Page 29 of Dark Soul

They’d moved on from the Starbucks to San Rocco, a little Italian restaurant right around the corner. Although on the outside it looked like your typical Swiss chalet, walking inside the restaurant was like stepping into Venice, minus the canals. There were gondolas, chandeliers, and lots and lots of candles.

“I didn’t realize this place would be so …” Dark paused, as if looking for the right word.

“Romantic?” she finished, laughing.

Dark color filled his cheeks.

“I guess.” He shrugged. “I asked around, and the pizzas are supposedly amazing. I don’t want you to think I …”

“I’m not thinking anything. I’m waiting for my pizza.”

“Okay. Okay. Good.”

Alexia sipped her red wine, taking a moment to study him. He’d changed into dark blue jeans and a casual white shirt that looked expensive and fit him like a glove, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, thick forearms. She’d been sneaking glances at his forearms and at those hard, rugged hands ever since they sat down, and each time she looked, it seemed to her the temperature in the room went up by a few degrees.

“Do you live nearby?” he asked.

“Yes. In one of the houses by the telecabine.” She paused. “It’s not mine. I’m staying with my employer,” she finished. For some reason she couldn’t explain, she didn’t want Dark to think she was a trust fund baby. Not that she looked like a trust fund baby.

“The boy I met?

Alexia nodded, took another sip of her wine. She needed to stop doing that, or she’d be drunk before the food came.

“He’s not in school?”

She shook her head. “The family is in Gstaad for the winter. That’s why they hired me. I was teaching at a prep school in New Hampshire, and I thought this would be a new experience,” she finished vaguely. Although it was all technically true, something about the way she was skating around the truth didn’t feel right.

“He seemed like a nice kid,” Dark said vaguely.

“He is. He’s very different from—“

Dark’s eyebrow came up. “From …”

“Just different,” she finished lamely, relieved when he didn’t ask any more questions.

The waiter came back with a wooden board laden with antipasti—black and green olives, ham, salami, and several cheeses of dubious color.

“Not a fan of blue cheese, I take it?” Dark asked, looking amused.

“I prefer my food when it doesn’t have stuff living inside it,” she said.

“Have the ham. I’ll eat the cheese. I’m sure I’ve eaten worse things.”

Alexia hesitated for an instant. “What do you do, exactly? When you’re not saving little kids on sleds, I mean.”

“I’m a writer. For television.”

She dropped the piece of ham she was trying to stab with her fork.

She didn’t know what he’d expected him to say, but it wasn’t that.

“Really?”

He nodded. “Why? I don’t look like a writer?”

“Ah, no, that’s not …” She stopped, suddenly, stared straight into his piercing blue eyes. Decided to come clean. “Actually, you don’t.” She raised a finger. “You look really fit, for one.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?”