I toldmyself I wouldn't care if he never came back. That I'd be fine.
That I didn't need him. That everything he had done—the food, the blankets, the clothes—had been a trick, a lure, a wolf's invitation dressed in kindness.
But the truth? The ugly, aching truth? When I opened that door and found Gideon standing there with a bouquet of flowers clenched awkwardly in his big hands, my heart nearly folded in on itself.
He came back. He apologized. Suddenly, something bright—something I thought had died inside me years ago—fluttered weakly to life. It terrified me.
I took the flowers because I didn't know what else to do with my hands. It had been so long since I had seen flowers, real flowers that go into a vase. Mother always had flowers around the house, well, before… every Sunday, she would go to the flower shop and buy bouquets. Some she would take to my grandma, some for our house. She had always bought the most expensive, exotic ones, but they didn't compare to what Gideon brought me. They were beautiful in the way only rare, impossible things are beautiful: colorful, fragile, smelling faintly like hope. I put them in an old tin with water I'd fetched that morning, lugging the bucket over broken stairs and rubble like I'd done a thousand times before.
Gideon watched me closely, making me feel like every little thing I did mattered, which in turn made me tremble, because it had been so long since someone had watched me in a protective way.
For some reason, I didn't want him to see how hard life had been. But he saw it anyway. He always seemed to see too much. When I finally turned back to him, I expected awkward silence or some forced politeness.
Instead, he held out his hand and said, "Come with me?"
Like it was simple.
It wasn't.
But God, I wanted it to be.
So, I took his hand and allowed myself to be led instead of doing the leading. We walked a few blocks back to where the city was rebuilding itself, where life was beginning to restart as if the war had never happened. He took me to a restaurant. Areal restaurant.
I'd walked past it before, its windows fogged with warmth, with life, with everything the ruins around itdidn't have. GIs brought their German girlfriends here. Sometimes, French or English soldiers, too. Women in pretty dresses, in brand-new nylons, laughing as if the world wasn't broken at the edges. I had never imagined stepping inside.
My breath caught the moment Gideon opened the door for me, and I was hit with the warmth and light. The sound of clinking glasses, the light tinkle of laughter. My gaze flicked over the white tablecloths and thick candles.
The aroma of food mingled with the smell of perfume and cologne. Another thing I hadn't encountered in years.
The food smelled so rich it made my head spin; so much, I swayed. Gideon's hand was instantly at my back, steady and gentle. "You okay?"
I nodded too fast. "Just… overwhelmed."
He pulled out a chair for me like a gentleman from a storybook. I felt more out of place than I ever had in my life. Memories of going to these kinds of places rushed me. Inga, don't spill the juice. Inga, sit straight. Inga, don't grab the bread.My mother's phantom voice was in my head, along with very distorted images of her and Father. It had been so long, I barely remembered what they looked like.
Thankfully, the server appeared. His raised eyebrows were enough to dispel my trip down memory lane. I didn't blame him. Gideon and I, we looked wrong together. Me, in my patched dress and scuffed shoes.Gideon, in his clean civilian clothes that still couldn't hide the way he carried himself like a soldier.
"Wine?" the server asked.
My eyes widened. I shook my head so hard my curls tugged at the pins. "No… water. Just water. Please."
"Still or sparkling?" he asked.
I didn't even know sparkling water still existed. "Still," I whispered.
Gideon smiled at me, warm, reassuring. He ordered a beer for himself.
When the server brought menus, I froze again. The prices—God. The cheapest thing was already an unthinkable amount. Enough to feed Klaus and Axel for a week.
"Gideon," I hissed under my breath. "This costs a fortune."
He shrugged easily. "Don't worry about it."
"I am worrying."
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Then don't. Please. Let me do this for you."
The way he said it… softly, almost pleading… I felt my resistance wavering. After a short internal debate, I pointed to the simplest dish. "I'll have this."
