第10章 (4-3)

By evening, America insisted on a "first official American BBQ dinner" on the terrace overlooking the ocean. He fumbled clumsily with the steaks and giant lobsters on the grill, occasionally jumping back from spitting grease—a far cry from his image as a master strategist on the world stage.

Soviet sat in a nearby lounge chair, holding the beer he had eventually opened, watching America's flustered efforts. His face was expressionless, but the tight line of his jaw seemed to soften just a fraction.

"Try this," America finally presented a decent-looking steak to Soviet, his eyes shining with anticipation. "Way better than your stews, I bet!"

Soviet picked up his knife and fork, cut a small piece, and tasted it. The meat was tender, juicy, and richly seasoned—certainly different from his usual fare.

"Well?" America asked, nervous.

"Acceptable," Soviet gave a neutral assessment.

But for America, that was enough. His face broke into a wide grin as if he'd received the highest praise. "I knew you'd like it!" He poured himself a large glass of bourbon and sat in the chair next to Soviet, watching the sun sink below the horizon, painting the sky and sea in brilliant shades of gold and red.

"See? Much better than the snowy views in Moscow, right?" America's voice was slightly muffled by the evening breeze and the sound of the waves.

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