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He nods. “I grew up in Ukraine until I was eight. My mom was a single mom, working hard as a waitress to make ends meet, and these were a delicacy at my grandparents’ house, believe it or not.”
“I had no idea you grew up in Ukraine. Is that what your tattoo is? The Ukrainian flag?”
He nods.
“How did you end up in the States?”
“My stepfather was on a business trip and my mother was his waitress. He fell instantly for her, because she was beautiful, and she fell for his bank account.” He grins. “And I don’t mean that in a bad way. Patrick is honestly a really good man, but he was fifty and she was twenty-six. He adored her, and she fell in love with him because of how much he just genuinely wanted to take care of her, and not in a controlling way. A protective way.”
“Are they still married?”
“Yes. I have a little sister who’s twelve. My mom is still beautiful and Patrick is still spending every minute making sure she’s happy. He was, is, a good stepfather. He treated me like his own son and he adopted me when I was ten.”
“So your last name came from him?”
“Yes. I was born Alexsei Bondarenko. We added the Ryan to the end. How’s that for a mouthful?”
A little sizzle rolls through me. “I think it’s sexy. Do you still speak Ukrainian?”
“Yes, and no. I can, but I don’t often enough anymore to feel completely comfortable. I talk to my grandparents in Ukrainian and that’s about it.”
“That’s very cool.” I eye him. “Maybe you can whisper something in my ear later.”
“How about now?” He lowers his voice and says something that sounds amazingly sexy.
“What did you say?” I murmur, assuming it was a sexual innuendo.
But he grins. “Pass the salt.”
I laugh. “There’s no salt on this table. The chef would be insulted if you dared to season his masterpiece.”
“It’s all I could think of off the top of my head.” He winks at me.
“I’ll give you suggestions later. So, do your parents live in Chicago?”
“No. Ohio.”
“So, how did you get into hockey? Did you play in Ukraine?”
“A little. But with English not being my first language and it clear pretty quickly that I wasn’t the sharpest kid in school, Patrick wisely realized that keeping up with my peers academically was going to be a challenge for me. He thought hockey would be my ticket to college. Which it was.”
“Cam told me you went to Ohio State.”
He frowns. “When did Cam tell you that?”
“At a hockey game. He said you needed tutoring. And I think learning a whole new language and culture at eight-years-old is quite an accomplishment.”
“It was. I still remember the first time we pulled into the driveway at Patrick’s house. I thought we were moving into a mansion.” He gives a grin. “Man, I thought I’d hit the lotto. Hell, I did.”
That’s when I realize what makes Alexsei different.
It’s appreciation.
He appreciates everything he’s been given. What he has. His family. Who he is.
I appreciate who he is, too.
“I think I’ve hit the lotto, too,” I tell him, softly. “Because I met you.”
