Stella quickly undid her apron and called ‘it’s open’ while she rushed to light a candle on the table. Her apartment did not mirror Anton’s fastidiousness, a fact she felt terribly self conscious about. She wasn’t a total slob but the man had his music clearly alphabetized the way he honed in on the exact CD. She had stacks of books and music sheets in several places, her knitting basket was over flowing, and an errant sock peeked out from under the sofa. She vowed to casually push it in further as soon as the opportunity presented itself.<br/><br/>“Hungry?” she asked, placing a basket of baguette after the two plates on the table - the pears were still poaching. “What will you drink Anton? I have wine or water. Or I can make tea or coffee, I don’t have any soda.”