Денис Седов – One step into Tomorrow (страница 5)

At these last words, Nastya hissed like a lynx in indignation.

"You think I’m doing this for the money?"

A fire was starting to burn in her eyes.

Well, that’s better. No hysterics, I thought.

"No, of course not—but I’ll cover the expenses anyway."

By the time I said this, we were already inside.

Dropping the bags on the floor, I headed for the exit and looked at her questioningly.

Later, we finalized the documents at the MFC, stopped by the insurance agent, and added Nastya’s details to the policy.

Afterward, we returned to my home—a place I had grown to love deeply because, besides the money (quite a lot of it, actually), I had poured an immense amount of time and nerves into it until everything finally felt right.

"Nastya, here are the keys. Each one is labeled. And here are the phone numbers for the handymen, just in case."

I handed her a small notepad magnetized to the fridge and the ring of keys. Then I showed her where everything was, explaining how to use things.

We kept at it until the groceries were delivered.

"In the bedroom, if you slide the wardrobe door to the left, only my uniforms are hanging there. Just put them on the bed and you can lay out your things. I’ll start on dinner in the meantime."

With those words, I left her alone and set to work on the steaks.

When the meat was almost ready and the salad already tossed, Nastya appeared. She had changed into a tracksuit, which made her look even more attractive. She inspected what I had prepared and began helping me with the meal.

"Kostya," she said once we sat at the table, "why are you alone?"

"Well, I don’t know. I guess I haven’t quite worked up the courage to propose to you yet."

At this answer, Nastya gave me a suspicious, appraising look but said nothing.

"When will you be back? Roughly, at least?"

"I don’t want to lie. Nikolai left for two months, and the third has already passed. So I don’t know. Let’s say a year—and we’ll see from there, okay?"

She had no choice but to nod.

We sat at the table for a long time after that, chatting about nothing. Nastya asked about my service, where I had been before, and how it happened that, besides her, I had no one else to watch the house. She already knew many of the answers but took the opportunity to question me thoroughly.

I answered everything—but evasively.

I didn’t leave her questions unanswered, but I didn’t say anything concrete either.

"Nastya, when I get back, I’ll tell you everything. But today, let’s not waste time. I still have some things to pack."

The interrogation ended there.

She stayed to fuss in the kitchen while I pulled out my hiking backpack and began prepping it for tomorrow.

An hour later, when I had packed everything I planned, it was already pitch dark outside. Nastya was sitting on the huge sofa in the living room, watching some show.

"I’ve changed the sheets in the bedroom. I don’t think you need to drive anywhere now. Stay here. I’ll sleep in the guest room, and you take the bedroom. You’ll find everything you need for the shower and sleep there. Well… it’s a man’s set, really."

She gave a somewhat hesitant nod.

"Nastya, don’t think anything bad; if you want, take the car and go back to your apartment tonight, then move in tomorrow after you’ve slept."

"No, no, I’ll stay," Nastya shook her head quickly.

"Well, it’s a deal then. I’ll head to the shower, and then maybe we can watch a movie together?" I suggested.

She nodded, and I left the room.

Later, we watched some film, eating popcorn and chatting about nothing. The house was bathed in a soft twilight. Rain drizzled lazily outside the windows, and the embers crackled in the fireplace, creating a cozy backdrop.

Her proximity was driving me crazy, and her laughter was filled with warmth and something almost forgotten, filling not just me but the whole house with peace and comfort.

Nastya moved closer—seemingly by chance—but I caught that delicate feminine determination in her movements that is impossible to ignore.

She leaned against me and gently draped my arm over her shoulders, as if saying without words: I am here. Now and here.

I could smell the scent of her hair, mixed with a light aroma of vanilla and herbal shampoo, and hear her steady breathing.

How I didn’t lose my mind that evening, I still don’t understand.

Of course, she didn’t finish the movie.

Nestled comfortably against my shoulder, she began to snore softly, shifting slightly as if searching for a comfortable position.

I didn’t wake her.

I just sat there, savoring the moment I wanted to remember.

When I carefully lifted her in my arms and carried her to the bedroom, she suddenly wrapped her arms around my neck and whispered:

"Are you really going to the other room?"

"Tonight, yes. But let’s repeat this evening when I return. And if you’re not against it…"

She didn’t answer.

She only softly touched her lips to my neck—gently, barely perceptibly.

I covered her with the blanket, kissed her temple, and headed to the living room, taking my backpack with me.

In the morning, I woke to the aroma of something truly homemade.

Soft sounds came from the kitchen: the sizzle of oil in a pan, the quiet clinking of dishes. Through a crack in the half-open door, warm light filtered in—along with the kind of domestic comfort only a woman can bring to a home.

Nastya stood at the stove in my apron, which was a bit too large for her thin frame. Her hair was gathered messily, with a few strands falling onto her cheeks. A pile of golden-brown pancakes lay on a plate, and she held a spatula, flipping another one.

At that moment, she turned and, noticing me, smiled warmly.

"Hey," I said, still sleepy, taking in the simple but incredibly warm scene with quiet pleasure.

"Morning, Kostya," she said and pecked me on the cheek. "Go wash up, shave, and get to the table. Everything will be ready in ten minutes."

I smiled and went to the bathroom.

When I returned, an omelet, steaming pancakes, honey, jam, and a cup of strong tea were already on the table.

"You’ve just fulfilled all my wishes with this breakfast," I said, sitting down.

"I just wanted you to feel good," she answered quietly, pouring tea into my cup.

Her voice was calm—but there was more than just care in it.

"What time do you have to leave?" Nastya asked when we had finished eating and I had changed.

She sat opposite me, holding her cup and tilting her head slightly, as if trying to memorize this moment.

"They should be pulling up any minute now."

As if on cue, a car horn sounded outside.