Pavel
There are two cartons of milk inside the fridge. The regular one and one that’s fat-free. Pasha usually buys only the regular full-fat milk. I squeeze the fridge handle and glare at the cartons sitting there so innocently on the shelf. They mock me.
It’s f*****g milk!
A palm caresses the small of my back. “Problem with the milk?”
“Yes,” I say, staring the damn things down. “Was there a two-for-one special on milk at the store?”
“Nope. I bought skim this time too in case you like it more than the other one.” Pasha stands behind me and touches my elbow, then trails his hand down my forearm until his palm presses over the back of my hand. Slowly, he lifts my hand to the shelf where the milk cartons are. “Which one do you want?”
“I don’t know.”
“Of course you do.” He moves m
