He watched her season the fish, though there was nothing he would have done differently from her. More and more twigs fell upon the flames, which were greedy as they attempted to devour the wood, climbing higher and hotter. "You could find zhings to decorate it wizh in Lunenburg or Halifax." Anann was more of a traditional girl, he noticed, but it was not something he was against. It was a nice change from the pretty European girls who liked their skirts and jewelry, which was definitely at odd ends with his upbringing. Though, he did like it when a girl knew that she was pretty and would accept a compliment in that sense. Not that this golden woman had waved off any of his. "You could ask somevone to make a painting or art. Or somezhing," he offered, unsure of what people liked to decorate their homes with.
Suddenly, the Russo grew silent, listening to both Anann and the snap of the burning wood in the fire. His golden eyes were focused on the red glow before him as he felt the woman take a drink of the rum. "Oh. So many," he commented, noticing that none of those mentioned were female. How many male friends had the woman made that were not him? That sounded so heartless coming from his own mind. Anatoliy almost gave an audible sigh at his surprising jealousy, but turned it into a sharper exhale as he felt Anann's fingers on his hands. He gazed down at them, then up at the woman. "No, not many. Mostly more family zhat I vas not avare of." The Russo realized he had not made many new friends here. But it was alright for him; he liked having few friends; more people to focus on.
Using his farthest hand, the brunette took the bottle, letting her fingers rest on his other hand. He took a quick drink from the bottle and hastily put it back down. Suddenly, his hand took up Anann's and then ran up her arm in the touch he had been wanting to do. Softly, he ran his ran his fingers up and down her upper arm, right arm slowly reaching and coming to her face. "Anann... you are so very pretty," he whispered, voice a bit husky from the smoke - or was it his nerves? Anatoliy leaned, and kissed her briefly, before abruptly pulling away, hands and face, to look away at the fire.
"I.. I am sorry." His gaze remained away from her, embarrassed as he was. "I von't do zhat again," added the Russian, rising to his feet. He could not meet her eyes. "I am zhinking... I should go." He did not want to, but he could not really face himself now. Biting a lip, Anatoliy moved away from the fire, wishing he could keep on going down the path he had begun, but he could not. He was afraid she would tell him that one of those other men she mentioned meant something to her that he did not. It scared him.
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