and see you whenever I damn well please, and I’m not scared of borrowing a cup of sugar, either. He might be an asshole, but he’s just a kid who was born into a situation he couldn’t control. Just like you.”
I didn’t want to admit that she was right, but as usual, she was.
Mom and Greg left the next day, which also happened to be the day Maxim got back into town. The timer went off, and I pulled the tray of lasagna from the oven, leaving the pan on the granite to cool. Mom had made me six pans in addition to the one we’d devoured last night. Four were in the freezer. I told myself I’d ration them until she came to visit again, but who was I kidding? I’d probably eat every single one of them in the next month.
The doorbell rang, and my heart jumped.
Calm the fuck down, it’s not her.
I checked the security camera app and tensed.
It wasn’t her.
It was Maxim.
He rang the bell again.
“Impatient asshole,” I muttered as I walked to the front door, trying my best to channel Mom’s kindness. Trying and failing. I opened the door, anyway.
Maxim looked as uncomfortable as I felt. His jaw was tense, and his hands were in his front pockets. He wasn’t wearing a coat.
“Did you need to borrow a cup of sugar?” I asked.
“What?” He gave me a what the fuck look.
“My mom,” I started, then shook my head. “Never mind. What do you want?”
“Can we talk?” He bit out each word like they were physically painful to say.
He’s just a kid who was born into a situation he couldn’t control. Mom’s words from yesterday rattled around in my brain, softening me like nothing else could. “Yeah. Come on in. It’s cold out.”
Maxim nodded and walked in, shutting the door behind him. “It’s practically tropical from where I just came from.”
“Russia?” I guessed, leading him toward the kitchen. Offering him a drink was the appropriate thing to do in this situation, right? I motioned to the barstools that lined one side of the kitchen island.
“No. Saint Paul.” He took the seat as his gaze swept over the open-concept kitchen and family room. I got the feeling the guy didn’t miss much. “I’ve only been to Russia a few times, and those were mostly for funerals. Dad played out his contract for Minnesota, and we stayed. He’s actually an American citizen now. So is my mother.”
“Huh.” I took out two bottles of water and slid one across the island to him. “I knew where he played. I guess I just never really thought about where he stayed after his career finished.”
Maxim caught it and started to fidget with the lid. “Thanks.”
I leaned back against my counter, leaving the island and a metric ton of awkwardness between us.
He looked to my right, where a digital photo frame scrolled through pictures, and his expression changed, two lines appearing between his eyebrows.
“My mom gave it to me for Christmas,” I said, twisting the top on my bottle but not drinking it. “What did you want to talk about?” The game tomorrow? Our shared fence line? Our shared genetics? The awkward options were endless around here.
His eyes were still on the frame. Mom had uploaded her favorites, and my stomach tensed as he watched my childhood scroll by. His thumb picked at the label on his water.
“Maxim—”
“You look kind of like Nicolai in that one.” He motioned toward the frame. “How old are you there?”
I looked. “Four. Five, maybe. We were hiking up by my grandparents’ place.”
Maxim nodded absentmindedly, his gaze glued to the frame. “Your mother is beautiful.”
My fingers stilled on the bottle in my hands. “So is yours. I looked her up when I found out.” Mrs. Zolotov was a tall, striking beauty with thick, brown hair. “Mila looks a lot like her.”
“Yeah, she does.” Maxim’s jaw ticked. “Let’s hope her looks are all she got from her.”
My eyebrows went up.
He shook his head and sighed. “Weren’t you just the lucky one?” His mouth tilted into a wry half-smirk.
My grip tightened on the water bottle, making it crunch. “Lucky one? Between the two of us, you’re going to say I was the lucky one? I was the secret.”
Maxim turned his head slightly to look at me, and the chill in his eyes could have powered my freezer for the next decade. “You honestly think that, don’t you? Poor little Jansen had to grow up without a daddy. Let’s all