The idea of standing by while Lizzie invited Paul to dinner should’ve seemed counterintuitive, yet he’d done it. Even…encouraged the invitation. Afterward, he’d kissed the hell out of her in the stairwell when he hadn’t been able to wait a second longer. As soon as he thumbed the intercom button, however, he knew. Anticipation. His muscles bunched hard with the buzzing, prepared momentum he gathered before swinging Lizzie into a lift. “Yes?” Giving hints as to his nerves wouldn’t serve anyone. “It’s Paul.” Dima hit the button to release the street door. “Third floor. Come on in. It’s open.” Stepping back into the kitchen area, he gave the potatoes in the skillet a little flip before they burned. Olive oil sizzled. When the front door opened with a click, he turned and smiled. “Dobro pozhalovatj,” he said. “Welcome to our home.” He couldn’t help the extra emphasis on our. Paul might be a welcome visitor and one he wouldn’t mind sampling, but he was just that—a visitor.
