‌Iwake to the familiar sounds and smells of breakfast being made—the coffee brewing, the shuffling of slippers in the kitchen. Even the‌

sound of humming. But it’s not Gran.

And I’m not in my own bed. I’m in hers. It all comes back to me.

Rise and shine, dear girl. It’s a new day.

I shift out of bed, slip my feet into slippers, and put Gran’s housecoat on over my pajamas. I tiptoe to the bathroom to freshen up and then walk to the kitchen.

There he is, Juan Manuel. He has showered—his hair is still wet. He’s humming his little tune, clattering dishes and scrambling eggs on the stovetop.

“Good morning!” he says, looking up from the pan. “I hope you don’t mind. I ran to the store and came back very quiet. You didn’t have eggs. And this bread?” He points to the crumpets on the counter. “For me it is strange. I don’t know how to cook it. Too many holes.”

“They are crumpets,” I say. “And they’re delicious. You toast them, then add butter and marmalade.”

I grab the bag and pop two into the toaster.

“I hope you don’t mind that I make breakfast.” “Not at all,” I say. “It’s very kind of you.”

“I bought some coffee. I like coffee in the morning. With milk. And eggs. And tortilla, but today, I try something new—I try your holey crumb- pets.”

Together, we bustle around the kitchen getting breakfast ready. It’s incredibly strange, to move around the kitchen like this with someone who isn’t Gran, but we’re done in a flash. We sit and I prepare our crumpets with butter and marmalade.

“Do you mind? I washed my hands.”

“If there’s anyone I know who is clean, it’s you,” Juan Manuel says. I smile at the compliment. “Thank you very much.”

The eggs are unusually delicious. He’s prepared them with some kind of sauce that has a bit of spice. It’s tangy and delightful. It goes remarkably well with the marmalade and crumpets. I’m able to savor every bite in silence because he is chattering on and on, like a morning sparrow. He’s holding his fork as he speaks, and I can’t help but marvel at how he keeps his elbows politely off the table.

“I FaceTimed with my family this morning. They don’t know about all the other stuff, and I won’t tell them. But they do know I stayed here last night with a friend. I showed them your room, your kitchen, your living room. Your photo.” He takes a sip of coffee. “I hope you don’t mind.”

I can’t answer because my mouth is full, and it’s rude to speak with your mouth full. But I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all.

“Oh, my cousin, Fernando? His daughter is turning fifteen next month. I can’t even believe it! In my country, when a girl turns fifteen, there’s a big family party, and we hire mariachis, and we make a big meal, and we dance all night. My mom, she had a cold, but now she’s all better. This Sunday, they’ll take a family picture at dinner and they’ll send it to us. You’ll see everyone. And my nephew, Teodoro. He went to the farm and rode a

donkey. Now all he does is pretend to be a donkey. So funny…. Oh, I miss them so much.”

I swallow the last of my crumpet and wash it down with some coffee. “It must be so difficult,” I say. “Seeing them only through FaceTime.” “They’re far away,” he replies. “But they’re also still here.”

I think of his father and of Gran. “Yes,” I say. “You are right.”

Before we can talk more, my cell phone rings. I’ve left it in the living room.

“Excuse me,” I say. “I don’t normally take calls during meals, but—” “I know, I know,” he replies.

I walk to the sitting room and grab my phone.

“Hello?” I say. “This is Molly. How may I be of assistance?” “Molly, it’s Mr. Snow.”

“Yes, hello.”

“How are you?” he asks.

“I am well. Thank you for asking. And you?”

“It’s been a trying time. And I owe you an apology. The police led me to believe things about you that were simply not true. I should have known better, Molly. Our rooms could use your care, and I’m hoping you’ll be coming back to work in the near future.”

I’m pleased to hear this, extremely pleased. “I’m afraid I can’t make it to work just this minute. I’m right in the middle of breakfast.”

“Oh no. I didn’t expect you to come in immediately. I meant, when you’re ready. You take all the time you need, of course.”

“How’s tomorrow?” I ask.

I can hear Mr. Snow breathe a sigh of relief. “That would be most excellent, Molly. Cheryl has unfortunately declared herself unwell, and the other maids are doing double duty. They miss you terribly and they’re worried about you. They’ll be so glad to hear you’re coming back.”

“Please send them my regards,” I say.

Something is niggling at me, and I decide to voice it. “Mr. Snow,” I say. “It was brought to my attention that some of my coworkers find me to be…

odd. I believe one term used was ‘weirdo.’ I’m wondering if you might provide me with your opinion on this matter.”

Mr. Snow is quiet for moment. Then he says, “My opinion is that some of your colleagues ought to grow up. We are running a hotel, not a preschool. My opinion is that you’re one of a kind in all the right ways. And you’re the best maid the Regency Grand has ever known.”

I feel pride lift me. I may very well have grown a couple of inches as a result of his words.

“Mr. Snow?” I say.

“Yes, Molly.”

“What about Juan Manuel?”

“I’ll be calling him as well to make sure he knows he has a job here as long as he wants one. Apparently, his work permit situation is resolvable. None of what happened was his fault.”

“I know that,” I say. “He’s right here. Would you like to speak with him?”

“He’s…what? Oh. Yes, that would be fine.”

I walk to the kitchen and pass Juan Manuel my phone.

“Hello?” he says. “Yes, yes…I’m so sorry, Mr. Snow, I…no, I…”

At first, Juan Manuel can barely get a word in edgewise. “Yes, sir…. I know, sir. You didn’t know. But thank you for saying that….”

As the conversation continues, it turns back to work. “Of course, sir. I will be talking to a lawyer today…. I appreciate that. And I’m very happy to have my job.”

There’s a bit more back and forth between them. Then, at last, Juan Manuel says, “I’ll be back at work as soon as I can. Goodbye, Mr. Snow.”

Juan Manuel hangs up and places my phone on the table. “I can’t believe it. I still have my job.”

“Me too,” I say. I feel a warmth spread through me, a je ne sais quoi

verve I haven’t felt in some time.

He claps his hands together. “So,” he says. “It looks like two people in this kitchen have the day off. I wonder what they will do….”

“Tell me something, Juan Manuel,” I say. “Do you by any chance like ice cream?”