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.
Her plate had delicious-looking cuts of meat topped with a dark sauce, dumplings and cabbage. As much as he loved Wiener schnitzel, he found himself salivating at her meal.
"Bon appetit," she said, and he smiled, taking a bite. Did her eyes linger too long again?
The yearning to try her food must have been written all over his face, because she cut off a piece of what he assumed was beef and pointed to it with an inviting look. He grinned, took it on his fork, and bit into it, savoring the slightly sour taste as the tender meat melted in his mouth.
"This is delicious!" he said, smiling and nodding like the village idiot so she would understand.
She grinned, nodded and said, "Saurbraten."
He committed it to memory. It would definitely be something he'd order. Shifting his feet under the table, he bumped knees with her and managed to fight the urge to pull away. She looked up at him, flashed a crooked smile, then looked down and took another bite. He felt the fire of her touch even through his pants leg.
They ate the rest of their meals, and even though there was no conversation beyond a few grunts of satisfaction and facial expressions — which routinely had them both laughing — the companionship wasn't lacking.
Clark finished his last bite and put the fork down reluctantly, sad to have the experience come to an end. It had been a long time since he'd shared a meal with such an enchanting woman, and he wondered if the fact that they couldn't really talk to each other made it seem more intimate.
He stood and picked up his plate and empty beer glass. She motioned to take it and he shook his head and reached for hers. She laughed, handed it to him and then folded her arms across her chest, cocking one eyebrow as if to say, "Ok, Clark, where do you think you're going with these?"
He headed toward the back, found a sink and started cleaning the dishes. When he shut the water off, he could hear classical music playing out of an old stereo like he'd had on his dresser in college.
Hannah was just finishing wiping down the table, and Clark strutted up to her, bowed slightly, held out his hand and said, "Waltz?"
Her face clouded, but she seemed to have an, "ah, fuck it" moment, set down the rag she'd been using and took his hand.
The thing was, Clark was no dancer, and he was really reaching with this. He held her right hand aloft with his left, placed his right in the small of her back and held her close, but not too close, and toured her around the tables, bumping into them occasionally, but at least never stepping on her feet. Each awkward bounce off the corner of a table was greeted with a laugh, and on balance, he felt like he was doing ok.
He spun her, and she laughed, then, when she turned back, she put both hands on his shoulders, and he pulled her closer, feeling the warmth of her breath on his neck as they closed the distance.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered into her ear.
She said something back to him that was unintelligible, but it was encouragement enough, and he dropped a hand lower to stroke the top of her ass fleetingly. She responded to his touch, pressing herself tighter against him, and he grinned.
A few more turns, and the song came to an end. She pulled away, and Clark felt the despair of having run out of moves. She stepped back, held up a finger in a "wait here" gesture, then scampered off upstairs.
She returned with a photo album, and motioned him to a couch beside the fireplace.
