As a highly respected, single elderly lady, María José always kept some treats at home for potential visitors or hosts. She never had to worry about her homemade sweets going bad. She could always count on Carlos and the German family living next door to help her finish the leftovers. Her pantry almost always contained a few batches of macarons in dazzling colors—an irresistible temptation for everyone. Even for the peculiar Dutch couple, Noud and Bernard, who were exceptionally disciplined about maintaining their figures.
She prepared a decorative box lined with silk paper and covered in satin, carefully placing the delicate little pastries inside. It was a gift for her inviter, Ludmilla. She paired it with an almond liqueur, knowing it was her neighbor’s favorite. As she got ready, she hummed softly, excitement bubbling in her chest.
Juannita watched her flushed mistress with concern. Not that she minded if she only had to serve Israel, but she didn’t want Ludmilla collapsing from excitement in her presence. She thought it best if the elderly lady took a long nap after lunch. She prepared iced tea with valerian for her—an old trick she had been using for years whenever she felt Ludmilla needed rest. Sometimes, the lady herself asked for it when she hadn’t slept properly for days. Other times, Juannita slipped it into her food or drink when she feared Ludmilla was overexerting herself.
Despite the pleasant, mild weather, lunch was served in the living room. Naturally, María José didn’t mind having a private conversation behind closed doors with her sly neighbor. Both women started cautiously, each trying to see through the other.
“How wonderful it must be to live independently,” Ludmilla began.
She didn’t even need to exaggerate her longing expression. She wouldn’t have minded if Israel vanished from her life overnight. She had never particularly craved the company of men. But being a widow or a divorcée was still better than being an old maid. Especially in the Canary Islands.
“I truly value my freedom,” María José smiled contentedly. “But I still need love.”
Ludmilla blushed in embarrassment.
“I could do just fine without Israel.”
“Of course, I believe you. Who would want a grumbling burden on their back? But wouldn’t you miss the fun? Unless, of course, you happen to find a good lover nearby.”
The German woman’s eyes widened. No one had ever spoken to her like this—so openly. She never imagined her first conversation about sex would happen in old age. Over a bowl of spinach cream soup.
“Uh-huh.”
She had no words.
“That’s all I need men for. I’ve outgrown emotional drama. No one cares about someone else’s bellyache. Besides, the older they get, the more they whine.”
Ludmilla couldn’t tell whether her neighbor was boasting or complaining. It seemed like a bit of both. So, her “secret” affair with that rascal Carlos wasn’t as blissful as it seemed.
“Don’t tell me you’ve had enough of your knight in shining armor?”
“What knight?” María José asked, almost offended. “I don’t have a knight!”
“Then who, exactly, gives you that love you were just talking about?” Ludmilla snapped. “You said you only need men for that. So are we talking facts or hypotheticals?”
María José hesitated.
“At the moment, I don’t have a lover. I was speaking in general.”
“Oh, right,” Ludmilla’s eyes sparkled as she realized how to draw the truth out. “You know, I’ve been seeing Carlos slipping out the gate more and more often after dark, always carrying flowers. Do you have any idea who the lucky lady is that he visits so frequently?”
María José turned pale. She had prepared herself for many things, but not for the possibility that her lover might be a deceitful scoundrel.
“Eh…” she croaked in response.
“Where is that fish platter, Juannita?” Ludmilla asked impatiently, then covered her mouth to stifle a yawn.