Lyana
I sigh, enchanted by the beauty of the small restaurant, located a few kilometers from the house near the mountain. A large counter in the middle of the place showcases the chef putting on a show at a wood-fired stove, flipping shrimp that will be served as the appetizer.
Somehow, I realize that Yurich seems to have rented out the entire space just for the two of us, creating a more introspective atmosphere. My cheeks remain flushed the whole time as his gaze grows more intense after small sips from his vodka-filled glass.
When the appetizer is served, I taste the subtle hint of wine used to enhance the flavor of the shrimp. Upon our arrival, Yurich’s only words were:
“Don’t drink. You’ll like staying sober.”
I bite my lip at the warmth spreading through my core; it's the power
