“My mother told me to find you. That you’d be my perfect one.”
Mother? Like Norman Bates’s mother? Oh man, that was creepy. “Who is your mother?” she snapped. “And what the hell does she know about me?”
Faustin was a model of patience, standing out there in the freezing cold. It didn’t seem to bother him.
His nose wasn’t even red. And he didn’t seem to mind her shrewish tone either. “My mother’s name is Natalia Grigorevna Faustin.” He ground through those hard consonants like a real Russian. “She lives in Brooklyn. She…well…she dreamed about you, dreamed you and I were meant for each other. It’s sort of an old world thing.”
“And on the basis of her dream, you came here to find me?”
He lifted one shoulder and smiled, as if the whole thing was a little embarrassing, but unavoidable.
“It’s better than internet dating.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you’ve had to resort to that.” Helena sniffed, imagining him striding around Manhattan with hordes of Sarah Jessica Parker types staggering after him in their expensive heels.
“My family, our traditions, they mean a lot to me, Helena. I’m ready to settle down and I want to do it in the old way. It worked for my parents.”
“They met by dream?”
He nodded and leaned his head on the glass. “I think my mother dreamed right, Helena.”
The longing in his voice stopped her breath. His perfect one. To think that such a thing might exist—a perfect mate. Two halves coming together to make a whole. Never lonely again.
That was delusional thinking. A good relationship was all about hard work, compromise and mutual respect—not magic destiny crap. That’s why happy couples were as rare as hen’s teeth.
She put the phone down and twisted her hands together, trying to think of something else to say when she had all of two brain cells firing. “Do you have brothers or sisters?”
“Two older brothers, Mikhail and Gregor.”
Gregor. His name really was Faustin, and he really was from New York.
He slid his palm down the glass and straightened up. “Do you have any siblings?”
“No, I’m an only child.”
“Where are your parents?”
“They’re…they’ve passed on. A year ago. This is their house, actually.” That’s it, tell him you have nobody.
His brow creased in concern. “So you’re all alone? I’m so sorry.”
The empathy in his voice brought tears to her eyes. The hormones were surging again, making her sappy. Yes, it was hard to be alone. She loved her friends, but they were not family. Family had to put up with you no matter what. She wanted them back. Before she started bawling outright, she changed the subject. “You’re Russian. Your background, I mean?”
“Right. But I was born here.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I trade in foreign currency.”
Whatever that meant, exactly. Helena never had enough money to spare for investment or trading and so paid little attention to the subject. She imagined him sitting at a big table with piles of exotic coins stacked in front of him, even though that was retarded.
“Do you have a card?” she asked. Also retarded. But she wanted to see something solid, something that proved he had a life outside of hanging around her house.
His lips twitched in amusement as he reached in his jeans pocket and brought out a slender wallet.
“Do you want to see my driver’s license? My social security card?” He flashed these things at her, all legitimate looking. He showed her a couple of credit cards, a library card, a subway pass and a Borders gift card in there too, decorated with candy canes. Then he pulled out a business card and pressed it against the glass.
“FFS?”
“Faustin Financial Services. I also do some investment consulting.” He tucked the card in the door frame and left it there like a salesman. “What about you? What do you do?”
“I’m a freelance radio producer. I do a lot of work for NPR.”
“Really? I listen to NPR all the time.”
A public radio fan? Then he must be her life mate. Well, unless maybe he was Garrison Keillor’s life mate.
But he seemed interested, truly interested. “Tell me something you’ve produced that I might have heard.”
“Uh…” Helena’s mind went marvelously blank. It was hard to remember anything when he looked her straight in the eye. A warm fluttering started between her legs . Oh, jeez. “Uh, last week they aired a story about the little kid who rode his bike across America…”
“To commemorate his brother’s death? I heard that one.” He had the strangest look to him as he said that. Something like pride. “That was your idea?”