Chapter Four: An Air of Mystery
It was a typical lazy Sunday. Not a peep was heard from Apartment 13 until ten when Regina finally rolled out of bed. She'd been awake since eight after a rather restful slumber. She'd put her glasses on and did some reading; a few articles on Buzzfeed (her guilty pleasure), flipped through that Victoria Secret catalog, sorted through some files she kept on her nightstand to look over before work the next morning.
She stood up next to her bed, stretching away the sleep that lingered in her tired muscles before making her way into the kitchen. She turned on her Keurig coffee maker, placing a vanilla bean cappuccino k-cup into the top, and pressed start once her favorite mug was set in place to fill with her morning caffeine fix.
Once her coffee was done, she sat on the living room couch with her feet curled beneath her in silence. Sometimes she just enjoyed those brief moments of nothing: no rushing out the door, no morning traffic, no screaming clients, no teenage tantrums. It was times like this that made her coffee taste even better.
She thought about Robin and wondered what his Sunday morning routine was like. He did have a seven year old so she imagined he wasn't afforded the luxury of rolling out of bed to a quiet home at ten in the morning. She chuckled to herself and sipped her coffee, picturing that little munchkin of his running around in a cape and mask or begging to watch cartoons before breakfast. She often missed when Henry was that small and actually wanted her to spend time with him.
Do they have any groceries, the thought struck her suddenly. They did just move in and he seemed to have his hands full with Roland. It sparked a wonderful idea into her mind: Lasagna. She made a lasagna that was to die for (those were Henry's exact words) and it would be enough food to last them until he could get to the store. And if he'd already gone, it was a nice meal when he was too busy to cook between the stress of teaching, unpacking, and raising a seven year old. It was a nice, neighborly gesture and a chance to see him again; whether she was willing to admit that or not.
Regina stood from her spot on the couch and hurried to the refrigerator, placing her coffee on the counter before gathering the ingredients. She kept a container of homemade marinara sauce in the freezer so she didn't have to spend hours on every Italian dish she prepared each month. She took that out to defrost for a bit and grabbed her baking dish from the drawer below the stove.
The lasagna noodles were in the refrigerator, fresh from the Italian delicatessen she ventured into Little Italy for every few weeks. Was it cheating? Probably. But when was she supposed to find time to make it from scratch? What the consumers didn't know wouldn't hurt them.
She set the oven to preheat and took out the ricotta and mozzarella cheese. She placed the mozz on her cutting board and sliced into it with expert precision. When she was done and had a fair amount of cheese sliced, she sprayed the baking dish with cooking spray so the lasagna wouldn't stick to the bottom while it cooked.
The first layer looked delicious already: a noodle topped with slightly frozen marinara 'meat' sauce (it was a faux meat made from black beans), ricotta, then beautifully even slices of mozzarella. She chopped fresh garlic into very fine pieces and sprinkled a few in, adding her secret ingredient, red pepper flakes, shortly after.
Regina repeated this process until the lasagna reached almost to the top of the dish, leaving a quarter inch of rising room for when it baked. She leaned forward and opened the oven carefully placing the dish on the center of the top rack. She pushed it closed and set the timer, wiping her hands on her apron with a satisfied smile.
It was about eleven when Henry finally woke for the day, entering the kitchen with sleepy eyes and uncombed bedhead. He yawned as he approached, but his mother continued to clean the mess she made without greeting him. She knew her son needed a few minutes to adjust to civilization again after a long sleep; he definitely wasn't a morning person.
"Lasagna for breakfast? Did you have a stroke?" Henry said, the weight of sleep still heavy in his voice.
"Don't be rude just because you're cranky," she said in a stern voice before adding, "It's not for us. I thought the Locksleys might need something while they adjust to their new home."
"Well, well, well. The Evil Queen has a heart after all," Henry chuckled, rubbing his eyes through another yawn. Mallory wasn't the only one at the law firm with a hot-tempered reputation. She just wished her son never caught wind of it so he would stop using it against her at home.
"I liked you much better when you were asleep," Regina grumbled, her cheeks flushed from a mixture of the heat from the kitchen and her embarrassment at how much effort she was putting into seeing this man again.
"I'm just messing with you. I really do think it's nice. What you're doing. Especially when he's the man who pays your son," he smirked and walked over to the cereal cabinet for something light for breakfast. "If you ask me, I think you should cook for him everyday. I'm sure that will have a positive effect on my pay rate with the way you cook."
She rolled her eyes and placed a bowl and spoon out for him while he grabbed the almond milk from the fridge.
"When this is done I'm going to shower and take a trip to the market. Do you have any requests, Sire?" Two could play at his game and Regina was never one to back down. Henry chuckled, secretly enjoying the buttons he was able to press with his mother's short temper.
"I'd ask for apples, but I'm afraid you'd poison them," he said nonchalantly as he poured the milk into his bowl of Koshi cereal. She threw a sharp gaze in his direction, which he caught in his peripherals and acknowledged with a pleased laugh. "Some bananas would be nice. And I finished your secret stash of dark chocolate."
How could he possibly have found it again? She was constantly changing her hiding place to avoid this, but he was just too determined when it came to sweets. The only spot left would be her nightstand and if she kept it there, she'd eat the whole bag in one night.
She added bananas and chocolate to her list before finishing the last of her coffee. She rinsed the mug and put it in the dishwasher with the rest of the dirty dishes. The timer for the oven beeped minutes later as Henry finished his breakfast and cleaned up after himself. She removed the lasagna, enjoying the warm sensation of the heat touching her face and taking in the smell of her infamous dish. She placed it on the stove to cool and shut the appliance before removing her apron.
She leaned down and poured dishwasher liquid into the machine, closing the door and starting it once Henry's breakfast mess was stored inside. He sat on the living room couch with a plop, holding out the remote for the SmartTv to find something to watch on Netflix. His phone chimed every few minutes signaling a text message; from Grace, of course.
"What do you want me to make for dinner tonight?"
"Lasagna," he said with a smirk and Regina rolled her eyes as she removed her apron. "Actually, I was thinking about taking Grace out for dinner tonight. If that's okay with you."
"On a Sunday night? Do you think that's a good idea when you have to wake up early for Roland tomorrow?"
"We won't be out too late. I was thinking an early dinner of hibachi or something. I'd be home before eight."
Regina mulled it over. Eight wasn't too unreasonable a curfew on a school night.
"As long as it's okay with Jefferson," she said. Jefferson Chapeau was Grace's father, yet another single parent in the neighborhood. It seemed to be a trend on the Upper East Side that she never noticed before. "And not a minute past eight, you hear me?"
"Eight o'clock on the dot. I promise," he said and she trusted him.
"Is all your homework done?"
"Most of it. I'm going to finish my algebra assignment after this episode of Daredevil."
"Make sure you get it done or no hibachi. I'm taking a shower. The lasagna is cooling on the stove. Please don't sneak a bite," she said, watching his brow furrow and his hand move quickly to his chest as if offended by her statement. She lifted her eyebrow and stared at him with pursed lips. She knew him too well. He shrugged and murmured a 'fine' before she walked down the hall to ready herself for the day.
Her shower was fairly quick. Nothing like the one she took the night before although she found herself thinking about it and smirking. She was glad she released her sexual frustration. If she didn't, she would be worried she'd pounce on him the minute she saw him again.
She dried her hair and moisturized her face before entering her bedroom to get dressed. She placed a pair of dark blue skinny jeans and a white shirt on her bed before her shower. After putting on her lotion and matching undergarments, she dressed herself in the preplanned outfit. She slid on a pair of white, 'no show' socks and her black Ked sneakers. She walked to her balcony and opened the double doors, getting a feel for the outside temperature. Too warm for a jacket or even a sweater, but a bit nippy for just a short sleeved shirt. She opened her closet and pulled out a black knitted infinity scarf, the kind with a large swoop neck, to complete the look.
She took a few minutes to sit at her vanity applying her makeup. She kept it simple on the weekends: foundation and mascara with a touch of her favorite red lipstick. When she deemed herself acceptable to be seen in public, Regina stood and walked back into the kitchen.
As instructed, Henry sat on the floor with his back against the couch using the coffee table as a desk for his algebra assignment. The TV was still on, but muted so he could concentrate. His phone still chimed every few minutes, his face reacting to each text he received before typing his responses.
Regina covered the top of the tray of lasagna with aluminum foil and placed it on the middle shelf of the refrigerator. It was nearly time for lunch at that point and she could feel her stomach aching for something besides a vanilla bean cappuccino. She threw together a small salad with a side of almonds and scarfed it down before gathering her purse and shopping list.
"Bananas and dark chocolate, right?" She asked him one last time before she left. She knew he was just going to text her when she got to the market with last minute requests.
"Aside from what's already on the list, yeah. That's all," her son said, eyes still focused on his homework.
"Okay. I'm locking the door. I'll be back in a little while. If you leave for your date before I get back, please remember to lock up behind you," she said approaching him with her keys and cell phone in hand.
"Sure thing," he replied. She leaned down and kissed the top of his head, but Henry continued what he was doing, unfazed by the gesture.
"Text me if you think of anything else," she said when she reached the door and exited the apartment when he didn't answer her. As she said, she locked the door and placed her keys into his purse. She walked down the hall to the elevator, making sure to catch a glimpse of Apartment 8 on her way.
Her journey to the market was uneventful to say the least. Besides the occasional beggar on the street and the obnoxious shouting of angry New Yorkers, it was a peaceful walk. She visited the same grocer every Sunday afternoon with her list in hand. Some days the list was longer than others, the amount of food in the house depending on Henry's growth spurts.
She returned to the apartment in just under two hours, unpacking the groceries accordingly. She placed the bananas on the counter beside the toaster so they were easily accessible to her growing boy in the wee small hours of the morning. Against her better judgement, she purchased two bags of dark chocolate; putting one in her hiding spot on the bookshelf (where she knew Henry would find them) and the other in the drawer of her bedside table.
It didn't take long for her to complete her task; her need for organization, borderline obsessive compulsive, making it easier to unload everything to its proper place. She folded her recyclable shopping bags and put them in their designated spot under the sink before glancing at the digital clock on the stove.
With five o'clock approaching, she decided it was time to pay her new neighbor a visit. She checked herself out in the mirror beside the front door hanging over the table she placed her purse atop. She ran her fingers through her dark brown hair, bending over and flipping it back to add volume. She straightened her shirt, deciding to ixnay the scarf. She reapplied her red lipstick and wiped any that found its way onto her unrealistically perfect white teeth.
When she was satisfied that her appearance would impress, she took the tray from the fridge and made her way down the hall, making sure her phone and keys were secure in her pockets before leaving the apartment. She balanced the dish on her left forearm while she lifted her right fist to knock on the door to Apartment 8.
She listened intently as the sound of heavy footsteps could be heard approaching the door followed by the pitter patter of smaller, lighter feet. The door swung open, Robin not even hesitating to lean against it with a smile upon the sight of the stunning woman standing before him.
Regina felt her heart skip a beat and she was sure it was her heart this time. Today he was a bit more put together, as was she. His hair was combed back, beard trimmed. He wore jeans and a forest green flannel over a tan t-shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows revealing a tattoo on his left forearm; a black shield with a lion in the middle, perhaps a family crest of some sort. He wasn't wearing shoes, but she would have guessed they'd be brown to match his outfit. Overall, she was impressed with his choice of lazy Sunday attire.
The woodsy cologne flowed through her nostrils as she found herself simply captivated by his presence. Yesterday she was infatuated with this man. But today... Today she was in awe of him. His smile was sweet, dimples peeking through his beard in a way that made her want to sing with joy. His blue eyes crinkled only slightly at the corners; so subtly one would have missed it if they weren't paying close enough attention.
"Regina. What an unexpected surprise," he said pleasantly. "Unexpected, yet lovely nonetheless."
She felt her cheeks growing hot, but took a deep breath in trying desperately to suppress the blush she knew was inevitable. The lasagna dish rested in both her arms by now. When she shifted her body, she didn't know.
"I hope I'm not interrupting. Perhaps I should have called first," she said, realizing he could have been busy. Not everyone considers Sundays to be lazy days. She often forgot that.
"Oh don't be silly. One is never too busy for a neighbor. Especially one as beautiful as you," his smile grew. She was sure he knew how absolutely ridiculous he sounded, but there was something about his voice (perhaps his accent) that made every seemingly lame compliment come across as surprisingly charming.
"I won't keep you. I just stopped by to drop this off for you and Roland," she held her arms out and he took the tray from her as she continued, "It's lasagna. Gluten-free and meatless. I figured with unpacking and everything else, you might get tired of take-out. You can freeze it and it'll stay fresh for quite a while so don't think you have to eat it anytime soon. Or at all."
Robin laughed, but it wasn't at her. He was charmed by her gesture and the detailed explanation behind it.
"You could throw it in the trash for all I care. Just make sure I get that dish back or I'll have your head," she pointed at him with a playful glare.
They both laughed, catching each other's eyes before quickly averting their gaze and composing themselves. They both stood quiet for a moment, neither one quite sure what to say or do next.
"Well, I'll just be on my way," Regina said, turning to take her leave. "Enjoy the lasagna."
"Regina, wait," Robin reached forward and touched her shoulder gently, the tray held firmly in his other arm. It was like electricity shot through her entire body. She whipped her head around to look at him, unsure of the reason why he would be stopping her; she hoped her hair had the shampoo commercial effect and took his breath away, but realistically she probably looked silly.
"Would you like to stay for dinner?" He asked, clearly nervous to extend the invitation. He covered it well with his next comment, "It's your lucky day. It seems lasagna is on the menu."
Regina let out a laugh, not a single part of it forced. She realized that this man was the only other person besides Henry who could do that to her. It faded to a grin and slowly grew even smaller into a slight tilt up at the corner of her mouth.
"I don't want to impose," she replied, not wanting to sound too eager, and he shook his head quickly in response.
"I'd actually prefer it if you stayed," he paused, the words lingering in the space between them. Her heart jumped. "As long as you'd like to, of course. I'm sure you have other plans and naturally there's Henry to think about-"
"I'd love to," she cut him off, realizing that his nervous chatter was from the anticipation of her denial of his offer. She was being honest in her answer. She really did want to stay and spend time with him and even get to know Roland. He was good looking, sure, but there was something about him that drew her in; something she could see in his eyes, but couldn't quite name. "Henry is on a date tonight so I would appreciate the company. Thank you."
"Please, come in. Make yourself comfortable," he stepped aside allowing her to enter. She passed him and he placed his hand on the middle of her back to direct her to the living room. It was friendly and familiar; too much so for a pair that met only the day before.
She took a seat on the leather sofa in the middle of the room while he went to the kitchen to preheat the oven. She caught a glimpse of the many boxes, still unpacked, filled with various books. She looked over her shoulder and noticed he had his back turned. She took the opportunity to walk to the wall and kneel beside a box labeled 'Romanticism.'
His collection was impressive and the only genre she'd even looked at was Romance. He had works by the English romantics like Keats and Byron, the most popular of the period who influenced the American romantics like Emerson, Thoreau, and Whitman; all of which were included in that box. What impressed her most was the complete collection of Edgar Allan Poe that rested neatly at the top. She pulled it out and admired the titles, some she knew and others she didn't.
"'And then there stole into my fancy, like a rich musical note, the thought of what sweet rest there must be in the grave,'" Robin recited, his voice soft and melodic. It took Regina by surprise, but it was a pleasant one. He remained in his place in the kitchen, but looked at her as he spoke. She recognized the quote almost immediately, Poe being one of her favorites.
"The Pit and the Pendulum," she said, her voice matching his in volume. He nodded, confirming what she already knew was a correct answer. She smirked, assuming it was a subconscious reaction from teaching.
"Most believe Poe is quite literally romanticizing the idea of death there," he said, but stopped when Regina shook her head.
"In a sense, but I always interpreted that particular quote to be an admiration of the human condition," she countered. He tilted his head and she could tell he was carefully considering her words.
"How do you figure?" He replied. It was not argumentative in the slightest; more curious.
"Suppose you see a woman who is so incredibly beautiful that it pains you to even look at her. You are so drawn to her, but the physical agony becomes unbearable. While you admire the human condition so fondly, ie: the woman, you are also pleased with the thought of a peaceful death to save you from the misery her beauty causes you."
"Ah, fascinating," Robin moved toward her now, enthralled in this new idea she was providing. She was taken aback, never expecting to be discussing Poe so intellectually with him and having his reaction be fascination with her ideas. She'd always imagined it would be the opposite.
"I don't disagree with the overall consensus that Poe is imagining the peacefulness of death here. The story is about a prisoner being tortured during the Spanish Inquisition. I'm sure I'd romanticize death as well," she said with a chuckle and he nodded in agreement, a smile across his face as well. "I find that after some consideration of the title, 'The Pit and the Pendulum,' we can find an irony in the idea that aside from this torture, there is beauty in the world and those around us. Those were his choices: the pit and the pendulum. He would die either way, but the pain would be different. So I think this quote could mean something deeper than just the relief of death, but rather the relief in deciding death over the pain of love and life. It's a much more powerful statement that I believe people often overlook."
They were so engrossed in their conversation, Robin leaning in to ensure he caught every word and Regina so focused on him as she spoke, they failed to noticed their hands were touching. Both leaned toward the other with their legs curled beneath them, a natural comfort in their demeanor. His hand managed to find its way atop her own and it lingered there throughout their entire conversation.
"I must admit, milady. I am quite impressed," his eyes gazed into hers, a sense of curiosity still there, but not about her comment on the story; he was curious about her. He wanted to know Regina Mills. "Perhaps you should teach one of my lectures."
They laughed once again, Regina feeling her cheeks blush at his kind words. She realized then that they were essentially holding hands. She pulled hers away and placed it in her lap. Robin noticed and sat up, clearing his throat and averting his gaze. The timer beeped on the oven, both of them startled by the sound.
Robin jumped to his feet to remove the lasagna that Regina hadn't realized he started cooking during her exploration of his collection. He placed it on the stove, kicking the oven door closed with his foot.
"Roland, it's time for supper. Wash up, please," he called down the hall, gathering plates from the cabinet. Regina stood then, approaching the counter.
"Is there anything I can do?" She asked, always one to find relaxation in the kitchen. Perhaps that was exactly what she needed as she felt her heart still racing in her chest.
"Yes, as a matter of fact there is," he said and her face lit up with enthusiasm. It dropped to a disappointed smirk when he continued, "Sit down and relax. You cooked the meal. At least allow me to serve it to you."
"If you insist," she muttered.
"I do," he replied before she'd even completed her sentence. He chuckled and asked, "Would you care for a glass of wine?"
Wine, she sighed with relief. That would calm my heart. But just one glass, Regina. This man is too good for a drunken night.
"Wine would be lovely," she hummed, taking a seat at the small kitchen table.
"Red or white?" He asked, but quickly stopped her before she could answer. "Wait, let me guess. I'd like to wager you're the kind of woman who fancies red."
"What gave me away?" She asked, a hint of flirtation returning to her voice.
"You're a mystery, Regina Mills," his answer was simple, one that she would have accepted with content. She knew she seemed that way. It was something she was certain to be true about her; hiding the inside by hardening the outside. But what he said next caught her attention and she froze, unable to take the glass he was now holding out for her as he spoke, "Quite the mystery, but one I'd like the opportunity to solve."