Ludmilla leaned over the macaron recipe, bracing herself against the kitchen counter. María-José was sorting through food colorings.
“So tell me, Ludmilla—how’s Israel handling the move?”
The German woman straightened, a proud smile spreading across her face.
“I’ve never seen him this focused. Or this excited.”
María-José’s gray eyebrows shot up.
“Really?” she said. “No sulking? No complaining?”
“None. I’m telling you, he’s running from one property to another like he’s twenty again. Measuring, planning, crunching numbers, flipping through catalogs… It’s like he’s been completely transformed.”
A strange mix of confusion and delight flickered across the older pastry chef’s face. As if something deep inside her couldn’t quite decide how to react—was this good news, or something else entirely?
“I don’t get it,” she sighed. “What’s going on?”
“What should’ve happened thirty years ago,” Ludmilla shot back. “Better late than never.”
“Well, yes, but… it’s still a divorce…”
Ludmilla gave a casual shrug.
“You know, my dear… at least something good came out of all the crap that’s happened in this complex. I don’t know what kind of forces are at work over these eight houses, but I do know this—it took a whole chain of crimes to finally get two old men to divorce… and somehow they’re happier than ever.”
“Does he have someone?” María-José asked.
Ludmilla laughed.
“Israel? Please. He’s just happy to be on his own and do whatever he wants. He doesn’t need a woman.”
“And you?”
The words caught in Ludmilla’s throat. She went pale, her hand trembling. Then, slowly, a flush crept into the deep lines of her face. She drew her shoulders up shyly, almost to her ears.
“Me…” she whispered. “At my age… don’t be ridiculous.”
María-José’s mouth fell open, her eyes widening.
“Y-you…” she stammered. “You’re completely in love with Esteban!” she squealed.
“Shhh!” Ludmilla cut her off quickly. “Someone might hear you!”
The pastry chef clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Don’t get carried away,” Ludmilla said, clearing her throat. “Nothing’s certain yet.”
“I’m trying, I really am, but I’m too excited… Let’s have a little almond liqueur to celebrate!”
“And then we’ll wake up hours later on the couch again, drooling,” Ludmilla laughed, already reaching into the cabinet for the liqueur glasses.
“Do you think the Slovaks are leaving for the same reason? Are they getting divorced too?” María-José asked, changing the subject.
“Oh, please.” Ludmilla waved a hand. “They were just renting,” she added with a hint of sarcasm. “They ran out of money, that’s all. They were aiming way above their league. I don’t know what Dajana was thinking. A cleaner living in a luxury complex? Yeah, right.”
*
The courtyard was filled with the rich, spiced aroma of roasted food. A light breeze drifted in from Carlos’s house, carrying the mouthwatering scent of grilled prawns and vegetables. This time, only two place settings were laid on the garden table for Esteban and Carlos.
“It’s so quiet in the complex now,” Carlos said with a smile. “I can’t even imagine what happens next. Do we just pretend nothing ever happened? Ted helping Pablo mow the lawn? The Dutch guys becoming Pauline’s best friends?”
Esteban glanced toward the Slovaks’ house.
“First, I’m moving in there,” he said, nodding toward the neighboring place. “Then I’ll ask Ludmilla out on the rooftop terrace. Six months from now, I’ll marry her.” He paused briefly, then gave a small shrug. “As for the rest of them… what they do with their lives is none of my concern.”