Isn't It Bromantic (Bromance Book Club #4) - Lyssa Kay Adams Page 0,54
should they be milking them?”
“Two times, max.”
“I see.”
“Do you know how hard it is to get a real Brie in this country, Elena? American pasteurization laws make it impossible. What you buy in the stores is a watered-down version with none of the texture and seduction of the real thing.”
Elena didn’t know what those words meant in regards to cheese, but he was on a roll, so she didn’t want to interrupt him.
“That is why I must operate in the dark,” he said. “In the underground.”
“So you’re like a resistance fighter against a cheese conspiracy?”
“At the highest levels of government and dairy.”
“And you can make authentic cheeses that others cannot?”
“Yes. And anything I do not make, my network of underground fromagers can provide.”
“Cool. I’m in.” She fist-bumped him. “Because we are having a party on Saturday, and I’m going to need a lot.”
“A party, huh?”
“Yes. You should come.”
“It is a party for friends only,” Vlad growled.
“Then I am doubly honored to be invited.” He lifted Elena’s hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. Elena might have swooned a little. “I’ll be sure to bring something extra special.”
* * *
* * *
“That’s the last time we’re going there.”
Vlad eased his leg into the car and slammed his door shut. Elena started the car, a dreamy look on her face that made him want to punch the dashboard and add broken fingers to his list of problems.
“All that cheese,” Elena breathed, pulling onto the road. “It was like a dream.”
“It is a nightmare, and I cannot believe you invited him to the party.”
“It seemed rude not to.”
“I don’t want him anywhere near our party.” Vlad glared out the window at the passing buildings as she drove. He suddenly hated those buildings and for no particular reason other than they happened to be in his line of vision at the time of his bad mood.
“I’m going to make cottage cheese bars,” she said in that same wispy voice. “And vareniki.”
“That’s too much work.”
“And a kurnik.”
His stomach growled that the mention of another one of his favorites. It had been years since he’d had the traditional layered chicken pie.
“Oh, and dressed herring.”
She moaned it in a way that snapped every last nerve. “We don’t need all that. Make some tea cakes and call it good.”
“I just want your friends to get the full Russian culinary experience.”
“They eat pizza and wings. They won’t know the difference.”
“Colton seems to like my cooking.”
Vlad cracked a knuckle. Colton needed to start eating at home. He didn’t like this feeling, whatever it was. His skin felt too tight over his bones, and something burned in his chest.
She finally glanced over. “Why are you so grumpy?”
“I’m not grumpy.”
“You’re acting grumpy.”
“Have you decided where you’re going to live in Russia?” he asked, because why the hell not? He was already grumpy.
“What?” she asked. She did a double take, tearing her eyes briefly from the road. “Where did that come from?”
“It’s something we should probably talk about, don’t you think?”
“Now?”
“Why not?” He twisted in his seat to look at her and then instantly regretted it because all he could see was the gentle curve of her jaw. “What about your car? Are we going to ship it?”
Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I—I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far. I’ll probably leave it with you.”
“You can’t leave it here. What will you drive in Russia?”
“I will buy a new one.”
“That’s ridiculous. Why would you do that when you already have a car?”
“Because I’ll be making my own money. I’m not going to keep relying on you, Vlad.”
It annoyed him when she said stuff like that. A reminder that all of this had been nothing but a transaction to her. He rubbed the center of his chest again.
“There’s no use fighting about this stuff now,” she said. “I don’t even have a job yet.”
“You should apply to the paper in Omsk. You could live with my parents.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh yes. I’m sure they would love to have their son’s ex-wife move in.”
“You are like a daughter to them, whether we are married or not.”
“Well, the last time I looked, the paper in Omsk doesn’t have any openings.”
“But I’m sure they would make an exception for you—”
“Vlad, stop,” she snapped, once again peeling her gaze from the road. “You don’t understand how journalism works. Could you just send your résumé to any hockey team and ask to play for them? No.”
“Why are you being so stubborn?” Vlad asked, eyebrows