Stop it, Chloe. He knows nothing. You’re interviewing to be a tutor, nothing more.
“So,” I say brightly to hide my anxiety, “may I ask about the child I’d be tutoring? Is it your son or daughter?”
His face takes on an indecipherable expression. “My son. Miroslav. We call him Slava.”
“That’s a great name. Is he—”
“Tell me about yourself, Chloe.” Leaning forward, he picks up my resume but doesn’t look at it. Instead, his eyes are trained on my face, making me feel like a butterfly pinned under a microscope. “What is it about this position that intrigues you?”
“Oh, everything.” Taking a breath to steady my voice, I describe all the babysitting and tutoring I’ve done throughout the years, and then I go over my internships, including my last summer job at a special-needs camp, where I worked with children of all ages. “It was a great experience,” I conclude, “both challenging and rewarding. My favorite part of it, though, was teaching math and reading to the younger kids—which is why I think I’d be perfect for this role. Teaching is my passion, and I’d love a chance to work with a child one-on-one, to tailor the curriculum to his or her interests and abilities.”
He sets the resume down, still without bothering to look at it. “And how do you feel about living in a place that’s so removed from civilization? Where there’s nothing but wilderness for dozens of miles around and only minimal contact with the outside world?”
“That sounds…” Like a haven. “…amazing.” I beam at him, my excitement unfeigned. “I’m a big fan of the wilderness, and nature in general. In fact, my alma mater—Middlebury College—was chosen partly because of its rural location. I love hiking and fishing, and I know my way around a campfire. Living here would be a dream come true.” Especially given all the security measures I spotted on the way in—but I don’t say that, of course.
I can’t appear to be anything other than a brand-new college grad looking for adventure.
He arches his eyebrows. “You won’t miss your friends? Or family?”
“No, I—” To my dismay, my throat constricts with a sudden rush of grief. Swallowing, I try again. “I’m very independent. I’ve been traveling around the country on my own for the past month, and besides, there are always phones, videoconferencing apps, and social media.”
He cocks his head. “Yet you haven’t been posting on your social media profiles for the past month. Why’s that?”
I stare at him, my heartbeat skyrocketing. He’s looked at my social media? How? When? I have the highest privacy settings in place; he should be unable to see anything about me other than the fact that I exist and use social media like a normal person. Has he had me investigated? Hacked into my accounts somehow?
Who is this man?
“I actually don’t have a phone right now.” A trickle of sweat runs down my spine, but I succeed in keeping my tone level. “I got rid of it because I wanted to see if I could function on this road trip without all the electronics. A personal challenge of sorts.”
“I see.” His eyes are more green than amber in this light. “So how do you keep in touch with family and friends?”
“Email, mostly,” I lie. There’s no way I can admit that I haven’t kept in touch with anyone and have no plans to do so. “I’ve been visiting public libraries and using the computers there once in a while.” Realizing my fingers are laced tightly together, I unclench my hands and force a smile to my lips. “It’s quite liberating, not being tied to a phone, you see. Extreme connectivity is both a blessing and a curse, and I’m enjoying the freedom of traveling around the country as people have done in the past, with only a paper map to guide me.”
“A Gen Z luddite. How refreshing.”
I flush at the gentle mockery in his tone. I know how my explanation sounds, but it’s the only thing I can come up with to justify my lack of recent social media activity and, in case he looks at my resume closely, absence of a cell phone number. In fact, it’s a good excuse for everything, so I might as well roll with it.
“You’re right. I’m a bit of a luddite,” I say. “That’s probably why city life holds so little appeal for me, and why I found your job posting so intriguing. Living out here”—I motion at the gorgeous views outside—“and tutoring your son is the kind of job I’ve always wanted, and if you hire me, I will dedicate myself to it completely.”
A slow, dark smile curves his lips. “Is that right?”
“Yes.” I hold his gaze, even as my breath turns shallow and prickles of heat run over my skin. I really don’t get my reaction to this man, don’t understand how I can find him so magnetic even as he sets off all kinds of alarms in my mind. Paranoia or not, my instincts are screaming that he’s dangerous, yet my finger itches to reach out and trace the clearly defined edges of his full, soft-looking lips. Swallowing, I wrench my thoughts away from that treacherous territory and say with as much earnestness as I can manage, “I’ll be the most perfect tutor you can imagine.”
He regards me without blinking, the silence stretching into several long seconds, and just when I feel like my nerves might snap like an overextended rubber band, he stands up and says, “Follow me.”
He leads me out of the office and down a long hallway until we reach another closed door. This one must not have any biometric security, since he just knocks on the door and, without waiting for an answer, goes in.
Inside, another floor-to-ceiling window provides more breathtaking views. However, there’s nothing sleek and modern about this room. Instead, it looks like the aftermath of a toy factory explosion. Colorful chaos is everywhere I look, with piles of toys, children’s books, and LEGO pieces scattered all over the floor, and a child-sized bed covered by a Superman-themed sheet in the corner. The Superman-themed pillows and blanket from the bed are piled high in another corner, and it’s not until my host says in a commanding tone, “Slava!” that I realize there’s a little boy building a LEGO castle next to that pile.
At his father’s voice, the boy’s head jerks up, revealing a pair of huge amber-green eyes—the same mesmerizing eyes the man next to me possesses. In general, the boy is Nikolai in miniature, his black hair falling around his ears in a straight, glossy curtain and his child-round face already showing a hint of those striking cheekbones. Even the mouth is the same, lacking only the cynical, knowing curve of his father’s lips.
“Slava, idi syuda,” Nikolai orders, and the boy gets up and cautiously approaches us. As he stops in front of us, I notice he’s wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt with a picture of Spider-Man on the front.
Looking down at his son, Nikolai starts speaking to him in rapid-fire Russian. I have no idea what he’s saying, but it must have something to do with me because the boy keeps glancing at me, his expression both curious and fearful.
As soon as Nikolai is done speaking, I smile at the child and kneel on the floor, so we’re on the same eye level. “Hi, Slava,” I say gently. “I’m Chloe. It’s nice to meet you.”