Stella had been rattled by Anton, even if she hadn’t wanted to admit it. What bothered her most was that she was at a loss as to why. She busied herself the rest of the day with cleaning and rearranging the furniture until she was exhausted, dragging pieces here and there, and fussing, not being able to settle while Tesla sat with an imperious and impassive expression on the window seat, as if to say ‘you humans make things too complicated.’<br/><br/>It was dark and late evening by the time Stella, too tired to cook dinner, called it a day. Baguette, Brie, grapes, a pear, and a Chardonnay passed for dinner, while she sat at her piano playing nothing much in particular...just pieces she’d heard and liked. Tomorrow would be a different day.