Sunday at around ten in the morning, Todd, Maya and I pile out of a taxi in front of the mansion larger and more imposing than it appears from the road. New snow coats the manicured lawn and eaves of the great house, though the driveway and courtyard out front are cleared.

The windows of the castle facing the road are decorated in green wreaths with red bows while the entryway is framed by fresh smelling pine garlands. I shiver inside my coat, not accustomed to cold weather and honestly not caring for it much at all. Beneath the knee length, wool jacket I splurged on from the Goodwill, I'm wearing leggings and a sweater with a belt and snow boots.

It's not like me to put this much care into what I'm wearing, but I changed four times before we left this morning. Standing in front of the massive house, I'm feeling underdressed and suspecting none of my clothes remotely resemble what multimillionaires wear.

The door opens as we approach. Petr grins. He's wearing a sweater and khakis. His right foot is bare and the left foot of his prosthetic covered with a sock. "Come in!" he greets us.

The inside is cozier than I expect, the interior consisting of dark woods and stone complemented by wrought iron accents. The open foyer with its sky-high ceiling is flanked on either side by staircases that disappear into the interior of the house.

It smells festive - of cinnamon and cookies - and is decorated cheerfully. At the center of the foyer is a towering Christmas tree decked out in red, gold and silver. Pine garlands interwoven with red ribbons wind among the bannisters of the stairwells, and wintery decorations dot every flat surface.

"I'll take your coats," Petr offers. He's standing beside a coatroom the size of my bedroom.

Realizing all of us are staring in awe at the breathtaking foyer, I start forward and hand him my jacket. Todd and Maya follow. Petr puts everything away and leads us past the Christmas tree into the depths of the house. There are decorations everywhere, and the savory scent of home cooking permeates every inch of the mansion.

"Your house is amazing," I manage to speak finally.

"Smells like cookies," Todd adds.

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"Thanks." Petr glances at me. "Hope you all came hungry. When I told our cook we had company, she went overboard."

"You have your own cook and come to the diner every day," I murmur, not sure why it surprises me to know they employ a chef.

He winks.

My face grows warm. His father was right. My instinct leaving the community center was likewise correct.




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