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“What are you making?”
Shane stood by the door, leaning his weight, and gaze trained over the back of Ilya in a baby pink apron with pock dots that made him let out a small giggle, and all the more so when the back was tied into a cute little bow.
Had his mom done that?
Ilya didn’t turn.
His eyes flickered over his shoulder in a wordless signal of awareness.
“Makarony po flotski.”Ilya merely replied, training his gaze back to dice some onions on a cutting board.
“Makcarony po flo—i?” Shane tried to repeat the words back, only for him to not word it properly.
A sputter of sound made Shane raise an eyebrow. Shane couldn’t see the look on the Ilya’s face, and he was confused. But when Ilya’s shoulders shook in silent laughter he got the gist immediately.
“Is this some kind of inside joke I’m not aware of?” Shane questioned.
Ilya stopped what he was doing and chuckled. “You think I am joking?” He responded, shaking his head with a smile before turning around. “This—” He gestured to his apron. “Is no joke, sweetheart.”
Shane watched Ilya pivot back around with a wink. A slight, rubbed chirp of his shoes sounded his movement as he came behind Ilya, and slid his hands around the other mans waist. Shane rested his head on the man’s shoulder, watching him now move onto the ground meat and engrossed himself on how skilful Ilya was with his hands. Perhaps, too dexterous… Ilya was talking, but Shane wasn’t listening, not until he got flicked on the forehead.
“You are staring.” Ilya’s voice broke Shane’s thoughts.
“Not staring.” Shane replied. “Just…silently watching.”
Ilya hummed while he side-eyed Shane. “Always the observer and not the doer ay?” He teased with a smirk.
Shane’s cheeks flushed.
At some point, His hands found it’s place on the side of the kitchen counter edge as he still watched Ilya work his magic in this dish. Shane hadn’t known Ilya could cook so well.
He came to realise that this was this was macaroni with ground meat in it and looked absolutely delicious—Mouth-watering even. Shane’s stomach rumbled, and he became abashed when Ilya looked to him with a brow arch.
“Hungry?”
Shane wordlessly nodded.
“Want to try the first bite?” Ilya asked, dishing out the meal into four bowls and topping it off with fresh herbs.
The brunette looked to the dish, smelling the aroma of fresh pasta. “Yes—God. Thank you for asking me that question.” He responded greedily, grabbing a fork to take a bite. The taste melted into his mouth, and a sound of satisfaction left his throat.
“Do you think your parents will like?” Ilya asked out of the blue, tilting his head.
Shane perked up with realisation, fork covered in pasta, held in the air and inches away from his mouth. He was so distracted by Ilya and his cooking that he had forgotten his parents were still in the cottage, somewhere.
“Yeah why?”
“I want to give as a gift.” Ilya responded. He was still wearing that apron. “It is accustom and I want to repay them for their acceptance.”
Shane’s eyebrow shot up. He didn’t miss Ilya grinning from ear to ear.
“Of course we’ll love it, sweetheart.” Shane’s mom was behind them, watching them ever so carefully. She chuckled at their dumbfounded and surprised faces.
“How long have you been there Mom?”
“Long enough.” She smiled, proudly. Her heart blooming with warmth.