“Well,” Connor says, turning to me, “looks like we’re staying.”
I tilt my head at him. “So when you said, ‘Let’s try one more spot,’ this was your grand plan?”
“No,” he says, and the corner of his lip lifts slightly. “But we really have no other options, do we?”
The bartender gestures toward the tables. “You want dinner?”
Connor looks at me, eyebrows raised.
My stomach answers for me, growling just loud enough to make us both laugh. “Yes, please,” I say.
“Fondue?” the man offers, already reaching for menus. “Very traditional.”
Connor flashes a grin. “If we say no, do we get kicked out?”
The bartender chuckles. “Fondue is good.”
We settle at a table near the window. Outside, the streets are dark, with only a few lights on inside the homes across the street. It’s quiet and intimate and familiar somehow, even if I’ve only just started to get to know the man across from me.
Connor shrugs off his coat and hangs it behind his chair. He stretches out like someone who’s not sure if they’re allowed to relax yet. Measured and controlled.
I peel off my sweater and sit on my hands for a second, warming them. “I can’t believe the trains stop running at five.”
He lets out a low laugh. “Switzerland’s got boundaries, apparently.”
“I should text Elle,” I say but get distracted the moment the bartender returns with a steaming pot of fondue, a small basket of bread, and two short glasses and a chilled bottle of white wine. He sets everything down with practiced efficiency and nods once.
“Let me know if you’d like potatoes.”
My eyes flick to Connor. He doesn’t reach, just says a polite thank you before the man disappears again. I’m not sure what is going on in his head, but his expression is more curious than concerned.
I busy myself with pouring the wine, reading the label carefully. “Well. This wasn’t in the itinerary.”
He grins, resting his forearms on the table. His hair is ruffled slightly after the walk, and for a second, I remember the version of him I used to glimpse at parties years ago—always impeccably dressed, posture tight, scrolling on his phone or nodding along as Athena dazzled the room with her stories. He’d hover behind her like an afterthought, like he was trying to make himself smaller.
Now, he just… takes up space. Easily, like he doesn’t have to ask permission first.
“I don’t know,” he says, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Feels very… me.”
I snort. “What, getting stranded?”
“No,” he says, picking up a fork. “Things not going according to plan.”
The wine slips down easily, and the fondue smells amazing—sharp and creamy with hints of something herbal. My stomach growls again, and this time I don’t even try to hide it.
“Go for it,” he says, motioning to the red pot at the center of the table. “I think we earned it.”
I stab a cube of bread, dunk it carefully, and take a bite. It’s too hot, but I pretend otherwise.
He watches me for a second, then copies my motion. “Okay, yeah,” he says around a mouthful. “I take it back. This was definitely the plan.”
I laugh hard, and Connor makes a face, tilting his head to the side in confusion. It makes him look like a puppy, with those brown eyes and ruffled brown hair that is longer thanusual. His lips twitch like he wants to say something else but doesn’t. Instead, he leans back in his chair and looks around the restaurant. It’s empty now, the other table having left at some point while we ate. The only sound is the soft clatter of dishes being cleaned somewhere in the back.
“I thought you’d be more annoyed,” I say quietly. “About missing the train.”
He looks at me, eyes warm but unreadable. “I’m not.”
I nod, unsure what to do with that.
