AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“If you’re amenable,” he said as they pulled out of the parking lot, “I have an idea for dinner on the way back.”
“I’m amenable. And hungry. You probably noticed I didn’t eat anything at lunch.” The idea that Mr. Benz had been watching her closely enough to notice what she did or didn’t eat should have been disconcerting, but from him it just seemed thorough. He was the sort of man who noticed things. It was probably a big part of why he was good at his job. “That’s probably why you brought me...” She dug around in her purse and produced the bag of almonds. “This.”
“Which you did not eat, apparently.”
“I got waylaid.”
“You did have a rather hectic day.”
Hmm. Sympathy from Mr. Benz? Apparently their trucewasgoing to hold.
They started ascending the mountain and hadn’t gotten far before he pulled off into a small clearing that seemed to be carved out of the mountain itself. It was on the outskirts of a hamlet she’d noticed on the way over—not more than a half dozen buildings clinging to the side of the mountain. “This is an exceedingly informal place,” he said as they pulled up to what amounted to a shack. “There is an item on the menu here I thought you might like. But perhaps you’d prefer something more conventional. There’s a good restaurant in the next village.”
“This looks great,” she said, and it did. The restaurant was a lean-to made of roughly hewn wood. It was like the Alpine version of a taco stand, or one of those old-school ice-cream places where you walked up to a window to order. There were two bonfires burning in the clearing, each flanked by picnic tables and wooden benches and chairs.
They joined the small line at the counter. “You order your food here,” Mr. Benz said. “It’s mostly sausages, but there are some cold meat options. Everything comes with potatoes and various pickles. Then there’s raclette service over by the fires.”
She followed his gaze, and sure enough, a man was walking around with a comically large wheel of cheese and scraping gooey blobs of it onto people’s plates.
“Is he heating that cheese over the fire?”
“He is.”
Wow. What was next? Yodeling? Nuns exhorting them to climb every mountain?
They were almost at the front of the line, and Mr. Benz nodded at a handwritten chalkboard menu. “I thought of this place because they have a wild turkey sausage on the menu. The owner’s son hunts them himself. It’s not quite American-style turkey dinner, and of course, it’s a day late, but . . .”
Oh my god, he had taken her out for turkey dinner, or as close as he could manage. Tears were there, suddenly, but she choked them back and ordered, with him translating the menu for her, a turkey-apple-sage sausage and a hot elderberry-ginger tea.
When their food arrived, Mr. Benz led them to a high-backed bench. The snow had begun to fall again, and it made her think of Kai’s snow globes. It almost felt like they were inside one of them.
“I hope you won’t be too cold?” Mr. Benz asked as he sat next to her so they were both facing the fire. He grabbed a heavy wool blanket that had been draped over the back of the bench and arranged it over their laps. Cozied up with Mr. Benz: what a strange turn the day had taken. Though where else was he supposed to sit? The next nearest chair was probably four feet away, which would have made conversation difficult. It was all very proper.
It just... didn’t feel that proper.
But that was her problem. He remained unperturbed as he said, “We Eldovians are known for embracing outdoor activities year-round. There’s a kind of collective belief that spending a good deal of time outdoors in all seasons improves one’s mood in the short term and one’s character in the long term. The Danes would probably have a word for it.”
“I’m sure it does improve both those things. It’s delightful out here, and a little cold reminds you that you’re alive.”
“Spoken like a true Eldovian.”
The cheese dude arrived and said something in German. “He’s asking if you would like cheese on everything?” Mr. Benz translated.
“Ja, bitte,” she said to the man, who used a knife to glop a truly enormous volume of molten cheese on top of her potato and sausage. Her stomach rumbled.
“What would you do before Thanksgiving dinner at home?” Mr. Benz asked once they’d both been raclette-ed. “Say a prayer? Please don’t let me stop you.”
She smiled. The idea of saying grace over cheese-drenched turkey sausages in front of a bonfire with the equerry to the throne of Eldovia was too absurd. “That’s all right. I’m not personally religious.”
“So you said.” His brow furrowed, as if he was trying to square her claims to secularity with the fact of her lighting a candle in church last night.
“I was upset last night because I missed my parents, of course, but also because my mother has an autoimmune disease that causes her a great deal of pain at times. She pushed herself too hard making Thanksgiving dinner. I would have done all the shopping and cooking, had I been home. I was feeling...”
“Guilty?” he suggested gently.
“Not so much that. I support my parents financially, so they understand I need to work. Just sad, I guess.” Though that word didn’t seem adequate. “A bunch of things mixed up, actually.” And,wow, she needed to stop talking. Hadn’t she been thinking this morning that she hated showing weakness to clients? Especially enigmatic clients she couldn’t get a read on. Clients who resented her yet were kind and did thoughtful things like bring her snacks. And made her cuticles tingle.
“I know this mixture of feelings. My older sister has multiple sclerosis, and I also . . .”
