"Adrian?" I asked, a little bit surprised that she called me this early morning to discuss him.
"Of course." She answered, her voice brimming with curiosity and admiration.
I rubbed my brow resignedly.
"Linda, do you by any means know that you are asking me to discuss a man who is more or less close by."
She giggled.
"What's funny?" I asked, unable to understand her.
"I was anxious," she admitted, then sighed. "I completely forgot you aren't living in the Nortons' house anymore. I really wonder if their meals would be cooked by the maids this time."
I smiled.
Those days in the Norton family kitchen had been some of the best moments of my life. No matter how terrible the day had been, I burned it all out there—chopping, stirring, cooking until my hands ached and my heart felt lighter.
The kitchen had been the only place where I truly belonged, the only place where I had formed a genuine bond with the maids.
