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“What?”
“Nothing,” they say in unison, looking suspicious.
“Mom will heat your plate up again.” Dad juts his chin back toward the kitchen, where my mom’s voice filters out. Who is she talking to?
I say goodbye to Nevena and walk with Dad through the living room to the kitchen, hoping I’m not about to get a huge delayed lecture from my parents—or kicked out, though that’s unlikely—but a third person sitting at the counter has me stopping in my tracks.
Peter is here.
He’s at the counter, next to my mom, eating the stuffed cabbage rolls she made a few nights ago. He looks up when my mom stops talking and sees me. Putting the fork down, he chews quickly and then swallows.
“Hi,” he says.
“I’ll put your plate in the microwave,” Mom says, getting up.
“Mom, I can do it.”
“It’ll take me two seconds.”
Peter turns to face me, wiping his palms on the thigh of his jeans.
“How did you know where to find me?” I ask.
“Your address is at the bottom of your invoices.”
The microwave door slams shut. Mom sets the cook time once, then mutters, “No, no, too long,” before hitting cancel.
“I was at Heartly today, actually. You should have called.”
Mom starts over with the microwave. Finally, it starts, and Mom raises her hands. “I’m going, I’m going.”
She and Dad retreat to the front room, where they’re going to pretend they aren’t listening.
“What are you doing here?”
“I felt terrible with how we left each other in Zurich, and I had to see you again. I wanted to tell you that you don’t have to move your business to Zurich. That was dumb, and it was me trying desperately to find a way to see you more.”
I step closer, taking the seat my mother abandoned and facing him.
“I do want to see you again. I can come to New York whenever you want because it’s worth seeing you again, no matter where it happens.”
One of his hands hangs off the edge of the counter, and I take it in mine. “I thought about it a lot, and you were right. Icouldrebuild my business. I’m not saying I want to, but I have to have faith in myself that I can do whatever I want to do—within reason.”
Peter flips his hands over and threads his fingers through mine. “You can do whatever you want to. I have enough faith in you for the both of us.”
I smile. “I know you do.”
“Good.” He lifts my hand, pressing the back of it to his lips in a soft kiss. “Kara, will you go out to dinner with me?”
I pretend to think about it. “No.”
Peter’s face freezes, eyes darting between mine in uncertainty.
The microwave dings. “We’re going to eat this food my mom prepared, and you’re going to stay till New Year’s Eve if you can—” I look at Peter, and he gives me one of his rare grins. “—and you’ll spend those three days getting to knowmyfamily. You know,” I shrug casually, “to make sure you’re serious about this relationship.”
Peter leans in. “I’m sure. But I’ll spend time with your family on one condition.”
“What’s that?” I lean in until our noses brush.
