Laraine ran into Kelly's for a cup of coffee before work.

She saw Zander Kanishchev, Oksana's son, sitting at a table, likewise drinking coffee, with a pretty, petite girl.

"Hi Laraine," he said.

"Hi, Zander," Laraine stopped.

"This is my wife, Quinn," he said.

"Nice to meet you," Quinn said.

"This is Laraine, one of mom's accountants. I'm sorry I don't remember your last name."

"Breyer."

"Are you related to Toby?" Quinn asked.

"He's my little brother," said Laraine.

Zander asked her to sit down if she had a minute.

Intrigued, Laraine did.

"You know Toby?" she said to Quinn. "From the band, or personally?"

"My friend Valerie Edwards is Yvonne's older sister. The band played at my wedding."

"The Dissentors?" Laraine was incredulous.

"Yvonne toned things down a bit, for me," said Quinn.

"More than a bit, I hope," Laraine said.

"More than a bit," Zander grinned. "This is the girl who was talking to Uncle Mick, Quinn."

"Are you using that name?" Laraine asked.

"When I remember," Zander said.

"The one they ran into, in the park," Quinn said. "OK."

"You know, I'm glad I ran into you," Laraine said. "Toby likes Mikhail. They end up there at work together, at least, the nights Toby plays. And Toby thinks a lot of him. He doesn't want me to be – well, I was - " Laraine flailed around for words. It wasn't like she was just playing around. That didn't seem quite fair, she realized. Mikhail was the one who bowled her over. Left her breathless and unable to talk.

"Well, OK, here's how it came about," she went on. "A series of coincidences. A guy who hardly spoke English came to make a delivery at Deception and I start joking around with Gia and Cheryl – you know them?" They nodded.

"Go on," Zander said.

"I started joking around with them – they know all my problems with dating – how I was going to look for a guy who barely spoke English, because when I talked to that delivery guy, his lack of English kept everything simple."

"And then you met Mikhail," Quinn said, encouragingly.

"Yes, but my brother Toby really likes him and doesn't want me messing around with him. I was just thinking about how if a guy didn't speak English he couldn't tell me all those things guys say on dates that get on my nerves, you know, couldn't try to play with my head."

"I don't think my uncle would toy with any woman in any language," Zander said.

"I know, and I'm sorry, and I intend to quit doing the same thing myself," Laraine said.

Then to Laraine's surprise, Zander grinned and said: "He can handle it. Look, I have an idea."

Laraine just stared.

"Uncle Mick does really well in written English," Zander said. "Aces the tests. There's more time to think and get the grammar right."

"Yes," Laraine said.

"So Amanda – that's our tutor – gives him these questions for him to write answers for," Zander went on. "And the questions are no more than what you might want to ask him just to get to know him. So write him a letter. I'll explain why you're doing it. Or email. That's easier, the typing is easier to read."

"Are you sure he would want to?" Laraine asked.

"Yes," Zander said. "I think it just came out of the blue for him and – he'd be tongue-tied with you in his own language."

That sounded so much like the way he affected Laraine that Laraine could only feel a sudden sympathy for Mikhail. Maybe he was experiencing the same thing as she was. She'd had a gut feeling that was true. But it had never been something that she could be sure of. Now, with his nephew's opinion, it was more of a certainty.

"The laws of physical chemistry have no respect for language barriers," Zander said.

"You're so right," Laraine said, sighing a little. "Apparently they don't."

"I'll give you my email address," Zander said. "You can start by emailing me. I'll read his to make sure they make sense. Get him to rewrite anything that doesn't. I'll drop out, eventually."

Laraine smiled. "Thank you. Your whole family is so – nice. Your grandmother, everyone." She looked at Quinn, who nodded. "The best," said Quinn.

Laraine sat at the computer, nervous. Everything she thought of sounded stupid. Finally she asked Mikhail in the email what it was like to be a bartender. Was he a bartender in Russia? And did people really tell bartenders all their problems?

She sent it and then thought it was too impersonal and definitely stupid.

She didn't get an answer the next day, and hoped it wasn't too much and wasn't taking too much time for him to come up with an answer.

But his answer was confident. It went:

I was never a bartender in Russia. I learned how to make drinks as I went. I was an engineer in Russia. Here I could do that, but I wouldn't be around people enough. So I will do this for now, to learn the language.

At the LU people don't talk about their problems very much. The regular customers there mostly like to argue about politics. Or ask about whether there is a God.

Laraine smiled. He remembered that she had asked him that. It was nice of him to remember. The email felt just like a conversation. She felt less nervous.

Laraine wrote back that her brother Chad was an engineer, too, and asked what the political arguments were about.

The next day he answered:

For an example, someone will say there are too many immigrants coming to the United States. Someone else says that is not true. They argue whether 911 was a conspiracy that happened some other way than what the news says. Then someone else argues it is evil even to say that. Whether this or that team will win a baseball game. Gloating if that team won. Whether this or that baseball player is worth his salary. Whether everything that has gone wrong is the fault of the Democrats, or the Republicans.

Laraine laughed, amused by his list. Bartenders really did learn about human nature, she thought.

She wrote back asking if he knew her brother Toby. Toby knows you, she wrote. He likes you.

A few hours later, he wrote: Thank you. I like Toby. He does not like Taryn or Clay.

Laraine wrote back: Toby can be very stubborn, so there could be a showdown. That is, a big argument. Because I don't think Taryn takes things lying down. That is, if someone does not do what Taryn wants them to do, she does not just walk away. She does not give up.

How long have you been studying English?

It took him the rest of the week to say:

I agree with you. Taryn does not quit.

One customer said today that the Pirates do not have a prayer this season. They are a baseball team, and I am trying to figure out what that has to do with praying. This is how English is. Many words used different ways.

I started to study English ten years ago, when I first knew I was coming to the US. I had many years to study it, almost too much time to take it seriously, until the last year or so. Tatiana did not do much at all; that is typical of her. She thinks she can do it all of a sudden now. But it was nothing like having to use it all the time, so she was partly right. I learn much more hearing it all the time.

We have a tutor, Amanda. And Zander is going to be a teacher, so he likes to teach us.

So he was talking about Tatiana. Was that good or bad? She wrote:

I admire that effort. I really do. I took Spanish in school and only remember a little of it. I'm sure I couldn't just speak to someone in that language or any other even if I was put down in the middle of some country where that was all I heard. It would take a lot of effort. I can tell that it does.

When you don't have a prayer, it means you don't have a chance. Whoever says that thinks the Pirates will not win many games this season. It is like saying even if God heard your prayers, He would not grant them.

He answered:

Thank you. Zander says I need to learn about baseball, because there are many idioms that are based on it. Then there are so many used to talk about it.

Chad was at the LU last night. Taryn yelled at him. Did he tell you? He said he was going to tell you. He called it "she gave me a piece of her mind." He explained that one to me.

"I was teasing her," Chad explained to Laraine, on the phone. "Saying Mary Ellen was going to write an article "From the Train Tracks to the Bars – the Life of Taryn Polk."

"And Taryn didn't think it was funny."

"Nope."

"There is quite a bit of drama going on there."

"Yep. When Toby is there, Taryn goes after him and I think she's about to try a new tactic. Making him jealous."

"How stupid can she be?"

"Pretty stupid. Mikhail is the only sane person working there."

"I buy it."

"Let's go there tonight. The band's playing, if you still think you need that excuse."

"OK," she said. "Yeah, the band."

Laraine and Chad met at the London Underground and listened to the band for a while. In between sets, Chad went to the bar. He came back with Toby's water and a beer. "You go get your own," he said to Laraine, and winked.

"Yeah, right," Laraine muttered. "You're such a gentleman."

Laraine went to the bar but Clay was next. "I'll pass," she said. Clay just grinned.

When Mikhail was through with the previous order, he turned to her. "Raine," he said. The way he said that simpler version of her name she'd given him struck her as so sexy that she was tongue-tied for a second.

This is ridiculous, she thought to herself. One word and I'm done. Her eyes dropped; she looked at his lips.

He poured her a glass of red wine, Shiraz.

"I see," she said, looking at him. "Trying to get me to try something new."

He smiled and her stomach did flip flops. No one came up for another order. When someone did, a second later, Clay took them.

"You can write so well," she said to Mikhail, feeling the familiar sense of partial recovery. "It's like - " She stopped. She was going to say like talking to someone else. But it didn't seem like a nice thing to say.

"It is easier," he said.

"Of course. You have to think on your feet talking. That is, you have to know what you are going to say right then."

"Thank you," he said. "You are so – considerate," he said.

"How do you mean?"

"You say things two ways. Double the chance I will understand it. Even in email."

"Considerate," she said. "That's an advanced word in a second language. Very good."

"Thank you."

She took her wine and walked off, then realized she hadn't paid for it.

"You look zombified," Chad said. "He does it every time."

"Don't tease me, Chad. And go pay for this wine."

Mary Ellen came in. "Hey, Mary Ellen," Chad waved at her. She came over to them. Chad introduced them. He went to get Mary Ellen a drink.

"Pay for this wine," Laraine reminded him.

He winked at her and was gone.

"Chad talks a lot about you," Mary Ellen said. "It's nice you guys are close."

"He tells me about you, too," Laraine said. "And that you are close to two of your sisters. And that you have many brothers and sisters."

"We can hardly go anywhere without running into another of us," Mary Ellen pointed to the bar. "That's my brother, Clay."

Laraine saw Zander and Quinn Kanishchev come in. She waved to them and invited them to sit down and introduced them to Mary Ellen.

Chad came back.

"Did you pay for the wine?" Laraine asked him.

"No way does the bartender allow that," Chad said.

"This is my brother Chad," Laraine said to Quinn and Zander. "He's an engineer."

"Where do you work?" Quinn asked him.

"McKinley."

"So does my Dad! Danny Connor."

"I know Danny. He's a great guy."

They smiled, feeling that happy camaraderie that a mutual friend can create. Someone to talk about.

"Danny's always telling stories," Chad said. "And he's the first one to kid you. He still calls me rookie."

"You're still learning Russian?" Laraine said, to Quinn.

"One of my husband's pedagogical theories," Quinn said, with a sweet smile for Zander. "You can learn a language by teaching its native speakers yours. So Mikhail teaches me Russian. And it really does seem to work, at least, it does a lot for Mikhail."

"Does knowing some Russian help you talk more to the new immigrants in the house?"

"It does a whole lot, with the parents," Quinn said. "They're old for learning a new language, but they try. My Russian does most of it, for them. Irina soaks up English like a sponge. Mikhail always wants to use English, but when we can back that up with Russian a little, I think that helps. We can talk, anyway."

"We try to build on what references he has," Zander said. "They talk about baseball in the bar and he had questions. So I took him to a baseball game. Hearing about the same thing from different contexts seems to reinforce his vocabulary."

"Yes," Laraine said. "I remember. From his email, saying he needed to learn about baseball because there are so many expressions from it."

"Sure, like coming out of left field," Zander said. "Hitting a home run. Striking out. All that stuff people say in another context and use as a metaphor."

"Did you read all those emails? He did have pretty much perfect grammar."

"Yes, we ironed out a couple of things."

"How much?"

Zander knew Laraine wanted to know how much Mikhail had actually talked to her.

"Really minor stuff," Zander reassured her. "Reminding him to put in past for future tense forms. Russians tend to skip over the articles, because there are none in Russian and skip the verb to be in the present tense because there is no use of that in Russian. And the first paragraph he wrote had all this conditional tense in it, and he needed help with the forms."

"He didn't write it in Russian first?"

"Oh, no, I forbid that," Zander said.

"You have great ideas. You take him places, you said?"

"I take Mikhail and Irina everywhere. I figure that's going to stimulate the vocabulary they need. We went to a baseball game, over to PCU, to the country club, the drugstore. The other night we went down to the track, where Quinn drives, and there are many expressions from driving and racing that people use. American English uses athletic or other competition terms as metaphors for all kinds of things."

"Quinn races cars?" Mary Ellen asked.

"Since I was a kid," Quinn said. "My dad and my godfather got me into it."

"Oh, that's right," Chad said. "You're the daughter he brags about beating all the guys in the Port Charles 100."

"He must be exaggerating, since there were several guys who came in ahead of me!"

"Is it tough for a woman, to do that?" Mary Ellen asked.

"Not too bad," Quinn said. "Dad and Joe, my godfather, never acted like there was anything odd about it. As it happens, my brother, at least the one who is old enough, never showed as much interest in it. So they look at it as my baby."

"That's interesting," Mary Ellen said. "Can I come down there, to the track, and interview you for an article?"

"Sure," Quinn said. "You're a journalism student?"

"I'm a reporter," Mary Ellen said.

"Oh," Quinn said, pleasantly surprised. "There are reporters at the track sometimes, but they've never talked to me."

"That's odd," said Mary Ellen. "I'm with the Port Charles Gazette. It strikes me as interesting local stuff."

"Better than Taryn of the Train Tracks?" Chad quipped.

"Different," Mary Ellen grinned. "This is about somebody who can drive, not about somebody who can't."

Everyone laughed.

"Now, in fairness," said Zander. "Taryn avoided a big train wreck."

"Yeah," Chad said. "This town owes Taryn one."

Later, as they were closing up the bar, Laraine lingered.

Taryn cleared off a table, then played a song on the juke box. The band was packed up and going outside. Toby came in and out to get equipment. Taryn would look at him as he tried to ignore her.

"Come here, Mikhail," Taryn said. She put out her arms. "Let me have this dance."

Mikhail danced a few steps with her.

"Of all the nerve," said Chad.

"You read my mind," Laraine said to her brother.

Toby came in, and scowled at Taryn dancing with Mikhail.

"She wants to make someone jealous," Chad said.

"It's working," Laraine said. "Just not the way she thinks it is."

Chad laughed.

It got quieter as the band left.

"See you, Laraine," Chad said, going off with Mary Ellen.

"Later," Laraine answered, patting him on the arm and nodding to Mary Ellen.

Taryn flung herself out the door, saying "Bye Clay! By Mikhail!"

The jukebox was still playing. Laraine put more quarters in it and played another song.

Clay and Mikhail both seemed to be in the back, doing something.

Mikhail came out to leave, tie and vest off, his white shirt unbuttoned at the top. As usual, he stopped cold upon seeing that Laraine was still there.

The music was playing. Laraine swallowed. She was afraid her voice might not come out.

"Mikhail," she said, walking towards him. "Let me have this dance."

He smiled, recognizing how she repeated Taryn's words.

Shyly, she held him by the elbow on one side, while intertwining her fingers with his on the other. She felt every one of his fingertips, as if they sent separate currents through her. She looked into his eyes and could see that he was still in that state of shock where he didn't know what to do or say. They were beautiful, large and dark, so very slightly elongated that Laraine would not have remarked it if she hadn't seen his Asian mother. Her eyes dropped to his lips, which so often slowly curved into that smile of his; but now they weren't, just parted slightly.

Electricity and chemistry. There was no better way to describe it. He pulled her slightly closer, his other hand going to her back. She felt surprisingly comfortable, and her head dropped to his shoulder. He leaned his head down, and his hair touched hers.

Clay saw them, grinned to himself, and left without saying anything, dimming the lights halfway.