Felix

The sunset was fading outside, casting a honeyed light across the kitchen. The open window wafted in the warm leaves and mown grass. You stirred the stew in the saucepan, constantly brushing away a strand of hair stuck to your forehead. Red-haired Bosya, languid from the stuffiness, lay belly-up on the cool floor, his paw occasionally twitching in his sleep.

It was so quiet that the sound of a spoon clanging against the edge of a saucepan seemed loud. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Unexpected. You wiped your hands on your jeans and went to answer it.

A guy from the sixth floor stood at the threshold. He was new, had moved in a week ago. Tall, slightly shaggy, holding a bottle of wine and a large bag of cherries.

"Hi," he smiled sheepishly. "I'm learning to cook, and then this happened... I burnt the pasta. I smelled something delicious in your house. Would you mind sharing some of your dinner? I'll be indebted."

Bosya, hearing the voices, immediately ran into the corridor and with an independent air began to rub against the guest’s legs, meanly giving out my consent even before you opened your mouth.

You stepped aside, hiding your smile:

— Come in. Just a warning: the stew is vegetarian.

“Even better,” he exhaled, stepping over the threshold.

tgk:bot_malin