2. Anika
ANIKA
C runching along the path, the fall colors alight, my lungs fill with the clean mountain air.
And my bladder fills with dread.
The morning sun peeks through the evergreens as I power up the loop trail. This is my sanctuary. No beer taps to fix, no invoices to process. Just me and The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven” pumping through my vintage Walkman headphones.
The trail curves around a rocky outcrop, and I pick up my pace, belting along with the song at the top of my lungs. A red squirrel darts across the path, giving me the side-eye. “ Ja, ja , I see you too, kleiner freund .”
I’ve named him Herbert. He’s usually here at this time—probably judging my singing.
The trail opens to a clearing where the village of Gr?chen spreads out below, morning mist still clinging to the rooftops. S’Holzfass (the bar I inherited from my father last year) is just a tiny dot from up here.
Strange how something so small can feel like such a weight sometimes. Of course, it’s not without its charm, with its creaky floorboards and regulars who think they’re comedians.
I stretch my arms overhead, feeling my muscles warm despite the cool air. The trail winds ahead through golden larches, their needles creating a soft carpet underfoot.
I could stay in this zone forever. Except for the urgent need to pee.
At first, I tell myself I can make it all the way home.
If I up my pace a bit, I’ll be at my own place.
Only a few more kilometers to S’Holzfass.
My 80s playlist will get my blood pumping enough to get me there without incident, and then it’s another day of pouring pints and dodging bad pickup lines.
My father used to say these morning hikes kept him sane during tourist season. Now I understand why. Running a pub isn’t just serving drinks. It’s playing therapist, bouncer, and sometimes babysitter to grown men who can’t handle their alcohol.
On my mental list: everything. But the top few are keeping the lights on, reordering house beer, and making sure the accounts don’t bounce.
Herbert scampers back across my path with a pine cone in his mouth. “Show-off,” I mutter, adjusting my headphones.
The mountainside is painted in shades of amber and gold.
Autumn is my favorite time of year, when the air gets that special crispness that makes everything feel more alive.
My playlist shifts into Blondie’s “One Way Or Another,” and I find myself with the urge to belt it out, badly and gleefully, right into the vast fall wilderness.
A vast fall wilderness that now has the distinct and unsettling sensation of being one big public restroom with not an actual public restroom in sight.
“ Scheisse ,” I mutter, doing a little dance on the spot.
The situation progresses from you-might-want-to-think-about-a-bathroom to I MUST PEE NOW!
Either I find a bathroom fast, or I’ll need new jeans before I open the bar.
I can’t believe I’m doing this, I think as I change course, speed-walking to Walter Egger’s cabin.
Walter has known my family forever, and his cabin is just around the bend, thank goodness. It’s been vacant for ages while Walter’s off pretending he’s Indiana Jones.
He left for South America several months ago, planning a trip around the world. But he met a lady in Buenos Aires and kind of just stayed in Argentina indefinitely.
He told me I could use his spare key if I needed it. I’ve only gone in a few times to dust and air it out, but right now, that key is my salvation.
I round the bend where Walter’s cabin sits nestled among the pines, my bladder screaming in protest.
“Do not think about waterfalls,” I mutter while fishing behind the loose stone near the foundation. “I’m gonna get ya, get ya, get ya…” I belt out as I snatch the key, doing what can only be described as an urgent potty dance. My bladder has exactly zero patience right now.
The lock clicks open, and I burst inside with a happy sigh because I can see the bathroom door just off the entryway and I know I’m not a minute too soon.
I sing-sing-sing along to Blondie as I make my break, flinging the bathroom door open, flipping up the toilet seat, and yanking my jeans down.
Sweet relief floods through me as I finally get to pee, my heart rate slowing from red alert to Aaaaah . Victory is mine.
I take a moment to be grateful for indoor plumbing. And to regain my dignity. Mostly the plumbing.
Sighing, I grin at Walter’s tacky fish-themed shower curtain and the ancient orange shag rug that belongs in a 70s time capsule. The man loves his fish…and orange paired with the color avocado green.
I sing with even more gusto. With the echo-y acoustics of a cabin bathroom and a carefree willingness to overlook the fact that I’m tone deaf. Singing in bathrooms is my jam. It doesn’t matter if my neighbors for five miles in any direction think I’m crazy.
After washing my hands, I throw open the bathroom door, belting out, “I’m gonna trick ya, I’m gonna— HEILIGE SCHEISSE !”
I freeze. There’s a man. A very tall, very muscular man, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
He’s wearing sweatpants, a worn T-shirt, and a bemused expression. The T-shirt says TITANS HOCKEY, and the man wearing it is built exactly like you might expect a hockey team to be built.
The fabric stretches across his shoulders, which have the nerve to bulge enticingly. Then, my gaze makes its way up to his face and…Boom! Dimples. He has the boyish good looks of someone with everything in the world going for him, and he’s using them against me right now.
His wavy brown hair catches the morning light streaming through the window, and…Wait. Why is this ridiculously handsome intruder in Walter’s cabin?
“Interesting choice for a morning serenade,” he says, grinning.
Heart hammering against my ribs, my brain kicks into survival mode. I look around wildly, hoping for an improvised weapon and find Walter’s decorative fish mounted on the wall.
Maybe I have a prayer if I swing hard. Maybe. I’ve fought off handsy drunks with less.
“I have a fish, and I am not afraid to use it!” I warn in my native Swiss German.
Did this guy follow me from the village? Has he been stalking me on my morning runs?
His eyebrows shoot up, his dimples getting even dimplier. Then he puts his hands in the air like the most adorable surrender of all time. “Whoa there, Debbie Harry. I come in peace.”
His accent is American, maybe. Whatever it is, it means I should switch to English, and if I switch to English, he can’t even suspect how panicked I am.
“How long have you been following me?” I grip the fish tighter. “And don’t move! I will whack you with this trout faster than you can say ‘ schweizer k?se !’”
His eyebrows shoot up, and he actually has the audacity to chuckle. “I wasn’t following you.”
“Then why,” I demand in a much slower voice, “are you in this cabin?”
“I think the bigger question is why are you ?” he says. The easy laugh in his voice tells me he’s maybe not afraid at all, but the charm in it tells me I should still be worried. Just about different things. My sanity, for instance.
“I’ll be asking the questions here, mister. What are you doing here?”
My mind goes straight to worst-case scenario and hopes the man I found in an otherwise vacant cabin doesn’t want to murder me. His master plan might be to bludgeon me, while smiling and having dimples.
But I can bludgeon right back. I could take him. Throw him off balance long enough to escape. Time to summon my inner ninja.
“I live here,” he says.
“Liar! Walter Egger lives here!” I edge toward the door, keeping the fish between us, Blondie still playing through my headphones, which now dangle uselessly around my neck.
“Walter’s in Argentina. Though I’ve got to say, this is the first time someone’s threatened me with a singing fish.”
The fish suddenly bursts into “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” in a tinny electronic voice, making me jump and nearly drop it. The plastic fish head bobs side to side in time with the music, its mouth opening and closing mechanically while the fin flaps in my hands.
His shoulders shake with silent laughter. “Do you want to club me over the head with that before or after I tell you who I am?”
Heat floods my cheeks. Of all the weapons I could have grabbed.
“ Du meine güte ,” I mutter, heat creeping up my neck as the fish continues its performance. I jab frantically at its side, trying to find the Off switch, but somehow only manage to make it start over. “Stop singing, dummes ding !”
“Here, let me help.” He reaches for the fish, but I snap it back.
“Stay where you are! Just because you know Walter is in Argentina doesn’t mean—” The fish launches into an encore.
“ Ach, halt die klappe. Shut up!” I scream.
His dimples deepen as he watches me wrestle with the mechanical trout.
“I’m renting the cabin. I can show you the lease agreement if you’d like, though you might have to put down the fish.”
The fish mercifully stops mid-verse, leaving us in awkward silence except for Falco’s “Der Kommissar,” which is now crackling through my ancient headphones.
I’m still not entirely convinced this man is not a burglar, but something about his open face and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners makes me lower my makeshift weapon. Just slightly.
“You’re…renting Walter’s cabin?”
“For the next few months, yeah.” He gestures to a suitcase by the door I hadn’t noticed before. “Just moved in yesterday, actually. I really appreciate the welcome committee, by the way.”
I narrow my eyes, keeping the fish at the ready. “How do you know Walter?”
“Through a rental agency in Visp.” He leans against the wall, completely unfazed by my interrogation. “Though I did meet him on a call before he approved the lease.”
“You spoke to Walter?”
“Would you like to call him? I have his WhatsApp number.”
“Ha! Walter doesn’t use WhatsApp. He says social media is for?—”
“People who have nothing better to do than stare at their phones all day.” He mimics Walter’s gruff voice perfectly.
The fish slips a little in my grip. “Okay, what is Walter doing in Argentina?”
“Living his best life in Buenos Aires with a tango instructor named Rosa.”
“Ha! Wrong! Her name is Rosita.” I thrust the fish forward. “What’s Walter’s favorite cheese?”
He laughs. “I have no idea.”
“Your name?”
“Griffin.” He extends his hand to shake mine, then thinks better of it.
“American?”
“Canadian.”
“Favorite color?”
“Blue. No. Red!”
I make a buzzer noise. “Wrong.”
“Wrong?” He squints at me with a puzzled expression.
“What,” I say as I adjust my grip on the fish, “is your quest?”
A grin spreads across his face as he takes a daring step toward me, getting closer than he probably should. He holds the other end of the fish. “To seek the Holy Grail.”
My breath catches as his fingers brush against mine. The warmth of his hand lingers on my skin, sending tingles up my arm. I tilt my head back to meet his eyes, and oh, what eyes they are. Deep brown with flecks of gold, crinkled at the corners from his smile.
His height towers over me, and despite my usual dislike of feeling small, there’s something about his presence that makes me feel…things.
“May I?” His voice is low, intimate, and does strange things to my insides. My fingers release the fish of their own accord, betraying my brain’s protests about stranger danger. The way he’s looking at me makes my face flush hot.
“I…um…” Since when do I stutter? I never stutter. I’m the one who tells drunk men where to stick it when they get handsy at the bar. But something about the way his fingers are still touching mine around this stupid singing fish has short-circuited my brain.
“I was just making sure you weren’t, you know, a burglar or something.”
“I’m not a burglar.” His eyes twinkle. “Are you?”
“Me?” I scoff. “No.”
His dimples wink as he sets the fish on a nearby shelf. “Says the woman who broke into my cabin to use the bathroom.”
“I did not break in! I used the spare key that Walter—” I stop, realizing this isn’t helping my case and I blurt, “A girl’s got to pee.”
He steps closer, catching me off guard as he finds my Walkman and clicks the Off button, right in the middle of Falco singing, “ Dreh dich nicht um .”
He flashes those dimples, almost disarming me. His arm brushes mine, this solid and steady maple wood beam of an arm, and the touch ricochets.
“So I’ve noticed. What’s your name, girl-who’s-got-to-pee?”
His voice is a low rumble that is not helping my resolve one bit. I’ve never felt this immediate attraction to anyone before, and it’s…unsettling.
I take a step back, needing space to clear my head. “Anika.”
“Nice to meet you…Anika.” The way he says my name, slow and rich like dark chocolate. And I’m Swiss. I love chocolate. His voice wraps around each syllable as if savoring it.
I take a second to look at my surroundings.
And, okay so maybe he’s been here a while, because my oh-my-güte-must-pee situation was such that I didn’t even notice anything when I made a beeline to the bathroom.
I didn’t notice the unfamiliar jacket hanging by the door, the big boots by the couch.
And when I popped out of the bathroom, singing, “I’ll get ya, get ya, get ya, get ya…
” Surprise! I didn’t have to get him. He was right there, and, clearly, very amused.
I edge toward the door, my face burning hot. “Right. Well. Sorry about the…fish. And the breaking and entering. And the singing. Actually, let’s pretend none of this happened.”
His eyes follow my retreat, sparkling with amusement. “What, and miss out on this delightful first impression?”
I fumble behind me for the doorknob, missing it twice before my fingers finally close around it. “I should go. Places to be, you know.”
“So…” He crosses those muscular arms with casual grace, and wow, those biceps. “Should I expect more surprise visits? I could keep the bathroom stocked with extra singing fish.”
I fling the door open, nearly tripping over my own feet. “Definitely not. Never again.” I gesture vaguely at the bathroom, then at myself, then at him, which only makes things worse. “This was a one-time emergency situation.”
“Shame.” That one word, delivered with a hint of a smirk, makes my stomach do a backflip.
“I have to go!” My voice comes out froggy. “Many important things to do. Very busy. Goodbye!”
I sprint out the door, my face flaming, and dash into the trees, desperate to get away from the dimples, the laughter, and from…whatever that was.
Behind me, I hear his warm laugh floating on the morning breeze, and I pick up my pace. This is what I get for drinking that extra cup of tea this morning. Next time, I’ll just hold it.