He chortled, and they fell into conversation, wine disappearing from their glasses as they waited for their meals. She probed about his brothers, and he launched into the tale of the rope swing at the quarry pond. How they’d all agreed it was a good idea. How it had gone horribly wrong. A split lip, a chipped tooth, and a frantic huddle afterward to figure out who was to blame and whether they could get away with not telling their mom.
He kept adding details—the taste of dirt, the panic in his brothers’ voices—because she was laughing, and he wanted to keep her there.
She told him about the horse. Fourteen years old. One sharp noise, made purely out of curiosity. It reared, Clara flew, and Ella learned what a clavicle snapping sounded like.
“Crack!” she said. “Months of chores. Plus a lifetime ban on startling livestock.”
“Okay,” he said, as if this were a natural progression and not an excuse to study her freckles, “favorite artist?”
“Easy. Caspar David Friedrich.” She swirled her wine. “His paintings are like standing in the middle of nowhere and feeling… I don’t know. Seen. The fog, the silence, the way the world seems huge but not scary. You know his work?”
Nate shook his head, so she swiped on her phone, showing him a painting: cliffs, mist, a single figure tiny against the mountains.
Nate studied it. “I like it. Lonely, but not sad.”
Plates arrived and hit the table, steam curling into the air. Steak charred at the edges, already melting under a cascade of herb-flecked butter. The fries were stacked high, golden, and crisp, crackling as Nate nudged one free.
“So,” Ella said, cutting into her meat and dragging it through the butter, “why do I get the feeling you’re thefamily troublemaker? In German we have a word for it.Nesthäkchenprivilegien. Youngest child privileges.”
“You’ve got a phrase for everything, huh?”
“Absolutely,” she said. “EvenAusweichmanöver. Dodging the question.”
“Okay, fine. Maybe I got away with some things.” He raised an eyebrow. “But you? The responsible eldest? Apart from the horse incident, obviously.”
She twirled her fork, considering. “I guess I’m the one everyone relies on to do the right thing.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding, “the family’s glue.”
Her cheek twitched. “Something like that.”
Then, with a smirk, she reached across the table, snatched a fry from his plate, and popped it into her mouth.
“Hey—”
“Too slow,” she said, already chewing.
“Dangerous move.”
“Is it?” Her eyes locked onto his, daring him.
Without looking away, he speared a piece of her steak and slid it onto his plate. “There. Now we’re even.”
“I don’t think that’s how even works.”
“No?”
“No.” She tilted her head. “I think you owe me.”
“Oh?” He leaned back, the chair groaning under him. “And how do I pay up?”
Her eyes dipped, brushing his mouth before snapping back. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Ella’s foot grazed his ankle under the table. Nate’s leg jerked as if he’d been kicked by a mule. His inhale was ragged, too obvious, too loud. Of course she’d heard. Fantastic. Just fantastic.
The waiter appeared at his shoulder, all smiles, and oblivious cheer. “How’s everything so far?”
Nate blinked up at him, then back at Ella. She was watching him, lips pressed together, eyes alight with something: amusement, maybe, or something worse. God, he hoped it was just amusement.
