A rich aroma tickled his nose and tugged him from the depths of his rest. Eyebrow quirked, he heard Drew whistling joyously in the small kitchen near the entrance. Something smelled delicious, beckoning Artem from the couch. He wandered to the kitchen where he spied Drew standing before the stove, cooking meat.
Drew offered a slight smile. “Good morning. Happy Christmas Eve.”
Artem blanched.
“Sorry,” apologized Drew. “I suspect it’s not a favorite holiday in your…country.”
“You could say that, yes. What are you doing?”
“Making breakfast,” Drew replied. The contents of the pan wound up on a plate. He turned the oven off. “Do you eat?” color crept across his cheeks, turning them a pleasant shade of red. “I feel awkward asking these questions, I hope you don’t mind, though.”
Artem shook
