Vasil peered around the counter then made another note. “I’m assuming there’s somewhere I can buy cookware?”
“Of course. Istanbul isn’t exactly a backwater.” Once it had been the center of the world.
“Vasil snorted. “I meant close by. You’re lacking any sizable pot or skillet, and I hate cooking for just one.”
Except that Vasil would not be staying. A bitter knot formed in Altan’s throat. “Yes, of course. There’s a shopping district nearby that will have what you’re looking for.”
Vasil continued to make notes. “Is there anything you won’t eat?”
“Not particularly.” He waited a moment. “Vasil—”
He stopped writing. “Please don’t give up on me.”
“I know that look, you see. I’ve spent the past two years cheek to jowl with people and you learn these things.”