29. Anika #2
Before I can escape, she’s dousing essential oil liberally onto the crown of my head, then sprinkles it all over me like she’s basting a turkey.
The pungent, earthy smell engulfs me, mingling with what I now realize is probably my own funk.
I’m simultaneously mortified and oddly comforted. It smells like my childhood.
I sputter, wiping my face. “Thanks, Mama,” I say dryly. “Now I smell like a 1960’s record store.”
“Perfect,” my mother says, looking satisfied. “You love record stores.”
The Jass players snicker, which earns them a withering glare from my mother.
“You three,” she says, pointing at them. “Out.”
“But—” Lars starts.
“Now. All of you!”
Evan puffs up his chest. “But we’re in the middle of an intervention.”
“Fine job you are doing.” She makes shooing motions with her hands. “Out!”
Lars glances back at me with a wink before my mother physically pushes him through the doorway.
“Mama,” I say once they’re gone. “Why didn’t you tell me about Lars taking over the bar?”
“Why would I?” She shrugs, reaching over to pause the music, pocketing the remote. The silence is deafening. “You were busy adventuring with the Canadian.”
I drop my face into my hands. “This is ridiculous. I’ve been replaced by Lars and his bottle tricks.”
“ Liebchen ,” she says softly. “Enough of this wallowing.”
“I’m not wallowing,” I protest. “I’m embracing a life of solitude. I will be an old spinster.”
“You’re just scared.” My mother’s eyes soften. “You’ve spent so long taking care of everyone else, you’ve forgotten how to let someone take care of you.”
“I didn’t even know we had tiny umbrellas,” I mumble.
“Listen to me, Anika,” she says, patting my cheek. “Life is too short for this sadness. The universe has plans for you.”
I sigh heavily. “I told him I loved him.”
“I know.”
“He said nothing.”
“Your father did not say ‘I love you’ back to me for six months. Then one day, he built me a bookshelf and said, ‘For your poetry books.’ That was his way.”
I slump in my chair. “He hasn’t called today.”
“No,” she agrees, a small smile playing at her lips. “He hasn’t.”
There’s something in her tone that makes me look up sharply. “Mama, what did you do?”
She rises from her chair with a mysterious smile, walking to the door. “Give him a chance to explain before you jump to conclusions.”
The door opens, and there he is.
Griffin.
My heart flips in my chest as he stands there, snowflakes dusting his shoulders, his cheeks flushed from the cold. He’s wearing a blue knit hat pulled down over his ears, and his dimples wink as he smiles at me.
“Hi,” he says simply.
My mother slips out behind him, closing the door with a soft click.
I stare at him, afraid to blink in case he vanishes. “You’re here.”
“I’m here.”
He remains rooted by the door, almost as if he’s tentative to come in.
“For how long?”
“That depends.” He takes a step toward me. “On you.”
“Me?”
“Well, first of all, I want to tell you why I’ve been gone so long.”
“Oh? If you’re here to say goodbye properly, you didn’t have to fly across an ocean. A text would have sufficed.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m not here to say goodbye.”
“You’re not? Then why…”
“I bought the team,” he interrupts. “Well, not just me. Owen, Sawyer, Hendrix, and a few others. We pooled our resources and bought the Titans.”
I blink at him. “You…what?”
“We own the Titans now,” he says, grinning.
I stare at him, stunned. “You…own a hockey team?”
“That’s why I couldn’t come back right away,” he explains. “There was a mountain of paperwork, negotiations, league approvals. I wanted to tell you in person, and I made sure the news didn’t leak until I could get back here.”
This is good news. It really is. And I’m happy for him. But something inside of me just broke, and I feel a knot forming in my throat.
“Very cool,” I say, forcing tears down. “I’m so happy for you.”
He studies my face. “But?”
“But nothing. This is incredible news.”
“You look like you’re bracing for something.”
I sigh, wrapping my arms around myself. “I’m just being realistic. You’ll be heading back to Toronto soon, I guess? Now that everything’s finalized?”
“Well,” he says, taking another step closer. “That’s the thing. I don’t have to.”
I blink at him. “What?”
“I live here now,” he says with a bright smile. “Well, not here in your place specifically. Though I’m open to that arrangement too.”
“You what?”
“I don’t have to be in Toronto to own a sports team.”
He’s close enough now that I can smell his clean scent, which is warring with my hippie commune bouquet.
“My life is wherever you are,” he whispers.
My heart thuds painfully against my ribs. “You can’t stay in Switzerland. Your career…”
“Is wherever I want it to be,” he interrupts gently. “I can play for Visp permanently if I want. Or retire.
I stare at him, baffled. “You’d…stay here? For me?”
“In a heartbeat.”
“Griffin,” I say sternly. “You can’t give up your NHL career. That’s insane.”
“I’m not giving up anything if I get you.”
My throat tightens. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
“Because!” I throw my hands up. “You can’t just abandon your life for me. I won’t let you.”
“So you’re insisting I go back to Canada?”
“Yes! Absolutely,” I declare, even as my heart rebels against the words.
“Fine,” he says with a slow nod. “Then I guess I’ll just have to take you with me.”
I stare at him. “What?”
“If you insist I go back to Toronto,” he says, leaning forward over the table, “then I’ll have to take you with me. Because I’m not going anywhere without you.”
“Griffin!”
“When you told me you loved me on that mountain,” he continues, his voice low and intense. “I was too stunned to say anything. I wasn’t even sure I heard you right, especially after almost getting killed. And I thought maybe it was just…I don’t know, a trauma response.”
“It wasn’t,” I whisper.
“I know that now.” Griffin comes closer, pulling me up from my chair. His hands are warm against mine. “I love you, Anika.”
My heart thuds against my ribs. “You do?”
“Hopelessly. I never want to be apart from you again. I’m not going back to Toronto without you.”
I feel tears welling up in my eyes. “But…I can’t just leave. I have the bar, and?—”
“We’ll run the bar!”
The door suddenly bursts open, and the Jass players tumble in, red-faced and shivering.
“Sorry,” Lars gasps. “It’s freezing out there.”
“We were listening at the door,” Colin admits shamelessly.
“You better go with him,” Evan exclaims. “Or we’ll throw you over his shoulder ourselves.”
I stare at them. “I can’t expect you to run my bar.”
“We already do,” Lars points out.
“I can do the bookkeeping,” Colin says.
“I can be manager and bouncer,” Evan adds.
“And I,” Lars says with a grand gesture, “will continue to dazzle the tourists with my fire tricks.”
“See?” Griffin grins. “Problem solved.”
“But…my mother,” I protest weakly. “I can’t leave her alone.”
Griffin clears his throat. “Actually, I was hoping she might want to come too. I’ve already looked into visa options.”
“No thank you,” comes my mother’s voice as she breezes back in. “I’m quite happy here in Gr?chen. I could use some peace and quiet for once.”
I turn to stare at her. “Mama? You were listening too?”
“Of course.” She waves a dismissive hand. “The whole village is listening.”
I glance toward the windows and, sure enough, several curious faces are peering in. They duck out of sight when I spot them.
“As long as Griffin promises to take your record collection with you,” my mother continues. “I’m looking forward to listening to Yanni in peace.”
I look around at all of them, feeling overwhelmed. “What would I even do in Toronto? I’d want to earn my keep.”
Griffin’s eyes light up. “You could open your own kung fu studio. Or teach women self-defense.” He squeezes my hands. “And we’ll spend summers here when hockey season is off. Switzerland is my second home now.”
A tear slides down my cheek, and he catches it with his thumb.
“And who knows what the future may bring?” His eyes twinkle. “The world might need saving again someday.”
I laugh despite myself. “So what, we’ll be international crime-fighters in our spare time?”
“Why not? We make a pretty good team. I’m hoping MI6 will trick out my Bugatti with spy gadgets.”
I look down at our intertwined hands, then back up at his hopeful face. Everything inside me is screaming to say yes, to take this chance, to leap into the unknown with this man who loves me.
“Okay,” I whisper finally.
Griffin’s face breaks into the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. “Okay?”
“Yes,” I say, stronger this time. “I’ll go with you.”
He pulls me into his arms, lifting me off the ground and spinning me around.
I pull back from Griffin’s embrace, suddenly very aware of my unwashed state. The potent mix of patchouli oil, sticky beer residue from the table, and what might be three days of no showering hits me with full force.
“Wait,” I say, taking a step back. “You might want some distance. I smell like a health food store that’s been set on fire.”
Griffin’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he tugs me back into his arms. “I don’t care.”
“Griffin, I haven’t showered in…well, I can’t remember.”
He tugs me closer. “I spent fifteen years in hockey locker rooms. Trust me, you smell like a spring meadow in comparison.”
“I’m serious,” I protest, even as he pulls me into his arms. “I’m a biohazard.”
“Anika,” he says, his voice dropping low. “I flew across an ocean just to hold you. I’m not waiting another minute.”
And just like that, my heart liquefies completely.
Then, his lips are on mine, and everything else melts away. My embarrassment, the watching eyes, the fact that I’m probably leaving a grease print on his pristine jacket. None of it matters when I’m in his arms.
“ Mach Platz !” Lars suddenly shouts, clapping his hands. “Make room!”
Colin and Evan spring into action, pushing tables and chairs to the edges of the room to create a makeshift dance floor in the center of S’Holzfass.
A gritty fuzzed-out guitar riff fills the bar, and I immediately flash back to that embarrassing first meeting at Walter’s cabin. I spin around to see my mother at the bar, holding the stereo remote with a mischievous grin as “One Way or Another” blasts through the ancient speakers.
Griffin wags his brows. “They’re playing our song.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You!”
“I might have put in a song request.” He shrugs, looking adorably sheepish. “I texted your mom from the train.”
“The bathroom song?” I can feel heat rising to my cheeks. “From when we first met?”
“May I have this dance?” he asks, reaching for my hand.
“I should warn you,” I say as Griffin pulls me into the center of the room. “I take my ’80s dancing very seriously.”
“Oh, I know,” he says as I launch into my Molly Ringwald dance.
His dimples deepen as he drags his gaze down my body, then back up to my eyes. Then, fueled by whatever crazy energy he brought with him, he joins me, stepping side to side, swinging his arms, and bouncing on his toes.
I raise my brows. “Not bad.”
“I like to call this The Carlton,” he says with a big grin.
“You’re ridiculous,” I giggle, but I can’t stop.
The song hits its chorus, and the entire bar seems to vibrate with energy. Evan and Colin each grab one of my mother’s hands, tugging her onto our makeshift dance floor as she laughs and laughs. I haven’t seen her this happy in years.
“S’Holzfass hasn’t been this lively since the ’90s!” my mother shouts over the music, twirling past me with her arms outstretched.
Oh how I wish Father could see us now.
Some curious villagers who were peeping through the windows have wandered in now, drawn by the music and the impromptu dance party.
“S’Holzfass After Dark is officially open!” Lars announces, leaping behind the bar. He immediately starts his routine, flipping bottles over his head, juggling cocktail shakers, and setting something on fire that definitely shouldn’t be on fire.
Griffin spins me around, and I crash against his chest, breathless and giddy. His hands find my waist, steadying me.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask, looking up at him. “Taking me with you to Toronto? Splitting your time between two continents?”
Instead of answering with words, Griffin cups my face in his hands and kisses me. It’s soft and sweet at first, then deeper, more urgent. The room and everyone in it fades away until there’s nothing but Griffin, his lips on mine, his hands in my hair.
“One way or another,” Griffin murmurs against my lips, “I was always going to find you. Even if it took a high-stakes poker game, crashing your blind date, and skiing off a cliff to make it happen.”
I throw my head back laughing. “The spy who loves me.”
“The man who loves you,” he says, pulling me impossibly close. Then, with a rumble in his chest, he adds, “But this man is for your eyes only.”
“I guess your mission is accomplished…as my dating coach,” I tease, tapping my finger against Griffin’s chest. “You taught me how to get a guy.”
Griffin pulls back just enough to look at me, those dimples deepening as he grins. “Oh, I don’t know about that. There might be a few more…advanced lessons we haven’t covered yet.”
I loop my arms around his neck, pressing closer. “Well, I’ve always been an excellent student. Very dedicated to my studies.”
“Is that so?” His eyes darken as his hands slide lower on my waist.
“Absolutely. Top marks in everything I attempt.”
Griffin’s smile turns wolfish. “In that case, Miss Gisler, class is officially in session.”