10. Anika
ANIKA
I f I wait any longer for this guy to text, my phone might just self-destruct. He said to be ready at noon. It’s noon now, but without directions where to meet for our so-called date.
My clock taunts me. Maybe Griffin has come to his senses, decided I’m beyond repair, and bolted in the other direction.
I’m teetering between swapping these absurd earrings for a pair of worn slippers and collapsing in a heap of defeat on my couch, until a knock at the door shatters my brooding.
It’s the kind that sends your heart racing if you’re a homebody like me.
I stare at the door like it might spontaneously combust. If I wait long enough, maybe whoever it is will just go away.
Another knock comes, louder and more persistent this time.
I sigh, telling myself I shouldn’t just sit here to see what happens.
Nope. I’m just gonna take an innocent stroll over to the door and…
hello , Griffin. The smile on his face could melt glaciers, and the flowers he’s holding aren’t bad either.
“Hey there,” he says, looking way too relaxed and completely at home in my doorway. “Brought you these.”
He holds up the bouquet like it’s some grand trophy and not just more evidence that I was wrong about him bailing. It smells of fresh-cut azaleas and a little bit of the universe playing a cosmic joke on me.
“Flowers? How…traditional.” I cross my arms and try not to breathe them in. “How did you find out where I live?”
He cocks his head to the side, indicating someone (or three someones) across the street. Of course. Lars, Evan, and Colin. Shameless traitors, waving like it’s some kind of hometown parade and Griffin’s the main float.
“Lars told you?” I can barely hide my irritation. I just know it was Lars.
“And Evan. And Colin.” Griffin’s grin practically spreads to his ears. “They said it would impress you. They also said they’ve got bets you wouldn’t answer the door.”
“I wish I hadn’t.”
His face falls. “You were going to leave me standing outside your door? With flowers?”
My cheeks go nuclear.
“I…uh, well, I just thought you might be better off…uh…” I fumble for anything that doesn’t make me sound like I was bailing but finally shrug. “Okay, fine. I got cold feet.”
Griffin raises an eyebrow, clearly amused at my little meltdown.
“But the flowers are lovely. Thank you,” I say, reluctantly accepting the bouquet. They’re obnoxiously beautiful. “Anyway, they’re just part of the coaching, right?”
“If you say so. And you’re welcome. I was going to pick you up at the pub, but then I ran into those guys.”
He points his thumb over his shoulder where Lars, Evan, and Colin are suspiciously exchanging money.
“Should have known,” I mutter. I wonder how many francs Lars got from Griffin for the intel.
“ Wer ist an der Tür ?” my mother’s voice calls from the living room, asking who’s at the door.
Griffin’s brows shoot up, and a flicker of genuine surprise crosses his face.
“It’s my mom,” I explain, reluctantly glancing back inside.
Griffin looks utterly bewildered. “If I’d known you lived with your mother, I would have brought two bouquets.”
Over my shoulder, in a hasty mix of practicality and protest, I call out in Swiss German, “ Nur ein Freund, Mama !”
Griffin wags his brows. “Just a friend, eh?”
I study him, only slightly impressed. “You understood what I said. Not bad.”
“Lucky guess,” he says, leaning against the doorframe like he’s the most comfortable man in the world. I’m caught off guard by his easy demeanor. “Anyway, I’ll just have to come back tomorrow with more flowers.”
I invite him in, partly to regain some footing, partly to stop the neighbors from enjoying the spectacle.
“Come in while I find a vase.”
He follows me into the living room, where my mother is practicing tai chi, dressed in layers of flowing, bohemian sweaters, her silver-streaked hair in a loose braid. Beads around her neck jingle as she turns. And with Griffin here, I’m more aware of the smell of patchouli clouding the whole house.
“Griffin is here to learn Swiss German,” I say quickly before she can ask questions. The less she knows about this dating coach arrangement, the better.
But Griffin has already charmed her. She flies to him immediately, all warmth and sparkles, clasping his hands in hers. “Would you like to sit, Griffin? Can I make you some coffee?”
“Oh, no. We’re not staying.” I hold up the bouquet as if it’s a timer, as if the flowers will die if they’re not in water within the next ten seconds.
But he’s already sitting across from her, soaking up every embarrassing thing she has to say.
How nice it was of him to bring me flowers.
How my favorite color is yellow. How when I was six, I went through a phase where I would only wear yellow.
Griffin is taking it all in, totally making himself comfortable, like he’ll settle in and never leave. I blame the patchouli.
“So, what brings you to our little village?”
“I’m a hockey player. I’m with Visp right now, but usually, I’m with Toronto.”
Her reaction is completely over-the-top, but that’s my mother for you. “I traveled to Canada years ago in my backpacking days.”
Here we go. Mom could go on about backpacking for at least an hour if I let her. So I hastily toss the flowers onto the kitchen counter and call back, “I’m just going to get these into some water, and then we can go.”
Their voices float back to me as I fill up a vase. Mom is drilling Griffin about his travels and telling him about that one time she camped on a mountain in Peru.
I finish arranging the flowers, and before Mama can get Griffin set up with some pillows and a blanket, I seize his hand, pulling him off the couch. “Okay! We’re going! Uf Widerluege, Mutti !”
She beams up at Griffin. Most likely imagining what a nice son-in-law he’d be, probably since he’s the only man to ever visit me in the history of forever. “Very nice to meet you. Come back soon!”
“You can count on it, Frau Gisler.”
Griffin laughs as I drag him outside. “Are you always this demanding?”
“I had to save you from her. She’d never let you leave otherwise.”
He ducks under a cascade of brightly colored wind socks that flap above the front door. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Your mom’s great.”
He takes my arm and guides me around the icy sidewalk. The whole dating practice thing is throwing me off. It’s like Christmas and Easter at the same time. I don’t know what I should prepare for.
We head toward the town square. Griffin sets a brisk pace, the crisp mountain air barely registering to him, but my breath hangs in little clouds between us. He watches me from the corner of his eye. “So, can you guess where we’re going?”
“I’m not a mind reader,” I reply.
He laughs. “Good thing I’m coaching you, then.”
“You love bossing people around, don’t you?” I tease.
He flashes me a grin. “What do you think about hiking?”
I stop dead in my tracks. “Without snowshoes?”
“We’ll take the gondola up to Hannigalp. There’s a trail called the Questioning Round Tour.”
“I’m quite familiar with all the trails. I’ve lived here my whole life.”
“But you haven’t seen them…with me.”
“You do realize it’s winter, right?”
“Best time to go! It’s like having the whole mountain to ourselves.”
“It’s the worst time to go. Nobody else does because the trails are closed.”
Where’s your sense of adventure?” he retorts. “It’ll be awesome.”
I groan, but there’s no shaking him. I have to laugh. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
“Aw, thanks. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
I punch him playfully on the arm and pretend my fist doesn’t sting. “Not a compliment, big guy.”
We board the gondola, just the two of us, and somehow, this little box car feels smaller than usual.
Outside, white mountain peaks tower dramatically against a cobalt sky.
I try to focus on the view, pretending that having a drop-dead gorgeous Canadian willing to spend time with me is totally normal.
The ascent is slow, and with each passing meter, my resolve thaws a little more.
When we hop out, we find ourselves on a plateau overlooking the vast valley.
“Let’s get this crazy thing over with,” I say.
The path winds through snow-blanketed trees as snow crunches beneath our boots. There’s a signpost marking the trail with a big question mark painted on it.
We stop to read the inscription by author Rolf Dobelli. It’s in both English and German, which is helpful so Griffin can practice.
It says:
Would you mind if the contents of your brain could be read like a hard drive after your death?
Griffin pulls a face. “Whoa. That one’s creepy.”
“That question is as ridiculous as this entire date,” I say.
“I’d say the date is definitely my favorite of the two,” he counters softly.
He waits, like he actually wants an answer to the trailhead question.
“Not sure the world needs a complete map of my inner mind,” I admit. “They’d fall asleep from boredom.”
Griffin’s eyes soften as he says, “I beg to differ.”
GAH! What is happening? I run ahead to the next marker and read what it says.
What if you lost all your possessions? Could you be happy?
He catches up. “I’ve moved enough times for hockey that it’s like I’m a pro minimalist.”
I grin, knowing this is way easier than if this were an actual date. Not that this is actually a date. That’s why it’s fun. I won’t get embarrassed if Griffin doesn’t seem interested.
We tramp on, snow crunching beneath our feet, the sun sparkling off white-dusted trees.
Griffin removes his gloves, enjoying himself far too much for someone supposedly helping me learn to date. It feels comfortable, companionable, a hundred times better than I imagined it would be. I’m more relaxed than ever. More relaxed than I’ve ever been, with anyone. It’s a nice feeling.
We reach another marker.
“Would you like your work to make you rich?” I recite, scanning the sign.
“Pass,” Griffin says, probably because he’s already rolling in all that hockey money. “What about you?”
“I’d settle for keeping my bar.” I answer the question almost without thinking. There’s a note of vulnerability in it, one I hadn’t meant to reveal. I feel a twinge of awkwardness and try to play it off.
“So,” I say, as lightly as I can. “Learning anything?”
“Lots.” He sounds genuine. “Learning I like hanging out with you.”
I smack his chest with the back of my hand. It’s a strong, sturdy chest. “I meant German. From the signs.”
He wraps his enormous hand around my wrist, pulling me closer to him. “I’m going to need a lot more lessons than this, mein lehrerin .”
The way he says it. All gravelly and breathy. He might as well have said “my love” instead of just “my teacher.”
“Your accent needs work,” I tease, feeling far too aroused this near to him.
“Does it, now?”
I lift my chin and take a step back. I’m not good at this flirting stuff. I suppose that’s why he’s coaching me after all. He’s not actually into me, even though the way he’s looking at me sure feels like he is.
“Oh, it’s pretty bad,” I say, trying to cool down the heady mood. To clarify, I’m the only one that’s hot and bothered. He’s the picture of easy confidence.
We cover the rest of the route at a steady pace, moving like we don’t have to make up answers or decisions or minds. The air is razor-cold, but the way he nudges me along, making sure I stay warm, I don’t feel the full brunt of it.
Eventually, we stop at a small restaurant with a terrace overlooking a snowy panorama. The majestic white mountains loom before us, as impossible as the man sitting across from me with those dimples on full display.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice what you did,” Griffin comments as we sip our drinks. “When you conveniently didn’t tell your mom the real reason for our outing.”
I stifle a laugh, studying his face as if searching for imperfections. “Like I’d admit I need dating lessons. And by the way, you’re not getting extra points for flowers.”
He shrugs, teasing. “Didn’t expect any. Probably need more than flowers to win you over.”
I feel my cheeks burn again, but I cling to the fragile strength in my hands around the glass. He’s talking about Thomas winning me over. Not him. Definitely not him.
“I wouldn’t turn down chocolate,” I say flippantly.
The wind howls outside, rattling the windows as if it’s trying to shake loose my guarded heart.
“Anika,” he ventures after a long pause. He looks at me seriously, his smile taking on an unexpected warmth. “Want to practice something?”
I keep my tone casual, not ready for what I think he’s going to say. “Aren’t we…doing that already?”
“How about this?” He reaches across the table, takes my hand. Gently, like it’s the easiest thing. My fingers are warm in his.
I’m on the verge of reminding him this is supposed to be for practice, not fun, but there’s something about his touch.
Something that undoes me. My hand stays in his.
Griffin plays with my fingers. Soft, careful circles with his thumb.
A surprising ache settles in my chest, moving slowly to where our hands meet.
His eyes stay on mine, and for a brief second I’m unguarded.
I have to fight the urge to tell him I would have been perfectly happy being single until he ambled into my bar.
But that’s not the kind of truth anyone wants read like a hard drive of my thoughts.
At least, not until I know whether he really likes being here with me or if this is just pretend.
“ Ich halte gern deine hand ,” he says.
Ooohhh-kay then. Starting out with feelings and body parts, are we? Even if all he said was that he likes holding my hand. This is all just part of the dating lesson, right?
I fumble. Pull back too fast, but not as quick as the flash of disappointment I catch in his eyes. Is he disappointed I took my hand away or that I failed the dating experiment? The second. Definitely the second.
“That’s enough practice for today,” I say, even though there is so much more I wish to express.
Griffin laughs gently. “Okay. What’s next?”
I take a sip of my drink, needing a moment to compose myself so I can go back to acting like a normal human.
“Your German lesson,” I say, trying for casual indifference. “We can start with numbers.”
I figure that would be much safer than starting with something like feelings or body parts.