Page 20 of Notes About Vodka (Happily Ever After Hangover #1)

He grins, looking a bit sheepish. "I'm studying chemistry and hospitality. The goal is to open my own organic American restaurant in Russia someday. I want to blend my heritage with my passion for natural, sustainable food. Plus, I know that Russians will love BBQ and tacos."

"Wow," I say, genuinely impressed. "That sounds amazing."

Val nods, his smile widening. "Yeah, it's a bit of a dream, but I'm working on it. What about you, Laura? I know you sing and play piano…but why are you at NYU in chemistry?"

I take a deep breath, thinking about my own uncertain path. "I want to go to medical school," I begin slowly. "Maybe become a surgeon. I'm not entirely sure yet, but I know I want to help people. Make a difference, you know?"

He looks at me thoughtfully. "That's pretty admirable. I can definitely see you doing that. You've got that determination."

I smile, feeling a warmth spread through me at his words. "Thanks, Val. It’s just…figuring it all out, trying to finish my degree, paying the bills with music, waiting tables, just surviving."

He nods, his expression softening. "Yeah, I get that. But I have no doubt that you'll find your way."

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

There’s a steadiness in his gaze that pulls me in, a quiet strength that feels like a lifeline in the chaos of my thoughts.

It’s not just his presence but the way he looks at me, like he sees more than the surface, like he understands parts of me I can’t even articulate.

As it gets later into the afternoon, Val suggests we grab a cocktail, I agree, hoping a drink might numb the edge of what I’m feeling.

I have too many emotions going through me right now.

Hatred and disgust at Sam. A deep desire for Val that is building and growing into something scarier. I’m losing my control…

We end up at Maya Well, a cozy Latin spot that I’ve found comforting since Skipper discovered it last year.

The dim lighting, the soft hum of conversation around us—it’s the kind of place where you can lose yourself for a while.

You can even get tacos from the food truck outside.

If you are lucky, there’s even abuela’s homemade flan.

But tonight, no amount of ambiance can distract from the storm brewing inside of me.

Val orders a scotch for himself, and I opt for a White Russian, partly as a nod to his heritage.

We sit at the bar, our knees brushing together, the closeness between us offering a small sense of solace.

But as we talk, I can feel the tension rising within me, the words I’ve been holding back threatening to spill over.

Finally, I can’t keep it inside any longer. Blame it on the vodka shots that Val ordered for us after our first drink, but I have to tell someone.

Why not let Val share some of this turmoil in me.

I take a deep breath and look at Val, my heart pounding in my chest. “Val, there’s something I need to tell you. Well, not that I need to tell you, but I just… I want to talk to you about…”

He turns to me, his expression immediately shifting to concern. “What is it?”

I take another breath, steadying myself.

"I’m divorcing Sam," I say, the words coming out in a rush.

There’s something about Val—his calm presence, the way he listens without judgment—that makes me feel like I can let my guard down.

Even though we’re still getting to know each other, he’s already shown me a kindness and understanding I haven’t felt in years.

It’s not easy to open up, but with him, it feels. .. possible.

“I... I went to the health clinic today. They had to check me over after...after Sam…well, I applied for our divorce months ago before I moved here, but now, I need to hurry it along…”

“Why? What…” Val grabs my hands, holding them in his.

Electric currents rush through my arms causing my heart to stop. The words leave my lips as I look into the darkness of Val’s hungry eyes. “He…assaulted me.”

Val’s brown eyes widen, a mix of shock and anger flashing across his face. “Laura...he did what?” His voice is low, laced with a dangerous edge.

I nod, my throat tightening as I continue. “It wasn’t the first time, but...this time, well I have to stop it. Val. I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I’m done, I’m over it.”

Val’s hands continue to hold mine, his grip firm but gentle, as if he’s afraid I might break under the weight of my own words.

His calm, steady presence feels like an anchor, grounding me when my emotions threaten to pull me under.

There’s a sincerity in his touch, a quiet reassurance that makes me believe, even for just a moment, that I’m not alone in this.

It’s his empathy, the way he listens without judgment, that gives me the courage to keep speaking.

“Laura, I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve that. You deserve so much better.”

I feel a tear slip down my cheek, quickly pulling one of my hands away to brush it away. My hand feels cold as I use the sleeve of my shirt to wipe another tear away. “I’ve been trying to tell myself it wasn’t as bad as it is, but today... Today, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore.”

His hand tightens around mine, and there’s a fierceness in his eyes that makes me feel both safe and seen. “You’re stronger than you know. And you don’t have to go through this alone.”

I nod, trying to absorb the warmth of his words, the way he looks at me like I’m worth fighting for. “I just... I needed you to know. You’ve been so kind to me, and I didn’t want to keep this from you.”

Val’s thumb strokes the back of my hand, a soothing gesture that nearly undoes me.

The contrast between his touch—steady, gentle, and grounding—and the trauma swirling inside me feels overwhelming.

For a moment, I can almost believe in the comfort he’s offering, that maybe I don’t have to face this alone.

It’s a fragile hope, but one that makes my chest ache with an unfamiliar blend of relief and vulnerability.

“Thank you for telling me. I’m here for you, whatever you need. ”

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of my confession hanging in the air between us.

It’s not awkward, but rather a kind of stillness that feels necessary.

For the first time, I’m allowing myself to sit with my emotions, to feel them without pushing them away.

Val doesn’t fill the silence with words, and somehow, that makes it easier to breathe.

As we finish our last drink, I can sense that both Val and I are ready for a change in conversation. The heaviness of what I’ve shared still lingers between us, but there’s a mutual understanding that we need a reprieve, even if just for a little while.

“So,” Val says, leaning back in his chair, his dark eyes glinting with curiosity. “Tell me more about Hurtsboro. What was it like growing up there?”

I smile, the memories of my hometown flooding back in a rush.

“I know I'm joking when I say it Hurts-a-boro to live there, but I loved it. Hurtsboro is a tiny place, probably not much more than a dot on a map to most people. But it’s home, you know? It’s the kind of town where everyone knows everyone, and nothing much changes.

The streets are lined with old, creaky houses, and there’s this one main road that runs through the center, where you’ll find a few shops, a diner, and a post office.

Most of it falling apart and crumbling. Every evening, no matter the day, at exactly 5 p.m., the United Methodist Church plays a variety of piano and organ music for the hour.

I used to love walking down those olds roads after school, listening to the songs, visiting the “Zoo” where Old Man Casterdale raised peacocks, turkeys, and donkeys, or just waving to Mrs. Jenkins as she sat on her porch, always knitting something or other. ”

Val chuckles softly, the sound warm and inviting. “Sounds peaceful.”

“It was,” I say, nodding. “But it could also feel a bit stifling, like the whole world was passing by while you were stuck in this little bubble. Russell County was pretty much the same—quiet, rural, with lots of farmland and forests. We had a decent school, though, and I made some good friends there, like Skipper and his older sister Aster. We used to go swimming in the creek during the summer, catching crawdads and skipping rocks. Simple things, but they meant a lot to us.”

Val listens intently, his gaze never leaving my face. “I can picture it,” he says softly. “A place where life moves slowly, where you can breathe.”

“Exactly,” I reply, smiling. “But it also meant that getting out was hard. People there tend to stay their whole lives, never venturing too far from where they were born. My dad is still there, in the same house I grew up in. Sometimes I miss it—the familiarity, the sense of belonging. But other times, I’m glad I got out, that I’ve had the chance to see more of the world. ”

“And your mom?”

“Ummm…she’s another story for later. But the long and the short of the matter, she left Daddy when I was little, remarried, and actually lives just an hour near here in New Haven.”

Val nods, as if he understands completely.

“I love the way you speak, and I think I know what you mean. Sochi is my home, but it’s different from what you’ve described.

It’s a city, with its own pace, but also with a deep connection to nature.

We have the Black Sea on one side and the Caucasus Mountains on the other.

Summers are warm, and the sea is always there, calling to you.

Winters, though... Winters are something else entirely. ”

“Tell me,” I say, leaning in a little closer, eager to hear more.