23. Anika
ANIKA
M y mind calculates the minimum polite interval required before I can fake a headache and flee this date.
“So anyway, about the drainage issues in modern landscape architecture…” Thomas drones on, his fork poised midair with a chunk of chocolate cake. He hasn’t taken a bite in three minutes, too busy explaining water runoff coefficients.
I nod and smile mechanically while sneaking glances at Ivy, who’s perched on the sofa across from us.
She winces slightly, rubbing her side where the baby must have kicked.
Poor thing looks like she swallowed a beach ball.
A very large beach ball. With another smaller beach ball inside it.
James hovers nearby, checking his phone every thirty seconds as if expecting labor to begin via text message.
“So I told my supervisor the drainage system simply wouldn’t work with that gradient,” Thomas continues, finally forking a bite of chocolate cake into his mouth. “The water would pool at the eastern corner, creating a marshy area no one wants in their garden.”
I nod and smile, mastering the art of appearing interested while my mind wanders to a certain Canadian goalie with dimples deep enough to drown in. Griffin would have told a joke by now.
“Fascinating,” I murmur, taking a sip of water. “The drainage systems in Switzerland are quite efficient.”
Thomas perks up like I’ve offered him the keys to landscape architect heaven. “Are they? I’d love to hear about Swiss irrigation techniques!”
What would Griffin say to this? Probably something absurd like “In hockey, we prefer our irrigation frozen to make the puck slide better!” Followed by one of his ridiculous inspirational quotes. My lips curl involuntarily at the thought.
“Anika?” Ivy’s voice snaps me back. “Are you listening?”
“Sorry, what?” I blink rapidly.
“I asked if you’d like more wine,” James repeats, bottle hovering above my nearly empty glass.
“No, thank you,” I reply. I’m driving home…preferably soon.
Ivy shifts uncomfortably on the sofa, rubbing her massive belly. “So, Thomas, Anika runs the best pub in Gr?chen.”
“Really?” Thomas perks up slightly. “I imagine the accounting must be challenging for a small business.”
“It keeps me busy,” I offer blandly.
The conversation flatlines again. I desperately search for something interesting to say, but my mind drifts back to three days ago. Griffin’s victory smile after winning the poker game, the way his eyes lit up when he offered to show me his suite.
“Would you like to see my upgraded room?” he’d asked, leaning against my doorframe. “They’ve given me the Alp glow suite or whatever it’s called. Supposedly there’s a hot tub on the balcony and complimentary champagne.”
I’d already changed into my unicorn pajamas by then, hair piled messily atop my head. But more importantly, I didn’t trust myself alone with him in a luxury suite with champagne and a hot tub.
“Tempting,” I’d replied. “But I’ve already committed to this glamorous evening ensemble.”
His laugh had warmed me from head to toe.
“Anika?” Ivy prompts again, eyebrows raised.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “Long week.”
Thomas is still droning on about something, but I’m not sure what he’s saying. It’s like his lips are moving, but what comes out are just jumbled words. I feel bad for feeling this way. I really do. But the man is just so…boring.
Ivy catches my eye and winks. She thinks this is going well. She doesn’t realize I’m mentally calculating how many kilometers separate me from Griffin’s cabin right now.
“Ivy, do you need anything?” I ask, noticing her shift positions for the fifth time in as many minutes.
“I’m fine,” she insists, wincing slightly. “The little footballer is practicing penalty kicks on my bladder, but otherwise perfect.”
James places a protective hand on her belly. “Perhaps we should wrap up soon, love. Doctor said to rest.”
Yes! Let’s wrap it up.
“Nonsense! I want to hear more about Thomas and Anika hitting it off!” Ivy beams at us like we’re characters in her favorite romance novel reaching the good part.
Thomas smiles politely. His teeth are nice. His hair is nice. Everything about him is…nice. And therein lies the problem.
I can’t help but to compare him with Griffin. His boundless enthusiasm, his perpetual optimism, the way his eyes light up when he talks about hockey and chocolate and his favorite movies.
The drive back from St. Moritz plays in my mind. Griffin behind the wheel of his insanely posh new Bugatti, explaining as much as he could about his mission, although much of it was classified.
What he really wanted to discuss was what happened between us.
“About that kiss—” he’d started.
I’d cut him off immediately. “We got caught up in the moment. The danger, the excitement. It wasn’t real.”
His eyes never left the road, but his knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. “Felt pretty real to me.”
“You’re going back to Canada when the NHL lockout ends,” I’d reminded him. “And I’ll still be here, running my pub.”
He’d reached over to hold my hand in that moment, not saying another word for a long while. His hand, so large and sturdy, felt right.
“Anika?” Ivy’s voice cuts through my daydream. “Where did you go?”
I blink rapidly. “Sorry, what?”
“I asked if you’d like to show Thomas around Gr?chen sometime,” Ivy repeats, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “He mentioned wanting to try snowshoeing.”
“Oh.” I fumble, catching Thomas’s hopeful expression. “I, um…Snowshoeing is nice,” I respond lamely.
Ivy shoots me a death glare across the coffee table. I can practically hear her thoughts. Try harder!
“Thomas is designing a beautiful community garden in Bern,” James offers desperately.
“With excellent drainage,” Thomas adds proudly.
I nod appreciatively, wondering if Griffin made it back to Visp for his regular practice routine. He mentioned something about tomorrow’s game against Davos.
Ivy suddenly gasps, her hand flying to her stomach.
“Contractions?” James asks, already on his feet.
“No, no,” she waves him down. “False alarm. Baby just kicked my bladder. Shall we put on some music?”
James rises from the couch and turns on his Bluetooth speaker system. “I’ve got it, darling. Any preferences, Thomas?”
“Anything composed before 1900, really,” Thomas answers with a dismissive wave of his hand. “The structure, the discipline of it. Modern music lacks the architectural elegance of classical compositions.”
My eyes roll so hard I nearly see my own brain.
“The repetitive nature of contemporary music is its downfall,” Thomas continues, warming to the subject. “Especially those dreadful synthesizers from the 1980s. Three chords played over and over, no complexity whatsoever.”
Oh heck no. He did not just insult 80s music.
Ivy shoots me a panicked look, knowing full well my record collection is my pride and joy. This man just declared war on Falco, Yaz, and New Order in one breath.
“And Eurovision?” He throws his hands up. “Don’t even get me started.”
Ivy’s eyes bulge out. Her jaw practically hitting her enormous belly. One does not disrespect Eurovision. He might as well be burning the Swiss flag.
What was that secret signal James told me to make? Tug my earlobe? I give James a bulgy-eyed look and tug. He just looks back blankly. I tug my ear again. He looks to Ivy, then back to me with the most confused expression I’ve ever seen.
“You know,” I say, placing my napkin beside my half-eaten cake, “I need to use the restroom.”
Ivy shoots me a pleading look as I stand. “You know where it is. Down the hall, first door on the right.”
I nod, uselessly yanking my earlobe at James, and escape the living room. Instead of turning right, I veer left toward the front door, slipping outside into the cool evening air.
Inhaling deeply, I close my eyes and let the crisp night fill my lungs. When I open them, a familiar silhouette across the street catches my attention.
A sleek Bugatti sits parked under a streetlight, its metallic surface gleaming like black ice.
No. He wouldn’t.
But he absolutely would.
I stomp across the street in my nice dinner boots.
Griffin glances up, spots me coming, and his face breaks into that stupid, beautiful smile with those stupid, beautiful dimples.
He unfolds his tall, beautiful athlete body out of the car, closing the door to lean on it casually with a sheepish grin.
“Well, hello there,” he says, dimples appearing like exclamation points. “We gotta stop meeting like this.”
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
Griffin runs a hand through his hair. “I was…driving by?”
“You were driving by Ivy’s house in Bern? Three hours from Gr?chen? At nine thirty on a Tuesday night?”
He winces. “Sounds implausible when you put it like that.”
“Are you stalking me?” I demand, crossing my arms.
“Stalking is such an ugly word.” His eyes flicker over my dress, appreciation evident. “You look beautiful.”
“Don’t change the subject.” But warmth floods my cheeks anyway. “You need to go home.”
“How’s the date going?” he asks, completely ignoring my directive.
“None of your business.”
“Is he funny? Charming?” Griffin leans closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Does he make your heart race in elevators?”
“That’s not fair.”
“He looks boring,” Griffin says flatly. “Like, professionally boring. Like he studied at Boring University with a double major in Dullness and Watching Paint Dry.”
A laugh escapes before I can stop it. “He hates 80s music.”
“No! Come on,” Griffin says. “Let’s ditch this snooze-fest. We could go to my cabin. Put on some Depeche Mode.”
For one dangerous second, I actually consider it. The cabin with its cozy fireplace…and Griffin making me laugh. Making me feel alive. But I’m on date with Drainage Thomas, unfortunately.
“I can’t,” I say firmly. “Ivy and James set this up. It would be rude.”
“Does Thomas know you secretly love The Cure?”
“Stop it.”
“Does Thomas know how brave you were in St. Moritz, helping to bring down a financial criminal?”
The memory of the poker game flashes through my mind. The tension, the danger, Griffin’s triumphant smile when he won.
“Thomas is safe,” I whisper. “He won’t leave when the lockout ends.”
Griffin’s smile falters for a fraction of a second. “Some things are worth the risk, Anika. More than one hundred million poker chips and more than my lucky Loonie.”
The front door of Ivy’s house opens, spilling warm light onto the sidewalk. I hear James calling my name.
“I need to go,” I say, stepping back from the car.
Griffin nods, understanding in his eyes. “For what it’s worth, I hope you have a terrible time with Thomas.”
A laugh escapes me. “That’s horrible.”
“I’m a horrible person.” He grins. “But I’m your horrible person if you want me.”
I roll my eyes but can’t suppress my smile. “Goodbye, Griffin.”
I cross the street but don’t go back in the house until I see the Bugatti pull away slowly, its taillights disappearing around the corner with “Don’t You Want Me” by The Human League blasting from the speakers.
I wait until Griffin’s taillights disappear completely, straining my ears until the last notes of The Human League fade into the night.
Part of me hopes Griffin is circling the block, waiting for me to change my mind.
The other part hopes he’s driving straight back to Gr?chen, because I can’t trust myself around him.
I take a deep breath of the cold evening air, savoring these final moments of freedom before returning to Thomas and his riveting theories on proper soil permeability.
Wonderful, stable, excruciatingly dull Thomas, who won’t kiss me senseless on helicopter pads or drag me into international espionage. Thomas, who won’t make me feel alive and terrified all at once. Thomas, who won’t break my heart when he flies back to Canada.
I sigh heavily, turning back toward Ivy’s house with the enthusiasm of someone approaching a root canal. Maybe I can develop a sudden migraine. Food poisoning? Spontaneous combustion?
The sound of footsteps behind me registers a split second before a large hand clamps over my mouth.