The Bodyguard ✔

Chapter Fourty-Two

I sit on the counter in silence, leaning against the wall with my back, and watch Frank cutting vegetables next to me. He has put on some music. No singing, only instruments. I find it quite relaxing.

"You know I was just joking right?" He's talking about his distasteful comment concerning my socks.

"Yeah, I know. I'm just disappointed in your level of cheap humor."

He smiles. Frank knows it was well deserved.

I'm playing with my feet, who are hanging from the counter. These socks are indeed fatally bad-looking...

"You were saying that you learned how to play the piano from your mom?"

Frank nods without taking his eyes of the vegetables.

"How is she like?"

He shoves the cutted vegetables to a bowl using the knife, all in one fluid movement. He puts the bowl under the sink, to wash the pieces. "My mom was very beautiful. Passionate." He fills a kettle with water and puts it on the stove. "She was a cellist in the Berliner Philharmoniker until we had to move from Germany for my father's job. Then she teached."

Frank looks up. "She teached me how to read, how to play the piano, how to dance..."

I start laughing a little.

"What is it?" He asks, seemingly offended. I try to hide my smile.

"I'm sorry, I was just imagining you attempting to dance. You don't look like the type that would enjoy it, or be good at it."

Frank places his hands on the counter, and leans towards me, with a dead serious look in his eyes. "You don't think I can dance?"

I give him a sceptic look.

He puts the music louder and steps closer to the counter I'm sitting on. "You're saying that you don't believe I can dance?" He smiles almost sadistically when he reaches for my hand. "Do you?"

I sigh. "Frank..."

But before I get the chance to say anything, he takes my hand, and pushes me off the counter with another against my back. I lose my balance and he takes the opportunity to pull me close to him. Before I know it, he's holding my right hand and his is firmly pressing against my back, and we're wavering on the rhythm of the music.

I'm taken off guard by the sudden movements and the fact that we're standing way closer to each other than I'm used to, but Frank is leading me and my feet follow unwillingly.

There we were suddenly: quietly dancing in the kitchen. I didn't know what to say or do. I decided to just let it happen.

I don't know for how long we were silence, but it didn't feel off. It felt kinda great actually.

Without a trace of sarcasm in his voice, he was the one to break the silence: "Not bad for someone who can't dance, don't you think?"

I smile. "It's not terrible."

Frank takes a step back and lets me do a spin.

I shake my head in a laugh. "This is ridiculous." I say when his hand finds its place back to my back.

He takes a couple of seconds until responding with an utterly calm, but assertive voice. "Not at all."

I agree...

I look up. "So," I clear my throat. "Do you often visit your parents in Germany?"

Without looking away or even moving an inch of his face, he says: "My parents were killed in a car accident when I was seventeen."

My heart stops for a second. "Frank," I try to find the right words. "I'm so sorry..."

He lightly shakes his head. "It's okay. It's not your fault."

We're silence again, for awhile. I think about how hard it must've been to loose two parents at a time. I was quite young when my mom left, I don't remember much about it, but loosing my aunt Jenny was just terrible. I can't imagine how heartbreaking it must've been for Frank.

"She would've liked you."

I look up again. "Hm?"

Frank looks in my eyes. "I think my mother would've liked you."

A wave of emotions spread throughout my body. His face may not look sad, but I can read the sorrow in his eyes, and it does something to me. All I want to do now is to reach out to Frank and put my arms around his neck. But something is holding me back.

"Excuse me." He lets go of my hand and back and hastens to the stove. The water is boiling over the kettle and steam rises to the ceiling. He puts down the temperature and the boiling bubbles of water soothes in a matter of seconds. Only Frank doesn't turn around.

He places his hands on either ways of the counter and lets his head hang down a little. I can tell it's hard for him to open up like this. All of a sudden, it becomes clear to me as to what I should do.

I walk up to Frank and lay my hand on his shoulder so he would turn around. As soon as he does, I embrace him in a hug.

I sense he's caught off guard at first, but soon enough, his arms tighten around my middle and his cheek touches my hair.

There we stand, in the kitchen, pressed against each other.

I can feel his chest rising and falling when he takes breaths of air. I stand on my toes in my ridiculous socks, but I don't even care anymore.

The sound of boiling water mixes with the cheerful music we were slow dancing on just minutes ago.