"Andrew," Nova's voice cracked slightly as she sat on the ground, her elbow stinging and her pride even more bruised. She looked up at him, her brows drawn in disbelief and confusion.
Andrew dropped to his knees beside her immediately, his face pale and panic-stricken. His chest rose and fell with rapid breaths as if he were still in that moment, back in the pond, unable to separate the past from the present.
"I—I'm so sorry," he said, his voice trembling. "Nova, I swear I didn't mean to. I panicked. I didn't even think—I just reacted."
She pulled away from his outstretched hands and got up by herself, brushing off the grass and dirt clinging to her legs. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she asked, the hurt in her voice more piercing than her words.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, standing now, arms limp at his sides. "I wasn't thinking straight. I—I didn't mean to push you that hard."
Nova stared at him, eyes wide, hurt shimmering in her expression. "But you did, Andrew. You shoved me. That wasn't some silly reflex. That was like… like I was a threat to you." She paused, then added more quietly, "Was it because I pushed you into the pond?"
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, his gaze dropping to the ground.
"I panicked," he murmured. "You don't get it. I—I can't swim."
Nova blinked. For a moment, she thought she'd misheard him. "Wait… swim? Andrew, it was a shallow pond. It barely came up to your calves. What do you mean you can't swim?"
He inhaled sharply, his voice now quieter, more ashamed. "I know it was shallow, but when I hit the water, it wasn't just water. It was… it was everything I've been trying to forget." His jaw clenched. "It was like… like my body didn't care where I actually was. I couldn't stop myself from pushing you. I just… reacted."
Nova's anger dulled, replaced by confusion and growing concern. She tilted her head slightly, watching him. "Andrew…"
He wouldn't look at her. "I really didn't mean to hurt you. I would never, Nova. I didn't even realize how hard I pushed until I saw you on the ground. I'm sorry."
She looked down, her fists relaxing at her sides. The sting of betrayal was still there, but now it was tempered with understanding.
"I forgive you," she finally said, her tone gentle. "And I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have pushed you into the pond. I thought it would be funny, and… well, it wasn't."
He chuckled weakly, a small, self-deprecating sound. "It kind of was. Just… maybe next time, warn me first."
"No more surprise water attacks. Got it," she said with a faint smirk, brushing her fingers through her wind-tossed hair. "Is it… is it a fear? Of water?"
His entire body stiffened at the question. He hesitated, then exhaled, shoulders sagging.
"No… not exactly a fear. More like… trauma."
Nova didn't ask for more. She didn't need the details—not right now. She just nodded and looked at him with quiet understanding.
"You can talk to me about it," she said softly. "Whenever you're ready. I'll be here. I promise."
He met her gaze for a moment, and something unspoken passed between them. Trust. Fragile, but real.
"Yeah," he said. "Thanks."
They walked in silence for a while, the city noise fading into the rustle of leaves and distant birdsong. Eventually, they found a bench tucked under a tall, spreading oak tree near the edge of the park. The sun filtered through the branches in warm streaks, dappled light dancing across their faces.
Andrew, still soaked from head to toe, stubbornly refused to let Nova buy him a new outfit. He didn't say it, but she knew it had something to do with pride. So, instead, they sat side by side on the bench, waiting for the sun to do its work.
Nova pulled out a half-eaten sandwich from her bag—cheese and tomato, slightly squashed—and handed it to him.
"Here. You'll catch a cold otherwise," she said.
He took it with a grateful smile. "Thanks."
They ate in comfortable silence, occasionally tossing small pieces of bread to the pigeons pecking at the dirt nearby. The birds flapped lazily, squabbling over crumbs and hopping closer with each bite.
Nova leaned back, arms stretched along the backrest of the bench, her eyes on the pigeons. "You know… I never imagined this is how today would go."
Andrew laughed under his breath. "Neither did I."
She turned her head to look at him. His hair was drying now, curling slightly at the ends. His shirt clung a little less, but he still looked out of place—like someone who didn't belong on this side of the city. But he was here. With her.
"You okay?" she asked.
He nodded. "Yeah. I think I needed this more than I realized."
Nova smiled, her gaze soft. The moment hung there between them, fragile and real. They didn't need to fill it with empty words or awkward jokes. The sun was warm, the air was crisp, and for now, this quiet understanding between them was enough.
Just two people. No Volkov name. No barista uniform.
Just Nova.
And Andrew.
And maybe—just maybe—a step toward something more.
Nova and Andrew walked side by side down the street, their shadows stretching behind them in the late afternoon sun. The silence between them was no longer tense or heavy—it was comfortable. Peaceful. The earlier awkwardness from the pond incident had evaporated, leaving something a little more fragile, a little more honest in its place.
Nova occasionally glanced sideways at him, noting how his once-drenched clothes had mostly dried under the sun, the fabric no longer clinging to his skin. His hair was still slightly damp, curls framing his face in soft waves, and there was a quiet thoughtfulness to his expression that she was beginning to get used to.
When they reached the café, Andrew stepped forward and pulled open the door for her.
"Why, thank you, kind sir," Nova teased with a playful smile as she stepped inside.
But the moment she did, she froze mid-step.
Her brows shot up in pure disbelief.
Behind the counter, standing tall and somehow managing to look intimidating even in an apron, was Sergei—her godfather, the one who once snapped a man's arm at a wedding because he made an inappropriate joke about Elara's dress. The same Sergei who trained both Nikolai and Nova to fight, who still handled covert operations for the Volkovs on occasion. And now… he was making cappuccinos like he'd been born to do it.
Nova blinked. "What the hell am I looking at?" she whispered under her breath.
Sergei stood with the calm efficiency of a seasoned soldier, flawlessly steaming milk while simultaneously grinding coffee beans. His stoic expression hadn't changed, but the way his hands moved—precise, fast, elegant—was almost hypnotic. Nova could barely believe it.
Even more absurd?
A girl—probably no older than twenty—was leaning over the counter, smiling at him with the wide-eyed admiration of someone who thought she'd just found the rugged love interest from a mafia romance novel.
"So… do you, like, work here all the time?" the girl asked, twirling her hair and batting her lashes.
Sergei didn't even look up as he replied in his gravelly voice, "No."
"Oh. So like… only on weekends?"
"No."
The girl giggled, apparently not put off by his curt replies. "You're kinda mysterious. I like that."
Sergei gave her a look that could curdle milk.
Nova burst out laughing.
Sergei turned slowly toward the sound, his blue-grey eyes narrowing slightly when he spotted her by the entrance. "You find this funny?"
"You're a barista now?" she asked, grinning like she'd just found out Santa Claus was real and working part-time at a gym.
Sergei sighed heavily, wiping his hands on a towel. "I have lived through wars. I've disarmed bombs. I've protected your mother while she was nine months pregnant and yelling at your father because he forgot to bring her cake."
Nova raised a brow. "And?"
"And this—" he gestured around the café like it was a battlefield, "—is more traumatizing than babysitting Nikolai when he was a teenager."
Andrew blinked. "Wait, you were Mr. Volkov's babysitter?"
Sergei looked at him, eyes full of the kind of deadpan horror that only years of babysitting a young, rebellious Nikolai Volkov could create. "Yes. And I have the mental scars to prove it."
Nova chuckled and made her way to the counter. "Well, you're doing a great job, Sergei. I never thought I'd live to see the day you made latte art."
"I made a skull in that foam," he replied.
Nova peered over and saw that he had, in fact, crafted an intricately creepy skull in the cappuccino foam for the college girl, who still hadn't taken the hint to leave. "That's… impressive and mildly terrifying."
Sergei muttered something in Russian under his breath and handed the drink to the girl with a forced smile. "Drink it. Then leave."
The girl giggled again and walked away, seemingly unbothered.
"She'll be back," Nova whispered. "You're a hit."
Sergei groaned. "I'm too old for this. Remind me again why I agreed to this?"
"Because I asked nicely. And because you love me," Nova replied sweetly, reaching over the counter to pat his shoulder.
"Love is subjective," he said, but there was the barest hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.
Nova grinned and gave him a gentle pat on the back. "You'll make a good barista one day, Sergei. You just need some glitter and maybe a smile or two."
Sergei gave her a flat look. "You keep talking, I'm telling your father you bought three bottles of tequila last month."
Nova gasped. "That's a violation of godfather privilege!"
"Then stop pushing your luck," he said.
Behind them, Andrew was quietly shaking with laughter. He looked more at ease than he had earlier—probably because Sergei's dry sarcasm had a strange way of cutting through tension.
Nova leaned against the counter, glancing around the café. Everything had returned to normal. Almost. But it was better than normal.
Because now she had a friend.
And a barista godfather who could kill a man and froth milk in the same breath.
What more could a girl want?