After Disapparating from the pond, the woman quickly steadied her footing on her new terrain, and opened her eyes to see the path winding up to her home. She readjusted her bag to her other shoulder and began the short walk up the dirt lane, losing herself in replaying her short meeting with her canine companion.
She had gotten some of her questions about him answered, but their time together had actually sparked even more. Nonetheless, he was fun. He was sweet. He was… compelling. He was a dog… But somewhere in there was a man. A thirty-four year old man who had lived in London… most of his life. A man who was an unregistered Animagus. A man who wanted to see her again. Tomorrow, actually. And a man who had very soft fur… I bet that translates into him having really soft skin. Or, even better, really great hair…
Plus for such a large dog, he's quite gentle. He had pawed at her forearm, tapped out messages on her wrist and her palm, nudged her shoulder with his nose, and even kissed her cheek. Alright, he licked my cheek, but he's a dog; that's a little unavoidable. And he had even done that delicately.
And I've never seen a dog with grey eyes. Ever. I mean I guess it's possible that they exist, but I wonder if that's because it's just his real eye color… It's a nice color.
Another interesting parallel: big dog, soft bark. That was odd, but nice. Not like most of the other men she had known before. Who is this guy?
She had become rather lost in her own thoughts. So much so in fact, that as she neared her front porch she didn't bother to notice someone slumped lazily in her white oak rocking chair. As the stranger heard her approaching, scuffling up the rocky lane, she opened her eyes from her slumber-like state and addressed the woman, "Oh good, you're finally back! You scared me half to death. I thought something terrible had happened to you."
The woman was jerked out of her daydreams and towards the source of the words. She checked her watch, "Finally? I'm not that late. And you still felt perfectly at home enough to go into my house, prepare the last of my iced tea, and drink both the glass for yourself and the one you poured for me?" she asked gesturing to two empty glasses on the small, sun-bleached, rickety, side table.
"No… those were both for me," the stranger informed the woman taking a sip from another glass, "this one was for you. But yes, I'm finishing it."
The woman rolled her eyes, "Tiffany!" she scolded. "Is this the end of my tea? Oh, give me that," she commanded, taking the glass and quickly drinking it just to spite her.
The stranger, Tiffany, used her silence of downing half a glass of iced tea to question her friend, "why are you so happy?"
"What do you mean?" the woman shot back upon gulping the last of the drink.
"I mean when you were walking up here, you looked happy."
"Is it so weird to be happy?"
"For most people," Tiffany explained, "no. For you, it sort of is. Lately."
"Rude," the woman shot with her eyebrows raised.
"The truth isn't always pretty," she said sighing but with a smile, "now why are you so happy?"
"I am generally happy."
"Sure, when you're in the kitchen, or messing with the piano, or with your nephews…" It dawned on Tiffany that a fair few things made the woman happy. "Alright, let me rephrase. Why were you so smiley? You definitely aren't a smiley person."
The woman brushed it off, "we don't have time for this pointless interrogation. We have a lot to do before our meeting at one," she said rummaging through her bag.
She pulled out a long piece of parchment. "We've got to get to the market. This shopping list is longer than Merlin's beard, and I'm adding tea to it now, which you're going to pay for," she informed her friend.
"Oh, you don't even like tea. You're not even properly English," Tiffany complained.
"I like tea from time to time, and I've been English for the past four years."
"You weren't raised in England though; you don't have a proper appreciation for tea," Tiffany huffed.
"Tiffany, tea isn't even English. You guys stole it from Asia hundreds of years ago, and just rebranded it as yours," she quipped. "And either way, you're buying me more.
"Anyways," she continued as Tiffany failed to answer her, "we need to go to the market and see Kostya. So, you go to Kostya's; it won't take as long. That way you can see Ian earlier."
Tiffany immediately protested, "oh, please don't make me go to Kotsa's-"
"Kostya's," the woman corrected adamantly.
"I never know what he's saying, he just goes on and on in Turkish—"
"Tiffany, you know very well the man is not Turkish."
"And it's always so awkward…"
"All you have to do is give him the list, and smile and nod while he talks and gets the order together, then double check it, pay him, and it'll be brought over later. Just be polite! Or talk, he's perfectly happy to listen, even if he doesn't understand what you're saying. He's just very sociable. And Anton knows what you're saying."
"He adores you though, and he'd love to see you much more than me," Tiffany countered.
"You realize Kostya's will take much less time than the market will. That way you can go see Ian," she explained. "You love Ian," she teased.
"I do not love Ian," Tiffany shot back.
"You love his hair. And his eyes."
"I do love his eyes…" Tiffany smiled dreamily. "Still I think you should go to Kotsa's—"
"Kostya's!" the woman corrected angrily.
Tiffany ignored her, continuing, "and then meet me at the market to help me finish up, then we'll see Ian together."
"Fine."
"But first, why were you so smiley earlier?"
The woman rolled her eyes and chuckled as she handed the shopping list to her friend. Then she turned and started down the steps to accomplish their plans. "Just a good morning is all," she answered.
"But why?!" Tiffany pried.
The woman didn't stop walking but smiled widely to herself. "Pure happenstance," she called over her shoulder, and continued on her way.
She followed the path the other way from where she had come, then peeled off into a field. She walked and walked as the grass got taller and taller, jumped a short wooden fence, and soon came upon a small row of shops.
She entered one with the front windows covered in red and white posters offering various deals of the week. As she pushed the heavy door open a bell sounded and a man behind the counter turned around.
Simply put, the man looked terrifying. He had to be at least six and a half feet tall with dark hair streaked with gray covering his visible skin: head, face, forearms, even the backs of his hands and knuckles didn't escape his tresses. Furthermore, the man was wide enough to threaten any doorframe in England, both ways if you considered his height. As he turned around his terror continued. The hair continued, coating his face in a dense beard and not sparing his eyebrows in its thickness. In his hand he clutched a large wide-bladed knife, and his entire front was coated in a layer of blood, some fresh, some older.
When he saw the woman who had enter his domain, he spread his arms, raising the knife, and bellowed, "KOSHENYA!"
The woman smiled as he set the knife down and whipped off his apron, tossing it into the corner. "Lysytsya!" she chimed with a wide grin as she opened her arms as well. He scooped her up and hugged he with all his might. She laughed as he tested the strength of her rib cage. He set her down again and kissed her on each cheek before taking her face in his massive hands and smiling down at her.
"Is good to see you," he assured her in an accent as thick as his hair, "has been too long."
"I know, Kostya, I know," she said abandoning her nickname for him and using his given name instead.
A teenage boy poked his head out from the back room, "Dad, that's not her name."
"Hey, Anton," the woman greeted. He greeted her as well.
Kostya turned to his son to scold him and he disappeared into the back again.
"Now, moya divchyna, what for you today?"
She handed over the list and settled herself onto a stool next to the counter. They quickly began jabbering on in Ukrainian as the butcher gazed over the list, tied on a new apron, and wielded his knife once more. They caught up and laughed as he filled the order, hacking off portions of beef, slicing cuts of pork, even carving sections of venison for the woman, among other things.
She pointed to a few headless, de-feathered birds in the window. "Kachka?" she questioned, inquiring as to whether or not they were in fact duck.
"Tak, moya divchyna!" he affirmed her proudly. She was right.
By this point Anton had finished his duties in the back, sank onto the stool next to her and slumped against the wall. "Dad, why do you never call her by her name?"
He looked at his son as if he was ridiculous. "Because!" he reasoned. "She is my 'divchyna!'"
She smiled, enjoying being right about the duck, and not minding the "daughter" nickname either, and requested a few of the birds as well.
"Come for dinner tonight," she requested of the two men.
"No, no. You not need to cook for us," Kostya declined.
"Oh, please?" she pleaded. "It's Tuesday; it's a slow night. I'd like the company. Anton wants to."
Anton nodded enthusiastically, and although Kostya didn't understand all of what the woman was saying, he did understand the nodding.
"I'll make kruchenyky…" she offered. "And maybe pyrohy if I have time!" And I'll make sure I have time.
That got him. "Okay, we come near close," Kostya leveled with her.
"Great!" she smiled.
"Oh, and—" Anton started.
She cut him off, "I know, I know, no mushrooms in yours," she finished for him. "Bring all this by around two or so for me?" she asked referring to her massive order.
"Of course," Anton answered.
She paid, refusing an arbitrary discount just for being his friend and loyal customer, and thanked them both. After bidding them farewell until that night, was on her way to the market to meet Tiffany.
Upon her arrival at the market they quickly finished up the shopping, lugged their purchases to the back door of the kitchen, and settled into lunch with Ian. Ian and the woman quickly got through the business side of the lunch, and then she quickly departed in order to let Ian and Tiffany enjoy each other's company.
She went into the kitchen and began to prepare for the dinner rush. It was a lot of work to run a restaurant, but she was always up for a challenge, whether it be feeding dozens of tables a night or figuring out a particularly mysterious black dog.
The rush came in a frenzy of dishes, orders, sizzling, heat, a cascade of ingredients, focus, and many shouts and laughs among the kitchen staff.
Before she knew it, she was being summoned, "Chef!"
"Yes!"
"Someone's here for you!" a host yelled back.
"Which someone?" she asked suspiciously.
"Two someones. Tall someones. Do you want me to get their names?" the host asked leaning in the kitchen doorway, trying not to get hit by trays being hurried in and out by the wait staff.
"Kostya and Anton!" she exclaimed. She hurried her apron off, washed her hands, and glided out the door.
Her eyes fell upon them and she smiled. She hugged each of them in turn. "Koshenya," Kostya used his customary nickname greeting for her as he hugged and kissed her cheek again.
"Lysytsya," she cooed back as she kissed his cheek as well.
Anton greeted her with a quick "hey" and an equally quick hug.
She walked them over to a table and asked a waiter to grab them drinks, on the house of course, while she finished up their food.
She went back into the kitchen and arranged the kruchenyky on two plates with sides of steamed vegetables and rice when they were ready. She poured mushroom sauce over one plate and brought them out.
Handing the mushroom-less plate to Anton, and the other to Kostya, she told them she hoped they would enjoy it and retuned to the kitchen to finish the sweet pyrohy. She had filled them with strawberries, and made a sweet dipping sauce as well. She left them warming and went out to chat with her friends.
"Koshenya, kruchenyky is delicious!" Kostya complimented her.
"It really is," Anton confirmed.
"Oh thank you, I'm glad you enjoy it," she answered, sitting down. They all chatted a bit longer before she left to retrieve desert for them.
She set down a huge platter of the sweet dumplings. They each took one and Kostya changed the subject.
"Koshenya, when you find a man? When you give Kostya grandchild?"
"Dad, she's not your kid," Anton disputed.
"Durnytsya," he answered. Nonsense.
"I'm not sure, Kostya. Maybe not for a while," she answered his question. She smiled, but she was sad to disappoint him.
He shrugged, "is okay. Koshenya, men are dog."
She smiled at the unintentional coincidence of his words and experience earlier that morning.
"All men?" she asked still smiling.
"All men," he reinforced. "Dogs."
"But are all dogs bad?" she challenged.
He pondered her question. "Lots are bad," was the answer he settled on.
"Some are good?" she said latching onto the possibility.
"…few," he said wondering where she was headed.
"How about, one? One good dog out there somewhere? For me?"
He pondered her question taking a long swig of his drink. "Yes." He agreed, "one good dog. For you."
She grinned again.
He laughed at her, "you smile lots today. Why?"
"Just a good day, I guess."
"Why good day?" he pried further.
She sighed still smiling, "pure happenstance."
He looked at her confused. That wasn't a phrase he was familiar with in English. She shrugged, not sure how to translate it into Ukrainian for him.
Anton spoke to his father, explaining. Then ended it again by repeating her, "pure happenstance."
"Pure happenstance!" Kostya repeated, raising his glass.
They all clinked glasses, drank to the toast, and devoured the dessert in front of them.
They took their time eating and after they finished the men left. The woman cleared their dishes, the last in the restaurant, and closed up the restaurant.
She crawled into bed that night still whirling from her nonstop day. It had been a very good day, just very busy. She glanced at the envelope on her bedside table. In the moonlight it was hard to see much of anything, but she could just make out the words "for you" on the front. Her hand reached out towards it, but she stopped herself. She withdrew her hand and tore eyes away to look at the stars instead. I can't read it again. I need to knock myself down a notch. I'll see him in just half a day.
She pulled open her bedside drawer and placed the envelope inside so as not to tempt herself. The stars outside her bedroom window drew her attention once again, and she gazed at them until she fell into a seamless sleep.