Page 122 of Ash Storm

Reka

At noon on Sunday, everybody gathered together on the downstairs terrace to admire the shiny new grill.

“This isn’t a grill,” Slate said admiringly. “This is the Ferrari of grills.”

“Who splurged on this?” Griffin asked, running his hand along the gleaming edge.

Carrie smiled widely. “This is going down in the books as a fax and printer machine, if anybody asks.”

Alexia laughed. “Well, we’ve got everything we need to print ourselves a meal,” she said. “Can you guys help me bring the things out?”

Within minutes, the table outside was overflowing with food. There were hamburger patties, marinated chicken, veggie burgers, vegetable skewers, and some mysterious-looking sausages. At least, it looked like there was no lamb. That was good. Reka still wasn’t ready for that fragrant, spicy smell from Istanbul. She didn’t know if she would ever be.

“That’s Bratwurst,” Alexia said, “and that one’s Cervelat. The butcher said you couldn’t have a proper Swiss Brötle without either of those.”

Reka assumed Brötle must mean barbecue. She suddenly realized she might have to learn some Swiss German, if she was hoping to live here.

It was still strange, at times, to think she was no longer on holiday.

Her first time out of the US, and she’d decided to stay.

Her parents had taken it surprisingly well when she’d told them, particularly when they’d learned Ash was American, too. It gave them some hope that Reka would come back to the US to live.

In any case, she would definitely be coming over to visit soon. She couldn’t wait to hug her parents in person, and to spend time with Chloe and Aileen.

But not yet.

She’d spoken to Anara, and the woman was considering coming to Zurich to visit once the French authorities released her.

Reka was starting to realize how complex the life of a refugee was. Even now, after everything that had happened to her, Anara ran the risk of being deported back to the country she’d run away from in the first place. But Anara had people fighting for her now, and they wouldn’t give up on her.

I won’t give up on her.

Her attention went back to Alexia, who had moved on to describe the potato and rice salad. Interesting what Swiss people called a salad—the idea of low-carb eating hadn’t quite made it here, obviously.

“Guess what,” she said. “The butcher who sold me the sausages, he has two boys, aged eight and ten. Apparently they’ve been struggling in English class, so when I told him I was a teacher, he hired me on the spot. I’ll be teaching both kids on Monday after school.”

“Congratulations,” Dark said, hugging her from behind. “I’m sure they’re going to be the first of many students.”

Alexia beamed. “He did say he was going to recommend me to other parents in school, to make sure I stay.” She laughed, leaning back against Dark’s chest, trusting him to hold her. “I don’t think he realizes I have a really good reason to stay.”

Reka’s breath caught in her throat.

As do I.

“So,” Alexia continued. “Tell Dark and Thorne what you’d like to eat, and they’ll make it for you. They’ve offered to man the grill tonight. Dark will cook the meat, and Thorne the vegetarian options.”

Reka looked at the two men and almost laughed out loud. Dark looked comfortable enough, but Thorne didn’t seem like he knew one side of the grill from the other.

In her mind, Reka suddenly saw the stiff upper lip surrounded by an army of servants, ready to take care of his every need. The image fit—a lot more than the one of Thorne manning the grill, at least.

“Can I help?” she asked. “My parents have half the neighborhood over for dinner every Sunday. I know my way around a grill.”

The relief in Thorne’s eyes almost made her laugh. He took off his apron quickly, as if he feared she might change her mind. “I’ll go pull some drinks together,” he said.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re not being modest?” Ash said, handing her a plate with his choice—several sausages, a large piece of chicken, and two hamburger patties.

“You’re going to eat all this?” she asked, laughing.