Grumpy, a Badly Timed Line, and an Unexpected Gift
By Thursday, I’d been running on autopilot all week. I get up at seven every morning, and that one hour I keep for myself is sacred. Now that I finally have a couch, I carry my breakfast into the living room on a tray and curl up while I eat my yogurt with fruit and oats. I sip my latte slowly, actually tasting it, trying to switch my brain off completely. I don’t even put on music—I just sit in the quiet, broken only now and then by the low hum of the fridge.
At eight, I move to my desk and start working. The weekly material comes in at six on Monday mornings, sent directly to me. This week’s text was tough—I could’ve used someone to talk it through with. But Thessa’s busy with something else, and I can’t exactly ask the other translators for help. Not when I’m the one getting paid.
My plan was to push hard at the start of the week so the end would be easier—maybe even leave Sunday free for a proper break. By Friday morning, I already knew that wasn’t going to happen. It was pretty frustrating to realize I still had to get up at seven today.
Swimming was out of the question, so I replaced it with a walk before lunch and another one in the early evening. In the mornings, I go down to the river; in the afternoons, I just circle the block.
On Friday, as I was heading out for my afternoon walk, Grumpy stepped out of the pharmacy and let out a low whistle. I have no idea what came over me, but my face flushed instantly, and my heart slammed so hard it seemed to jump into my throat and keep pounding there.
“You’re like clockwork,” he said.
The realization that he’d apparently been watching me all week stopped me in my tracks. My legs tensed, refusing to move, even though I wanted to walk past him.
“Must’ve been a rough week if I’m the highlight of your day.”
“I didn’t say that,” he replied. “I just didn’t expect you to be this precise. Same time, every day. Must be a nice vacation—having to interrupt it with a compulsory lap.”
I stared at him, genuinely confused.
“Vacation?”
Then it clicked. Of course—how would he know I work from home? He doesn’t even know what I do.
“Sorry—sick leave. Does that sound better?”
He tried to keep a straight face, but I caught the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. My eyebrows lifted. Was Grumpy… joking? With me? Just like that, the tension drained out of my body.
“You’re just jealous because you can’t mix ointments or grind pills from home—but I can translate,” I shot back. “Actually—” I added quickly, “I don’t even have to get dressed to work.”
The look on his face hit me like a punch.
Oh God. Did I really just tell him that? Like I run some kind of phone sex line? Why is there no filter between my brain and my mouth?
“I mean…” I started, but nothing came out. I froze.
Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow. But his expression softened, and something in me relaxed. I could tell he wasn’t going to use this against me.
“I think you’ve got me confused with someone else,” he said finally, his voice turning cold. Then he pulled the pharmacy door open with a sharp, exaggerated motion and disappeared inside without another word, all swagger.
My throat tightened. My foot moved forward on its own, like I was about to go after him. The slam of the door made me flinch. I stood there for a moment, staring at the swinging “Open” sign, then turned back toward my building. Instead of going for my walk, I did twenty squats on the balcony. Just as useful—and somehow it felt better.
Last night, even though I didn’t want to, Adele stopped by. I’d told her more than once that I didn’t want to break my work rhythm.
“Then at least let me leave something at your door,” she insisted. “I won’t bother you, I promise. I just want to bring you something.”
I rolled my eyes so hard my head practically followed. Not that she could see.
“Fine,” I said.
I don’t like this kind of thing. Somehow, it just feels wrong to let someone leave something at my door and slip away. As soon as I heard the intercom buzz—someone getting into the building with my code—I went out to the hallway and unlocked the door. Then I waited until I heard movement outside.
Adele clearly wasn’t expecting me. She was kneeling on the doormat, arranging a woven basket, when I opened the door. She nearly fell over, clutching her chest.
“Jesus, Emily, you scared me half to death…”
I pressed a hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing.
“Sorry. But now that you’re here, come in for a minute.”
She shook her head.
“I know exactly what this is like. I’m not staying.”
She picked up the basket and handed it to me. Inside was a bottle of pink gin, a few cans of tonic, some containers of food, and a colorful little notebook.
“There’s frozen strawberries in one of the boxes—put those in the freezer,” she said. “The others are meat salad, grilled fish, brown rice with walnuts and raisins, spiced butter, and sliced bread.” She paused, then added, “From the restaurant.”
“Wait… he actually bought it?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow—well, congratulations! And thank you so much for this. I definitely won’t starve. I’ll be well taken care of.”
“The strawberries are for the gin. You’ll love it. Treat yourself in the evenings—you deserve it. You need to switch off a little.”
I almost hugged her. The gesture hit me harder than I expected.
“There’s one more thing,” she said, her voice suddenly a little awkward—unusual for her. “That… thing.” She nodded toward the notebook. “Take a look at it after I’m gone.” She cleared her throat. “They deliver in a day.”
Before I could say anything, she was already gone.
I set the basket down in the kitchen, put everything in the fridge, then picked up the only thing she’d brought that wasn’t edible.
The little brochure.
For a seventeen-program, ultra-quiet vibrator, available in four sizes and eight cheerful colors.