Maelstrom

Chapter 51: My Favorite Diner

Late Monday morning

"Parkour?" Ivan asked. "Sure, I've heard of it, but I don't think I've actually ever seen it ... done."

"Have you ever heard of a French movie called District B13?" He shook his head, and I smiled. "I know what we're doing this afternoon, then." I polished off the last bites of Ivan's mushroom omelette and washed it down with some truly fine grapefruit juice. I'd always hated mushrooms, much to my gourmand father's dismay, but Ivan insisted that I give the omelette at this – his favorite New York bruncheteria – a try. I had to admit, it wasn't bad. Especially with a little hot sauce.

Ivan had already finished the veggie omelette I had ordered and he had taken instead, and was working on his third espresso of the morning. True to his word, he still wasn't eating meat in my presence; I was surprised at how touched I was by that gesture. If I was being completely honest, I was surprised about almost everything about Ivan Alkaev.

Bergdorf Goodman was clearly his one-stop shopping destination in Manhattan; he had taken me straight there on the Ducati after sending Mateo off to Asylum in the town car to draw off possible police surveillance. I suspected that Mateo had been assigned that duty to really hammer home just how his role as security had changed. Still, Ivan had offered to text both bodyguards with every one of our expected destinations today, and updates on when we arrived at each.

I crossed my arms in the gray cashmere sweater he'd just bought me. With it and a T-shirt and a pair of new jeans, some socks, boots, a bra and – hallelujah – some new underwear, I was starting to feel like myself again. The borrowed clothes from Ivan's closet, plus another pair of underwear I had optimistically snuck in with the pile of tags I'd handed the clerk at the store, were balled up in a small shopping bag under the table. The leather coat I'd borrowed from him hung on the back of my chair; I liked it, liked wearing something that was his, and convinced him it was silly to spend more money on a replacement for me to wear while we tooled around the city.

Ivan signaled to the waitress for the check and pulled out his smartphone to send M&M the next text.

A young woman with artificially fiery red hair, who wore her self-conscious posture like a badge reading "I'm-not-really-a-waitress-I'm-an-actress", brought over a slim pleather portfolio with the bill for brunch inside. She pointedly ignored me as she slid the booklet across the table with two long fingers and lingered expectantly. Ivan pulled his billfold out of his front jeans pocket and pulled out a fifty, tucking it in the folder with barely a glance at the bill.

"Keep the change," he told her, his eyes still fixed on the composition of his outgoing text.

I noticed the young woman stiffen slightly, and the waitress shot me a barbed look as she took the money and left. "O ... kay," I murmured, my eyes wide as I drained the last of my juice.

Ivan looked up at me and shut off his phone. "What?" he asked.

I shrugged and checked over my shoulder to make sure the waitress was out of earshot. "If I had to guess, from the way she sauntered up and then stormed off, I'd bet that her name and phone number were on the bill," I said quietly.

"They always are," he confirmed.

My mouth twisted into misshapen O of feigned shock. "You heartless beast," I whispered.

Ivan looked a little surprised. "I'm not interested in her, and I don't have a lifestyle that supports casual dating," he explained. My eyebrows shot up. "I'm making an exception for you, and so far this seems to be anything but casual," he conceded, grinning as he grabbed my fingers from the table and kissed them quickly.

I tried to ignore the warm feeling he ignited inside me. "But you keep coming back here and just giving her the cold shoulder?" I demanded softly.

He shrugged and tucked his phone into his inside jacket pocket. "I try not to be cold, and I told you ... I like the food here. Should I search the city for a new favorite diner just because one of the waitresses keeps coming onto me? That doesn't seem fair."

I would, I admitted to myself. In fact, I had done just that many times in my life – changing favorite hangouts, banks, grocery stores, whatever, just because someone's ongoing attention had made me uncomfortable. Hell, I'd changed my routes to classes and left early for work at times to avoid men I'd started bumping into with suspicious regularity. Then again, if Ivan swore off a restaurant every time a waitress took an interest in him, he'd probably never eat outside of his apartment. He was right; it wasn't fair, and as a man, he could afford to ignore it. Unfortunately, things weren't the same for women.

He stood and held out his hand for me. "The movie will have to wait until tonight." My heart leapt girlishly at the confirmation that we would have a tonight. Stop it, I chided myself. "I have other plans for us this afternoon."

"Oh?" I inquired. I accepted Ivan's help with my jacket, hoping that the unfortunate jealous waitress wasn't looking in our direction, and grabbed the bag of clothes from under the table.

"Mm-hmm. Remember how you rather rudely bailed on me when I wanted to show you my second choice for place-I-most-wanted-to-see-in-New-York?" he reminded me. Of course I hadn't forgotten that horrible, awkward end to our afternoon at the Met's café. "I figured we'd go now, unless you're going to change your mind and ditch me again."

I couldn't imagine how horrible a situation would have to be for me to run from him again, and wondered in brief alarm if he had any idea how complete his hold on me was becoming. "I'm ready," I told him. I got the feeling that those words conveyed more than I'd intended to.

He flashed me that dazzling smile and pulled me eagerly out the diner's front door.