“Your ideals? No. Your particular choice?” He made a face. And despite her frustration with him, she relaxed. Jealousy and male petulance were easier to swallow than judgment. “I cannot approve of that smooth-faced boy. Why have you chosen him?”

That jumpy place in her stomach made itself known again. She certainly hadn’t intended to get involved with the too-handsome soldier she’d found herself serving beside in the trenches last year. It was cliché. And ill-advised.

But there was something about Evgeni she hadn’t been able to resist forever. Not the charm in his smile. No . . . it was something in his eyes when he looked at her. Something that went beyond desire. When he looked at her, he saw what she wanted. What she stood for. He saw all she railed against. He saw it, and he respected it, and he liked her all the more for it.

She wasn’t about to explain any of that to Paul, though. Instead, she tried on one of his shrugs. “Perhaps I like smooth-faced boys right now. And when I decide I do not any longer, then I’ll simply move on.”

She made no attempt to interpret his grunt. Especially not when he pointed at a particular door. “Well, he’s in there. I’ll leave you to your reunion. My lunch break is over, and I must get back to work. I’ll be back this evening.”

It was much easier to like Paul when he was leaving. Her smile was unforced this time. “Thank you for meeting my train, comrade.”

He waved that off and hurried toward the corner, where he turned to the left and out of sight.

Nadya strode up to the door, paused only long enough to drag in a deep breath, and then knocked. Through the cheap wood she could hear the sounds of a scraping chair and shuffling feet. She tried to brace herself for the feeling sure to punch her in the stomach when she saw him again—that strange weaving of want with need and the wishing that she didn’t want or need it.

The door opened, and for a moment she saw the expression on Evgeni’s pale face that she had to think he prepared for Paul. Because the second his gaze dropped to her, it shifted to something far different. The only word she had for it was something she’d had little enough experience with in her life.

Joy.

“Nadya! How did you get here so soon?”

Were she a romantic like her little sister, she would say love for him had given her wings. Had she been the family-oriented woman her mother tried to make her, she’d have said he needed her, and so here she was.

But she was a soldier, so she stepped inside and said, “Surprisingly, I ran into no obstacles.”