Page 104 of Healing Eleanor

I knit my brows. “What?”

“Nothing.” His voice cracks as he tries to stifle another laugh.

“Nik…” I press.

He loses it again, chuckling. “Your eyes. You look a little… raccoon-y.”

I gasp and glance at the towel. Sure enough—mascara smudges everywhere. Wonderful.

Before I can retreat to the sink in embarrassment, Nik steps forward and gently takes the towel from my hands. His movements are careful as he wipes the streaks from my cheeks, then the dark smudges beneath my eyes. Every brush of his fingers lights a fire beneath my skin, and when his hands finally fall away, the flames remain.

“There,” he murmurs softly, meeting my gaze with a small smile. “No more raccoon eyes.”

Once I finish cutting the death onions, Nik pours them into the filling, melding everything together. Our conversations flow easily, and I hate to admit how much fun I’m having with him—even with the thought of eating lingering heavy at the back of my mind.

When the dough is finished rising, he shows me how to roll it, cut circles with a cookie cutter, and fill them. The part I can’t master is sealing them shut. His look like perfect half-moons, pinched neatly in the center. Mine resembles… lopsided ears.

So, I’m demoted to filling duty while he handles the sealing. I can’t help but think we make a good team—even if I’m more trouble than I’m worth in the kitchen. He makes everything look easy, and I wonder if there’s ever been a time when he messed up.

“So,” I ask, halfway through filling another circle, “is this your favorite dish to make?”

“It’s one of them.” Nik pinches the dumpling into a perfect crescent. “I also enjoy making ukha. It’s fish soup with root vegetables and spices.” He reaches for the next piece of dough. “My parents live near a lake, so during the summer I’ll fish. If I get a good catch, I make it.”

“You enjoy fishing?” I tilt my head, surprised. The more I learn about him, the more I realize I know nothing at all.

He dips his chin. “Among other things.” His mouth curves into a smirk as he lines another dumpling on the cutting board.

“What else?” I press.

“I like to hike and camp—mostly during late summer. I enjoy going to church on Sundays, reading my Bible.” He chews his lips, eyes darting to the pelmeni. “And… I used to enjoy dancing.”

I pause mid-scoop. “Used to?”

He gives a faint, evasive bob of his head.

“What happened? I remember you mentioned an injury before.”

His hands still. “I don’t know if—”

“You don’t have to tell me,” I interrupt. He’s given me space before, and I want to do the same.

Silence fills the kitchen for a moment, broken only by the rhythmic filling and sealing of dough.

“After my sister Daria died,” he finally says, voice low, “I lost myself. At sixteen, I started sneaking my dad’s alcohol. By twenty-one, I was out at bars more nights than not. Between the drinking and the… girls, I was a shell of who I should’ve been. Kasper bailed me out of a lot.”

I stop working, listening as he presses on.

“When I was twenty-three, I showed up to rehearsal late. Hungover. I couldn’t even focus on the choreography. I went for a jump, landed on my left leg, and—” He exhales sharply. “The pain was immediate. I couldn’t walk. At the hospital they told me I’d torn my hip labrum. They said it was career-ending .” His jaw clenches as he sets the dumpling down almost too hard. Finally, he lifts his gaze to mine. “I was devastated, Eleanor. I continued dancing for Daria. And suddenly… I couldn’t.”

An uneasy stillness hangs in the air.

“Kasper offered me a coaching job. And at twenty-three, that felt humiliating. But I had nothing else, so I took it. I was angry for a long time.” His voice softens, almost reverent. “Until I found Jesus. His grace gave me purpose again. Coaching kept Daria’s memory alive in a different way. Even if the winters are still pretty hard for me to get through.” He gives a small, humorless laugh.

I swallow, unsure how to respond. “Gosh, Nik. I don’t know what to say other than I’m so sorry.”

He shakes his head immediately. “Don’t apologize. Everything happens for a reason. Coaching has brought me blessings I never expected.” He seals another dumpling, then glances at me with a faint, almost shy smile. “Kind of like you being here.”

My composure turns to liquid, and a slow warmth spreads across my face. Thankfully Nik saves me from having to comment.