My Only One. Eileen Nauman

      Alec’s laugh was full and resonant. “I’m glad you didn’t. Captain Denisov wanted everything perfect for you. He had finally realized you’re a vegetarian and you won’t eat the meat, no matter how prized it is to us. The Captain has taken it in good stride, though. I’m glad our cooks found some rice for you, otherwise you might have starved to death on cabbage soup and black bread.” His smile deepened as he absorbed Abby’s flushed features into his heart. She was so alive, so incredibly spontaneous compared to the women of the Soviet Union. “In all truth, most of us are forced into being vegetarians because there is so little meat available in our country.”

      “You make vegetarianism sound like a bread-and-water prison sentence,” Abby said with a laugh, “and it isn’t. Actually, I’ve enjoyed your black bread, just as I’ve enjoyed being with the crew and having our spirited talks at the breakfast table. But you’ve been evading me all week,” she teased him. “I know so little about you personally, Alec. From what Tony’s letter said, we’ll be spending a week together in Anchorage. Couldn’t you tell me a little bit more about yourself?”

      Caught up in her enthusiasm, he nodded. “I didn’t mean not to talk about myself, but I think Soviets remain like a closed book because of their fear of the KGB network of spies. I’ll try, over the next day, to give you more personal vignettes about myself.” He frowned. “I’m looking forward to the experience, but I hope my English is good enough so that I don’t embarrass us with your press.”

      “Your English is flawless. In fact, far better than mine.” She turned and faced him, the salt air invigorating, the wind whipping around them. “So, tell me about yourself. Everything!”