Traffic had cleared by the time Dimitri got back on the freeway and headed toward his house.

Show her with action, huh? Hadn’t that been what he was doing? Helping her with physical therapy exercises, taking her to the restaurant, showing her with his body how much he cherished her—short of stepping in to solve all her problems for her, what else was he supposed to do?

Maybe romance. They’d completely bypassed that entire part of relationships. Hell, they’d only been on one date, and it was to visit her old place of employment and the restaurant he currently owned. It hardly counted. They should go on a real date. To dinner, or something. At a place he didn’t own. Or a movie premiere, or a launch party, or a—shit, those weren’t the kinds of dates real people went on. Had he become so removed he no longer knew how to date a woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with?

Yep. He had. Time to remember how to be a real person.

He called his brother and put him on speaker through the car’s Bluetooth.

“Yeah?”

Nik had never learned the proper way to answer the phone. “It’s me.”

“I know, fool. What do you want?”

“Where do you go on a date with someone you really like?”

There was a pause, followed by hooting laughter. Dimitri gritted his teeth and decided to make a detour on the way home.

“Just tell me.”

“Are we talking about Natasha?”

“Of course.”

“Bro, isn’t it a little late for this? You guys have been . . . you know . . . for years now.”

“Never too late.” Dimitri parked in the lot and popped in his earpiece so he could continue the call outside the car. “What’s wrong? You don’t go on dates?”

“Oh, I go on dates. You’re the one who doesn’t go on dates. Too busy living that celebrity life.”

It grated, because Nik was right. Clubs and parties filled with other celebrities weren’t the same.

While Dimitri surveyed the selection at the supermarket, Nik spilled the goods. “You live in LA. There’s tons of shit to do with women. Go to a museum, go to the beach, go hiking, go to a couples spa. It’s all about spending time together and sharing experiences. Doesn’t really matter what you do. Hell, you could take in a movie and share a giant tub of popcorn, like the regular folk do. Go see something scary so she has to cuddle up next to you.”

“Cuddling?” Dimitri made his choice and ran to pay.

“Yeah, it’s supposed to be a precursor to sex, but you guys skipped over all that. You gotta show her you’re not afraid of creepy dolls or haunted houses, shit like that.”

“Wait, dolls? You lost me.” Dimitri jogged through the lot back to his car, clutching his purchase. “Okay, so movies, outdoor shit, sharing experiences. Got it.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re going to fuck this up?”

“I’m not.”

“You are. And it’ll be glorious to watch. Except Ma will be upset.”

“Nobody’s gonna be upset. Call me if you think of any other dates.”

“No. You’re on your own. Don’t fuck it up.”

“I wo—”

The line went dead. Dimitri tossed his purchase onto the passenger seat and raced back to his house.

Anticipation built as he got closer. Not to home, but to her. The two had become synonymous. Home. Natasha. Home. Tasha. A longing in his gut, pulling him toward her. The lingering scent of figs and ginger.

He loved her so much. He’d spend forever showing her, if she’d let him.

Last night, they’d crossed a threshold. He’d revealed everything he was—his hopes, his dreams, his fears. She’d seen him so clearly, and when he approached her about her own challenges—managing her finances—she seemed more open to letting him help. As much as he wanted to swoop in and fix everything for her, she wouldn’t welcome it, and it wouldn’t help her in the long run.

Just because she let him get away with being pushy didn’t mean he had to be that way all the time.

Compromise. That was a couple thing, right? They were on their way. They’d make it work.

He parked in front of the house, too anxious to even use the garage, and besides, he had to get back to Alex. Going in through the front door, he paused, holding his gift, listening for her. Rustling noises came from the spare bedroom. Smiling, he strode through the living room to greet her.

He froze the second he hit the doorway. What. The. Fuck.

Instead of Natasha’s sassy grin, he was met with chaos. She sat on the floor, right foot stuck out straight, surrounded by everything she had brought with her from her apartment. At the moment, she was cramming those things into her suitcase and duffle bags.

He blinked. His heart pounded. None of it made sense. “What are you doing?”

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but she turned. Behind her red-framed glasses, her eyes were wide and wild. He had a flashback to a few weeks earlier, when he surprised her at her own apartment. She had the same look on her face.

“Packing.” She said it like it should have been obvious, then turned back to her work.

Panic. She was leaving. Once again, he was losing everything. The floor no longer felt quite so steady under his feet, and he balled his hands into fists, leaning on the doorjamb. His breathing had sped up, but he sucked in a breath, and when he let it out, the words flowed in something close to a roar. “You’re leaving?”

She didn’t even flinch. “Donna will fire me if I don’t.”

Since she hadn’t turned to look at him when she spoke, he strode into the room and stood in front of her so he could see her face.

She glanced up at him, then stilled when she saw the bouquet of flowers crushed in his hand. Her eyebrows dipped, and her mouth fell open. Before she could say a word, he tossed them aside, into a corner of the room, and crouched down.

“Kroshka.” He placed his hands over hers, keeping them still. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I yelled, and I’m sorry I ruined the flowers. I was trying to surprise you.”

“You’re fine. I know you yell. I don’t care. I’m Puerto Rican. We yell all the time. And you know who surprised me? Donna. Donna surprised the fuck out of me when she showed up here and threatened to fire me. But the flowers are nice. I like flowers.”

She was babbling, speaking a mile a minute. He leaned in and kissed her, and when he drew back, she had tears in her eyes.

“Dimitri, I can’t.” Her voice was hoarse, and she refused to look at him. Her hands fluttered under his, and she gave a helpless shrug that broke his heart.

“We’ll figure this out,” he told her, striving to sound more confident than desperate. Because if he gave voice to the panicked oh shit she’s leaving she’s leaving she’s leaving running through his head, she’d never believe he was the kind of guy who wasn’t afraid of haunted dolls, or whatever the hell Nik had been talking about. He held her hands in his, and ducked his head until she looked him in the eye.

“We will figure this out,” he said, more forcefully this time. “Calm down. Please.”

Her eyes were still round, but she nodded.

“I have to run to meet Alex at Kras, but when I get back, we’ll make a plan. Together. Trust me, okay?”

Her gaze fell to the clothing spilling out of her suitcase. “Dimitri, I—”

“Please. Trust me.” He kissed her forehead. Please god, let her be here when he got back. “I’ll get you new flowers.”

Heart in his throat, he ran to his office for the Idea Book. While opening and closing drawers, looking for the binder, he caught sight of the plain folder that housed his contract for next season of The Dance Off.

The solution was staring him in the face. If he quit, Natasha could keep her job, and they could stay together.

But if he quit, how would he get his show off the ground? It was the whole reason why he’d joined The Dance Off in the first place. He needed the fame to make his next show happen. If he quit, he’d be right back at square one, unable to secure funding for his own work.

He slammed the drawer shut. They would find another way.

After unearthing the Idea Book, he ran out to the car and drove to meet Alex.