Calmly, I stand and close the piano lid. I then walk towards and past him.
Grumpy is looking as grumpy and gorgeous as usual, and just when I reach the large door, he claps.
“Very, very good, and it’s nice to see it in use.”
I am unsure what to say, so I turn and bow. I also smile, feeling good.
“And thank you. The Spanish omelet was great.”
We share a look, and then he speaks again as he walks up to me. “One thing. Where on earth did you learn to play so well?”
“My mother taught, and well, she still teaches.”
Grumpy nods and looks down at me, intrigued. “You’re actually very good.”
“At?” I ask, pushing it.
The grump shakes his head, smiles, and leaves. Sighing, I tell myself to get my act together. Why do I always feel the need to push all his buttons?
But is it him? Or is it me?
Or is it us?
That night,an hour before I’m about to serve Grumpy, the bell rings, and I receive a note.
On Zoom calls tonight. Please deliver food same time. Apologies.
I flick the pen between my teeth, then I write and send back:
Your wish is my command.
I finish preparing one of my favorites. Venison with quail and an odd berry and chocolate sauce.
Again world-class.
I doubt he’s had it; it was in vogue a decade ago with Italian, LA, and London eateries for a season.
I deliver it on one of the large silver trays. It will stay warm with the silver dome over it. If he eats it around the right time, it will be warm, and it will be memorable.
After cleaning up and cooking my own simple dinner, I kick back in my temporary room, his old bedroom.
My bell then rings as I read one of the books from his bookshelf.
Rolling over the bed, I pull the weird card out.
What magic is this, Witch? That was one of the best meals I’ve ever had.
I beam proudly and feel my heart pick up.
This may work out after all. All I have to do is keep my big mouth shut and follow the rules.
I write fast, and I send it back.
That is another secret. In Europe, it’s called the Rulebreaker.
Oh, my God, what’s wrong with me?
But again, is itus?
