Chapter 3: Dinner and Discoveries

Grace felt the afternoon elongate before her like a blank canvas. She made an effort to concentrate on her book review, but Max's dinner proposition and the broken bird kept coming up in her mind. Even if it meant having to engage in conversation with a virtual stranger who suddenly occupied her spare room, she wouldn't turn down a professional chef's supper.

Tantalizing scents started to emanate from the kitchen about five o'clock. Max was clearly taking their dinner arrangement seriously, as evidenced by the sounds of cutting and the odd sizzling, even though Grace hadn't seen him leave to go shopping for supplies.

She eventually came out of her bedroom out of curiosity. She discovered Max navigating her kitchen with a well-honed sense of efficiency, his bulk somehow elegant in the cramped area. As he worked, his forearms flexed as he sliced veggies with remarkable speed, wearing a simple black t-shirt that hung over his shoulders.

She hovered at the threshold and asked, "Need any help?"

Max looked up, his face glowing with a sincere smile. "I can handle it. However, feel free to keep me company.

Grace sat on a barstool at the counter against her better judgment. "What are you making?"

"It's nothing spectacular. Quinoa salad, roasted veggies, and fish with a mint crust. He pointed to one of the glasses on the counter. "I also picked up a bottle of wine. I hope you enjoy Sauvignon Blanc.

"You didn't have to do all this."

"First impressions are important, especially after I damaged a precious family heirloom." He spoke lightly, but there was real regret in his eyes.

To put it gently, "It wasn't priceless," Grace added. "Just irreplaceable."

Max understood the difference and nodded. Saying, "Tell me about your grandmother," he went back to chopping. "She gave you that bird collection, right?"

The question was unexpected to Grace. In her experience, men were rarely interested in family history. "She worked at a library. loved birds; as a child, they would take me birdwatching. She gave me a book about each species along with the bird.

Max remarked, "That sounds nice," as he slipped veggies into a roasting pan. "Having someone who shares something special with you."

"How about you? Are there any family customs?

His face took on a shadow. "I learned how to cook from my dad. claimed that a self-sufficient guy would never go hungry. After a moment of silence, he said, "He died when I was seventeen."

Grace responded, "I'm sorry," understanding the cautiously indifferent tone of old mourning.

Max gave a shrug. “It was a while back.” However, I always feel more connected to him when we cook together. With practiced accuracy, he poured olive oil over the vegetables. "What about your parents?"

“They're both doing well in Connecticut.” My mother is a high school English teacher, while my father works as an accountant. Every Sunday at precisely 7:00 PM, they make a call.

"Let me guess….they wanted you to pursue something more practical than literary criticism?"

Grace arched an eyebrow. "How did you know?"

"Just a hunch." He had a quirky smile. "Parents usually do."

As Max worked, they had a surprisingly easy chat. While Max talked about his years of working at upscale restaurants and his experiences with celebrities, Grace found herself unwinding and sharing stories about her work reviewing books for an online literary magazine.

Grace stared at the food as it was served. Her typical microwaved dinners seemed even more pitiful because of the elegant simplicity with which the food was put on her simple white plates, which had been transformed into works of art.

She said, "This is incredible," following the initial mouthful. "I didn't know salmon could taste like this."

Max had a satisfied expression. "Respecting the elements is crucial. Nothing difficult.

Grace discovered things about Max while they were dining that she had never noticed before, like the way his eyes creased when he laughed, the tiny mark on the side of his jaw, and the way he paid attention to everything she said carefully, as though recording every word.

"So," she speculated as they drained the wine, "you said yesterday that you were divorcing... Recent?

Max's look was deliberately neutral as he put down his drink. “Six months beforehand. “After being married for five years.

"I'm sorry."

“Don’t be.” He hesitated, "It was." "Necessary."

There was a warning in his tone not to ask any more questions, but Grace's curiosity overcame her tact. "What took place? If it's okay with you, may I ask?"

Max remarked, "Classic story," without letting his eyes meet his smile. "There were two individuals with distinct desires. Looks like 'for better or worse' has its bounds. He started to collect their plates. "How about you? Do you have any stories about relationship wars?

"Nothing as dramatic as divorce," Grace acknowledged. "A year ago, my previous relationship came to an end. For him, my book critiques were stifling creative expression.' He was a writer.

Max gave a snort. "Sounds pretentious."

"He was." Grace couldn't help but smile. "But we all have our types, I guess."

"And what's yours?" Deceptively nonchalant, the question hovered between them.

Grace's cheeks were heated. I don't believe I have one at the moment. Dating is now... challenging.

Max said, "Tell me about it," as he filled the dishwasher. "At twenty-eight, I didn't really plan to be starting over with roommates and borrowed furniture."

"Life rarely goes as planned," Grace remarked quietly.

A sudden understanding passed between them as their gazes locked across the kitchen. Max cleared his throat and averted his gaze first.

"I found something today," he stated as he patted his hands dry. "Wait here."

He disappeared into his room and returned a little while later holding a small package. "It's not exactly the same, but..." Carefully, he handed it to her.

Inside, wrapped beneath tissue paper, sat a ceramic bird…..a small blue warbler, similar to the one he'd shattered but with subtle changes in color and shape.

"I saw it in a shop window when I went out for groceries," Max continued, his expression unexpectedly unsure. “I know it can't replace the original, but I thought it may fit into your collection regardless. Start again together.”

Grace accepted the small figure, a sudden unexpected feeling rising in her throat. "You didn't have to do this."

"I wanted to," he replied simply.

Grace was shocked to discover that Max had taken notice and had viewed her collection as more than simply ornamental items; it was something significant. She placed the new bird next to its intact comrades. That kind of information about her life has not been observed in a long time.

“She thanked him with sincerity.”

Later, while she began to get ready for bed, Grace overheard strange noises of someone else moving around her apartment: the gentle click of the door closing, the soft gentle tapping of feet, and the sound of running water. Now, the invasion that she had feared that morning felt oddly familiar.

Perhaps, she thought as she fell asleep, it wouldn't be so bad to have a surprise roommate after all.