8. Anika
ANIKA
T he village market is tiny but packed today. Elderly Frau Weber inspects tomatoes with her magnifying glass while Frau Mueller gossips about someone’s wayward grandson.
This market is my happy place. A charming labyrinth of locally sourced everything, with strings of fairy lights crisscrossing the timber beam ceiling year-round.
There’s Herr Baumgartner’s artisanal cheese stall with the samples I absolutely do not take more than my fair share of (okay, maybe I do), Frau Abold’s spice corner that makes my nose tingle in the best way possible, and the produce section, which is where I’m currently deliberating between two identical-looking bunches of kale.
“They’re exactly the same, dear,” I mutter to myself, turning both bunches over. “Just pick one and move on with your life, Anika.”
My basket is already groaning with bread, strawberry jam, and a wedge of brie that cost more than I can afford. I need to focus on practical items like vegetables an actual adult would buy. Not the chocolate-covered pretzels I’ve been eyeing since I walked in.
And then I see him.
Griffin is standing across the produce section, looking unfairly gorgeous in a navy beanie, his brown hair peeking out from underneath.
Our eyes lock over a display of organic bell peppers, and I briefly consider diving behind the potato bin. But it’s too late. We’ve done that awkward recognition thing where we both wave at precisely the same moment. His confident, and mine more like I’m having a small seizure.
Oh no, he’s coming over. He’s actually walking toward me.
“ Entschuldigung ,” I mutter to Frau Weber as I bump into her cart. She clicks her tongue, adjusting her thick wool scarf while giving me the side-eye.
Griffin arrives at my side, looking like he’s stepped out of a winter fashion catalog while I’m wearing my laundry day leggings and a sweater with a suspicious stain that might be last night’s chocolate binge.
“Hi,” we both say simultaneously.
“Sorry—” we both start again.
“You—” we try once more.
Frau Weber and Frau Mueller pause their produce inspection to watch us with undisguised interest.
Griffin glances at our elderly audience and leans closer to me. “Maybe we should talk somewhere else? Unless you’re really committed to this kale decision.”
I look down, realizing I’m still death-gripping both bunches. “Oh! No. I mean, yes. Let’s go somewhere…not here.”
We both hurriedly buy our groceries—Griffin somehow making the purchase of milk and eggs look like a GQ photoshoot—and exit the market together.
“The fountain?” he suggests, nodding toward the town square.
I nod, suddenly aware that I’ve forgotten how to form actual words. The fountain isn’t running now that it’s November, and there’s a light dusting of snow on the ground, but we sit on the edge anyway, our grocery bags between us like some kind of barricade.
“You go first,” Griffin says after a painful silence.
“No, you,” I counter, because apparently, I’ve regressed to playground communication skills.
“I insist,” he says with a small smile that does funny things to my insides.
I take a deep breath. “Fine. I’m sorry I punched you in the jaw. It was a reflex. Not that I go around punching people regularly. It’s not like some weird hobby of mine or anything.”
Griffin touches his jaw, grinning. “I deserved it. I wasn’t thinking straight. It’s all but forgotten.”
“Oh.” I feel a strange disappointment settle in my stomach.
Forgotten? Just like that? Of course it meant nothing to him.
He probably goes around almost-kissing girls in every country he visits.
I guess when you’re a famous hockey player, you have girls throwing themselves at you all the time. “Right. Good. Glad we cleared that up.”
“Your right hook is impressive though,” he adds. “You should have been a hockey player.”
“Well, the Alpine Wrestling Club had to be good for something,” I joke, then immediately regret it, because I’ve never been in any wrestling club. Why am I like this?
Griffin shifts, adjusting his beanie. “Look, it was a weird night for me. Earlier at the game, some fan went totally berserk and sucker punched me outside the arena.”
“Oh my, I’m so sorry.”
He waves it off. “No, no. That’s not why I brought it up. I just…I was looking for somewhere quiet to unwind after all that. I wasn’t exactly in my right mind.”
Here it comes. The awkward letdown.
Of course. He wasn’t trying to kiss me at all. He was just emotional and probably drunk, despite what he said about being sober. I clutch my grocery bag tighter, the brie probably turning to mush under my death grip.
“And then everything happened so fast with those guys at the bar, and you were amazing with your kung fu moves, and I was already kind of…” He trails off, gesturing vaguely. “And then, when you walked me to my car, I wasn’t…I mean…Not that I…unless you…But if not, that’s totally…”
I want to crawl into the frozen fountain and die. He’s trying so hard to let me down gently without actually saying he doesn’t want to kiss me. Just like every other man who’s ever met me.
He stutters, shaking his head. “Anyway, I didn’t mean to put you in an uncomfortable position.” He squints at me like he wants me to finish his sentence for him.
“Right,” I say, my voice unnaturally high. “That’s…that makes sense.”
“It does?”
“Absolutely,” I agree too quickly.
Maybe he wasn’t about to kiss me at all. Maybe he was actually just checking my face for lint.
“You probably just want to be f…f-f-f…
“Friends?” I say slowly.
“Yeah. Okay. Sure. I completely respect that.”
Is that what he thinks I want? That I didn’t want him to kiss me last night? The irony that I’ve replayed our almost-kiss approximately 473 times in my head isn’t lost on me.
A comfortable silence falls between us, which I promptly destroy by blurting, “Well, good thing really, since I am practically spoken for.”
Griffin’s eyebrows shoot up. “Practically spoken for?”
“Mmhhmm, my friend Ivy is setting me up with someone.” I nod firmly, even though this arrangement consists of exactly zero concrete plans so far.
“And this makes you ‘spoken for’?” His eyes dance with amusement.
“It could!” I announce, lifting my chin. “Once I meet him. And if we like each other. And if he’s not scared of me.”
“Scared of you? Never.” Griffin grins.
And we’re back to easy conversationalist Griffin. Just like that.
“His name is Thomas. Ivy says he’s very nice and has all his hair, which apparently is a dating prerequisite I wasn’t aware of until now.” I’m talking too fast, but I can’t seem to stop. “He’s an architect. Or maybe a gardener? Something with landscaping and possibly a pocket protector.”
Griffin’s mouth twitches. “Well, he’s a lucky guy.”
I snort. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“Any man who gets to take you out is a lucky guy,” he says simply, and I feel my cheeks heat despite the cold.
I almost don’t say it, but something about this easy rapport with Griffin—sitting here on this snowy fountain edge with our groceries between us—makes me feel brave.
“I can’t guarantee I won’t drop-kick Thomas when we meet,” I blurt out.
Griffin laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners like I’ve just delivered genuinely funny stand-up comedy and not a confession of my social ineptitude.
“I’m serious,” I continue, fidgeting with my grocery bag. “I will somehow find a way to completely destroy any chance of a normal human interaction. It’s my superpower.”
Griffin’s still smiling, but his expression has softened to something more curious than amused.
I suddenly remember Ivy last week, laughing about getting me a dating coach. She’d meant it as a joke. But sitting here with Griffin, an actual professional athlete, who probably has women lining up around the block, I realize it might not be such a terrible idea.
“This might sound completely insane,” I start, my heart hammering against my ribs. “But you seem to know what you’re doing when it comes to…people.” I gesture vaguely at his entire perfect self.
“People?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow.
“Women,” I clarify with a wince. “Dating. Social interactions that don’t end in disaster or property damage.”
His expression is unreadable, which I find deeply unfair. My face broadcasts every emotion like a jumbo screen at a hockey game.
“What exactly are you asking me, Anika?” His voice has that hint of amusement that makes me want to simultaneously continue talking and hide forever.
“Would you…maybe…consider being something like... my dating coach?” I squeeze my eyes shut as I say it, like I’m ripping off a Band-Aid. “Just some basic pointers so I don’t terrify Thomas into moving to another country.”
When I dare to look, Griffin is fighting a smile. “Your dating coach?”
“Never mind.” I backpedal immediately. “It was a stupid idea. Completely ridiculous. Please forget I said anything.”
“I’m just curious what makes you think I’d be qualified for such a position,” he interrupts, leaning forward slightly.
I feel my cheeks flush hot despite the winter chill. “Well, you’re…you know.” I gesture at him again, more frantically this time. “And I’ve never had a boyfriend, so…”
That gets his attention. His eyebrows shoot up, and I immediately regret opening my mouth.
But instead of the shocked horror, or worse, pity, that I expected, he just smiles and says, “Good for you.”
I blink at him. “Good…for me?”
“Yeah. Why rush into commitment? Better to date casually and figure out what you want.”
Oh dear. He thinks I mean I’ve never had a serious boyfriend. Like I’ve been casually dating all this time, just playing the field, having a grand old time.
“No, Griffin,” I say carefully. “I’ve never been on a date. Period. Not one.”
His expression shifts from casual confidence to something I can’t quite place. Surprise, certainly, but something else too.
“I don’t know how to do any of it without scaring men off,” I continue, dropping my gaze to my grocery bag. “Hence the need for a dating coach.”
Griffin’s lips curve into a slow smile. “Let me get this straight. You want me…to teach you how to date other men?”
When he puts it that way, it sounds completely ridiculous. Which it is.
“Yes?” I say, making it a question. “Unless you think it’s a terrible idea, which it probably is, in which case, forget I said anything, and we can pretend this conversation never happened.”
Griffin scratches his head, dislodging his beanie slightly. “I’m not sure this is the best idea.”
“What’s in it for you, right?” I rush in. “I totally get that. How about a fair exchange? I’ll teach you Swiss German.”
Griffin curls up his lip, considering. “You’d really teach me?”
“Absolutely. I’m a killer language teacher. Just ask my cousin’s kids who now know all the swear words their parents didn’t want them to learn.”
That makes him laugh, and the sound does something warm to my insides.
“All right,” he says finally, extending his hand.
“Deal. I’ll be your dating coach, and you’ll teach me Swiss German.
I’m going to be here for at least a few months with the team, and I’d like to understand what people are saying around me.
Plus, learning the local language is respectful when you’re in a foreign country. ”
I shake his hand, trying to ignore the little zing that shoots up my arm at the contact. “Really? You’ll do it?”
“On one condition,” he adds, his eyes glinting mischievously.
“Name it.”
“We’ll need to spend a lot of time together to make any progress.” His smile turns a bit wicked. “Think you can handle that?”
I swallow hard, wondering if I’ve just made the best or worst decision of my life.
“I think I can manage,” I say, trying to sound casual despite the butterflies having a rave in my stomach. “For educational purposes, of course.”
“Of course,” Griffin agrees, but his smile suggests he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. “For education.”
Sure. Easy peasy. I can totally spend lots of time with Griffin just as friends. Even if he does look unfairly perfect in a beanie.