Isn't It Bromantic (Bromance Book Club #4) by Lyssa Kay Adams

            Her heart was still jumping. Maybe it always would. Maybe that was her personal cross to bear. Her penance.

            Elena shook off the memory and threw herself into the cooking. An hour later, the soup was simmering and the dough was done for the dumplings when she heard a dog bark out front.

            Elena peered around the corner from the kitchen. Neighbor Dog had his nose pressed to the window to the right of the door. His tail wagged when he saw Elena, and he let out another enthusiastic woof. Elena walked to the door. “Um, go home, doggie.”

            “You can let him in.”

            Elena whipped around to find Vlad leaning heavily on his crutches at the top of the stairs.

            “What are you doing up?” she asked, rushing up the stairs two at a time. “You should’ve called for me.”

            “I smell solyanka,” he said, voice thick with the remnants of sleep. He’d put on a shirt and some basketball shorts. One side of his hair stood on end as if he’d fallen asleep on it while it was still wet.

            “It’s almost done. I’ll bring you some. Go back to bed.”

            “I want to come downstairs.”

            Elena hovered behind him as he crutched down step by step. The dog woofed again when he spotted Vlad.

            “Let him in,” Vlad said, nodding to the door.

            Elena opened the door, and Neighbor Dog bounded inside. “Your leg!” she warned.

            Vlad simply snapped his fingers, and the dog sat in obedience.

            “Good boy,” Vlad said. He looked up at Elena. “Do you need any help in the kitchen?”

            “I’m supposed to be helping you. Let’s go to the couch.”

            Neighbor Dog kept pace at his heels as Vlad made his way down the hallway before turning left into the living room. The spacious room was sparsely furnished but cozy. A long gray sectional couch faced a large fireplace, which was flanked by two plush chairs and wide windows overlooking the backyard. A leather ottoman doubled as a coffee table in the center, and above the mantel hung a large flat-screened TV.

            “Sit,” Elena ordered. “I’ll push the ottoman closer for your leg. Do you need ice?”

            “Not right now,” Vlad grunted, scooting backward until his knees touched the couch. Then, holding his crutches for balance, he lowered slowly to sit. Elena quickly shoved the ottoman until he could rest his leg on it. He sank back against the couch cushions and rubbed his eyes. Neighbor Dog rested his head on Vlad’s good knee in search of a scratch.

            Vlad obliged. “How long was I asleep?”

            “About two hours.”

            “I don’t remember when my friends left.”

            “They said you sort of passed out.”

            He scratched his hand down his thickly whiskered jaw. “I feel drunk.”

            “And you were going to come down the stairs like that?” One corner of his mouth quirked up in an apologetic smile, and her heart jumped. “I’ll go get you some soup.”

            She raced back to the kitchen before he could see what he was doing to her. Then she dished up a bowl of the simmering broth, poured a tall glass of milk, and carried them both to the living room, where she set them on the small table next to the couch. “I should get you a tray or something.”

            “I don’t need one,” Vlad said, reaching for the bowl. “I pretty much eat all my meals like this when I’m home.”

            “That’s not very Russian of you.”

            He shrugged with one shoulder. “It’s too quiet to eat at the table alone.”

            The image that conjured was so full of loneliness that Elena felt a swell of something inconvenient in her chest. Vlad ate alone with someone else’s dog at his feet.

            Vlad swallowed a large spoonful, and a moan escaped from his lips. “Holy shit, Lenochka.”

            This time, her heart completely stopped. Lenochka was the affectionate nickname that he and his parents used to call her when they were young. It was a common diminutive for Elena in Russia, but her own father had never even called her that. It had been years since she’d heard it.