Chapter 2: Moving Day Disaster

At exactly 6:15 AM, fifteen minutes ahead of her alarm, Grace woke up. She did it every time. She had an internal clock that was annoyingly accurate, even on Saturdays, as today.

Max would arrive by nine. Three hours to prepare for the invasion.

Her morning ritual was executed with military precision: a short shower, twenty minutes of yoga, and a breakfast consisting of avocado toast and green tea as she ran over her mental checklist. 

Yesterday afternoon, she had set up the spare room, set out new towels on the bed with a little letter welcoming them, and cleaned the already-clean surfaces. She wasn't attempting to win him over. It was just plain politeness.

Grace stood in the middle of her living room at 8:45, taking one more look around her domain before it was shared. The row of ceramic birds on her bookcase, which Grace carried on her grandmother's collection through college, caught the morning sun. There are now sixteen of them, each with a unique backstory.

At 8:57, the doorbell rang. Early. Maybe a good indication.

Max appeared much more unkempt than he did the night before as he stood in the hallway. His hair stood up on one side as though he had been rubbing his hands through it repeatedly, and dark circles cast shadows over his eyes. Two big duffel bags, a backpack, and what seemed like a big knife case were sitting behind him.

 "Morning," He said  in a voice still hoarse from sleep. "Sorry if I'm a bit early."

"Not at all," Grace said, moving aside to make room for him. "I've been up for hours."

He whispered, "Of course you have," in a scarcely audible voice.

She pointed to his little possessions, and Grace pretended not to hear. "Is that... everything?"

"Told you I travel light." He had a forced smile. That's what divorce will do to you. Would you mind if I bought these in?

As he dragged his belongings into her apartment which is now for both of them, Grace nodded. He moved quite gracefully for a man his size, navigating her furniture without causing any damage. She assumed it was the chef's spatial awareness.

"The room's all ready." Leading him down the hall "I left some towels and some necessary toiletries in case you needed them."

Max stopped at the entrance of the bedroom, admiring the clean room with its white duvet and perfectly  positioned pillows. "You didn't have to spend time on all this."

Grace stated, "It wasn't any trouble," after having debated the bedroom lamp's precise placement for almost an hour. "I'll let you get settled."

The bag's zip opening. The gentle thud of what she thought were drawers being filled with clothing. The soft murmur of an unfamiliar tune.

Max came out twenty minutes later, appearing slightly more alert. Do I have permission to keep my knives in the kitchen? They are my source of income.

"Of course," Grace replied as she followed him to the kitchen, which she seldom ever used save for her morning bread and microwave meals. "There's plenty of space in the drawers."

On the counter, Max unfolded his knife case to display a menacing collection of chef's knives, each tucked away in its own pocket. He said, "These don't go in drawers," with an abruptly serious tone. "They must be stored properly. Would it bother you if I installed a magnetic strip?

The noises of Max unpacking diverted Grace's attention from her book, the newest literary fiction release she had to review for work, back in the living room. 

Grace paused. A long-term display. within her kitchen. on her meticulously painted walls.

Max, interpreting her face well, said, "I'll patch the holes when I leave," "Promise."

"Alright," she grudgingly said. "Just... let me know before you drill anything."

Max rewrapped his blades with care and nodded. "I should go to the car and get the remainder of my belongings. It won't take a minute."

Curiosity won out and Grace wandered into his room as he was leaving. She reminded herself that she wasn't spying. Just... evaluating his level of adjustment.

The cover was pulled up carelessly, and the corners of the guest bed were already rumpled, military-precise.

Several t-shirts hung in the open closet, along with two button-downs and what appeared to be chef's whites. The room smelled different, like cedarwood and something savory.

The only private possessions he seemed to have on his bedside table were a dog-eared copy of "Kitchen Confidential," a small framed portrait of an elderly couple which she assumed to be his parents, and a leather-bound diary. A silver wedding band lay beside them. Grace found herself staring at it longer than necessary.

The sound of the front door opening drove her rushing back into the living room, her heart racing like if she had been caught doing something illegal.

Max appeared with a box in his arms, looking curiously at her hot cheeks. "Everything okay?"

"Fine," she answered hastily. "Just... getting some water."

Grace took a moment to settle herself in the kitchen, safe behind the refrigerator door. It was ludicrous. It was her apartment. She had the right to be anywhere in it.

She nearly died as a result of the subsequent accident.

She dashed back into the living area to see Max transfixed, fear engraved on his face. At his feet was a smashed porcelain figure, not just any figurine. The blue-crested warbler, the first bird her grandma had given her, was now in bits on her hardwood floor.

Max responded, "I am so sorry," in a voice that was tight with real anguish. "I was trying to get around the coffee table and my elbow just……..God, I'm an idiot."

Grace was speechless. Her gaze remained focused on the shattered fragments, each representing a piece of recollection. She received the little bird from her grandmother's hands, which were steady despite their wrinkles. She had said, "For my little songbird," "So you remember to sing even when I'm gone."

"Grace?" Max sounded as though he was speaking from a great distance. “Speak up.” Please.

"It's fine," she managed to say, her voice empty and robotic.

 "It's not fine," he insisted as he knelt down to pick up the broken fragments. Is there a way to fix this?Regardless of whatever amount it costs, I'll cover the repairs.

Grace crouched next to him, picking up a wing little bigger than her fingernail. "It was my grandmother's."

Max's expression lowered even more. “I’m so sorry.” I'm already damaging your belongings on my first day here."

Grace said, "It was an accident," and to her astonishment, she meant it. The destruction on his face was sufficient retribution.

They collected all the pieces they could locate together and put them in a little basin. Every now and then, their hands touched, hers small and warm, his big and warm. There was an unpleasant hush between them when they were done.

When Max eventually stated, "I should have been more careful," "This isn't starting off well, is it?"

In spite of everything, Grace couldn't help but smile a little. “It's only a thing.” You can swap things out. She knew it wasn't quite true even as she said it. Certain items, such as ceramic birds from deceased grandparents, have held sentimental value.

In her gaze, Max appeared to read the truth. “I'll find a way to compensate you.” I swear.

She was surprised by the earnestness in his voice. Charming, handsome men like Max, who undoubtedly had ladies swooning over them, hardly ever appeared genuinely sorry for anything. However, he appeared to have done an unforgivable sin.

After saying, "Let's just be more careful going forward," she stood up. "Maybe we should establish some house rules."

Max's face was clearly relieved. “Name them.” “I'll do everything exactly as written.”

Grace sat at her dining table two hours later, completing what Elena would surely refer to as her "control freak manifesto." Five pages of comprehensive guidelines that address everything from allowable noise levels to shower timetables to a rotating cleaning roster. One of her sections was titled "Shared Space Etiquette."

After the incident, Max had gone into his room and only came out once to use the restroom. The presence of another person in the flat seemed odd, like a waiting breath held in reserve.

As if he had been waiting, he opened the door as soon as Grace knocked, there was a rulebook in her hand. His hair was damp, as though he had just taken a long shower, and he had changed into nice clothes.

"Peace agreements?" he asked, glancing through at the documents she was holding.

She amended, "House rules," and gave them to him. "Just so we're clear on expectations."

He turned the pages, his brows getting higher every time. "This is... comprehensive."

"Is it a problem?"

"Is it a problem?"

Slowly, "No," he murmured. "Just... different from what I'm used to."

"Different how?"

"My last living situation didn't exactly have written rules." His face took on a shadow. "Maybe it should have."

Grace fought off a twinge of interest regarding his marriage. "Well, if you have any questions..."

Max looked up from the papers and remarked, "Actually, I do have one suggestion to add."

"Which is?"

"Dinner together, once a week." He hurried past her startled look. “Not a date or anything like that.” Simply put, I'm a cook. It's depressing to cook for one person. We could use that opportunity to make sure we're not making each other insane.

This was unexpected by Grace. "I don't really cook," she acknowledged.

"You're not required to. I literally do that for a living. A faint grin pulled at his mouth. “Consider that as my non-monetary rent contribution.” One healthy meal per week.

It was an alluring proposition. Grace could cook anything that could be microwaved, including pasta and bread. And the way he was staring at her, eager, like a dog scared of a reprimand, was disarming.

"Alright," she concluded. "Saturdays?"

"Saturdays," he said. "Starting tonight?"

After hesitating, Grace nodded. "I'll be here."

Max called after her as she turned to go. "Hey, Grace?"

She stopped and turned around.

"I appreciate that you didn't throw me out over the bird. I will definitely make it up to you.

She believed him because of something in his eyes.

And that was possibly the most surprising of all the developments.