Chapter Six #2
She gasped, hand flying to her chest. “Oh no.”
“What?”
“You dropped your bread. You know what that means, right?”
“I’m guessing it’s not ‘congratulations, you win a prize’?”
She shook her head, dead serious. “You have to go in the lake now. It’s the law.”
“The law,” he repeated, brow arching. “Like ‘jail time if I don’t’ law?”
“Worse,” she nodded. “Public shaming. The Swiss take their cheese etiquette very seriously.”
He grinned, stabbing half-heartedly at the drowning bread like he could still save it. “You sound awfully sure about that. How do you know so much about Switzerland, anyway?”
“Oh, um.” She waved a hand, suddenly very interested in the tablecloth. “Used to holiday here with my family. Been back a few times since.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Right. I forget that for you people, popping over to another country is like grabbing a coffee on the way to work.”
“Pretty much. One wrong turn and boom, you’re in Liechtenstein.”
“Meanwhile,” he said, still poking around in the cheese, “our family vacations were in rural Michigan. Main attraction: a lake house that smelled like wet labrador and mold.”
Allegra tilted her head. Most guys she met couldn’t wait to brag about their family chalet in Moritz or elite boarding school education, like it was some kind of audition to be in her orbit. But Nate? He wasn’t auditioning for anything. Weirdly, it made her want to inch closer.
“Labrador and mold?” she repeated, grinning.
“Nothing says ‘American dream’ like it.” He set down his fork with a clink. “But hey, I have an idea.”
“Oh, do tell.”
“Why don’t we finish up here, and then you could join me while I go pay my debt to the lake?”
She lifted her hands in surrender. “Would love to. But I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”
He shrugged, grinning like the devil himself. “Neither did I.”
***
The little yellow boat bobbed and scraped against the dock, its engine whining as it eased to a stop. Allegra hopped out first, wobbling in her sandals before steadying herself. Nate stepped off after her, careful not to trip on the wet wood of the gangplank.
“So why’s this thing called a mouette?” he said, pointing with his chin. “That’s water taxi, right?”
“Nope,” she said. “Seagull.”
“But it’s yellow. And swims.”
She shrugged, amused. Some explanations didn’t need logic. Gelato, on the other hand, needed no reasoning at all.
They ambled toward the cart at the end of the dock, Nate’s face lighting up. “Ice cream?” he asked, already reaching for his wallet.
“It’s not ice cream, it’s gel—oh, never mind,” she grinned. “Yes, please.”
He ordered two cones, handing one to her with a flourish, and they made their way onto the lakeside walkway.
“This is it,” she said, sweeping an arm toward the pebbled beach and turquoise water stretching out in front of them. “La plage publique des Eaux-Vives.”
“What’s that mean?”
She took a lick of her cone. “Basically, public beach.”
“Oh.” He nodded solemnly. “Sounded way cooler in French.”
“Everything sounds cooler in French,” she said, grinning. “Even boring stuff. Like ‘municipal bin collection.’”
The sun blazed, her gelato surrendering into a glossy puddle over her knuckles as they walked.
Allegra slowed, staring at the mess in faint horror.
Normally, she’d hunt for a napkin. Or a restroom.
Or a discreet exit from society. Instead, she hesitated.
Then, before she could overthink it, she lifted her hand and licked the sugary goo from her skin.
When she glanced up, Nate had stopped.
“That grossed you out, huh?”
“What? No.” He paused, eyes narrowing—not on her hand, but her face. “It’s just… something’s off. And I think I finally clocked it.”
Her spine went rigid. “Clocked what?”
“Last night, you were wearing these giant glasses.”
Allegra shoved gelato into her mouth. “Owwh?” she mumbled, swallowing too fast and immediately regretting it as brain freeze stabbed her forehead. “Prescription sunglasses. And, uh, contacts. For—” think, Allegra, think—“vision stability.” Vision stability? Who even says that?
Nate lifted a palm, his expression sincere. “Not a dig. The glasses really suited you.” He said it like it was a fact, not flattery. “See? That’s how normal people give compliments.”
Her face warmed, and she bit her lip. “Oh. Right. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, bumping her shoulder. Then, after a beat, “So, you always play tour guide for strangers?”
She laughed, the tightness in her chest easing. “Only the ones who pay with dessert.”
They wandered along the promenade, kids weaving past on scooters, tourists squinting at maps, couples ambling in that slow, syrupy summer rhythm. As they reached the steps leading down to the beach proper, the noise swelled.
The entire shoreline was a riot of color and chaos: families clustered around portable grills, toddlers shrieking in inflatable armbands, bronzed locals sprawled like sun-worshipping lizards.
A dozen different boom boxes competed for dominance, creating a soundtrack that was equal parts pop, afrobeats, and whatever someone’s uncle insisted on playing from a tinny speaker.
Allegra pulled the brim of her hat down, suddenly hyperaware of everyone within a ten-foot radius. Nate, meanwhile, beamed like he’d stumbled onto a secret festival. He wove them past sprawled limbs, around a yapping Maltese and a knot of teenagers arguing in rapid-fire French, and finally stopped.
“Found us a spot,” he said, motioning toward a postage-stamp slice of pebbles.
“Luxury,” she deadpanned, letting her purse drop.
And just like that, Nate started stripping.
He toed off his sandals, removed his cap, yanked the T-shirt over his head, and slid out of his shorts.
Allegra’s stomach pitched. She wasn’t blind.
She’d clocked the way his sleeves clung to his biceps, and sure, she’d let her mind wander more than once over lunch.
But not even her imagination had prepared her for this.
A chest so broad and smooth it looked carved from marble.
Shoulders that announced, I lift things, up and down, every damn morning.
His stomach? Not just abs, but a full-on topographic map of muscle, the ridges leading down to the waistband of his boxer briefs like a trail she suddenly, inconveniently, wanted to follow.
And the tattoos. God, the tattoos. A compass and script winding down one arm, a storm of blackwork swirling up the other, a phoenix sprawled across his shoulder like it owned the place.
Little symbols hidden here and there, stories inked into his skin that her fingers itched to trace.
“You coming?” he asked.
Am I what? Allegra’s brain stuttered. “Just a quick dip,” she said, her voice squeaking as a vein throbbed in her temple. “No sunscreen. Zero melanin. I don’t tan, I crisp.”
She fumbled with the buttons of her shirt, shimmied out of her shorts, and stood there in a gray G-string and a bralette that was technically clothing, but just barely.
For one heart-stopping second, time stopped.
Nate’s Adam’s apple jerked, his eyes doing the I’m not looking shuffle—everywhere but her.
And his ears? Pink enough to guide ships in a storm.
“Okay, so let’s do this,” she said, forcing breeziness into her voice as she ran past him toward the lake.
Behind her, she heard him huff a disbelieving laugh.
They waded in and swam until they reached the line of buoys, bobbing gently where the swimming zone ended and the open lake began.
Allegra hooked an arm over the rope, catching her breath as the water rocked them both.
From there, the view stretched wide: white buildings lining the opposite shore like sugar cubes, and to their left, Geneva’s water fountain flinging spray high into the sky.
“Must be wild to actually live here,” Nate said, nodding at a passing yacht. “Wake up to all this. Just have it be normal.”
Allegra wrinkled her nose. “That’s because we don’t live here. Tourists get the postcard. Locals get the ‘don’t flush after ten p.m.’ rule.”
He smiled wistfully. “Yeah. Guess fresh places always look like fresh starts.”
They floated for a beat, shoulders bumping as a ferry’s wake jostled them, a zing shooting down their skin where they met.
“So,” he said, leaning back so his toes poked out of the water, “what do you do when you’re not rescuing Americans’ phones and eating molten cheese?”
“What do I—uh—do?”
“Yeah. Like hobbies. Free time. What’s your thing?”
Her thing. That should’ve been an easy question. Except Allegra’s mind went completely blank. Her free time came in schedule blocks labeled “leisure,” mostly code for obligations in disguise.
“I like, um, reading.” That sounded safe. Everyone liked reading. “And hiking. And, oh! Skiing. And anything outdoorsy.”
“Anything outdoorsy,” Nate repeated, lips twitching.
She gave a nervous laugh. “Yeah, well. Big fan of nature.”
In truth, her last hike had been a stroll through a manicured palace garden in Versailles, flanked by security and a photographer discreetly snapping “candid” shots of her and Jullien.
The whole thing had taken a month of planning.
But this, bobbing beside a man who wasn’t doing mental math on her net worth, made her feel buoyant and unmoored for the first time.
Like freedom with a mild case of vertigo.
“What about you?” she asked, desperate to change the subject before he cornered her for details.
Nate shifted against the buoy and shrugged. “Oh, you know. My life is a rich tapestry.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I build things.”
Her brows flicked up. “You build things?”
“Small things,” he clarified. “Model kits. Furniture I probably shouldn’t attempt without adult supervision.
” He shrugged again, this time a little sheepish.
“I like following instructions. There’s something comforting about knowing that if you complete steps one through seven, the thing actually becomes a thing. ”
“That is alarmingly wholesome.”