Music meandered out from the living room, reaching me in the kitchen/den as I prepared dinner.
I caught myself smiling and mindlessly chopping mushrooms in time with her song. Dangerous. Shaking myself,
I concentrated on the veal Cordon Bleu I was creating, adding a cooked mushroom and shallot paste to the traditional Swiss and Black Forest ham filling.
Amelia, for all her incredible talents, was as good a cook as Kim Jung-un was a leader of North Korea - completely inept.
She couldn't fry an egg, and somehow, even with simple boiled eggs, the shells would stick to the eggs, un-peel-able.
Peanut butter and jam sandwiches ended up so overfilled they had the shape of an apple turnover, and would squirt their contents with the first bite.
She could serve herself a bowl of cereal effortlessly, but I didn't consider that a skill.
I cherished her weaknesses like a miser his money. Her musical talent was so overwhelming, so impressive, I loved experimenting to discover her shortcomings.
They rounded out her character, made her human; more like me.
Flattening the veal, timing the smack of the flat side of the frying pan to her tempo, I prepared the veal and left it in the refrigerator,
washed my hands, poured a glass of Robert Mondavi Fumé Blanc and headed to the living room.
Rufus was asleep, lying on the floor under the piano bench, all fifty pounds of him, and still a puppy.
Amelia, in light taupe shorts and a fashionable pale blue and yellow cotton top, was playing barefoot, her head bent forward as if listening to the keys.
I sat in an armchair, hooked one knee over the other, and sipped wine, relaxing to my private concert.
She stopped in mid-song and looked at me. Right out of left field, she asked, "How come you haven't kissed me?"
It took me a moment to reorient myself. "Because you're young. Because you haven't asked me to." I added in a softer voice, "Because I'm waiting for you, Amelia."
She smiled, bright eyes behind frameless glasses twinkling with personality, and turned back to the piano.
Soft, individual, melodic notes were born that pierced the air, a gentle cadence forming. In her painfully pure voice, Amelia started singing.
"I've been alone with you, inside my mind
And in my dreams I've kissed your lips, a thousand times
I sometimes see you pass outside my door
Hello!
Is it me you're looking for?
I can see it in your eyes
I can see it in your smile
You're all I've ever wanted
And my arms are open wide
'cause you know just what to say
And you know just what to do
And I want to tell you so much
I love you"
Hair stood on end, a prickling sensation, and numbness emerged in my fingertips. My heart thumped uncomfortably in my chest. Even Lionel Richie would have been moved by his song, Hello.
Setting the wine down, I stood. It was like I was in a fog. I walked over to her, and with the edge of my finger, tilted her face up to me.
Beautiful eyes behind frameless glasses watched me, so alive, so vibrant.
Her hands stilled on the keys, the last notes lingering, and then fading as her foot lifted from the damper pedal. Silence arrived.
I bent and kissed her. Her small lips were silky, soft, warm. It was a perfect kiss, lips gently expressing more than affection - love.
When it ended, with my face close enough to inhale her clean breath, I smiled and kissed her again.
I felt it; heart racing, warmth flooding me, soft arousal stirring. I finally understood what had motivated Roman Polanski.
When the kiss ended, Amelia smiled softly. She reached up to brush my lips with the pad of her index finger. "It took you long enough," she said. "You're pretty dense, Mike. Go. Sit. I haven't finished my practice."
I sat, stupefied, stunned at my reaction to the sweet kiss. It wasn't until we were eating dinner that it hit me.