"What was the note gonna say?" he asked.
"I was just gonna tell her not to overfeed the fish. I always get nervous with rentals or Airbnb's, but they've gotten by this long without me. They'll be fine. I doubt there's anything to worry about with the lady who's staying here. She probably won't even come out here."
"What makes you say that?" he asked tilting his head at me with an amused grin.
I shrugged as I aimed my phone at the lower pond, taking pictures of the pond so that Tori could add them to the customer file. Seeing that I was taking photos, the guy stood up and moved out of the way.
"What makes you say that?" he asked again since I had been distracted.
"What'd I say?"
"That the person who's staying here probably won't come out here."
"Oh, I just mean I heard she was some big symphony person—a professional cellist. I don't really picture her as the outdoorsy type. Either way, I doubt she's going to throw pizza crusts in there."
"I saw something in there on the counter," he said. "It was next to all the information about the air conditioner and Wi-Fi and stuff. It looked like instructions for the pond."
"Good," I said. "See? No need for a note."
"Would you like me to go get it for you?" he asked.
"No, no. Like I said, it's not really my business. What'd it say?" I asked, because I was just too curious to let it go.
He smiled. "That there was fish food in the garden shed near the pool, and that they could eat a handful each day. I think it said something about housekeeping doing it if we didn't want the responsibility. There's a whole page about it. I didn't really read it thoroughly."
"That's good," I said, nodding. "Thanks for telling me that's in there. I'm glad I didn't write another one."
"I don't know if I saw anything about avoiding ham sandwiches," he said. "If you want to add that."
I gave him a smile. "I'm sure a cellist instinctually knows that," I said. "Something tells me that in order to become a classical musician, you have to know not to throw a sandwich into a fishpond. I think it's on the test."
He laughed. I felt a wave of attraction at the sight of it, so I busied myself, straightening and adjusting rocks in the waterfall now that the water was flowing in earnest.
"How did you know the person staying here is a cellist?" he asked.
I gestured with a flick of my head toward the house. "I can see the cello-shaped box over there by the piano," I said. "But also, my boss told me about it before I came over here. He said something about her playing a whole season with the orchestra—said she might be here a while. That would explain why you guys had boxes instead of luggage."
"Do you like the orchestra?" he asked. "There's another one!" he exclaimed in a quiet voice before I could answer.
I smiled at his excitement, and we both peered into the upper pond, watching as two fish cautiously rose to the top of the water.
"That's a Shusui," I said.
"A shoe-swee?" he asked, pronouncing it slowly.
I nodded, staring at it. I loved the way the pattern on its back looked like bones. "I really like those," I said.
"I know," he replied. "I was just about to say how cool it is. I've never seen one that color. Is it blue?"
"Yep," I said.
"What's his name?" he asked. "Besides Shusui."
I stared at the fish, wondering what I would name him if he were mine. "I'd probably call him Bones or Sushi," I said. "But since you seem to like human names for fish, we could probably go with Monty or Richard."
He nodded. "I like Monty for him. We'll name him Monty. I've never stayed in a place with a Koi pond before," he added.
"Not many people do," I said. "People don't usually trust their pets with tourists. Every once in a while, I'll service a tank or a pond in a rental, but it's rare. I almost hate to see it."
"I can see why you'd be concerned," he said, staring at Monty. He and the Platinum Ogon were getting brave and beginning to swim freely at the surface. "He really is cool-looking with that blue and orange. I've never seen a fish like that."
"I know," I said. "They're awesome. There's a similar one at this pond I go to on Fridays, and it's one of my favorites."
"You clean another pond on Fridays?"
"I don't clean it. I mean, I do clean ponds sometimes, but not that one. It belongs to the city. I just meet some people up there to talk about fish."
"Like a fish club?" he asked.
I grinned. "Kind of. A good friend of mine named Sidney teaches special ed in the Dade County Public School System, and I meet her and her class on Fridays. They eat lunch under the pavilion, and we go to the pond afterward to talk about fish."
"As part of your job?" he asked.
"No. I only work half a day on Fridays. I have my schedule set up to finish early that day, so I can go after work."
"As a volunteer?" he asked. He glanced at me like he might be impressed, but I just shrugged.
"It's fun," I said. "The kids are awesome, and they're always really excited to see me and feed the fish. It's an ego boost at the end of my week."
I cringed inwardly. It wasn't really an ego boost. I wasn't sure why I said that. I'd never been good at taking compliments, and I knew by the way he was looking at me that he thought I was doing some good deed by meeting them at the park, so it just came out.
"On Fridays, I work at this exclusive country club called The Bombay. They have four aquariums, so I'm there all morning, tending to them. They treat me nice, and I'm friends with the staff and everything, but spending time with Sidney's class is a refreshing change after a morning of encountering Miami's elite."
"So, it's an ego boost, and a palate cleanser," he said, somewhat sarcastically nodding as if he had me all figured out. "Purely selfish. I'm sure the kids get nothing out of it."
He was teasing me, and I shook my head shyly, not knowing what to say. "Hopefully they do, but I definitely do, too."
He smiled thoughtfully as he turned to focus on the pond again. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t. I watched him watching the fish. He seemed to genuinely appreciate their beauty, which was the quickest way to my heart.
"You can feed him if you want," I said, after a while. "Even if the lady comes home later and feeds them again, they'll be fine."
I knew by his smile that he wanted to do it, so I set down my things and walked over to the storage shed. It was hot in there, but it was clean and highly organized. The guy followed me, coming to stand in the doorway just as I grabbed the bag of fish food.
"I can't believe it's this hot in September," he said.
"Where are you from?" I asked. "Ohio, and then New York," he said.
"Yeah, I guess it's a lot colder up there," I said. I took a handful of food out of the bag and held it out for him. "How long have you lived in Florida?" I asked.
"Not long at all," he said.
But I barely heard him because just as the words came out of his mouth, our hands touched. I tried not to be clumsy about transferring the fish food into his hand, but it was difficult. I felt an actual electric, zapping sensation when he touched me. I had only felt like this a couple of other times in my life, and even then, it wasn't quite this extreme. Once, during a middle school crush, and again with a guy I dated more recently, after college.
I loved the way this guy smelled—like the smell of cologne mixed with expensive leather, or wood, or both—undeniably clean and masculine. What's worse was that I smelled so very bad. I knew I did. I could tell there was contrast between me and him, and I blushed from embarrassment because of it. I had to get out of that hot shed. I was shaking as we transferred the food, and it was all I could do to keep from dropping it. I basically tossed it into his hand.
"There," I said casually, even though there was nothing casual about how I felt. I turned to store the bag on the shelf.
"Do I just throw it in there?" he asked as we walked toward the pond.
I was still shaken. "No," I said. "Take it slower than that. Sit on the ledge like you were before, and I'll show you what to do. We'll see if we can get them to eat out of your hand."
"Seriously?" he asked, glancing at me.
I smiled and nodded. I really loved how excited he was about it. "I've never fed these fish, but a lot of times, they'll come take it right out of your hand—especially the ones this size."
I sat on the edge of the pond, and he took a seat next to me. I reached out, looking at his hand and indicating, without saying a word, that I wanted him to give me some of the food. He opened his hand, and I took a few pellets off the top of the pile, being careful not to touch him while I was at it.
"So, you don't listen to classical music?" he asked.
"No," I said, letting out a tiny, unintentional laugh as I shook my head.
"What's funny?" he asked.
I shrugged shyly, but then I quickly turned my attention to the fish. I held the food just above the surface of the pond, trying to coax them into coming up. "I don't know. I've heard a few of the classics over the years—you know the ones everybody knows—the ones that are in movie soundtracks, or whatever. But I've never been to the symphony or anything. I thought it was for rich people, or old people." Then I felt embarrassed for saying that, and added, "Maybe my parents just weren't into that kind of thing."
He didn't respond right away. He seemed content to sit there in comfortable silence, watching me try to make the fish come to get the food. I dropped one pellet onto the surface and watched as the Platinum Ogon caught sight of it.
"Why? Do you like it?" I asked.
"I do," he said.
I glanced at him, and he shrugged.
"But, like you said, it depends on what your parents expose you to."
"Your parents listened to that stuff?" I asked.
"Yep," he said. "Quite a lot, actually. They didn't listen to much else."
We were both focused on the fish and didn't look at each other.
"And they made you listen to it?" I asked quietly.
"Yep."
"That's cool," I said. "You should probably thank them for that. I bet it made you smarter. Part of me wishes I knew more about fancy stuff—just so I could have an intelligent conversation about it. In moments like these, for instance. Instead of admitting that I'd never even been to the symphony and knew nothing about it, I could say something like… yesss, I know Bach, and Sebastian, and their magnificent crescendos. I absolutely loooved that piece that was written in seventeen-la-la-la. It was my favorite, darling!"
I made that whole statement with the accent of a fancy person, which happened to have a slight British accent, and the handsome mover just smiled at me the whole time, looking like he couldn’t believe what was coming out of my mouth. I couldn't believe it either, actually. I would have definitely acted silly like that in front of my family or friends, but I hated myself for doing it in front of this gorgeous stranger. I blamed nerves.
He couldn't hold back a laugh. He continued to stare at me as if that was the most curious, entertaining thing I could have said. "Did you say seventeen-la-la-la?" he asked.
"Yes, I did," I admitted.
"What's that even mean?" he asked.
"I was trying to act like someone who knew what year a certain musical piece was written, like 1745 or whatever. I just couldn't think of an exact number right then."
"You also said Bach and Sebastian like they were two different people," he said, still smiling.
"They're the same person, aren't they?" I asked, remembering as he said it that I had heard those names together.
"Yes, they are," he said. "Johann Sebastian Bach. Same guy. You were right about the year, though. You nailed that part."
"What'd I say?" I asked.
"1745."
"And that was right?" I asked, amazed.
He stared at me, smiling at my wide-eyed expression.
"What happened in that year?" I asked.
"Nothing specific, but Bach was alive."
"He was?"
He nodded.
"Are you serious, or are you just trying to make me feel better?"
"I'm serious," he said.
"I can't believe you know that fact. Do you know of the lady who's staying in the house?" I asked, gesturing in that direction. "I think she's kinda famous. Her name's something Winters. Amanda maybe."
"I think I've heard of her," he said, nodding.
"I bet you could meet her if you stick around. I think she was supposed to be here this morning. That's why I had to rush over." I looked down at my shirt. It was too late for me do anything about my appearance, but at least I could offer an explanation. "Usually, I save ponds for the end of my day because I get so dirty cleaning them."
"I'm sorry," he said, looking genuinely regretful. "You should have saved it for the end of your day."
I let out a little laugh. "Thanks," I said. "But I think it was a big deal to the landlord that I got the pond shipshape for the cellist. She called in a favor to my boss."
"And here you are," he said, looking me over.
"And here I am," I agreed. "Oh, we missed it!" I said, noticing that the Platinum Ogon had just come to the surface and taken the pellet. The bravery of that one encouraged Monty, and he drifted closer to the surface as well. I gently dropped another pellet onto the surface, and the white one was there to suck it into his mouth as soon as it fell.
The guy gasped. "Oh my gosh, look at that mouth!" he said. "It's like a vacuum cleaner."
I chuckled at his excitement as I dropped two more pellets into the water. This made Monty come to the surface, and before I knew it, the others cautiously followed. "I bet you anything that gold-bronze colored one down in the lower pond would eat straight out of your hand without even thinking about it," I said.
"Really?" he asked, glancing over there.
I nodded. "It's a Chagoi. They generally get the most excited about eating." Then something caught my eye. "Oh, my gosh, this one's super cool," I said, staring into the pond and trying not to make any sudden movements as all five fish ventured to the surface. I slowly scattered five or six pellets onto the surface, still coaxing them. Most of them came to get a piece of food.
"That is the coolest thing I've ever seen," he whispered as their big round mouths opened, sucking in the food.
"See that black and white one?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"It's a Kumonryu. Its name has something to do with dragon. The black spots on it change like clouds in the sky, moving and shifting in different patterns and coverage. It might not work so well here in Florida because I think it has something to do with the changing seasons. I've never had clients who had one, so I can't tell you for sure, but I know that variety changes color."
"You're kidding," he said.
I shook my head. "I didn't see him earlier, but Lance did say there was a Kumonryu here, and there he is."
"Pete," he said.
"Pete?" I asked, tilting my head at him.
"Like Pete's Dragon."
I smiled and nodded. "That's the Tancho," I said. "The white with the orange spot on his head.
"Nacho," he said.
"Tancho."
"I know, but I'm gonna call him Nacho since that's what I thought of when you said Tancho."
I laughed. "You need to come with me to work sometime. You can name all my fish."
We stared at each other for several long seconds. I really thought he might say that he wanted to come with me to work—that's how he was looking at me.
"Just do like this," I said, changing the subject. I held a few pieces of food in my fingertips and gently lowered them to the surface of the water.
"Casper's gonna do it," he said, watching as the pure white one came up and took the food from my fingers. "That was so cool," he added, after the fish sucked in the food. "It's seriously like a vacuum cleaner."
"Try it," I said.