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brick-and-mortar boutique along with an online storefront to sell the purses and leather goods I design,” she explained. “I’ve got a mentor who has taught me all about leatherwork so I figured that going to college to learn the ins and outs of running a business was a good investment.”
    “It is. I had to learn the hard way and made quite a few mistakes that first year that really cost me. Luckily, I had friends and acquaintances who were willing to give me advice or send me in the right direction to professionals who could help me.” He glanced at the leather purse on the couch. “You made that one?”
    “Yes.”
    “It’s very nice. What made you want to design purses?”
    “I wanted something pretty but didn’t have the money to waste on something so frivolous. You can’t eat a purse or pay the light bill with it, you know?” She shrugged. “So I started playing around with fabric and duct tape and empty drink containers. Eventually I figured out I could make a cool looking purse with a hollowed-out book and a wooden handle. There were some girls at school that liked them so I managed to sell a few and make enough money for us to have Christmas that year.”
    Her entrepreneurial spirit impressed him.
    “I started going to that big flea market—”
    “The one on Eldridge?”
    “Yeah. Have you been there?”
    “It’s been a while for me.”
    The massive trading village with thousands of vendors was a place that attracted the best bargain hunters in search of attractively priced new and used merchandise—but also a criminal element that needed to get rid of hot items. He decided not to tell her that he had once been part of a crew that had sold all sorts of cheap, imported and stolen goods there. Bootlegged DVDs had always gone fast. The year Kostya had gotten his hands on a pharmaceutical shipment that had fallen off a truck had been a particularly good one…
    “Do you still sell there?”
    “No. It was good business while I was in high school. Now I have an online store. The overhead is cheaper obviously.”
    “I would imagine.” He finished his tea and eyed the plate of delicious cookies.
    “Would you like to take some with you?”
    “Do you mind?”
    “Of course not.” She rose from her chair and fetched a small container from one of the cabinets. “I always bake too much for two people so I’m always handing out containers of cookies or muffins to our neighbors.”
    “Have you lived here long?”
    “Just under three years,” she said. “It’s not as nice as some of the apartment complexes closer to the university but it’s pretty safe and the neighbors are mostly quiet. Plus the rent is cheap.”
    He bit his tongue instead of offering his opinion. Searching for a safer topic, he thought about her business. “Why did you choose leather?”
    “I met Larry at the flea market. He’s an old school leather goods guy. Belts, wallets, boots—he’s amazing. He let me work in his store and taught me the tricks of the trade.”
    “Why don’t you work there anymore?”
    “He closed down. The economy tanked right after he found out he had lung cancer. He beat the hell out of that cancer, but the recession beat the hell out of him. He’s retired now and living with his daughter and her family up in the Panhandle. It’s better for him there, and he’s very happy to be surrounded by his grandkids.”
    “I’m sure he’s happy, but it’s damned cold up there.”
    She laughed. “You’re from Russia. It’s damned cold there.”
    He watched the way she meticulously placed the cookies in the container and separated the layers with strips of wax paper she tore from the roll she had taken out of a nearby drawer. “I’ve acclimated to the Houston weather. I wouldn’t last a day in a Moscow winter.”
    “Do you think you’ll ever go back?”
    “No.” The answer came swiftly. “That was my old life. This is the new one.”
    “Just like that, huh?” She pressed the lid onto the