Chapter 5 - Dinner
1107 Words
Chapter 5 - Dinner
Alexei didn’t release her hand immediately.
The noise of the restaurant faded to a low blur, his focus narrowing to the steady warmth of her fingers in his. The absence of tension registered before thought caught up with it. He allowed the moment to pass without naming it.
“Sandy,” he said, keeping his voice even.
She looked up at him, uncertain. She didn’t recognize him, and that mattered more than it should have.
He gestured toward the banquette with his free hand. “Please, have a seat.”
Sandy glanced around again, still unsure why she was here with this man.
As she moved to sit, he added, “May I take your coat?”
She withdrew her hand.
The offer lingered unanswered as she slipped the coat free and folded it over her arm.
Sitting at the edge of the banquette felt sensible.
Alexei took the seat beside her.
Not too close, not too far. Close enough for quiet words. Far enough that she could leave if she needed to.
“You’re probably wondering who I am,” he said, watching her face.
Blank, but attentive. Emergency training. She helped people.
“Friday night. You helped me. In the alley.”
Recognition crossed her expression. She nodded.
“Oh,” she said. “Like me, you’d had enough of the Friday night bar scene.”
Dry humor. Controlled. Useful.
“Something like that,” he said. “I wanted to thank you. You didn’t hesitate.”
“A stranger who somehow knows my name and where I hang out.”
“Beth Israel ER counts as hanging out?”
Her head tilted slightly.
In that small gesture, Alexei saw it. The moment she realized he hadn’t found her by chance.
The shift came quickly. Guarded. Measuring.
He was about to explain when the waitress arrived.
“Hello, Alexei,” she said, placing two menus on the table. “What can I get you to drink?”
She hadn’t looked at Sandy.
Alexei's attention turned to Sandy, “What would you like?”
“Sparkling water with lime, please.”
“Two,” he said.
The waitress turned away, irritation barely concealed.
Sandy looked back at him. “So how did you find me?”
Alexei nodded toward the bar. “I asked my friend over there, Nik to help. He recognized you from the birthday party. Hospital lanyards, scrubs. Someone knew your name.”
Sandy nodded. Satisfied with the explanation.
The waitress returned with the water. “Ready to order?”
“In a minute,” Alexei said.
Sandy picked up the menu. “Hawaiian. My mother.” Her eyes scanned the page. “Thirty-four dollars for a hamburger.”
“It’s worth it.”
“I’m not sure I could enjoy it,” she said. “But I need protein.”
Alexei signaled the waitress. “Two hamburgers.”
“Why protein?” he asked.
“Boston Marathon next week.”
“You like running?”
“Not especially. I’ve been in Boston almost four years and barely seen it. Mostly study.”
He looked at her more closely.
“I’m in my last semester of med school.”
He’d known she worked ER but had assumed intern. Resident, maybe.
“What school?”
She smiled, small and self-contained. “The one across the river.”
Harvard. It fit. Quiet competence. No need to announce it.
“Clinical rotations now,” she added. “Two ER shifts so far. Paid. Not much.”
“ER must be… intense.”
“It never stops.” She took a sip of water. “Last night a guy came in screaming every version of f**k imaginable. Arm mangled. As soon as it was stabilized, pain meds, he ran.”
“Bloody awful.”
“And you’re from England?” she asked.
He blinked, momentarily caught. The accent. He forgot it sometimes.
The burgers arrived.
The waitress set his down carefully and slid Sandy’s plate with less care.
Alexei drew Sandy’s plate closer to her, masking the slight.
She took a bite. “Even if I could get five Big Macs for the price, this is good.”
He cut his own burger, barely touching it.
“My teachers in Kyiv were English,” he said. “Then boarding school in England. University after. It stayed.”
“So Ukrainian?”
“American. Born in New York.”
She paused mid-bite. The tilt of her head again. Tell me more.
“My mother was a cellist with the National Symphony Orchestra of Ukraine. She performed while pregnant—Carnegie Hall. Mahler.” A brief pause. “I’d had enough Mahler by then.”
“So you don’t have to fight.”
“No. I carry both passports.”
He took a bite he didn’t need.
“What we do for Ukraine is through Medschek Medical. Supplies. Logistics. Our office is nearby.”
He left it there.
Sandy smiled faintly. “I love Mahler. Still haven’t been to the Boston Symphony.”
“I can fix that,” he said. “Friday night. Dvořák.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Her plate was empty when he noticed Nik moving toward the front door, positioning himself deliberately.
“Do you like ice cream?” Alexei asked, already shifting.
“Sure. Who doesn’t?”
He slid out of the banquette and moved to her side, offering his hand. Blocking her view of the door. Of Nik.
She hesitated, then accepted.
Her touch steadied him again.
He guided them toward the rear exit.
“The alley?” she asked. “I hope the big scary man isn’t still there.”
“Like a troll?” he said lightly.
“When you pushed me away,” she said, “there was a man at the end of the alley. Then he was gone.”
“That’s good.”
They turned left at the end of the alley, moving faster now.
“What about the bill?”
“Nik'll handle it.”
His phone vibrated—only one person used that line.
“Sandy, do you live far? I can drive you.”
She inhaled, then gently withdrew her hand. “Three T stops. That one.”
He nodded. “I’ve got an issue at the airport. Cargo.”
“Medical supplies?” she asked.
“Yes.”
He handed her his phone. “Your number. Symphony Friday.”
She entered it. “Thank you for dinner.”
He watched her walk toward the station.
She didn’t look back.
When she reached the steps, Alexei was already gone.
- Writer
