Ekaterina Novikova

The cab pulls away down the gravel drive.

I hear the door open before I see who's behind it — axe still in hand, like he's been out here a while.

Heels first, then the rest of me, stepping onto the deck. I know him instantly. Ten years and one firing haven't changed the shape of his face, just apparently everything else.

"Well. This is a surprise." I look him over once. "Are you here for maintenance… landscaping?"

My eyes cut past him to the open door — boots by the entry, a jacket over the chair. Nothing temporary about any of it.

"I’ll allow you to get back to your work. Just don't interrupt my vacation in the process.”