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Okay, well, here was her next chance to try to figure him out.
“That would be great.” She scanned his body. He was wearing a heavy wool coat but appeared to still have his suit pants on, so she would take that as a cue to remain in her own suit. “Let me get my coat.”
He looked at her feet, which... right. She hadn’t changed out of her suit yet, but she had taken off her shoes to test the temperature of the floors when she’d been talking to her mom.
He kept looking, staring really. There was nothing remarkable about her feet. She kept herself in pedicures. She considered it part of her professional grooming budget, even though no one ever saw her toes at work. She could have sworn her feet got hot under his scrutiny, even though the marble beneath them was chilly.
“I’ll, ah, put on some shoes, too,” she said awkwardly, and that had the effect of dislodging his attention from her feet.
“You can’t walk down the hill in those shoes.”
He sounded pissy again, almost as if he were baiting her. Also, what did he mean by “those” shoes? Her shoes were nowhere in sight.
She went to her suitcase, which she had open on a chair in the living room because she’d never gotten around to unpacking the office stuff that she wanted to keep out here. She pulled out socks and a pair of boots. They were smooshy and packable and collapsed down to not much bigger than the size of their soles. She shook them out and put them on along with a pair of socks, uncomfortably aware of Mr. Benz’s attention throughout the process.
They made their way through the palace’s drafty, art-bedecked corridors without speaking. It was a long way out, and eventually the silence started to feel awkward. It was a relief to get outside into the crisp twilight. Exercise and fresh air were both welcome after the long flight, and they would help with the jet lag.
And was the air ever fresh. This place smelled like the real version of the pine tree air freshener people hung on their rearview mirrors. She thought back to Mr. Benz’s minty cologne from the car. Maybe everything—and everyone—in Eldovia smelled like a variation on Christmas.
“Are you quite all right, Ms. Delaney?”
The question made her realize she’d been sniffing like a coke addict. “I bet the walk back up this hill is quite the workout,” she said, changing the subject. At least they were speaking again.
“We can summon a car for the return trip if you like. And you know, you’re free to call a car at any time should you care to venture out. I hope Frau Lehman explained that.”
“Yes, thank you.” Access to cars and drivers had been part of the “stay at the palace” offer.
The silence returned. Usually, Cara was good at filling lulls in conversation, or, alternatively, at being comfortable in them. She could do small talk; she could do companionable silence. Socialskills played a big role in her line of work. But with this guy, things were awkward in a way she wasn’t able to overcome. It was like he was infecting her somehow, like proximity to him was making her socially clumsy.
She tried to let the bracing air restore her and to enjoy the crunch of snow beneath her feet as he led her off the main road and onto a footpath that disappeared into the woods. This would be a great setup for a murder. Lure the unwelcome management consultant into the forest just as it was getting dark. “This could be the opening to a horror movie.”
He had been walking a little ahead of her, and he turned, his brow wrinkled in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”
It took her a moment to register that he’d stopped moving. She tried to put on the brakes, but she bonked into him—the jet lag must be making her brain slow. His reflexes didn’t seem to be in tip-top shape, either: he put his hands up as if to stop her, but they came up only as she was making contact with him. She got another whiff of that dark mint, and ugh, why did he smell sogood? And what was that note underneath the mint? Cedar? Sandalwood? She had no idea what either of those things smelled like, but she imagined they would smell like this—kind of masculine and woodsy. Her nose was at about his neck level, and since she’d already crashed into him like a complete dolt, she allowed herself to list ever so slightly closer to him so she could take one more covert breath and allow the—
His hands landed on her upper arms. She tilted her head back. It was almost fully dark now, but his eyes seemed... intense somehow. Her heart started beating like maybe hewasgoing to murder her. Either that, or—
He took a big step back.
Right. He’d been using his hands to physically put her at arm’s length.
Probably because she was sniffing him.
“Sorry,” she said breezily. “Lost my footing there. Anyway, I was just thinking that this would be a great setting for a horror movie. If you were only pretending to be a loyal employee of the Crown and...”You wanted to murder me.“Never mind.” She tried to laugh it off, but it sounded like she was choking rather than laughing.
She had succeeded in making things even more awkward. They set off again, and the silence became positively oppressive. Soon enough—thank goodness—they were off the hill. The village looked like a movie set, as if Maria von Trapp might come twirling out of one of the quaint half-timbered buildings that lined the narrow main street singing about bluebirds and apple strudel. As they walked, Cara noted a few restaurants, an antiquarian bookstore, a candy shop, a store that seemed to sell nothing but pastry-making equipment, and another that sold only leather gloves. There were also “real” establishments: dry cleaners and butchers and a dental office. Eventually, the street widened into a square with a huge pine tree in the center. There was a small skating rink on one side with a dozen or so skaters zipping along. The whole square was lit with strings of lights.
She had to hold herself back from rolling her eyes, but she also couldn’t help smiling. “Well, isn’t this too much?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is that hot chocolate being served over there?” She pointed to an outdoor bar that was serving steaming mugs of something,and she knew Eldovia had a cocoa festival at Christmas. There were people sitting on stools at the wooden bar—which was a giant slab of wood with one of those live edges that people in New York would pay a pretty penny for—warming their hands against bright-red mugs. Everyone looked happy, like stock-photo people in a “winter fun” shot.
“It is hot chocolate,” Mr. Benz said. “You can get it plain—milk chocolate or dark—or with various syrups or liqueurs mixed in. There’s coffee, too. Cocoa and coffee mixed together is a popular libation in Eldovia.”
“I assume that’s a Christmas tree?” She nodded at the huge pine.
“Yes. It just arrived. It will be decorated over the coming week, and there’s a lighting ceremony next weekend, should you care to take it in.”
