30. Epilogue
EPILOGUE
I swear time moves differently around Anika. One minute we're planning our summer escape to Switzerland, and the next I'm watching her twirl in a sunbeam on Queens Quay. My heart does this weird flippy thing it never did before I met her.
The past five months have been the best of my life.
Anika has adapted to Toronto living like a native and has already made a lot of friends.
Hard to believe we'll be in Switzerland next week, hiking those same trails where we first met. She’s said she would love to stay here full time, but I promised her summers in Switzerland, and I can hardly wait.
We took a break from all the extra errands we must do before we leave and came out to the waterfront. The breeze feels like heaven on this hot, humid day, and nothing but a cold sweet treat could make this sticky afternoon more bearable.
"There it is!" I point down the quay to Scoops & Dreams, my favorite ice cream shop in Toronto. "Home of the best ice cream in Canada."
Anika squints at the colorful storefront, skepticism written all over her face. "You say this about every food place you take me to."
"And have I been wrong yet?"
"Swiss Chalet," she replies without missing a beat.
"Hey, their quarter chicken dinner is a Canadian institution."
"Griffin," Anika says, her accent thickening with indignation. "It is not Swiss! The name is false advertising."
"You mentioned that." I grin, kissing her forehead. " About seventeen times to our server."
"The chicken was good," she concedes graciously. "But why call it Swiss?"
"You ate it, though."
"Out of politeness. And hunger." She bumps her hip against mine. "The things I do for love."
The word 'love' from her lips still sends electric currents straight to my heart. Five months in Toronto, and I catch myself wondering if she'll wake up one morning missing her mountains and regretting following me here.
"What's happening in your head right now?" Anika squeezes my hand. "You went somewhere else."
"Sorry." I kiss her knuckles. “I’m just excited for you to try this place. It'll change your life."
"Like you did?" She stands on tiptoes to peck my cheek.
Inside Scoops & Dreams it smells like fresh waffle cones and sugar, with a hint of caramel wafting from the kitchen.
The shop buzzes with summer energy. Kids with sticky faces, teenagers being loud teenagers, parents bribing toddlers with sprinkles.
Outside, Toronto bakes under the June sun, making ice cream not a luxury but a necessity.
Anika scans the chalkboard menu, biting her lip as she reads the forty-plus flavors.
"Hmm, very impressive variety."
"Better than your Italian gelato?" I ask, knowing full well I'm poking the bear.
She straightens up, eyes narrowing. "Let's not say things we cannot take back."
The teenage girl behind the counter smiles at our banter. "First time here?"
"For her," I say. "I'm a regular."
"He brings all his women here," Anika stage-whispers to the girl.
"Only the special ones who I save from supervillains," I counter.
The girl's eyes volley back and forth between us almost comically.
"I need to use the restroom before we order," Anika announces suddenly. "Where is it?"
The girl points toward the back. "Through that hallway on the left."
Before Anika turns to go, I can't help myself. "Hey, the acoustics are great in there if you want to belt out some Blondie!"
She pats my cheek. "You tell this joke every time I use a public restroom."
"Because it's hilarious."
"It's really not." She kisses me quickly. "But you're cute when you think you're funny."
As she walks away, I call after her. "What flavor would you like? Or are you neutral since you're Swiss?"
Anika spins around, walking backward. "Griffin! I am Swiss. Nothing but chocolate will do."
The counter girl stares at me. "Is she really going to sing in our bathroom?"
"Probably not," I laugh. "It's an inside joke."
As Anika disappears around the corner, I can't wipe the stupid grin off my face, still marveling at how lucky I am.
I order two waffle cones and wait for Anika to return, anticipating her reaction. Scoops & Dreams is famous for their enormous portions. Even the smallest scoop they offer is bigger than my face and I’m here for it.
When Anika emerges and sees the giant waffle cone, she drops her jaw and laughs.
"This is ridiculous," Anika says, accepting her chocolate monstrosity with both hands. "Nobody needs this much ice cream. We should have split one."
"Speak for yourself." I pull my waffle cone protectively closer to my chest. “Remember what I told you in St. Moritz? I don't share."
We step outside into the warm afternoon. The summer sun beats down on Toronto's waterfront, perfect ice cream weather. Children squeal on nearby swings, tourists snap photos of the harbor, and a street performer plays saxophone that floats on the breeze.
"You should see your face right now," I chuckle, watching Anika concentrate on keeping her chocolate tower from toppling. "You're looking at that cone like it's as big as the Matterhorn.
“Very close,” she says, laughing, and my heart swells at the sound of it.
A drip of ice cream slides down the side of Anika’s cone, and she catches it with her tongue. My brain short-circuits momentarily at the sight.
"Verdict?" I ask, watching her expression carefully.
She considers the ice cream with the seriousness of a wine sommelier. "Mmm. Good. Creamy."
"But?"
"But gelato in Florence still wins." She shrugs apologetically.
"Impossible standards," I groan.
We stroll along Queen Quay, navigating the afternoon crowd. Anika loops her arm through mine, careful not to bump our ice creams together. After months in Toronto, she still marvels at the city's vastness compared to Gr?chen.
I hold out my waffle cone with its towering scoop of maple walnut. "Want a taste?"
She eyes it suspiciously. "You want me to try yours?"
"Why not? Sharing is caring."
"But you don’t share. I remember St. Moritz too, Griffin.”
I shrug, feigning nonchalance while my pulse jackhammers, my thoughts racing to that night in the elevator. "I'm feeling generous today."
Anika takes a small lick. "Mmm. Very good." She offers her cone in return. "Your turn."
"No thanks." I twist away from her chocolate mountain. "I've had that flavor before."
Anika narrows her eyes. "Since when do you turn down chocolate?"
"I'm pacing myself."
"You're acting weird." She studies my face closely. "Are you up to something?"
"Me? Never."
"HA! Now I know something's up." She points her cone at me accusingly. "You're plotting something."
My heart hammers against my ribs. I try to keep my voice steady. "Can't a guy just enjoy some ice cream without an interrogation?"
"This better not be another spy adventure," she warns.
I laugh nervously. "No spy stuff, I promise."
Anika steps in front of me, walking backward so she can see my face. The move is so confident, so Anika. No fear of bumping into anything because she simply expects the world to move out of her way. Usually it does.
“You’re not a very good liar,” she says. “What aren’t you telling me?”
I dodge the question by pointing toward the water. "Hey, check out that sailboat!"
Anika rolls her eyes but turns to look anyway.
A white sailboat cuts through the harbor, its sail billowing in the summer breeze.
The distraction works momentarily as we continue our stroll, ice cream dripping faster than we can lick it away.
A ferry packed with tourists heads toward Toronto Islands.
Everything appears perfect except my anxiety level, which escalates with each lick Anika takes of her ice cream.
Then I notice she's slowing down but the chocolate mountain barely diminished.
"This is too much." She holds up her still-massive cone despite her valiant efforts to conquer it. "I cannot finish."
"Amateur," I tease, working steadily through my maple walnut scoop. "You can't give up now."
"Nobody can finish this amount."
“I can. See?” I take a huge bite off the top of my cone to demonstrate. The brain freeze hits me immediately.
Anika skips ahead. “I'm going to throw it away."
"No!" I say too slowly, the brain freeze thwarting my efforts.
But before I can stop her, Anika pivots toward what she thinks is a trash can—but isn't. I stare in horror as she cheerfully stuffs her half-eaten ice cream cone through the swinging flap of a bright red Canada Post collection box, and it disappears with a soft plop .
My heart stops.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" I screech, dropping my own cone and lunging toward the mailbox. Several passersby turn to stare.
She licks a chocolate smudge from her thumb, completely unfazed. "I threw it in the trash. Why are you yelling?"
"That's not—" I grab my head with both hands. "That's not a trash can!"
"It looks like a trash can." She glances back at the red box, comprehension dawning slowly on her face. "Oh."
"Oh? OH?" My voice rises an octave. "That's a postal collection box! You just mailed ice cream!"
"Oh. Well, I am sure postal workers have delivered worse things."
“Anika! The Canadian postal service doesn't deliver ice cream!"
Anika's cheeks turn bright red. "Will we be fined? Arrested?" She glances around furtively. "Should we run? Pretend we know nothing?"
I press my face against the mail slot, peering into darkness. "We need to get that cone back."
“Why? It's already ruined." Anika’s eyes dart around, then back at me. “I still think we should run.”
"No, you don't understand." I press my forehead against the cool metal of the mailbox. "There was something in your cone."
"Besides ice cream?" Her voice turns wary.
"I hid something in there."
“Something in my ice cream?"
"It wasn't IN your ice cream," I explain, my cheeks burning hot. "It was wrapped in plastic and pushed into the bottom of the waffle cone."
"Griffin." Her voice drops dangerously low. "What was in my cone?"