's tone is pleasant, but there's something underneath it that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Well, we look out for each other up here." Pavel adjusts his glasses, a nervous habit I've noticed before. "Especially during winter. It can get dangerous fast."
I finish unpacking the supplies, hyperaware of the tension crackling between the two men. Pavel keeps glancing at Sasha, his gaze lingering on the bandage visible at his collar and the stitched-up wound on the side of his head.
"Can I get you some coffee?" I ask Pavel as I dig cash out of my purse to pay him for the supplies. "You drove all the way out here."
"Oh, I don't want to intrude." But Pavel's already pulling out a chair at my small kitchen table, settling in like he plans to stay awhile. "Although, if you're offering, I wouldn't say no. It's brutal out there today."
I pour three mugs of coffee, adding sugar to Pavel's the way he likes it. Sasha takes his black, wrapping his large hands around the mug and watching Pavel over the rim.