The room had the familiar scent of childhood. I slid into soft pajamas and let the quiet of night envelop me.
“What are you going to do tomorrow” I could hear my grandmother say. “I don’t know I just got here,” I murmured snuggling beneath the down comforter and listening to the haunting voice of Concha Buika. It was the soft sensuous sound of Flamenco music that lulled me to sleep with songs of loneliness and unfulfilled love still haunting my dreams long after the track had ended.
Too soon my dance with melancholy was over as the glare of sunbeams dancing through the windows burnt my eyes. I had forgotten to close the curtains and now the morning light streamed in through an open window and with it the scent of possibilities. Groaning I disentangled myself from the bed sheets, as if embracing an invisible lover I felt my limbs tangled in the fabric.
I would have liked to hide under her duvet and wallow in gloominess a while longer but this was not the day for sluggishness, as I was reminded by the alerts on my phone that were going off with maddening speed and with a persistence that could rival any alarm clock. The word was out – Natasha Rehman was back in town.
I pulled out my Gresso Lady Blanche iPhone 4. It was one of my best accessories, tastefully accented with white diamonds and graced by three real, Swiss-made clocks in the back that give the time in New York, Paris, and Moscow. Thankfully, it was one of the few gifts I hadn’t received from Jacque. Anyone would tell you, the Gresso is more than jewelry… it’s a girl’s best friend.
What I needed now was a croissant and some coffee so I could sit down and plan my day. I wondered through the apartment with great liberty opening windows and airing out all the rooms. The kitchen had white walls with sleek marble counter-tops in midnight black, accented by crystals hanging from the black and white chandelier. The main rooms were comprised of rich hard wood showing off elaborate Persian rugs, complemented by antique furniture that had been in the family for generations, and highlighted with modern art. Grams always had exquisite taste. I opened the front door to find a copy if the Wall Street Journal lying on her welcome mat – and why not Grams was a shrewd investor.
I grabbed the journal and was about to close the door when I caught the undeniable scent of sandalwood. I breathed in the musky odor and felt my pulse quicken, my neck tingle. A door closed across the hall but not before I caught a glimpse of polished bronze skin the color of milky coffee, contrasting with a cream towel picking up a magazine. Unwittingly, the phrase Greek God came to mind. I wondered what magazine Adonis was reading.
I needed strong coffee and perhaps dark chocolate even more than ever now and so I set my compass for Flour Bakery in the South End. When I arrived at Flour it was like stepping into pastry heaven. It was easy to see why they were one of the best pastry shops in Boston receiving coveted press in gourmet magazines
I started with an oversized mug of café au lait and a brioche filled with pastry cream and chocolate. The warmth of the bread and the sweetness of the cream made me regret the breakfast came only once a day.
Next Post: Oct. 30