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Then, to my surprise, she lets go of the pole, walks out of the train, and comes to my side.
“Russian honey cake? Did you suggest that because I’m Russian?”
“Oh,Natalia… No actually, I didn’t even think of that. I guess I just love Maxims.”
“I thought you were Irish…” She glances up into my eyes, and the expression in hers says everything I need to know. She decides to spend more time with me despite her reluctance. Something in the back of my mind screams –stop.She’s a dangerous distraction.
But I can’t resist.
“Yes,yes,” I’m a bit startled that she agrees, but elated. “The honey cake is Russian. I’m Irish. It’s a long story. Let’s go get a coffee.”
I hold out my arm,and she takes it and walks beside me up the stairs and then down the street.
“Oh, you meant actual coffee?” Her eyes twinkle.
“I always mean what I say.” I smile at her and lead her down the sidewalk to one of my favorite places in New York – Maxim’s, a Russian café that stays open late, and serves good Russian food and strong coffee. So, she’s Russian…
That adds an interesting complication.
“You’re Russian? What’s your surname?”
“Matthews, actually. My mother divorced my father. Changed our names, so I got her surname instead. Which is just fine by me. He was a real bastard.”
“What was his surname, if you don’t mind me asking.”
“Why?”
I sigh, not wanting to get into the whole organized crime history of my family with the Russian Mafia.
“Just curious.”
“Mikhailov. Stepan Mikhailov. He’s involved in shipping. I’m not involved with him.”
I nod and leave it at that. So, we have more in common than I first thought.
We enter and order two decaf coffees and two pieces of Russian Honey Cake, a dessert that Maxim is famous for. We sit in the window seat and eat our desserts and drink our coffee. She talks about her work at the Bellevue Hospital as a med student doing a psych rotation with an interest in Forensic Psychiatry, and I talk about my time in Afghanistan and how I run a private hedge fund, offering financial advice to people who want to profit off the current financial ups and downs.
“Where did you go to college?”
“Harvard, Business. Was going to do an MBA but I enlisted instead.” I smile. “I’m glad I went to the bar tonight. I almostdecided not to. Sometimes, you’re just meant to run into someone. Like Karma or something.”
“Karma?” she asks, looking deep into my eyes. “What did I do to deserve running into you? Or vice versa?”
I wish I could reveal more about who I am now and what I’m doing but knowing it would be a bad idea – for us both. “I don’t know what you did, but I rescued you from Uvula Man so this coffee date must be my reward.”
“Tell me more about your time in the military.” She stirs her coffee, a look of curiosity in her eyes. Her pretty hazel eyes with flecks of brown and gold and green. Thick dark lashes. There’s a spray of freckles over her nose that makes her look a bit impish…
“My family didn’t want me to sign up. My father probably wanted me to take over the family business instead.” I pause, wondering how much of the truth to reveal about my family.
“Why didn’t you? Most sons would be happy to.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t really want to work in the family business.”
“Which is?”
“Construction.” I don’t want to get into the organized crime side of things. “My family wasn’t crazy about my choices, but I didn’t care. We’re Irish from Northern Ireland and we’re suspicious of the military and government, except for the militia. I wanted to either enlist or join the FBI, both of which are off-limits to members of my family. I enlisted against family advice and then, well, I came back and started my own investment business.”
“It must have been hard,” she says, her expression sympathetic and a bit admiring, which I must admit makes me feel good.
