full of bread. Despite my polite protests, Nikolai insisted on baking me bread for every class.
“Where does this talented student of yours work?”
“Koreski’s Deli. From what I understand, Nikolai bakes all their bread.”
Kacey wandered into the living room and looked at the bookshelves as if she’d never seen my collection before. “You have to take me there so I can buy my own.”
Actually, I’d never been to the deli. “I’m not sure they sell full loaves.”
“Then we should find out,” Kacey insisted, reaching for her purse. “Let’s go.”
This was just like Kacey. Once she had her mind set on something she became an unstoppable force, forging ahead.
“Now?”
“I’m here. I can’t think of a better time, can you?”
I tried to think of an excuse, but knew even if I did Kacey would veto it. Amused, I grabbed my purse and out the door we went.
Koreski’s Deli was less than a mile from my apartment. Finding a parking space was almost impossible. I would rather have walked, but Kacey had insisted on driving.
Seeing that it was the lunch hour, customers formed a long line, waiting to place their sandwich orders. As best as I could see, the deli didn’t sell the bread. That didn’t stop Kacey, however. She got in line as I wandered around the deli, looking over the specialty items. At one point I thought I saw Nikolai in the back, but I couldn’t be sure. The kitchen was visible through a small window in the door and there appeared to be several workers purposefully moving about.
I picked up a jar of garlic-stuffed olives when the door from the kitchen burst open.
“Teacher.” Naturally, it was Nikolai.
Turning at the sound of his voice, I saw that he was dressed completely in white. I smiled, letting him know I saw him.
“Everyone, please, you must see my teacher.” Nikolai came around the counter and reached for my elbow, urging me toward the counter. “Mr. Koreski, this is my teacher. She knows all about English.”
“Nikolai,” I protested under my breath as he nearly dragged me to the front of the line to meet the owner.
“Leanne,” I said, extending my hand.
Mr. Koreski wore a large white apron and was well into his sixties. A huge smile broke out across his face as he took my hand. “Nikolai talks about you all the time.”
I feared that might be happening. He’d mentioned Koreski’s Deli so often I knew working there was a big part of his life.
“I bake her bread,” Nikolai continued proudly. “Show her appreciate.”
“Appreciation,” I corrected under my breath.
“Yes, yes, appreciation.” Taking hold of my elbow, he led me to another employee and introduced me again. This process was completed until I felt I must have met everyone in the entire deli, including several of the customers. By this time I was convinced my face was pink with embarrassment.
“Nikolai,” I said, stopping him before he dragged me onto the sidewalk so I could meet passersby. I didn’t want to dampen his enthusiasm, but this was too much. “My friend is here,” I said, hoping to distract him. “I made us lunch with your bread and now she wants to buy her own.”
Right away he shook his head. “Not possible. I only make bread for you.”
“I know, you explained you don’t bake the bread here.” I wanted to be sure Mr. Koreski didn’t think Nikolai was stealing from the deli.
He looked at me and blinked. “Here bread is mixed by machine. At home I make with my hands.”
“The deli doesn’t sell your bread…I mean, other than just for sandwiches?”
“Not the same.”
“So Kacey can’t buy your bread?” I asked again, for clarity.
“No,” he said again, his eyes holding mine prisoner. “I only bake bread for you, my teacher.” And then he added something I didn’t quite make out, but it sounded as if he said “my Leanne.”
Monday afternoon, I checked my phone for text messages as I walked across the school parking lot. Sure enough, Shawntelle had sent no fewer than six messages. Each one mentioned Rocco. The last one made me smile.
Shawntelle: You lasso in that man because if you don’t want him, I do.
Rocco and I were friends. I wasn’t even sure you’d call us that. We were more acquaintances than real friends. I knew Kaylene better than I did him, and this dancing lesson was for her benefit, not Rocco’s or mine.
Me: Rocco and I are just friends.
Shawntelle: I can have him?
Me: You might want to ask him first.
Shawntelle: I knew there was a