The Neighbourhood Project
A Quirky Romantic Comedy About Cookies, Second Chances, and Falling in Love
Werner Stejskal
I lived in a row of terraced houses, the kind of place where everyone knows everyone’s business eventually, whether you want them to or not. After a while, you get to know your immediate neighbours. You exchange a quick greeting when collecting the mail, nod at each other while taking out the rubbish, and occasionally have a short conversation about the weather, which is usually the safest topic known to humanity.
Most of my neighbours were friendly enough, but the man on my left seemed to have made a personal mission out of avoiding me. Whenever we passed each other, he would suddenly become fascinated by a spot on the pavement, the sky, or apparently an invisible object floating somewhere near his shoulder. I would smile and say hello, and he would simply continue walking as if I were a very realistic garden ornament.
Rude? I thought so.
I lived on my own, and as far as I knew, he did too. We both had fairly predictable routines, and he usually arrived home from work around the same time as me. This meant we crossed paths quite often. There was no escaping the awkward little daily performance where I greeted him and he pretended I was invisible.
The strange thing was, he was not some unpleasant-looking person I could easily dismiss. Quite the opposite. He was actually a rather good-looking man, and considering I did not think I was doing too badly myself, I found his complete lack of acknowledgement almost insulting. It was not about wanting attention, exactly. It was more the principle of the thing. A simple hello was hardly a marriage proposal.
And I have never been very good at ignoring things that bother me. Even during my school years, I had a reputation for standing up for what I believed in. Unfortunately, my enthusiasm for defending my convictions sometimes resulted in me being sent to the principal’s office rather than receiving applause. Apparently, teachers were not always impressed when someone tried to solve disagreements with passion and a slightly overconfident attitude.
So, naturally, I decided this neighbour situation needed to be addressed. I was going to come up with a plan. A proper plan. Something clever enough to make this mysterious man finally respond to my greetings.
Because there was no way I was going to let my own neighbour defeat me in a battle of basic politeness.
My strategy was simple. Plain confrontation, repetition, and incentives. The same basic principles used when training a dog, although I had a feeling my neighbour might be slightly more difficult to handle than a golden retriever.
* * *
The next evening, our timing worked perfectly. We approached each other from opposite directions, both heading towards our little row of houses. I could see him already preparing for his usual routine of looking somewhere else and pretending I did not exist.
Not this time. As we reached the entrance to our lane, I stopped directly in front of him. Not aggressively, of course. I was not trying to start a neighbourhood war. I simply positioned myself in a way that made ignoring me physically impossible without climbing over me.
I smiled politely.
“Good evening.”
He stopped and finally looked up. It was almost a victory already. I had achieved eye contact, something I had previously assumed required special equipment.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, clearly annoyed.
“Nothing much,” I replied calmly. “I just wanted to make you aware that I greeted you. Just in case you are deaf.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“I am not deaf,” he answered.
Then he tried to walk around me. I stepped sideways, blocking his path again.
“I said good evening,” I repeated. “Is your evening so miserable that you cannot even reply?”
That stopped him. For the first time, he actually looked at me properly. Not through me, not past me, but at me.
“It is miserable because you are annoying,” he said.
I had to admit, this was progress. A few days earlier, I had been nothing more than a human-shaped background feature in his daily routine. Now I had a reaction. A strong reaction, admittedly, but still a reaction.
I smiled.
“Sleep well.”
Then I turned around and walked towards my own front door, leaving him standing there with a confused expression. He shook his head, muttered something I did not quite catch, and disappeared into his house.
It was not exactly the warm neighbourly relationship I had imagined. But he had noticed me. And sometimes, you have to celebrate the small victories.
* * *
The next day, I decided to repeat the same strategy. After all, consistency was important. If there was one thing I had learned from my earlier attempts at changing human behaviour, it was that persistence could work wonders. Or at least it could make someone give up.
Once again, we approached each other from opposite directions. I could almost see him recognise what was about to happen. Before he could activate his usual disappearing act, I stepped into his path.
“Good evening,” I said cheerfully.
He stopped, looked at me, and sighed dramatically.
“For God’s sake. You again!”
I smiled.
“Good evening.”
There it was. A response. Not exactly the warm greeting of a long-lost friend, but I considered it a major breakthrough. A few days earlier, he would not even acknowledge my existence. Now he was voluntarily participating in the ritual.
I stepped aside and let him continue on his way.
“Good doggy,” I thought to myself. “You deserve a treat.”
Of course, I kept that thought to myself. I was making progress, not trying to get myself reported to the neighbourhood committee.
The next time we met, I decided to try a different approach. No blocking his path. No forced conversations. Just a normal greeting. To my surprise, he had already learned.
Before I could say anything, he looked at me and said, “Good evening.”
I actually stopped walking for a moment because I was so surprised. The man who had spent weeks pretending I was invisible had beaten me to it.
I rewarded him with a proper smile.
“I hope you have lovely dreams tonight,” I said.
It was a little more cheerful than a simple greeting, but I was feeling proud of myself. I had achieved the impossible. I had trained my neighbour, and he had not even realised it.
After a few more successful encounters, where he continued to greet me without any further encouragement, I decided he had earned a proper reward.
Now I just had to think of what his treat should be. And that was when I started planning my next step.
* * *
Let me give you a few details about myself. My name is Florence, and I am just finishing my Master’s degree in Biology this year. Most people who meet me assume I have everything together. I am intelligent, I am a spoiled brat from a wealthy family, and I have always had opportunities most people would dream of.
Unfortunately, I also came with a few extra features that nobody ordered. The reason I was living on my own in this little townhouse was not because I had suddenly discovered independence or wanted to experience the joys of adulthood. It was because I had become a bit of a problem at home.
My parents would probably phrase it politely, but the truth was that they had simply reached their limit with my endless demands, dramatic reactions, and occasional tantrums. After years of patience, they finally decided I needed “a little more independence.”
They presented it as a wonderful opportunity.
“You will be much closer to university,” they told me.
And technically, they were right. My travel time was shorter, I had my own place, and nobody was interfering with my private life.
There was just one tiny problem. I did not have a private life. I had no real group of friends. People would meet me, enjoy my energy for a while, and then slowly realise that my little habits were not as charming as they thought they were. Apparently, constantly arguing for fun, demanding attention, and turning every small event into a dramatic episode was exhausting for other people.
I personally thought I brought excitement into their lives. They seemed to disagree. So, to keep the story short, I had plenty of free time and not enough people around me to annoy.
Which brings us back to my neighbour. You see, when life gives you a quiet townhouse, a stubborn neighbour, and a personality that refuses to leave things alone, certain challenges simply present themselves. I decided to teach my neighbour basic manners.
* * *
He had learned to respond to greetings because of my persistence, perhaps he would learn to appreciate me through kindness. And what was a better symbol of friendliness than freshly baked cookies?
I had a plan. One afternoon, I came home early from university and immediately turned my little kitchen into what looked like a baking disaster zone. Flour somehow ended up everywhere, bowls were scattered across the counter, and I probably used more utensils than a professional bakery.
But the result was worth it. I baked two trays of delicious cookies.
While they were cooling, I opened the door and windows wide, allowing the wonderful smell of fresh baking to escape. The whole house filled with that warm, sweet aroma that makes even the most determined person suddenly wonder if they are hungry.
A gentle breeze passed through the street and carried the smell along with it. It floated past my front door, travelled across the small garden, and headed straight towards my neighbour’s house.
Perfect. The timing could not have been better.
I knew roughly when he would come home from work, so I positioned myself behind the curtain like a very enthusiastic spy. Admittedly, a spy with flour on her sleeve and the faint smell of chocolate and vanilla following her around.
When he finally appeared at the end of the street, I watched carefully. He walked towards our houses with the usual expression, probably already preparing himself for another polite greeting from me.
Then the smell reached him. He stopped. His head turned slightly and he sniffed. Then he looked towards my open door and window.
Success.
For a moment, I wondered if he was actually fighting an internal battle. Should he continue pretending I did not exist, or should he investigate the mysterious source of the amazing cookie smell?
I had to admit, I enjoyed watching the conflict on his face.
The final part of my plan was ready.
The oven timer rang, announcing that my “operation friendship” had officially entered its next stage. I quickly gathered the cookies and placed them into a large container.
Everything was prepared. Now all I had to do was walk over and bring a peace offering. A delicious one.
After giving him enough time to settle in, I picked up my container of cookies and walked across the small gap between our houses.
I knocked on his door. A few seconds later, it opened, and there stood my neighbour looking slightly surprised to find me on his doorstep.
“Welcome to the neighbourhood!” I announced cheerfully.
He stared at me.
“What is this?”
I smiled proudly.
“I made cookies.”
“No, I mean the welcome part. I have been living here longer than you.”
I waved that argument away.
“So what? Better late than never.”
He opened his mouth, probably preparing some clever response, but I continued before he had the chance.
“Are you going to make coffee? Then we can share these beauties.”
I lifted the container slightly.
“What do you say?”
He looked at the cookies, then at me, then back at the cookies. I could almost see the battle happening in his mind. His pride was telling him to refuse. His nose was telling him that would be a terrible decision. After a short hesitation, he stepped aside and let me in.
I knew he had manners. Deep down, he was not going to send me away while I was standing there with a mountain of homemade cookies. That would have been almost criminal.
The layout of the houses was identical, so I already knew where everything was. His kitchen looked almost exactly like mine, including the little dining nook with a small table and four chairs.
I walked over, placed the cookies on the table, and sat down like I had been invited.
He shook his head slightly but went to make the coffee.
“By the way,” I called out, “we never actually introduced ourselves.”
He looked over.
“My name is Florence Nightingale. Believe it or not.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Seriously?”
“Yes. I know. A lot to live up to.”
He smiled faintly.
“And I am Robert Undertaker. Believe it or not.”
I looked at him.
“Wait. What?”
“Robert Undertaker.”
“Why?” I asked. “Are you actually an undertaker?”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“Wow. No wonder you are always so grumpy.”
He paused while pouring the coffee.
“Excuse me?”
I pointed at him.
“You deal with dead people all day. That must make it difficult to have a cheerful disposition”
He brought the coffee cups over and sat down.
“Actually, it is not as bad as you think. When you work with it every day, you get used to it. It becomes part of life.”
I considered this while taking a cookie.
“So how does someone become an undertaker?”
He looked curious.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you go to a job interview and say, ‘Hello, I would like this position because I enjoy working with dead people’?”
For the first time, I saw him properly laugh.
“No, nothing like that. It is a family business. My father brought me to the morgue when I was a boy.”
I looked at him in disbelief.
“That was your childhood playground?”
He laughed again.
“Not exactly.”
I decided that perhaps I had pushed the subject far enough.
“Anyway, changing the topic completely,” I said, picking up another cookie, “how do you like my cookies?
“Very tasty,” he said, taking another one. “Are you a cook?”
I laughed.
“No, not at all. My grandmother taught me this recipe. I always bake when I am feeling a little down.”
He looked at me with a slightly different expression.
“Oh,” he said. “So you have problems?”
I shook my head.
“Not really. I just thought you needed a bit of cheering up.”
He looked at me, and for a second I wondered if I had accidentally insulted him again. Then he smiled slightly.
“You baked cookies because you thought I needed cheering up?”
“Exactly.”
“Because I did not say hello to you?”
I shrugged.
“That was part of it.”
He shook his head, but he was definitely fighting a smile.
“So if you are not a cook, what do you do?”
I leaned back proudly.
“I am finishing my Master’s degree in Biology at university. Then I will finally be finished with all the boring studying.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Biology is boring?”
I thought about it.
“Well, not all of it. There are some interesting parts. But after years of assignments, exams, and people telling me I should read just one more paper, I am ready for freedom.”
He nodded as if he understood. Then he became curious.
“So why are you living here on your own?”
I looked at him with a mischievous smile.
“Ah, so you have been checking me out?”
He immediately looked slightly uncomfortable.
“Not like that. It was just obvious.”
“Obvious?”
He gestured towards my house.
“Nobody ever seems to visit you. Nobody comes in or out. It is not exactly a secret.”
I considered pretending to be offended, but instead I laughed.
“Fair enough.”
I took another cookie.
“My father basically kicked me out.”
Robert looked surprised.
“He did?”
“Well, he said it was because living here would be more convenient for university. Shorter travel time, more independence, all that.”
“And the real reason?”
I sighed dramatically.
“I was too much trouble at home.”
He stared at me. Then, for the first time since I had met him, he laughed. Not a small polite laugh. A real laugh. The kind that changed his entire face.
“So let me understand this,” he said. “Your father sent you away because you were too much trouble, and now you are making the entire neighbourhood unsafe?”
I smiled innocently.
“Unsafe?”
He nodded.
“From what I can tell, yes.”
I leaned forward.
“But I make good cookies, don’t I?”
He looked at the container. He tried to stay serious and he failed.
* * *
One day, I did not have any university classes, so I decided to spend some time outside in the front garden. It was a beautiful day, and I was enjoying the rare feeling of having nothing urgent to do.
While I was watering some plants, I noticed a small car stopping in front of Robert’s house.
An older lady stepped out. She looked familiar somehow, although I was certain I had never met her before. She walked confidently towards Robert’s front door, clearly knowing exactly where she was going.
My curiosity immediately woke up. I walked over to the fence.
“Hi! Are you Robert’s mum?”
The woman stopped and looked at me, slightly surprised.
“Yes, I am. I am Susan.”
Then she smiled.
“You must be Florence.”
I blinked.
“Wow. I am becoming famous.”
Susan laughed.
“Why don’t you come over for a while? I would love to talk to you.”
I never needed much encouragement when someone offered a conversation, so naturally I accepted.
“Sure. I am always ready for a chat.”
I followed her inside. The house looked just like mine, except Robert’s was much tidier. There were no signs of my usual level of creative chaos.
Susan walked into the kitchen.
“I come over sometimes to help with his laundry. Give me a few minutes to feed the washing machine.”
“Of course,” I said.
She loaded the machine, pressed a few buttons, and then returned a few minutes later carrying two glasses of lemonade.
We sat down at the little kitchen table.
“So,” she said with a smile, “you are the famous Florence.”
I looked at her.
“Famous? I did not realise my reputation had spread beyond the street.”
“Oh, it has,” she said, amused.
I leaned forward.
“Should I be worried?”
She laughed.
“No. Actually, I wanted to meet you.”
“Why?”
She looked towards the living room for a moment, thinking.
“My son has changed.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Robert?”
She nodded.
“Yes. He has become… more human somehow.”
I tried not to laugh.
“More human? That sounds slightly concerning.”
Susan smiled.
“I asked him who was responsible for this change. He told me it was a very annoying young neighbour called Florence.”
I placed a hand on my chest.
“Annoying? He said that?”
She laughed.
“Yes. But he was smiling when he said it.”
That surprised me.
“I never thought I would see my son actually laugh while talking about a woman,” she continued. “You must be special.”
I was not sure if that was a compliment or a warning.
“What did you do to him?”
I thought about it.
“Honestly? I just got tired of greeting him every day and never receiving an answer.”
Susan nodded seriously.
“So you decided to fix him?”
“Exactly.”
I smiled proudly.
“I made him my little reform project.”
Susan burst out laughing.
“Your reform project?”
“Yes. And I am proud to say I am seeing progress.”
She wiped a tear from her eye from laughing.
“Florence, I like you already.”
I smiled.
“Good. I like you too.”
She shook her head.
“You have obviously found the right formula for success.”
I looked confused.
“What do you mean?”
“I tried for years to get him to open up. I never managed it.”
She took a sip of lemonade.
“And then you arrive with cookies and an attitude, and suddenly my son remembers how to smile.”
I had to admit, that was one of the nicest compliments I had ever received.
“So he told you about the cookies?” I asked.
Susan smiled.
“Yes. He said they were delicious.”
I felt a small wave of pride.
“Good. At least he appreciates quality.”
She laughed.
“Now tell me, where is this project of yours supposed to lead?”
I thought about it seriously. After all, this was an important discussion. My project had already achieved unexpected results, and every successful project needed a clear plan.
“Well,” I said, “it has stages.”
Susan looked amused.
“Of course it does.”
“The next stage is to make him express feelings.”
She tilted her head.
“Feelings?”
“Yes. I know characters like Robert. They do not just wake up one morning and decide to talk about emotions. They need encouragement. They need someone to take the initiative.”
I explained it as if I was presenting the results of a scientific experiment.
“Otherwise, I would probably have to wait forever for him to admit anything.”
Susan looked at me with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.
“So your plan is to get him into a relationship where you both express your feelings?”
I nodded confidently.
“Exactly.”
Then I added, almost as if it was the most obvious thing in the world:
“He does not know it yet, but eventually I will mean something to him.”
Susan stared at me.
I continued quickly.
“Of course, with your agreement and cooperation.”
There was a short silence. Then Susan started laughing.
“Florence,” she said, shaking her head, “I love you already.”
I smiled.
“I knew we would get along.”
She pointed at me.
“You have a plan, confidence, and somehow you have managed to make my son smile again.”
She leaned back.
“I spent years trying to understand how to get through to him, and you simply arrived with cookies and declared him a project.”
I nodded proudly.
“Exactly.”
Susan laughed again.
“I have to admit, I find this very entertaining.”
She lifted her glass.
“To your project.”
I lifted mine.
“To successful results.”
Then she looked at me with a mischievous smile.
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“Although I should probably warn you, Florence.”
“About what?”
“Robert might not be as easy to reform as you think.”
“But Florence, I already know one thing.”
“What?”
“You are going to make my son’s life much more interesting.”
I considered that a very positive review.
* * *
After observing Robert for a while, I noticed that he ordered dinner quite often. There was nothing wrong with that occasionally, but every time I saw another delivery arrive, I became more convinced that something needed to be done. Nobody should survive on takeaway food when there are perfectly good vegetables in the world. And, fortunately for him, I was a good cook.
My grandmother had taught me everything. I had spent years helping her in the kitchen, and unlike some of my other talents, cooking was one area where people rarely complained about my enthusiasm.
So I went shopping. I returned with bags full of ingredients and waited until late afternoon, when I knew Robert would already be home from work. Then I knocked on his door.
He opened it and immediately looked suspicious.
“What is happening?”
I smiled.
“I went shopping to make you dinner.”
He stared at me.
“Excuse me?”
“Dinner,” I repeated. “A proper cooked meal.”
He looked confused.
“Do you think I am starving?”
I shook my head.
“No. But I see you ordering second-rate food all the time. How about having a real dinner for once, made by a very pleasant neighbour who simply wants to look after you?”
He opened his mouth. Then closed it again. There was not really a logical argument against that. After all, refusing a homemade meal from someone standing there with fresh ingredients would make him look unnecessarily difficult. So he stepped aside.
“Fine.”
I smiled.
“Excellent.”
And just like that, my training sessions expanded. It was no longer only about greetings and basic communication. Now it included kitchen skills.
I put him to work immediately. He chopped vegetables while I prepared the rest of the meal. Later, after we had eaten, I handed him a towel.
“Your next assignment.”
He looked at me.
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Cooking is a partnership. So is cleaning.”
He shook his head but dried the dishes anyway. Progress.
After everything was finished, we stood in the kitchen facing each other.
I waited. He waited. Finally, I asked:
“So, how did you like dinner?”
Considering he had not volunteered much information during the entire evening, I was not expecting a speech.
“Good cooking,” he answered simply.
I stared at him. That was it? Two words?
I crossed my arms.
“I think we need to work on your emotional side.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“What do you mean?”
I pointed at him.
“I think you have a deficiency.”
“A deficiency?”
“Yes. A feelings deficiency.”
He looked at me like I had just diagnosed him with a strange new medical condition.
“People like me need emotional feedback. Compliments. Reactions. You know, signs that there is an actual person behind those eyes.”
He folded his arms.
“And what exactly am I?”
I smiled.
“At the moment? A little bit like an ice block.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You are saying I am cold?”
“Exactly.”
“And your solution?”
I stepped closer and tapped his arm lightly.
“You need to thaw.”
“You see,” I explained, “it is good to show feelings. It makes the other person actually believe you are human.”
Robert looked at me with a mixture of confusion and amusement.
“And in your opinion, what exactly should I do?”
I thought about this carefully. This was an important moment in my project. Teaching someone to express emotions required practical examples. Theory alone was not enough.
“Well,” I said, “you could start with something simple.”
He waited.
“For example, you could gently move my hair behind my ear and say, ‘You look lovely today.’”
I smiled.
“That would show sensitivity. It would make the other person feel appreciated.”
Robert stared at me. I was not sure whether he was surprised by my suggestion or by how confidently I had delivered it. Then he completely surprised me. He looked at me and said:
“You always look lovely, not only today.”
For a moment, I had no answer. The student had unexpectedly passed the test. I recovered quickly.
“Wow.”
I pointed at him.
“Mr. Undertaker is actually a charmer when he wants to be.”
A small smile appeared on his face.
“You see?” I continued. “You did it perfectly. That is exactly how it works.”
I nodded approvingly.
“Keep going.”
He looked amused.
“Keep going?”
“Yes. Now make coffee.”
He laughed quietly and walked towards the kitchen.
I had to admit, this was a surprisingly successful training session. The man who once ignored my existence was now making me coffee after complimenting me. The progress was undeniable.
Eventually, I decided it was time to leave him in peace. I stood up, ready to return to my own house and allow him time to process his newly discovered emotional abilities. But just as I reached the door, Robert stopped me.
“Florence?”
I turned around.
“Yes?”
He hesitated. Then he said:
“Do you want to stay and watch a movie?”
I was genuinely surprised. Not because I did not want to stay. Obviously, I wanted to stay. But because he had actually asked. Voluntarily.
“Of course,” I said.
It would have been rude to refuse such a major breakthrough.
I sat down next to him on the sofa, quietly pleased with myself. After all, this gave me another excellent opportunity. Another step in the emotional education of Robert Undertaker.
We watched one of those classic romantic movies where two people spend most of the story arguing, insisting they cannot stand each other, and then somehow discover they are completely in love.
I had to admit, it was not a bad choice. When the movie reached one of those emotional scenes where the music becomes dramatic and everyone suddenly realises their feelings, I found myself reaching over and taking Robert’s hand. I did not even think about it. It just happened. For a moment, I wondered if I had gone too far. This was a man who had once considered saying hello a major emotional commitment.
I looked at him. He looked back at me. But he did not pull away.
That alone felt like another victory.
When the movie ended, Robert leaned back and shook his head.
“That movie had such an unlikely plot.”
I immediately turned towards him.
“Excuse me?”
He looked amused.
“It is just unrealistic.”
I pointed at the screen.
“Is it really? It is not much different from us.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“How so?”
I smiled.
“I was annoying you, you wanted nothing to do with me, and now I am sitting on your couch watching a romantic movie with you.”
He thought about that.
“Yes,” he admitted. “That part is actually true.”
I smiled proudly.
“Exactly.”
He looked at me for a moment.
“But I have been wondering something.”
“What?”
He became more serious.
“What is the real reason behind you pursuing me all the time?”
That caught me slightly off guard.
Usually, I had a clever answer ready. A joke, a dramatic explanation, something to keep the mood light.
But this time, I looked directly into his eyes.
“Maybe I just like you.”
The words came out much simpler than I expected.
Robert looked genuinely surprised. For once, he had no immediate reply. Then, quietly, he asked:
“What is there to like about me?”
He shook his head slightly, as if he honestly could not understand it.
I looked at him. There was something different about him in that moment. The confident, reserved man was suddenly unsure. And somehow, that made him even more interesting.
I answered softly:
“We cannot always explain attraction.”
He stayed quiet. And for once, I did not feel the need to fill the silence.
* * *
Summer arrived, bringing those beautiful mild evenings that make you wonder why anyone would ever want to stay indoors.
I realised something about Robert. I had never seen him leave the house except for work. That was it. Home. Work. Home again.
A person could not live like that forever. Even a man who worked around death every day needed some fresh air and a reminder that the world outside still existed. So naturally, there was only one thing to do.
I knocked on his door. Again. At this point, I was fully aware that I had earned my reputation as the neighbourhood nuisance. But I also believed I was a very helpful nuisance.
Robert opened the door and looked at me.
“Florence.”
I smiled.
“Robert.”
He immediately looked suspicious.
“Why do I feel like you have a plan?”
“Because you know me well.”
That actually made him smile.
“Come for a walk,” I said. “You need fresh air. It is such a lovely evening, and you cannot spend every night sitting inside.”
He looked at me as if I had presented him with a very serious life decision. Finally, he sighed.
“Alright.”
I smiled.
“Excellent.”
We lived close to the river, where there was a beautiful walkway along the water. The evening was quiet, the air was warm, and for once Robert was not sitting alone in his house.
As we walked, I casually took his hand.
“For protection,” I said, trying to sound serious.
He looked at me.
“Protection from what?”
I shrugged.
“Anything dangerous.”
He shook his head, but he did not let go. A little further along, we passed an ice cream stand.
My face immediately lit up. I jumped up and down in front of him like a five year old.
“Ice cream!”
Robert laughed.
That was exactly what I wanted.
I pointed proudly at him.
“See? More laughing. My plan is working.”
We bought our cones and sat down on a bench beside the river, watching the water slowly move past.
I had strawberry. Robert chose chocolate.
Of course, I managed to make a complete mess of myself while eating mine. It was almost a talent. Somehow, ice cream always ended up somewhere it was not supposed to be.
Robert noticed. He looked at me and laughed.
“You are messy.”
“Really?” I said. “You should have seen me when I was a child.”
He smiled and reached over, gently wiping a little ice cream from the side of my mouth.
I froze for a moment. It was such a simple gesture, but from Robert it felt like a major event.
Then he looked at what he had wiped away and jokingly tasted it from his finger.
I laughed. The man who once avoided me was now cleaning ice cream from my face.
We finished our cones and sat there quietly for a while. Then, without thinking, which was usually how I got myself into interesting situations, I looked at him.
“So,” I said, “how does your chocolate taste?”
Before I could overthink it, I leaned over and gave him a quick tasting kiss. It was brief and playful. Then I immediately realised what I had done. My confidence disappeared almost as quickly as it had arrived. I pulled back.
Robert looked at me. I looked at him. And for once, neither of us seemed to know what to say.
The silence between us was completely different from the old silence. This time, it was full of questions.
* * *
I had already answered those questions for myself some time ago. The biggest question was not whether Robert was changing. That was obvious. The man who once treated a greeting like a major social challenge was now walking beside me, holding my hand, laughing, and accepting my endless interruptions into his carefully organised life.
The real question was about me. Was he still just a project? Or had the project become something else?
The answer was clear. Somewhere along the way, Robert Undertaker had stopped being my little mission. I was falling in love with him. And that was a rather inconvenient discovery for someone who liked to believe she was always in control.
I have never been good at waiting around forever. I am not the type of person who spends forty episodes in a romantic drama refusing to admit what she feels while everyone around her already knows. If I have a question, I ask. If I have something to say, I say it. So I decided it was time to create some clarity between us.
By then, our walks had become a regular thing. Robert never officially suggested them, but he was always ready when I knocked on his door. Which, in Robert language, was basically an enthusiastic invitation.
One evening, while we walked beside the river, I looked at him.
“So, Robert…”
He glanced at me.
“Yes?”
I took a breath.
“Are you my boyfriend now?”
He stopped slightly. I continued before he could recover.
“Because I would like to be your girlfriend.”
The effect was impressive. I had seen Robert handle my various surprise appearances at his door. But this clearly caught him completely unprepared. He went quiet. We continued walking, and I let him think.
For once, I did not try to fill the silence with jokes or explanations. I knew Robert did not process things the same way I did. I was like a sparkler, bright and immediate. Robert was more like a fireplace. Slow to start. But once burning, probably very warm.
I did not want to push him into an answer he was not ready to give.
After a while, he finally seemed to return from whatever deep thoughts he had disappeared into. His voice was so quiet I almost missed it.
“I think…”
He paused.
“I think I would like that.”
I looked at him. He had just quietly agreed to be my boyfriend. And somehow, that felt like the biggest victory of all.
* * *
Finally, the day came when I finished my Master’s degree. After years of lectures, assignments, exams, and far too many moments questioning why I had chosen a subject that required me to read so many scientific papers, I had made it. I had survived.
There was a celebration at the university, and naturally I wanted Robert there. This was an important milestone in my life, and I wanted to share it with the person who had somehow become such a big part of it.
I also warned him.
“My parents will be there,” I told him.
He looked slightly concerned.
“Should I be worried?”
“Probably a little.”
That earned a small smile.
“My mother and sister will want to ask questions. You will be examined.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Like an interview?”
“Exactly. Possibly worse.”
I had already invited Susan as well. By then, we had met several times, and she knew all about our unusual journey from irritated neighbours to something much more. She was aware of our new status.
When I told her about it, she simply smiled.
“I have been expecting this.”
I looked at her.
“You have?”
“Of course. I never believed that Robert was just a project to you.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but she continued.
“I knew eventually he would fall for you.”
I smiled.
“Why?”
Susan laughed.
“Because you are impossible to ignore.”
I decided to take that as a compliment.
“You are different, Florence,” she added. “A little chaotic, perhaps.”
“A little?”
She laughed.
“But also warm and full of life. Robert needed someone like that.”
I could not disagree.
* * *
On Sunday afternoon, we arrived at the university hall. I had already warned my mother that she would meet my boyfriend.
I watched carefully as Robert walked in with me. He was calm, polite, and probably mentally preparing himself for the promised interrogation.
My mother was surprised at first. Not just because I had a boyfriend. But because my boyfriend was an undertaker. That was apparently not the profession she had imagined for me.
However, after the first few minutes, she and Susan found common ground surprisingly quickly.
My mother shook her head.
“I still cannot believe that she found someone who is not scared away by her… personality.”
Susan looked at her.
“Her personality?”
She smiled.
“You know what I mean.”
Susan laughed.
“Actually, my son needed exactly that.”
I looked over at Robert. He pretended not to hear. But I saw the little smile.
After the speeches and congratulations, the music started. And naturally, I had a new mission.
I grabbed Robert’s hand.
“Dance with me.”
His eyes widened slightly.
“Florence…”
“No.”
“I don’t really dance.”
“Not yet.”
He sighed. This was a familiar expression by now. The expression of a man who knew he was about to lose another argument. Eventually, he agreed.
“I will teach you,” I said.
I took his hand and guided him onto the dance floor. The truth was, my plan was not really about teaching him to dance. The faster dances would eventually slow down. And when that happened, I would have the perfect opportunity to hold him close. Because there was still one small area where my reform project needed a little more work. Robert still had a habit of waiting for permission before showing affection. And I intended to fix that too with patience. And probably with a little persistence.
* * *
As the evening continued, the music slowly changed. The fast songs disappeared, replaced by the slower ones that seemed designed specifically to make people being closer together. By then we had both enjoyed a couple of drinks, and I decided the time had come.
My final lesson. We are almost the same height, which made things easier. I gently took his arms and placed them around my waist. He looked slightly surprised. Then I put my arms around his neck and leaned my head against his shoulder. For a moment, he was stiff.
Very Robert. As if he was trying to figure out the correct instructions for hugging. But slowly, he relaxed. His arms became more natural, and he stopped thinking about it. He simply allowed himself to enjoy the moment.
I smiled to myself. The music played softly around us. I rested against him, feeling comfortable and safe. Perhaps it was the atmosphere, perhaps the drinks, or perhaps I had simply reached the point where keeping things inside no longer made sense. I whispered near his ear.
“Robert…”
“Yes?”
“I am falling in love with you.”
For once, I had chosen the perfect moment. At least I thought I had. There was a pause. Then Robert looked down slightly.
“Did you say you love me?”
I froze. I could not tell if he had genuinely not heard me or if he was giving me the opportunity to say it properly. Either way, he had caught me. I sighed.
“For God’s sake, yes.”
I looked up at him.
“I love you.”
He laughed softly. Then he became serious. And his answer is something I will always remember.
“Florence,” he said quietly, holding me a little closer, “you are my darling.”
He paused.
“Be sure of that.”
And for once, I had no clever reply. I simply stayed there with him, knowing that the most important change had not been in Robert alone. It had been in both of us.
* * *
With my degree finally completed and an offer from the university to join the Biology department, my life suddenly looked very different.
For years, I had been chasing one goal after another. First surviving exams, then proving myself, then figuring out what I actually wanted. Somewhere along the way, I had accidentally found something I had not even known I was looking for. Robert.
With our relationship no longer a secret experiment of mine, it made perfect sense that we moved in together. I gave up my little townhouse, although I have to admit I felt a strange sadness handing back the keys.
That was where everything had started. The place where I had decided to reform my neighbour.
Robert, of course, claimed I had never actually reformed him. He said I had simply “invaded his quiet life until he realised he liked it.” I considered that a success.
Living together gave me plenty of new opportunities to improve his remaining habits. I taught him that dinner did not always arrive in a paper bag. I reminded him that fresh air was not a luxury. I encouraged him to occasionally make spontaneous decisions.
And he taught me something too. He taught me that not everything needed to become a mission. Not every problem needed fixing. Sometimes people were already wonderful, just in ways we did not immediately recognise.
Eventually, Robert became less like a project and more like what he had always been. My partner and best friend. The person who understood my chaos and somehow found it entertaining rather than exhausting.
And yes, we got married. Because despite my reputation for being difficult, dramatic, and occasionally impossible, I was still a traditional girl at heart.
I wanted the dress. I wanted the celebration. I wanted one day where I could feel like a princess.
Robert was not naturally a fan of large events, but by then he had learned that some battles were not worth fighting. Especially not against me.
Susan was delighted. She told everyone she had known from the beginning.
My mother still occasionally reminded me that she could not believe I had actually found someone patient enough for me.
I always told her the same thing.
“I did not need someone patient.”
Then I looked at Robert.
“I needed someone who understood me.”
Earlier I wanted to change him. Instead, he changed my life.
And even now, whenever we walk together and Robert reaches for my hand first, I still smile. Because once upon a time, I thought I was teaching him how to show his feelings. But in the end, he was the one who taught me what love really felt like.
The End
