Page 45 of Love Spell

It was so good, so damn good, creamy and savoury, hot and fresh, with tender mushrooms, noodles cooked just right, and beef that melted in the mouth, Noah struggled to get through it.The food, complete with a salad of baby kale with toasted walnuts, pear, and a homemade raspberry vinaigrette, made Noah think of home and family and dinners in a way he had not thought in years.

“Won’t you have more?No, don’t get up; I’ll get it.”Timo had switched his smile from top-of-the-food-chain to angelic.Even his tone was melting, somehow softening the Russian accent, which tended to grow a trace more pronounced when he was excited or had a couple drinks in him.

Noah dutifully sat, shaking his head as Timo brought the pot with seconds for them both.“How can you possibly think you’re not under some kind of outside influence?”

“Pardon me?”Timo paused in taking up more.

“Okay, even you saying that — argh … Never mind.”

Once Timo settled again, he asked another question.Noah would have tried some of his own, but he didn’t want Timo to think he was interested enough to ask personal questions.Could send the wrong signal.

“If you could have anyone as a dinner guest, who would you choose?”

“From any time?”Noah asked.

“Absolutely anyone.”

“Mrs Tolstoy.”

Timo laughed.

“How about you?”

“My mother.”

“Is she in Russia?”

“Technically.She died when I was seventeen.”

“I’m sorry …”

“I just wish she could see that I reached all she ever wanted for me — aside from the wife and kids bit.”Timo’s smile returned.“She gave everything for us, got me to stay in school by her own example of hard work when no amount of lectures by teachers or police could pin me down.”

“Were you poor?Your family?”

Timo appeared to consider the question as he chewed a bite.“My mother used to mix a spoonful of corn syrup, cheapest sweetener we could get, in warm water, pour it in empty jam jars, set sticks in it, and put it outside overnight to freeze.That was our after-school treat.”

“That’s … poor.”

“It was certainly frugal.We made do.”

“Who we?Siblings?”

“Three sisters, two brothers, in that order.I was the eldest boy, right in the middle.”

“You don’t strike me as a middle child.Where was your dad in all this?”

“Gone.He left when the youngest was a toddler.”

“He walked out on six kids?Why?”

“Because he was a bastard.”Timo regarded him sadly, as if disappointed that he must explain something so obvious.“He’d had his fun and I suppose he was fed up with my mother thinking more of our needs than of his needs.”

“Oh.”

“Tell me something else,” Timo said.“What does a perfect day look like to you?”

“Seventy-four Fahrenheit, a few fluffy clouds, light breeze.”