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“Since when?”

“Since Tuesday.”

He squinted at me, all big dumb loyal eyes, and I could see him deciding not to ask. Jason’s good like that. He’ll circle a question for a week, but he never puts his foot on it.

“There’s pancakes,” he said finally, and I nearly hugged him.

I’m not going to lie. I was terrified.

I don’t mean “a little nervous.” I mean I had to hold the doorknob of Room 214 for about ninety seconds, forehead against the wood, doing box breathing like a Navy SEAL. I’d eaten dinner. I’d showered twice. I’d changed my shirt four times and my jeans once, and Jason, who had watched all of it from his cot with a bag of pretzels, had said only, “Just so you know, black looks good on you,” in the voice of a man delivering a eulogy.

It wasn’t the sex that scared me, or not only that. Under it was something bigger and stranger. I’d been touched by a lot of people, but I’d never been seen, not naked and not in the head, and not in the way I was going to be tonight, in a warm room with a man who could tell my heartbeat from across a building and had, as far as I could tell, the emotional depth of an ocean and the sexual experience of a newborn giraffe.

You can leave, said a voice in my head. Nobody will know.

I knocked.

The door opened right away. He’d been standing behind it.

I forgot everything I’d planned to say.

He was wearing a plain black shirt unbuttoned at the collar and dark trousers, and his feet were bare. He wore no jacket and no armor. His hair was damp and pushed back off his forehead, and he’d done something to the room. The overhead light was off, and two lamps were lit, low and gold, one on the desk and one by the bed. The curtains were drawn. On the nightstand sat a small candle in a saucer, which he’d probably found in the kitchen, and beside it, on a white plate, was a loaf of bread.

It was dark and glossy and still warm. I could smell it from the door.

“Honey bread,” said Maksim, following my gaze. His voice was very quiet. “I found a bakery on Kessler Street that would make it if asked. I went in three times. On the third they let me watch.” A small, embarrassed movement of his mouth. “I do not know if it is correct. It is the closest I could get.”

I couldn’t say anything. I just stood in the doorway with my throat locked.

“You may laugh,” he said.

“I’m not laughing.”

“It is a foolish gesture.”

“Maksim.” I stepped inside. I closed the door behind me and leaned on it. “It’s the best thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

He looked away, and the tips of his ears went faintly pink, which I would not have believed was possible.

“Come,” he said. “Sit. There are things we should discuss.”

“Oh God.”

“They are not frightening.”

“They sound frightening.”

“They are logistics.”

He’d set two chairs facing each other by the window. On the small table between them was the bread, a bottle of water, a glass of red for himself, and a paper bag. A pharmacy bag, white, folded over at the top.

I sat. He sat. We looked at each other like two men negotiating a treaty.

“I have prepared a list,” said Maksim.

“Of course you have.”

“Item one.” He held up a finger. “You may stop at any time, and for any reason. You do not need to explain yourself. If you say icing, I will stop, remove my hands, and ask nothing. You will not be punished. You will not be teased. I will make tea.”