His pearl-green eyes gazed at the flourishing, bustling village below, and a smirk tugged at his lips. He, Cody McClear, had gone from the man with the least amount of attention to having the most attention in a matter of hours.

On a chilly Sunday in March, Cody had gone out of town one day with nothing but an ordinary suit, a small duffel bag, and his signature blank face. Taking the train out of town, he left everyone with questions; why was he leaving? Where was he going?

Most curious of all was Lynda, the newest in town. A former schoolteacher, she moved into Smithville to live with her family and pursue her passion of writing books. Since moving, she’d taken a liking to Cody. Him leaving town was like a butterfly becoming a caterpillar; seemingly impossible. More than anyone else in town, Cody was always in his little home, rarely seen in public unless buying food or tending to a necessary appointment.

Rumors spread all around town when he returned by way of the train, packed everything up from his small house, and took a taxi up to the giant mansion on a hill overlooking the town, abandoned since the last town’s doctor had left a few months ago. Not only that, but almost overnight he had claimed ownership of two companies in the town, as well as purchasing a group of townhomes to sell to people.

He was the wealthiest man in entire county now.

Up in the mansion, a few weeks after his move, Cody was playing a beautiful piano peace with high notes suggesting a lonesome violin or other stringed instrument. His one and only servant, Gérôme, quickly dusted the walls. Short and thin, with a quick temper and a nervous composure, he often flitted around the house, always self-conscious or fearful as he constantly checked his surroundings.

A knock sounded at the door. The piano music halted suddenly, with a flat note hovering eerily in the air. Turning slowly, Cody rose from the bench and went to the door, even as Gérôme approached it to greet the knocker. Swinging open the door, Cody saw a woman, Lynda, standing nervously on the doorstep.

“Hello,” she said, with an awkward smile.

“You’re standing on the welcome mat,” Cody said instead.

“Well, of course,” she said, deeply confused as she stepped down off the mat, puzzling over the statement.

“Ms. Lynda, come in,” Gérôme greeted, but glanced at Cody for permission.

“She will not be coming in. Her clothes alone are reason enough for me to turn her away.”

Recoiling with a scowl, she asked, “I beg your pardon?”

“Sir, it’s cold out,” Gérôme noted, growing increasingly more agitated. “She really should come in, or else you two can say a quick farewell.” He left the room.

Indifferent, Cody remarked, “it is quite cold.”

Snorting, Lynda exclaimed, “so he makes fun of a woman’s clothes, then creates small talk over weather. What a man is he!” Narrowing her eyes, she admitted, “you intrigue me, that much is certain, but you are a rude man.”

“I suppose I’m sorry,” he said, earning an eye roll. Opening the door more, he beckoned for her to enter. Upon stepping foot in the house, her sarcastic mannerism was replaced instantly with awe and shock. The bigness of the mansion was something that most townspeople were not accustomed to. Leading her to the piano, Cody sat and began playing upbeat jazz music, but the song grew increasingly loud and fast, invoking a sense of anxiety and panic.

Looking around, Lynda murmured, “what a… strange choice of music to play for your guest.”

Ignoring her, he continued to play. Sighing, Lynda walked around and surveyed the room. A gray couch complimented the pale green walls, and a chandelier cast a warm glow in the room. She smelled the scents of cinnamon and cedar wood from another room. Sitting in a chair near the piano, she leaned against it. “It’s quite romantic, isn’t it?”

Raising an eyebrow, he questioned, “what is?”

“The season of spring. It’s magical, beautiful, unpredictable; like a man and his woman throughout a typical year.” She laughed.

Still playing his song, he said flatly, “I don’t enjoy warmth. The cold beginnings of spring offer a crisp wind, but as it nears summer, it brings along a sticky mist and a weak breeze to compliment its heat.”

Standing up in frustration, Lynda snapped, “you don’t care about other people’s opinions, do you? They did tell me, ‘Lynda, that Cody McClear really is a strange person, do not engage with him’, but I didn’t listen, did I?” She started to walk away, but Cody grabbed her wrist.

“Play the piano with me,” he said, more a statement than a question.

She laughed nervously. “I don’t play.”

“Well, I can teach you,” he said, and turned back to the piano. He didn’t notice the way her face flushed red as she lightly touched the spot on her wrist that he’d held. “I know a simple song.”

Cooperating with his sudden peculiar mood, she sat to his left and watched him play, copying the motions and laughing when she messed up. Hours passed as they played, and finally Gérôme entered the room.

“Mr. McClear, it’s nearly an hour until midnight,” he said.

Jumping up with a start, Lynda smoothed her dress. “Well, I’d best get going; it was nice meeting you, Mr. McClear!”

“Please,” Cody interrupted. “Call me Cody.”

Nodding with a smile, she agreed, “Cody. Good night!” Flying out the door, she disappeared into the warm spring night. Standing up from the piano, Cody saw Gérôme giving him an odd look.

“What?” He asked.

Gérôme shook his head. “Nothing, sir. Nothing at all.”