As I’m about to reply, Hina shrieks in excitement. “Look!”
Turning away from Dean is a task. It’s like shovelling snow when you forget to salt the driveway.
Lucerne close-up is a sight that can’t be captured in words.
Bold, yellow lights string along the city like fireflies. There’s cars, but most people are walking. It’s lively. Full of love for tourists and citizens, alike.
It looks like what I want my heart to feel like.
“We should decide on what we’re making,” is what I say with my mouth agape and staring at the city buildings and signs like they’re going to make my life better. They do if I’m being honest.
“Cheese fondue,” Hina replies while pointing at a young couple sitting on an outdoor patio with a cheese fountain in front of them.
“She’s not listening, is she?” I ask no one in particular.
“No,” Dean answers. “What about steak?”
Crickets scratch my throat. I rub the back of my neck. “That would work if I could make it.”
“I can make it.”
My face whips towards him. “You can?”
He swallows hard, then nods.
“Steak sounds good,” Hina pitches in. “With a yummy red sauce, I would besogood with that.”
“Do you know how to cook it, Hina?” I swivel my head as much as I can to look at her.
“With these nails?” She shows me her perfectly manicured acrylics. “I’m doing nothing but sitting still and looking pretty.”
We’re the first to get back.
A butcher from one of the shops told us that all of Switzerland has quiet hours from 10pm to 6am, which is why when the clock hit nine, we finished getting what we needed (along with some snacks) and drove back home.
I haven’t talked to Dean since the car ride here, but he was following closely behind. He knew how to speak in Swiss German which isn’t surprising, considering he’s the head of security and works with people from all over the world.
He hasn’t mentioned why or how he’s here. Not once.
But I will get it out of him. Mark my words.
Hina yawns while I’m chopping veggies for the salad. “At this rate, we’re going to eat at midnight.”
The kitchen feels welcoming and cold at the same time. A large island covers half of the space, with white marble countertops outlining its rectangular shape. There’s a ceiling-length window that has no curtains. It must be sunlit in the morning.
“It’s been fifteen minutes since we started,” I hand her a baby carrot with a chuckle.
Dean’s been onrealcooking duty. He hasn’t offered any of his beautiful voice to us, but he’s been attentive. When I washed the vegetables, he had a paper towel on standby. Then when I realized I forgot to wash the lettuce, he was already at the sink doing it for me.
“You forgot this,” his voice vibrates behind me. Before I realize what’s happening, he’s tying an apron to my back. His knuckles bump against my spine. The knife falls from my hand and onto the cutting board. The slightest interaction has me gasping for air and praying to keep me safe from whatever this feeling is.
The crunch echoes. “So, Dean, I have a question for you.”
Cold air replaces his touch.
When I’m certain he’s not right behind me, I grab the knife.
“If it’s a sexual one, I pass.” There’s subtle amusement in his response.
