I look up to see Cameron standing on the terrace, freshly showered and wearing a white robe.
"How long were you standing there?"
"Long enough to see you've lied to me."
I tense. "About what?"
His eyes dance with amusement. "You're a secret water nymph, not a nanny. And you're corrupting my dog."
"Corrupting Edison? How so?"
"Edison gets bathed and clipped at Manhattan's most fashionable salons. Who do you think you are, hosing him down like a common canine?"
We both laugh, and Edison woofs to join in.
Cameron's faux stern façade cracks, and he walks toward me, laughing. "What do you say to some dinner? I'm starving."
"Opera divas don't cook," I retort playfully.
"Then let's scrounge up something together."
We head into the kitchen with Edison keeping pace behind us, his coat finally clean.
"Here you go, Ed," I say, unwrapping some of Mrs. Bellows' hamburger patties from their wax paper prison and putting them on fine china.
Cameron watches me as I take stock of the ingredients on offer. "Not much here for humans. Are you okay with cheese so gourmet I can't even pronounce the names? We even have grapes."
"Sounds great. Let's find the wine cellar and grab a few bottles."
"How do you know they have one?"
"Mrs. Bellows said so that first night, remember? Grab a flashlight in case the lighting's dim."
I do as he says, then follow him to the cellar.
The narrow stairwell forces me close behind him, his cologne mixed with damp stone air. Shadows from the flashlight make him look carved out of the dark.
“This is like something out of a gothic novel,” I whisper. "Do you recognize any of these wines? They don't seem like anything I'd see in a corner store."
He stops at a rack, brushing dust off a bottle. "Nice! I don't think the Abernathys will mind if we treat ourselves to this."
"You know wine?"
“Wine Spectator interviewed me once.”
Of course they did.
I watch as Cameron removes another bottle, this one so old it's caked in black slime.
“Oh my God, I’m not drinking that.”
“No problem. I will.” He tucks it under his arm and grabs a couple more.
Back upstairs, I set out bread, cheese, and grapes on the coffee table while he wipes the bottles down. Candles cast a soft glow across the room.
"This is a scene right out of Omar Khayyam."
"What's that? Some trendy downtown Manhattan bar?" I ask.
