18. Anika
ANIKA
K issing Griffin McGregor has ruined my life in exactly six different ways, and I’m still counting.
I peek through the tiny gap between the wine rack and the wall, barely breathing as Griffin’s silhouette appears outside the frosted window on his way to knock on the pub door. Again. For the third time today.
My heart lodges in my throat.
“He’s persistent, I’ll give him that,” Lars mutters, shuffling his Jass cards like he’s done a thousand times before. Lars, Colin, and Evan sit at their usual table, acting as my human shield.
“Shh!” I hiss from my hiding spot. “He’ll hear you.”
Griffin knocks again, more insistently this time. The sound echoes through the pub, setting off those unwelcome butterflies in my stomach. “Anika? I know you’re in there!”
“I don’t understand why we’re doing this,” Evan says, laying down a card. “You two seemed cozy with each other before. What happened at that fancy party?”
What happened? Oh, nothing much. Just mysterious warnings from possible criminals, a femme fatal leaving her lipstick mark on Griffin’s face, and a kiss that melted my brain.
“Nothing happened,” I lie. “I just need space.”
The truth is, I’ve been hiding from Griffin for three days now.
Three days of ducking behind cheese displays at the market and taking alternate hiking routes.
Three days of texting “go back to Canada” in various ways.
Three days of replaying that kiss over and over until I want to scream into a pillow.
Three days of falling asleep with my fingers pressed to my lips…which is pathetic on levels I don’t even want to examine.
Griffin’s face appears at the window now, hands cupped around his eyes to see through the glass. I shrink further into my hiding spot, almost knocking over a bottle of schnapps in the process.
“For the love of…” Colin sighs, pushing back his chair. “I’ll get rid of him.”
Colin shuffles to the door and cracks it open just enough to block entry. I can’t see Griffin’s face anymore, but his voice carries clearly.
“Hey, I just need to talk to Anika for five minutes,” Griffin says, pleading and determined.
“Bar’s closed,” Colin replies flatly.
“But you guys are in there playing cards,” Griffin argues. “The lights are on.”
“Private game night.”
Lars and Evan exchange amused glances over their cards. They’re the only customers I’ve allowed in today, partly because they’re like uncles to me.
“Look, I know she’s in there. Her mother said she was working tonight.”
I’m going to kill my mother. Slowly. With her own patchouli incense sticks.
“Anika isn’t available,” Colin says, starting to close the door.
“Wait!” Griffin’s foot appears, stopping the door. “Just tell her there’s something important she needs to know about?—”
“Goodbye, hockey man,” Colin interrupts, finally shutting the door with a definitive click.
The lock turns, and he returns to the game like nothing happened, but I can feel all three men’s curiosity radiating across the room.
“He looked terrible,” Lars comments, not looking up from his cards. “Like a sad puppy.”
“He’s still out there,” Evan reports, peering through the curtains. “Just…standing in the snow. Looking pathetic.”
“Good,” I mutter, though my stomach twists uncomfortably.
Colin looks up from his cards. “This is getting ridiculous, Anika. Why are you avoiding the boy?”
“I’m not avoiding him,” I lie. “I’m just…busy.”
Lars snorts. “You’re acting like a teenager with her first crush.”
“I am not crushing on Griffin McGregor!” I protest too loudly, making all three men explode into laughter.
“Of course not,” Colin says, exchanging a look with the others. “That’s why you’re hiding behind the wine instead of just telling him to go away like you do with every other man who bothers you.”
I grab a cloth and aggressively wipe down the already clean bar. “It’s complicated.”
“Love always is,” Evan says sagely.
“It’s not love!” I protest too quickly. “It’s…concern for his safety.”
Lars snorts, which makes me want to throw a rag at him.
I sigh because there’s no keeping secrets from these guys. But also because I need to process this whole crazy mess out loud, and I can’t talk to my mom about it.
“Okay, I’ll tell you, but you are sworn to secrecy, got it?”
The three men exchange knowing looks and cross their hearts, each swearing.
“I mean it,” I warn. “This information can’t go past these doors.”
Lars zips his lips with his fingers and twists them at the corner like he’s turning a lock.
“Okay, so there were these people at the gala,” I continue, lowering my voice. “They cornered me in the bathroom and warned me that Griffin is mixed up in something dangerous. That he needs to leave Switzerland while he can.”
“I do not like this,” Evan says tentatively. “What do you mean dangerous?”
“They cornered you in the bathroom?” Lars exclaims. “Did you use your kung fu moves on them?”
“No! Will you let me finish?”
Colin waves his hand. “Carry on.”
I clear my throat, buying some time to think of how much to tell them. “All I know is that there were probably bad people at that party. I think the owner of the Canadian hockey team is in some kind of weird cult, because Griffin said he had to go to a secret meeting.”
“Freemasons?” Colin wonders aloud, then snaps like he’s got the answer. “Illuminati.”
“Could be,” I say, “Or maybe there were drugs involved.”
“Drugs?” Evan’s eyebrows shoot up. “What kind of drugs?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Pot?”
Lars throws his hands in the air. “Anika! You think your hockey man is a secret pot-smoking cult and THAT’s why he’s in danger and needs to leave?”
“Like I said. I don’t know, really.”
“So you hide behind the bar?” Colin raises an eyebrow.
“What else am I supposed to do?” I throw the rag on the counter dramatically. “March up to his cabin and say, ‘Hey, some creepy strangers in a bathroom told me you’re in danger, so please pack your bags and flee the country’?”
“Yes,” all three men say in unison.
I open my mouth to argue, but the sound of something hitting the window makes us all turn. Griffin is standing outside, breath fogging the glass, writing something backward so we can read it from inside.
P-L-E-A-S-E
Then, below that, he repeats it in German.
B-I-T-T-E
“He is learning Swiss German well, really,” observes Lars. “It would be a shame if he went back to Canada now.”
I’ve never known a grown man could look like an abandoned puppy until now, but Griffin somehow manages it with devastating effectiveness.
His shoulders slump as he stands outside the window, his fingertips slowly sliding down the glass where he wrote “ BITTE .” The falling snow catches in his hair, making him look like some sort of tragic hero in a foreign film.
For a moment, our eyes connect through the frosted pane, and I feel a physical tug in my chest.
He stares through the frosted glass for one more long moment before turning away. Then he’s gone, trudging away through the snow with his hands shoved in his pockets.
“That was painful to watch,” Evan says, breaking the silence.
“Happy now?” Lars asks, gathering his cards. “You’ve successfully broken the Canadian.”
“I haven’t broken anyone,” I protest, but the words sound hollow even to me. “He’ll be fine. Hockey players are tough.”
“Not when it comes to matters of the heart,” Evan says with the confidence of someone who’s read too many romance novels. “I’ve never seen a man look so miserable.”
“Good thing you’re not interested in him,” Colin adds with a smirk.
I throw a peanut at his head. “Don’t you three have homes to go to?”
“And miss this entertainment?” Lars chuckles. “Besides, we still have half a game to finish.”
“ Stock !” Colin announces, sliding a card across the table.
“That’s not how you announce Stock ,” Evan snaps. “You have to play both cards first.”
“I know the rules,” Colin grumbles. “I’m just trying to distract Anika from her broken heart.”
“My heart is perfectly intact, thank you very much,” I say. “Can we please talk about something else?”
“Like what?” Lars asks, taking a sip of his beer. “The weather? The latest internet gossip? The fact that you’re letting the best thing that’s happened to you in years walk away because some strangers in a bathroom told you to?”
“Yes!” I exclaim, pointing at him. “Exactly like that last one. Let’s not talk about that.”
Evan shakes his head. “Anika, when was the last time you were this interested in a man?”
“I’m not.”
“Never,” Lars interrupts. “The answer is never.”
“That’s it!” I snap, grabbing their half-empty beer glasses. “You’re all cut off.”
The three men exchange looks of mock horror.
“You wouldn’t,” gasps Evan, clutching his chest.
“Try me,” I challenge, narrowing my eyes. “One more word about Griffin and you can play your Jass games somewhere else tonight.”
Colin raises his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. But when you’re eighty and alone with seventeen cats, remember this conversation.”
“One more word of advice and you’re all banned for a week.”
The threat works. All three men snap their mouths shut and return to their game, murmuring quietly among themselves.
I pretend to be absorbed in my work, but my mind keeps replaying Griffin’s dejected expression as he walked away.
The way his eyes had pleaded with me. The way his lips had felt against mine at the gala…
Kissing a man should not feel like diving into a volcano, but here I am, three days later, still feeling the lava in my veins.
I shake my head to clear it. This is for the best. Whatever Griffin is mixed up in, it’s clearly dangerous. Those people at the gala weren’t joking. The British man’s grip had been too tight, his eyes too serious. And the woman’s whispered warnings too specific.
A sharp knock at the door makes me jump.
“For the love of—” I mutter. “He just doesn’t give up, does he?”
L?ck ! I am way too jumpy these days.
“I’ll handle it,” Lars says, pushing back from the table. “I’ll tell him you’ve moved to Antarctica.”
He shuffles to the door, pulling it open with an exaggerated sigh. “ Nein, wir sind geschlossen .”
But instead of Griffin’s voice, I hear a different one. Smooth, cultured, and vaguely familiar.
“You’re closed, are you?” he says casually. And he understands German, apparently. “I’m looking for Anika Gisler.”
Lars’s posture stiffens immediately as the man wedges himself through the door and into the pub.
Even from across the room, I recognize the silhouette. Tall, impeccably dressed, with that same authoritative stance that had cornered me in the bathroom at the gala. The British man. Wilde.
Lars glances back at me, eyebrows raised in silent question.
My stomach drops to my feet. What is he doing here? How did he find me?
Colin and Evan are on their feet now, sensing trouble. Evan discreetly reaches for the cricket bat we keep under the bar for emergencies.
“Don’t come any closer,” I warn, grabbing a bottle of Kirsch. “I have excellent aim and zero patience left today.”
Wilde raises his hands in a placating gesture, but his eyes remain coolly amused. “I merely wish to speak with you, Miss Gisler.”
My three self-appointed bodyguards immediately form a human wall between us.
Lars puffs out his chest like an angry rooster.
Colin crosses his arms, looking more intimidating than a man his age has any right to.
Even Evan, who cried during a beer commercial last month, has his fists clenched.
These men never feel the need to come to my aid.
They know I can handle drunk, handsy customers.
But something about Wilde has them on high alert.
Or maybe it’s what I told them about the pot cult.
“Whatever you’re selling, we’re not buying,” Lars growls.
“Gentlemen,” Wilde says, adjusting his cufflinks with casual confidence. “I merely need a moment of Miss Gisler’s time.”
“And who are you, exactly?” Lars demands.
Wilde’s smile is practiced and polite. “An acquaintance.”
Lars steps forward, planting himself directly in front of Wilde. “You will leave now.”
“I assure you, gentlemen, I’m not here to cause trouble,” Wilde says, his voice smooth as aged whisky. “I simply need a word.”
“And I need a yacht in Monaco,” Colin retorts. “We don’t always get what we want.”
I should be terrified, but there’s something oddly comforting about three middle-aged guys ready to throw down for my honor. Still, I know Wilde isn’t leaving without saying whatever he came to say.
“It’s fine,” I assure them.
The three men exchange doubtful glances but don’t budge.
“You know this man?” Evan asks, looking skeptical.
“Well, not exactly.” I give them a reassuring nod. “You can stand down. But don’t go too far.”
Lars narrows his eyes at Wilde. “We’ll be right here. Watching.”
“How reassuring,” Wilde murmurs, straightening his already perfect tie.
The Jass players reluctantly retreat to their table, making a show of rearranging their chairs to face the bar. Evan places the cricket bat across his lap.
“I’d prefer to speak privately,” Wilde says, his gaze sliding meaningfully toward the trio.
“No,” I reply, crossing my arms. “They stay. Consider them my emotional support senior citizens.”
Colin makes an offended noise from his table. “I’m only fifty-eight!”
Wilde’s expression remains carefully neutral. “Very well.”
“Also, there’s a two-drink minimum,” I add, slapping a cocktail napkin on the bar.
Wilde’s mouth twitches. “I don’t drink alcohol.”
“Lucky for you, I serve more than just alcohol.” I grab a bottle of Elmer Citro, cracking it open and setting it in front of him with a deliberate thunk .
Wilde glances at the green bottle, then at the Jass players (who are making no pretense of not listening), before finally sliding onto a barstool with the careful precision of someone who calculates every move.
“They’re harmless,” I say, following his gaze. “Unless you try anything weird. Then they’ll beat you with playing cards. It’s surprisingly painful.”
“I’m sure,” Wilde murmurs, taking a cautious sip of the citrus soda. His eyebrows lift slightly. “This is…unexpectedly refreshing.”
“I know,” I say. “Now, what are you doing in my bar? You have five minutes.”
Wilde leans forward and looks me directly in the eyes. “His Majesty’s Secret Service requires your cooperation.”