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He rolled his eyes. “Now you’re just showing off. Sorry, I have no prizes to give out.”
“Oh, being right is prize enough for me.”
We walked to the mouth of the bridge and stared out at the Vltava River, its waters a mirror reflecting the ballet of clouds and light.
“What got you into architecture?” Ondrej asked.
“I had an uncle who was an architect. We were pretty close, and he used to take me through the construction sites. I guess I just always thought it was really magic how a building came to life from a drawing. And while LA is a modern city, there are a lot of really fascinating and innovative architectural wonders. I guess I just sort of fell in love over time with how a building can tell a story.”
I felt Ondrej’s heavy gaze on me and spared him a look.
“What about you?” I asked.
“I suppose it’s hard to grow up here and not have an appreciation for beautiful art and structure.”
“I think a lot of people might take it for granted.”
He bobbed his head. “Yes, that might be true. Of course, my love of our hotel has something to do with it. When I was a teenager, I also did a school volunteer project with the Historic Preservation Society. We worked on restoring this 17th-century church into a community center. Like you, I suppose I just slowly fell in love.”
“Love is tricky like that. Sneaks up on you.”
He smirked but didn’t comment.
“Is that how you got into the hotel acquisition business?” He asked with a touch of mirth.
“I suppose. I guess I’m one of those people who didn’t feel drawn to create beautiful buildings but rather appreciate and restore them. Keep them alive. My firm specializes in boutique and historic buildings, so it seemed like a good fit.”
While we talked, we moved on from the tranquil banks of the river and back toward the main square. The chill in the air was invigorating as Ondrej led me through the less-trodden paths of Prague. He moved with a familiarity only a local could possess, his steps confident and sure.
“You really know your way around,” I remarked, my breath misting.
He shot me a sideways glance, a half-smile playing on his lips. “It’s my city,” he said simply as if that explained everything.
We turned a snowy corner and stepped right into a battalion of kids who had amassed an arsenal of snowballs. They laughed and squealed with mock outrage as snowballs whizzed through the air.
“Oops. Didn’t mean to lead you right into a combat zone,” Ondrej said.
I stopped in my tracks, watching the scene unfold with a grin. “Looks like serious business.”
Ondrej chuckled. “The art of snowball warfare. A crucial skill for any Prague winter.”
Without warning, a stray snowball flew from the fray, hitting Ondrej squarely on the shoulder. His head whipped around to see the culprit. He stared down a young boy with chapped red cheeks and a wicked grin.
“Oh, it’s on now,” Ondrej said. He bent down, scooped up a handful of snow, and expertly molded it into a snowball.
I laughed, the sound mingling with the joyous cacophony around us. “You’re not seriously going to—”
Before I could finish, Ondrej launched his snowball, hitting the boy gently on the back. The boy turned, eyes wide with surprise, then recognition dawned, and he let out a gleeful yell.
Suddenly, we were targets. Snowballs started coming our way from all directions. Ondrej grabbed my hand and pulled me behind a nearby bench, our makeshift barricade.
“Welcome to Prague’s snowball fight league,” he said, laughing, as we ducked another snowy missile.
I peeked over the top of the bench, my competitive spirit kicking in. “Okay, two can play at this game.” I gathered a heap of snow, forming my own arsenal. “Ready to provide some cover fire?”
Ondrej nodded.
“Ok, one, two, three!” We popped up from our hiding spot and unleashed a flurry of snowballs at our giggling assailants.
