Chapter 8

Robby trudged up the three flights of stairs to his apartment, thinking that he might not need to work out tonight. The risers seemed like they had grown overnight, and his calves were complaining to him about. He knew better, though. He considered the climb to be part of his workout program.

As he neared his door, he could smell the delicious odor of someone's cooking permeating the hallway. He glanced around the dark-paneled walls of the hallway, the brass-trimmed lighting attacking the soft shadows in the corners, and wondered which lucky tenant was eating so well that night. Robby's mouth watered and jealousy colored his mood.

He was feeling cranky when he reached for the lock. His mood changed quickly when the door glided open on its own when he tried to insert his key. Fear doused his choler like a bucket of ice water, then he recalled his determination to speak to the super about just that very thing. With his mood soured once again, he pushed through the door only to run face-first into the wonderful smells of a home-cooked meal. He was sure he detected beef stroganoff, extra creamy; and was that asparagus?

He experienced a moment of dismay thinking his mother had showed up unannounced to offer up a large serving of guilt. He relaxed when he remembered that he'd put off giving her a key, using more and more flimsy excuses over the years. Then he considered the alternatives: actually he considered the fact that there were no alternatives. Concerned with what he would find, he approached the kitchen without removing his coat or setting his briefcase down. His mouth fell open in shock with what he did find in his kitchen.

Wearing a comfortable-looking track suit, her hair up in a loose bun on the back of her head, Elaina stood at the stove stirring a boiling pot full of noodles: egg noodles judging from the packaging on the counter. She looked over at the sound of his gasp, and her face lit up with a smile.

"Hi, honey," she said brightly. "Have a good day at work?" She had an apron on, of all things.

Robby's briefcase dropped from his nerveless fingers, the sound of it hitting the floor making him jump. He couldn't believe how surreal the whole scene was.

"How ... how did you get in here?" he gasped out.

"Through the door, silly boy," she answered laughingly. Her eyes were twinkling at him, her enjoyment of his confusion palpable.

"But how did you get through the locks," he asked miserably. He wondered how was she doing this to him.

"That's one of those ineffable vampire tricks," she answered thoughtfully, her face smoothing and her smile fading. "All I have to do is touch the lock with the will to enter, and it opens. That's it. I don't know how it works, and I really don't care." She turned back to stirring the pot, rising steam wreathing her face.

"Actually," she continued, "that's what happened the night of the party." He numbly nodded his head to show he was listening, though she couldn't see that. "I went to your door before you left the party and opened it. I couldn't go in, of course, but I could take a look inside." She paused, a thoughtful look on her face. "That may not have been my best idea. The door swung in when that monster deadbolt you have popped open. The door kept swinging until it hit the wall. Luckily for me, it hit hard enough to rebound and close on its own. You came out before the doorknob came within reach, but as you can see, it didn't really matter."

"How did you even know which door was mine?" He was really puzzled about that. He remembered thinking that very thing the night they met.

"Your scent, of course," she answered, smiling softly. "It's very distinctive. I could find you anywhere." Robby stirred uncomfortably. He tried to be inconspicuous when he sniffed at his pits, but he'd obviously failed when Elaina laughed at him.

She gave one last stir to the noodles, then she took the pot to the sink and poured the contents into the colander waiting there. For a moment she was completely hidden from view, and when she emerged, water beaded her hair making it sparkle and glint.

Robby saw the rest of the meal in chafing dishes he'd never used for lack of any good reason. Like most bachelors, Robby's meals usually came in a can or out of a box from the freezer. He proudly reminded himself that he did eat fresh salads when he had the time. That's when he saw the garden salad and fresh bleu cheese dressing on the table set for one. There were two wine glasses, however.

"You don't eat," he blurted out, scrambling for a handle on the moment. "How could you prepare food like this?" Her answer surprised him.

"I was human once, you know," she replied tartly. He muttered that he didn't know that; when she snapped a glare at him, he knew she'd heard him anyway. "Just because I can't eat it, doesn't mean I can't cook it."

She grabbed a dinner plate and scooped a healthy serving of noodles onto it. She went to the chafing dishes and covered the noodles with the thick, creamy brown sauce with bite-sized chunks of beef floating like icebergs in it. He could see the sour cream streaking the sauce, causing his mouth to water again. Using a pair of tongs he hadn't known he had, she plucked long stalks of steamed asparagus out of a tall, narrow pan that he also hadn't known he had, and laid them tenderly on the plate. Walking carefully to the table, she set the dish on the placemat and waved a beckoning hand toward it.

"Sit. Eat before it gets cold."

Operating on autopilot, he went back to the foyer and removed his coat, placing the briefcase he'd grabbed on the way out on the side table. He pulled off his jacket and tie, dropping them on the couch on his way back to the kitchen. When she pointed at his seat, he sat and unfolded his napkin in his lap. He had cloth napkins? She went to the refrigerator and came back with a bottle of chilled burgundy. Slicing the foil and pulling the cork with her nails, she filled the two goblets half way. Picking up her wine, she sat down herself and looked pointedly at his plate.

"Eat!" He ate. It was the best stroganoff he'd ever had, bar none. Seeing the gratification on his face, she said, "I've had a long time to get good at this. Enjoy."

After several bites, he picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth. "How did you know I liked this?" he asked curiously. His enjoyment of the food was going a long way towards improving his mood. The atmosphere was still surreal, but he was getting past that.

"You may not have noticed, but all through lunch the other day, your mother kept dropping little hints about your likes and dislikes. For instance" – she waved at the meal – "she said 'Robby always liked beef stroganoff. It's a shame no one cooks for him now.' Things like that." She snorted delicately into her goblet. "She is really determined to see you married off, isn't she?"

"No," he said, taking a sip of his wine to clear his tongue. "Not really. That's just a means to her ends. Getting married equals having children in her mind. If I were to manage a child I could bring home, I think she would be just as happy." It was his turn to snort. "Her best chance of that failed when I was in college. The girl I thought to marry screwed me over for my best friend." He paused, realizing that that was the first time he'd been able to speak of it without falling into a funk or getting angry. It felt pretty good actually, and that was reflected in his smile.

"What?" Elaina asked, curiosity lighting her eyes. "You just had a thought. What was it?"

Despite his minor epiphany, he wasn't ready to share. He thought of something else to say instead.

"Vampire can't have children, can they?" his smile fading as he thought about how she might take it. She gave a quick shake of the head for an answer. "Oh." He decided now was not the time to make a joke at his mother's expense. Her reply showed she'd got it anyway.

With a wry smile, she said, "She wouldn't think so highly of me then, would she?"

"No," he sighed. "No, she wouldn't."

He went back to his meal while she contemplated the light passing through the wine in her glass.

"It doesn't really matter what she thinks, now does it?" she declared suddenly. "You're mine now."

Robby nearly choked on his food when she said that. He looked at her askance, wondering what brought on that proclamation of ownership. Thinking back to her other reactions, he decided that discretion was preferable to valor and kept his mouth shut.