Grace Darby began to climb the three flights of stairs to her apartment. Her toes felt nearly numb from the pressure of standing in heels all day. She longed to shed the shoes and take a hot bath. As she reached the first landing, a dark shape jumped out from nowhere, and she jumped as well, sending her briefcase flying and a gray pump skittering across the landing.

She held her hand to her heart as she tried to focus on who or what had crossed her path.

The figure stepped from shadow into light, proving itself to be her new neighbor, Henry...and his accordion. Perhaps, it was the tremendous bulk strapped to his front that had thrown off her perception. Undisturbed by her dropped jaw and the hundreds of ungraded English papers scattered at his feet, he began to play and croon in that unidentifiable accent of his, 'Strangers in the night, eschanging glances. We are strangers in the night...'�

'Henry, do you realize you have scared me half to pieces?'� She squatted down as best she could in her slim fitting gray skirt and began to gather her papers together.

The accordion stopped. 'No, Grace. I pick up. I pick up.'� Henry knelt down, looking as unwieldy as a pregnant woman with his accordion, and started collecting papers and stacking them together. Grace didn't know whether to be grateful or annoyed. However, between the two of them, she soon had her files in order and back in her briefcase. She stood to her feet again, not nearly as orderly as her briefcase, wearing only one shoe, a big hank of auburn hair now hanging loose from her French roll.

Henry held a hand to his heart or as close to his heart as he could manage it with the accordion hanging in front. He glanced at his feet, looking like a scolded little boy. 'I'm sorry, Grace. I could not help myself. You're so beautiful.'�

Grace couldn't help feeling annoyed. However, any man who could tell her she looked beautiful in her present condition had an element of sweetness to him -- either that or insanity. She looked at him for a moment, speechless. 'Thank you, Henry. You're very kind.'� She found her other shoe, slipped it on, and continued her ascent up the stairs.

Her parting words with Henry must have been seen as encouragement. She could hear his feet gaining momentum as they sprinted up behind her. Once again he and the accordion began their serenade, 'Strangers in the night...'�

'All right. Enough is enough.'� Grace said this more to herself than to Henry. She pulled off both shoes, grasped them by the heels, and darted for the elevator. A great sense of satisfaction came over her as the doors closed behind her. 'Goodnight, Henry.'�

Once on her own floor, she walked to number 306 and slipped her key in the door. She felt a little jumpy and glanced back over her shoulder, relieved to find nobody there. As she opened the door, her foxhound greeted her with enthusiasm, leaping up and putting his front paws on her skirt. 'Easy, Shelley. I've had a rough day. We're ordering Chinese.'�

She shut the door behind her, more careful than usual to fasten every lock, including the chain lock near the top. She dropped the briefcase and sighed deeply. Finally, she could relax. There would be no more whiny freshmen, no more rush hour traffic, and no more loony men with accordions. She flipped open her cell phone.

She had to laugh at herself. Only a very busy woman would have the number for the Chinese take-out place programmed into her phone. 'Yes. I'd like to make an order for delivery. I'd like the sesame chicken and pork fried rice, Yes, and some Chinese black tea. Pine Gardens, apartment 306.'�

She dressed in her coziest velour track suit and slippers, and then flopped onto the sofa with the remote control in her hand. She was just getting ready to find the goofiest, most brainless show on TV when the doorbell rang. She jumped up, glancing at her watch. 'That can't be right. That must be the fastest delivery in history.'�

She answered the door. The man standing at her doorstep was not carrying a brown paper bag full of something hot but a vase of roses, red roses. 'Delivery for you.'� She took the vase from him, a little slackjawed, and carried them inside. She set the roses down on the coffee table.

Who would send her roses, especially red roses? She hadn't had a date in at least a year. The only man who seemed remotely interested was Henry, and he almost didn't count.

She picked up the attached card and read,

'Be careful with my heart,
My dear, you must take care,
A heart's a fragile thing --
And, so I say, beware...'�

'Well, that's kind of beautiful.'� Then she read on.

'If you must be so cold,
Please keep this thought in mind,
The next time that we meet,
I will not be so kind.'�

To be continued...

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