Claudia Barry's "Boogie Woogie Dancing Shoes" filled the apartment, and Mandy's body swayed instinctively to the rhythm. Her hips wanted to move, her feet itched to step and twirl. The muscle memory was still there, even after all these years - the way her body naturally found the beat, how her arms would float up gracefully as she spun.
But those days were long gone. Her knees and back screamed in protest at even the gentlest sway. The freedom of movement she'd once taken for granted had been stolen by time, and arthritis, and spinal stenosis. Even simple movements like reaching for something on a high shelf or bending to pick up a dropped pen required careful consideration now.
A deep ache that had nothing to do with physical pain settled in her chest. She missed dancing - really dancing, not just the careful shifting from foot to foot that was all she could manage now. She missed the joy of losing herself in the music, of letting her body interpret the rhythm in sweeping turns and graceful gestures.
Shaking off the momentary melancholy, Mandy moved to her dresser. Her collection of perfume bottles caught the morning light, sending tiny rainbows dancing across the wall.She didn't usually wear perfume when she wasn't going out, but what the heck. She selected her favorite, a delicate gardenia, and the familiar scent wrapped around her as she spritzed a little on her wrists.
Across the room, Bach and Mozart suddenly alerted, rising to all fours from where they'd been lounging on their floor-to-ceiling cat tree in one corner of her bedroom, their ears pricked forward and eyes fixed intently on the doorway.
With resigned amusement, she asked them. "There's a Djinn in my living room, isn't there?"
Mozart's tail twitched in confirmation while Bach maintained his laser-focused stare. The cats had adapted remarkably well to magical visitors, treating them with the same casual disdain they showed all humans who dared enter their territory.
Smoothing down her purple skirt, Mandy was grateful she'd taken the time to dress properly, and that whoever it was hadn't arrived until now. Fifteen minutes earlier and she'd have been meeting whoever it was in her nightgown and robe, with unbrushed hair.
Mandy stepped into her living room, Bach and Mozart padding beside her like feline bodyguards. Her breath caught. Kieran stood by the window, his tall frame silhouetted against the morning light. His tunic shimmered rich blue, silver embroidery catching the sunlight. With his close-fitting dark trousers and leather boots, he looked like he'd stepped from a fantasy novel - though she doubted he'd chosen the outfit for effect. Everything about him, from his ramrod-straight posture to his long silver hair, radiated authority.
Mozart chirped a greeting and trotted over to investigate Kieran's boots, while Bach maintained a more dignified distance, settling onto the arm of her recliner to observe. Thecats' casual acceptance of this magical being in their territory still amazed her.
Kieran turned from the window, and Mandy couldn't help noticing how the morning light played across Kieran's aristocratic features, highlighting those remarkable cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw. He possessed the kind of devastating handsomeness that belonged in renaissance paintings or on the covers of fantasy novels - remote and untouchable as a marble statue.
Thank goodness she was well past the age for silly crushes - though her mind unhelpfully reminded her of countless hours spent admiring Aragorn's noble bearing or gazing rapturously at Paul Hollywood's silver hair and bluer-than-blue eyes as he critiqued underproved bread on Great British Baking Show. She was in her sixties, for heaven's sake!
But that was different. That was simply aesthetic appreciation, like admiring a beautiful painting or sculpture. Kieran definitely took the concept of "silver fox" to an entirely new level. The term seemed almost inadequate when applied to an immortal Djinn prince whose very presence made her living room feel like the throne room of some ancient magical palace.
Mozart, however, wound around Kieran's ankles, stepping on his boots and completely unimpressed by all this magical majesty.
Kieran inclined his head in greeting. "Sabah al-khair."
"Sabah in-nour. Kayf hallak?" The Arabic phrases rolled off Mandy's tongue with perfect inflection. She blinked, startled at herself. The traditional morning greeting and inquiry after his well-being had flowed naturally, without hesitation or thought.
A ghost of a smile touched Kieran's lips, softening his austere features for a brief moment. "I am well, thank you." His glacier-blue eyes studied her with interest. "Your accent is impeccable."
Warmth bloomed in Mandy's chest at his praise. "The words just flew from my mouth without me having to think about it!" She touched her fingers to her lips in wonder. Though she'd studied Arabic years ago in Cairo, she'd never really used it since. But when he had greeted her, the corresponding response had simply been there, as natural as breathing.
Memories of sun-drenched afternoons flooded back. "I used to be pretty fluent in it. When I attended American University in Cairo as an exchange student, I'd wander the streets after class with nothing but my purse and my English/Arabic dictionary, just talking to people."
Kieran's eyebrow rose in that elegant arch she was starting to recognize. The expression managed to convey both skepticism and curiosity without disturbing his regal bearing.
She grinned, understanding his unspoken question. "And no, I didn't just land in Cairo and start speaking Arabic! They put us through this incredible intensive course - one semester in ten days. Six hours a day in class, then homework until midnight." She shook her head at the memory. "By day three, I was dreaming in Arabic."
Lost in reminiscence, the memories washed over her like a warm desert breeze. "My friend Noura and I would walk to the Marriott on Zamalek after class. We'd claim these huge chairs in the lobby and orderasir farawla- strawberry juice with crushed ice."
She could almost taste it now, the sweet-tart flavor cutting through Cairo's endless heat. Remembering those early days of language immersion, a smile tugged at her lips.
"It was strange - I felt like I had such an affinity for it. Everyone always said how difficult Arabic was for Americans to learn, but the language just came to me so naturally, you wouldn't believe it. And it's a beautiful language, so graceful and flowing."
The smile faded as she continued, "But then I came home, and there was never anyone to speak it with." She sighed a little. "I've always regretted losing that language, watching it slip away year by year until all I had left were fragments and memories."
"You haven't lost it," Kieran said, his deep voice resonating through her living room. "The knowledge remains within you, merely dormant until needed. As evidenced by your immediate response to my greeting."
Mandy's eyes widened. "You really think so?"
"Indeed." He inclined his head, that silver-white hair catching the morning light. "Were you to spend time among Arabic speakers, your fluency would return swiftly."
Excitement bubbled up inside her. "You know, there's amasjid- mosque-here, by the University." Her mind raced with possibilities. "I could call them, find out if they work with any refugee resettlement programs in the area."
She leaned forward in her chair, enthusiasm building. "I could volunteer to help new arrivals adjust to life here. They'd get someone who understands both cultures, who could explain American customs and systems."
