Clark pulled his scarf tighter against the snow flurries carried on the icy wind off the Alpine lake. Hallstatt, Austria, was normally a picturesque tourist delight, but all he'd wanted to do was pass through until the ancient two-door Skoda started shuddering, telling him that, one way or another, he wasn't making it to Linz anytime soon.
Now he just hoped he could find a room and a meal.
A lit sign that read "Pension" on the side of a nearby building glowed through the snow, and he trudged his way through it, seemingly the only person in town. At least the only one dumb enough to be out in the storm. It was not high tourist season, so he hoped his chances at a room were better than his chances at getting the Skoda to go any farther.
He pushed the ornate wooden door and was instantly enveloped by the heat coming from a fireplace inside the lobby. Shutting the door quickly behind him, he rubbed his hands together and glanced around the room.
It was one of the typical European small-business restaurant and lodging houses that always looked so great on travel booking sites and somehow managed to actually surpass the expectation. Stone fireplace, neatly laid tables with red and white checkered tablecloths, curtains at each window with candles on all the tables and decor that was quintessential Alpine charm.
His eyes found the front desk as footsteps descended from the stairs. He caught sight of a woman taking off cleaning gloves and hurrying to the desk.
"Gruss gott," she said, looking up.
"Guten abend. Ah, sprechen-sie English?" he asked, taking in the woman's beautiful face — blue eyes framed by deep dark chocolate-colored hair and skin that seemed to glow from within — even as the corners other mouth turned to a frown.
"Nein," she said.
"Ah..." Clark didn't speak German beyond a few travelers' words, and he search for a second before remembering. "Ein zimmer, bitte. For one. Ein."
She rewarded him with a smile and nodded, grabbing a key off the wall and motioning him over.
"Passport?" she said, and he handed the document over while she showed him a rate card with reasonable prices, and he nodded, pulling out his wallet.
She shook her head and made a show of moving one hand over the other that he took to mean payment was on checkout. So far, so good. He thought.
He couldn't help checking her out as she wrote down his details, delighting in the slight furrow in her brow and the pinkish hue to her cheeks as she handed him back the passport. The apron she wore obscured any look at her figure, but then she took the key and motioned for him to follow, turning around and giving him a view of her from the rear.
She wore tight black jeans that perfectly accentuated her butt as she took the first stair, and on top of that was a red T-shirt that hugged her slim figure. He smiled wistfully and followed her upstairs, wishing he spoke German.
When she showed him the room, it was as expected — thick timbered walls and dual dual-pane windows shielded the space from the winter cold. There was one chair in a corner next to a small table, a door to the bathroom, and a double bed that took up the majority of the space.
"Sehr gut," he said, giving a thumbs-up, nodding and smiling to try to convey the message.
She laughed, said something he didn't catch in reply, and smiled as she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Did Clark imagine it, or were those eyes saying something she couldn't speak to him? They'd lingered a moment longer than was customary, hadn't they?
No, I'm giving myself way too much credit here. She's just friendly, he thought.
"Umm, is it possible..." he faltered. "Dinner? Supper? Food? Wiener schnitzel?" He motioned a fork and knife.
She giggled and nodded once, then waved for him to follow her.
Back down in the restaurant, she made a grand gesture at the seating area. Each table was empty, so he took one closest to the fireplace, and she brought over a menu.
"Wiener schnitzel?" she asked. "Und...trinken?"
"Yeah. Wiener schnitzel is good, um, ist gut. Und lager."
"Stiegl, ja?" she smiled when he nodded, and started to turn around.
Clark had to give it a shot. "Und ein fur...you," he said smiling and holding up two fingers. She shot him a puzzled look, and he motioned drinking, pointed at himself, then pointed at her, and, remembering he was in Europe, switched to a thumb and forefinger.
"Ah!" she said, getting the picture. "Hmm..." she glanced back to the front desk, where a cleaning bucket sat, thought for a moment, then shrugged.
She returned without the apron on, and with two half-liter glasses of beer with the Stiegl logo emblazoned on them and set them down on the table. It was a booth with well-worn wooden seats, and she slid in opposite him.
"Clark," he said, pointing to himself and smiling.
"Hannah," she said, returning the smile with a goofy grin he read as her wondering why she was going along with it.
He held out a hand, and she took it. He gave a gentle squeeze and shook it, feeling the smoothness of her skin and the electric tingle that came with it.
"Well, prost," he said, holding the beer up and clinking glasses with her before taking a sip, feeling the refreshing brew slide down his throat.
She set her glass down, stood and left, and he found himself wondering if anyone else was in the building. He hadn't heard a peep, and a short time later, she returned with two plates of food.
His wiener schnitzel looked delicious — two fried cuts of meat with lemon next to red cabbage and spaetzle — the German/Austrian version of pasta that he'd come to love in the week he'd been flitting between the two countries.
