“Worse,” she nodded. “Public shaming. The Swiss take their cheese etiquette very seriously.”
He grinned, stabbing half-heartedly at the drowning bread like he could still save it. “You sound awfully sure about that. How do you know so much about Switzerland, anyway?”
“Oh, um.” She waved a hand, suddenly very interested in the tablecloth. “Used to holiday here with my family. Been back a few times since.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Right. I forget that for you people, popping over to another country is like grabbing a coffee on the way to work.”
“Pretty much. One wrong turn and boom, you’re in Liechtenstein.”
“Meanwhile,” he said, still poking around in the cheese, “our family vacations were in rural Michigan. Main attraction: a lake house that smelled like wet labrador and mold.”
Allegra tilted her head. Most guys she met couldn’t wait to brag about their family chalet in Moritz or elite boarding schooleducation, like it was some kind of audition to be in her orbit. But Nate? He wasn’t auditioning for anything. Weirdly, it made her want to inch closer.
“Labrador and mold?” she repeated, grinning.
“Nothing says ‘American dream’ like it.” He set down his fork with a clink. “But hey, I have an idea.”
“Oh, do tell.”
“Why don’t we finish up here, and then you could join me while I go pay my debt to the lake?”
She lifted her hands in surrender. “Would love to. But I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”
He shrugged, grinning like the devil himself. “Neither did I.”
***
The little yellow boat bobbed and scraped against the dock, its engine whining as it eased to a stop. Allegra hopped out first, wobbling in her sandals before steadying herself. Nate stepped off after her, careful not to trip on the wet wood of the gangplank.
“So why’s this thing called amouette?” he said, pointing with his chin. “That’s water taxi, right?”
“Nope,” she said. “Seagull.”
“But it’s yellow. And swims.”
She shrugged, amused. Some explanations didn’t need logic. Gelato, on the other hand, needed no reasoning at all.
They ambled toward the cart at the end of the dock, Nate’s face lighting up. “Ice cream?” he asked, already reaching for his wallet.
“It’s not ice cream, it’s gel—oh, never mind,” she grinned. “Yes, please.”
He ordered two cones, handing one to her with a flourish, and they made their way onto the lakeside walkway.
“This is it,” she said, sweeping an arm toward the pebbled beach and turquoise water stretching out in front of them. “La plage publique des Eaux-Vives.”
“What’s that mean?”
She took a lick of her cone. “Basically, public beach.”
“Oh.” He nodded solemnly. “Sounded way cooler in French.”
“Everything sounds cooler in French,” she said, grinning. “Even boring stuff. Like ‘municipal bin collection.’”
The sun blazed, her gelato surrendering into a glossy puddle over her knuckles as they walked. Allegra slowed, staring at the mess in faint horror. Normally, she’d hunt for a napkin. Or a restroom. Or a discreet exit from society. Instead, she hesitated. Then, before she could overthink it, she lifted her hand and licked the sugary goo from her skin.
When she glanced up, Nate had stopped.
“That grossed you out, huh?”
