Page 30 of Solo

“No fever,” he proclaims with a smile. “You look a little pale, but really not bad at all. Come, sit down at the table and I’ll serve you some soup, if you think you can eat it.”

I haven’t been interested in food for hours, but whatever he’s got simmering on the stove has awakened the hunger within me, and with a vengeance.

“I think I could eat,” I say, taking a seat as he pulls open cabinets and sets up a fresh bowl for each of us. “That smells great. What is it?”

“Stracciatella,” he says, ladling it out of a huge stockpot. “In case you’re not familiar, that’s an Italian chicken soup.”

“I’m not familiar. But I’m looking forward to becoming better acquainted,” I say, unable to take my eyes off the steaming bowl as he walks it carefully across the kitchen without spilling a drop. He places it in front of me and points to a small bowl on the table with cheese in it.

“It’s really good with some grated cheese on top.”

I take his suggestion and spoon some on while he fetches his own bowl and sits in the chair across the table from me.

“So, how are you feeling?” he asks.

“So. Much. Better,” I say, pushing the soup around the bowl with my spoon so it will cool off. My eyes dart up to his and then back down again, so that I’m talking into my soup. “I can’t thank you enough, Dr. Markham.”

“It was nothing, Miss Brenner,” he replies quietly. “I’d have done it for any of my students. I just hope you are okay. You know—with what happened…”

I guess he’s still worried that I’m going to freak out on him. Fair enough.

“I—uh—I…” I begin awkwardly, then stop, setting my spoon down and sitting up to face him properly. “I am okay with what happened, Dr. Markham. And not just that. I need you to know how grateful I am. It’s been a long time since anyone has taken care of me like that. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I can take care of myself. It’s just that I was so sick and I don’t know what I would have done if I’d been alone last night. There’s no way I could have managed.”

He seems to consider me, his dark eyes shifting up and down, left and right as he examines my expression. He looks as if he’d like to say something about my declaration. He even goes so far as to open his mouth to speak, but then he stops himself.

“Try the soup before it gets cold,” he says at last, gesturing with his chin.

Okay, then, so much for sharing. I take a spoonful and bring it to my lips. It’s a salty, golden elixir as it spreads soothing warmth down my throat.

“Oh. Oh my God…this is amazing.” I gasp, hurrying to slurp a second spoonful and a third. “I think this might be the best soup I’ve ever tasted in my life. Not that that’s a high bar, mind you, considering how many cans of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle I eat.”

His face fills with a proud grin and I pause, spoon midway to my mouth. I don’t recall ever having seen that kind of an expression on his face before. He’s usually all business, all the time. That is, when he’s not being a jerk.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says. “And there’s nothing wrong with Campbell’s. They kept me fed when I was an undergrad.”

It’s strange to think of him like that—like me—an overworked, underpaid music student trying to make ends meet.

“Where was that?” I ask, spooning soup again.

“What? Where did I go to school?”

I nod and examine my spoonful closely. “Is there egg in here?”

“Yes. You beat some egg into the broth,” he informs me. “I went to the New York Conservatory.”

“For undergrad? I knew you’d done your doctoral degree there…”

“For all of it,” he says, stirring some cheese into his own bowl of chicken yumminess. “Undergrad, master’s, and doctorate.”

I put my spoon down again and look at him incredulously.

“Seriously? All three? That’s impressive. And really expensive.”

He smiles. “I was lucky. Someone there took a liking to me. Sort of like Russ Atherton took a liking to you, I suppose.”

“I was actually accepted there for undergrad…” I blurt and as soon as the words are out of my mouth I wish I could stuff them back into my mouth. And now, I know his question before he even asks it.

“You got into the New York Conservatory and you chose a tiny private college in North Carolina instead?” He’s staring at me like I’ve just told him I’m a leprechaun.