Table of Contents
Blurb
Dedication
I
II
III
IV
About the Author
By Chrissy Munder
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Copyright
Evan Versus the Sharlotka
By Chrissy Munder
Rumpled tech support Evan Carmichael has a crush on pristine programming supervisor Gavriil Cottan. The whole company knows it. Except Gavriil. As a closet romantic, Evan dreams of declaring his feelings with a grand gesture, something out of the movies he loves.
The company holiday potluck luncheon gives Evan a perfect opportunity. He finds out Gavriil’s favorite dessert and is determined to make an apple sharlotka just like Gavriil’s mother used to make. The only problem is, Evan is a disaster in the kitchen. Can he master the mystery of the sharlotka and the intricacies of the springform pan in time to both woo and wow Gavriil?
For Karen, Aimée, and Lyubov. With appreciation. Thanks for hanging out with me over the years. Special thanks to Clare for pushing, prodding, and reminding me I can.
I
“YOU’RE ON desserts, Carmichael.”
Evan Carmichael blinked up from his screen and over the top of his office cubicle. There, in all her professional glory, stood Melinda Owens, the CEO’s personal assistant, Human Resources go-to, and current head of the events committee.
Based on his ability to view her from the neck up, she was wearing what she called her “power heels,” a gleaming pair of black stilettos that added a good four inches to her height and allowed her to stare down at him. At only 10:00 a.m. on a Monday morning. This couldn’t be good.
“What?” he asked, mentally running down his last week in search of a reason for her attention. Nothing stood out other than the usual tech support calls, and he had fixed the copy machine in the mailroom so they didn’t have to call for service, but nothing else came to mind.
He pushed the pads of his headphones off his ears, wincing when they caught in his mess of dark tangles, and totally regretting how he let Jason, his cube neighbor, talk him into taping the light-up reindeer antlers to his headset.
“Desserts,” she barked, smoothing a nonexistent strand back into her own elegant twist. “For the holiday potluck this Friday.” She plucked a piece of paper from her clipboard and dropped it onto his desk, where it miraculously landed faceup. “Didn’t you read the email?”
Evan scritched his fingers through his beard, buying time before he glanced at the office memorandum, bordered with miniature snowflakes to signify a wintery theme rather than anything that might indicate an insensitive leaning toward one religious denomination or another.
Yeah, he’d seen the memo and then wiped both it and the luncheon from his mental database. He wasn’t a Scrooge, but nobody liked the forced work get-togethers, and there were only so many variations of deli pasta salad he was willing to try.
He scrunched down in his chair as if that could hide him from her take-no-prisoners glare, which now fixed on his headset as if noticing the furry brown antlers for the first time. Great.
“I’m not—I mean, I don’t….” Evan blew out a gust of air, his stomach churning as he met Melinda’s narrowed gaze. How hard was it to tell her he hadn’t planned on going? All he had to do was open his mouth.
He picked up a pencil to give his hands something to do, then immediately dropped it on the floor, covering it with his foot when he saw the decorative Santa eraser. Hopefully she hadn’t noticed. No way could he sit through another one of her sensitivity trainings.
“I wasn’t planning on going. Someone needs to man the support desk. Clients to help, computers to save.” Evan offered a fake chuckle, inwardly wishing for a merciful and quick death at his painfully awkward joke.
Melinda tapped a lacquered nail on the partition, each strike a hypnotizing accent to her words. “Are you really telling me you aren’t going to join in the office event of the month? One specifically set up by my boss, the CEO of this company, to boost employee morale and will absolutely factor in this year’s bonuses? One that the attendance, or lack thereof, will reflect directly on me?”
Well, when she put it like that, what was he supposed to do? Evan gave his refusal a final, futile try. “It would be safer for everyone. I’m a terrible cook.”
“Look at you!” she scoffed. “You can’t tell me you don’t know how to buy a box or five of donuts. Don’t wuss out on me, Carmichael. And lose those antlers. The last thing I need is someone filing a complaint.”
Evan ducked his head, the headband flashing red, white, and green lights with the movement reflected on his computer screen as Melinda strode off to her next victim. She didn’t have to go there. He knew what he looked like.
There was a reason he chose Chewbacca from Star Wars as his usual Halloween costume. Evan got it. At his height and weight, he was a big guy. Hulking, even. Clothes that fit were hard to find without paying extra for tailoring, and his mother had constantly bemoaned his ability to defeat her most determined efforts at the ironing board.
But she also instilled in him the faith he’d meet someone who would not only appreciate all the potential for extreme cuddling he offered on the outside, but then see past his large frame to his even bigger heart. Her cheerful support empowered him to ignore the Melindas of the world.
“Harsh, man.” Jason’s opinion wafted over their shared partition. “You should file a complaint with HR. Didn’t they make us watch a video last month on body-shaming?”
Evan pinched the bridge of his nose. “She is HR, Jason.” He tilted his head to one side, then the other, his neck cracking as he rested his hands on his headset, ready to slide it back in place. “What are you on the hook for?”
“A vegetable side dish,” Jason complained. “I don’t even know.”
The blatant despair in Jason’s voice helped Evan feel a little better. “Good luck.”
“Yeah” came the glum reply. “You too.”
THE QUESTION of what to bring worried at Evan through the rest of his morning support calls. Most people thought he was a calm and placid individual. A gentle giant as the stereotype went.
Evan wished that were true. Instead he was a compulsive and indecisive list maker with the gnawed-on fingernails to prove it. By the time lunch rolled around, he had already scrawled out a few ideas between service calls, then detailed the pros and cons of each, but he still hadn’t reached a decision on what to buy.
A chocolate sheet cake with buttercream frosting was always a hit, brownies and cookies were easiest all the way around, and the grocery store closest to his work featured an impressive display of holiday-themed cupcakes. Evan chewed on the head of his Santa eraser and frowned at his list.
Thank goodness for lunch. The noon break was Evan’s favorite part of the day. Not, as some might think, because he got to eat but because of the company. Most days Evan spent his free hour with Gavriil Cottan.
Gavriil was the new programming supervisor. Well… newish, Evan corrected himself. English-born but raised in Russia, Gavriil worked in the company’s overseas office for several years before transferring to their facility six months ago.
No one knew what to expect with his appointment. The support staff had spun wishful tales, hoping for someone tall and dark, with a romantic accent and a brooding manner. They had been disappointed on all counts.
Evan, on the other hand, was not.
Tasked with setting Gavriil up in the system and responsible for his technical onboarding, Evan’s first glimpse of Gavriil—slim, blond, and only as tall as Evan’s collarbone—left him breathless. By the end of the session, they had forged a tentative
friendship, and Evan’s initial, awkward crush solidified into a yearning he couldn’t shake.
Evan shambled his way into the break room, where Gavriil had already microwaved his lunch and sat at their usual table, a paper napkin spread over his lap and his plastic cutlery lined up on each side of his plate as if they were actual silver.
“Hey, Gavriil.” Evan joined him and pulled out his own brown bag, crumpled from sitting at the bottom of his backpack. “What did you make today?”
“A variation on my favorite Chicken Divan recipe.”
Evan smiled like he did every time he heard Gavriil’s crisp, unaccented English.
“Looks good.” The dish did. Even if the chicken and vegetables in cream sauce didn’t resemble in the slightest the gloopy one-dish casserole Evan’s mother used to prepare. “Smells good too.”
“What are you having today?”
Gavriil waited for Evan to open his bag and pull out his meal before he picked up his fork. His manners were impeccable, each action deliberate and precise, just like his appearance.
Prissy, some of the engineers scoffed behind his back. But Evan, in all his rumpled glory, appreciated the care with which Gavriil treated himself and each aspect of his life.
If Evan sometimes wished Gavriil would turn that same attention toward him, well, he kept that desire hidden away, keeping their conversations and after-hours texting light and friendly. One day, he promised himself. When the time was right.
“Tuna on white. Some chips, and an apple.” Evan took a bite of his sandwich to hide his reaction to the adorable way Gavriil wrinkled his nose with disdain. He was sheer, pocket-sized perfection, and Evan desperately wanted to gather him close, take him home, and keep him forever safe. “You know how I hate to cook.”
“You must learn to treat yourself better.” Gavriil carefully wiped his mouth. “Or find someone to do it for you. I am still surprised a fine man like you isn’t with a partner.”
Evan choked on his mouthful of sandwich. What should he say? Sweat beaded at the back of his neck. The lunchroom, while not crowded, was full enough of their coworkers to tamp down his desire to blurt out his feelings to Gavriil. “Thanks. I guess I’m still waiting for the right person,” he murmured, having swallowed enough to be able to speak without offense.
“I understand.” Gavriil pursed his lips, the small movement weakening Evan’s knees and leaving him grateful to already be sitting. “Such things should not be rushed. Until then, perhaps you’d allow me, on occasion, to bring in some extra for you?”
Evan dropped his sandwich, immediately forgetting about his fellow employees. He blinked several times, taking in Gavriil’s questioning but calm expression. “Yea-h-h,” he stammered. “That would be terrific.”
“Excellent.”
The only way Evan could describe Gavriil’s smile was satisfied. But before he could spend too much time wondering what it meant, Gavriil changed the subject.
“Melinda has told me about this… potluck?” He looked at Evan as if checking to see he pronounced the word correctly, his pale blue eyes alight with interest. “I confess, I’m unsure what to expect.”
Evan took a drink of water and swallowed his last bit of sandwich. He picked up his wrappings and put them into his brown bag, tossing the whole mess back into his backpack. “Basically, instead of the company footing the bill for our holiday luncheon, they’re cheaping out, and everyone provides a dish to pass. Some people might bring something homemade, but most will probably hit the grocery store on their way in.”
“Ah, a community dinner. I was misled by the name.” Gavriil nodded his understanding, blond hair falling across his forehead in defiance of his contained appearance. Evan’s fingers itched to smooth the unruly strand aside. “Surely everyone will make a special item rather than share something processed and unpalatable?”
“It depends,” Evan prevaricated, unwilling to confess he was planning to do just that. “What did she ask you to bring?”
Gavriil pulled a tiny black leather notebook from his shirt pocket and flicked through the pages. “Here it is. I’m responsible for providing a cheese tray. While I’m disappointed not to have an opportunity to prepare something myself, there is a small wine shop by my apartment with some excellent choices. And you? What will you contribute?”
“I’m not sure yet.” With the store-bought cupcakes he’d been leaning toward now off the table due to Gavriil’s input, Evan had a momentary flash of fantasy. Him bringing in Gavriil’s favorite dessert, wowing and wooing him at the same time. Gavriil would be touched by the gesture, and Evan could finally confess his feelings and ask him out. The moment would be perfect.
“What kind of desserts do you like?” he asked, his heart pounding at his own daring.
“Ugh, sweets.” Gavriil shook his head, Evan’s dreams crashing and burning a spectacular, glittery death. “You Americans and your sugar addiction. So much chocolate.”
“You must have had a favorite as a child?” Evan pressed, not quite willing to let go now that the idea had taken hold, despite his lack of culinary skill. “A special way to celebrate?”
Gavriil bit his lip, his gaze growing distant. “My mother used to make a sharlotka.”
“A what?” Evan mentally repeated Gavriil’s pronunciation, committing the name to memory.
“A Russian apple cake,” Gavriil explained. “I haven’t tasted one in years, but one of my earliest memories is sitting in the kitchen after school and watching her bake. I can still remember the smell and how difficult I found it to wait until the cake cooled for my first bite.”
“That’s sweet,” Evan said, touched by the wistfulness in Gavriil’s voice. “You must miss your family, especially around the holidays.”
“You are a good friend, Evan.” Gavriil reached across the table and rested his hand on Evan’s arm, the light touch burning through the thin cotton of his shirt like a brand. “You’re always so kind and willing to listen to my foolishness.”
Friend. Evan wanted to scowl at the title despite the warmth in Gavriil’s eyes. The word itself was the ultimate kiss of death when it came to romance. But even if his hidden hopes of something more never came to pass, well, Evan would be proud Gavriil called him friend.
II
“HOW WAS lunch with lover boy?” Jason called over the partition as Evan logged back in to his computer. Only the tips of his Christmas tree head bopper were visible from Evan’s side of the cube, the tiny stars ducking in and out of his view. “Have you finally made a move?”
Evan fumbled with his headset, his chair creaking as he shifted his weight. “Shut up,” he hissed, glancing around to make sure no one overheard.
“Come on. Everyone knows you’re gone on him.” Jason cackled. “Except him.”
“I’m not that obvious,” Evan protested while he reopened his call log.
“Please.” Jason threw a crumpled ball of paper into Evan’s cube, hitting him on the head with blind, if unerring, accuracy. “Two points!”
“You don’t even know you hit me.” Evan batted the missile into his trash, wishing Jason would get to work and leave him alone.
“How can I not, a yeti like you.” Jason dropped his teasing tone. “I’m just saying, as much as I enjoy watching you stumble around your love life, if you don’t make a move soon, somebody else will.”
Evan froze, stunned by Jason’s offhand comment. His breath caught, his chest tightening like someone clenched his ribs in their fist. So much for his brave determination earlier.
Could he handle being friends with Gavriil while he dated someone else? Evan swallowed, his lunch turning into a solid lump in his stomach. “What do you care?”
“I don’t really.” The tiny treetops popped back into view, too cheerful for the sense of doom washing over Evan. “But having you over there all mopey and depressed would totally suck for me. I can’t handle the negative vibes.”
Thankfully, Evan’s screen flashed with an incoming call, and he punc
hed the Accept button with both relief and the last, muttered word. “I’ll give you some negative vibes.”
THE AFTERNOON stayed busy, and Evan appreciated not having time to overthink. It was only later at home, after a quick dinner of leftover takeout, and a halfhearted cleanup, that he sat on his couch and, to the accompanying sound of the Jeopardy! theme, dropped his head into his hands and allowed himself to fully experience what he could only call panic.
This was huge. This was disastrous. This changed everything.
Evan drew in a jittery breath, his brain cartwheeling as he tried to focus. Jason had a point. How, Evan wasn’t quite sure, but it was valid nonetheless. Only luck kept someone from realizing what a catch Gavriil was, but that couldn’t last.
His grandmother always used to tell him that a faint heart never won the fine fellow, and he needed to take action. Gavriil might only want to be friends, but how would Evan ever know if he didn’t at least try? Wasn’t it worth risking rejection if Gavriil returned Evan’s feelings and wanted to build something more out of the foundation of their friendship?
Evan ran his hands through his hair and gave himself a few seconds of hope. They ate lunch together almost every day, texted often, and argued their opinions on several of the same books and movies. Gavriil even offered to bring in home-cooked food for him. That meant something, right?
Unable to still his swirling thoughts, Evan turned to his old standby, the pro-and-con list, for help. He took up his notebook and divided a page into two sections, then labeled the top of each. With a deep breath, he began to flesh out what could be a very bad idea.
Finally, he set his pen down and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he focused on the longer column. He bit his lip, his stomach whirling with what seemed like a thousand butterflies. Looked like the pros had it.
Which led him to his next dilemma.
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