Page 26 of Risky Obsession

Although we didn’t make any exits, the highway changed from the A10 to the A11 to the A14, each time becoming less busy. I directed her off the main highway and as she slowed down to drive through a narrow main street of a tiny town, I rolled down the window. The air was crisp and fresh and carried scents of pine.

Tory yanked the car into a parking space.

“I guess we’re stopping here,” I said.

She pulled on the hand brake. “Yep. Time to pee. And I need some food.”

She pointed at a small café with outdoor seating bathed in sunlight where two couples sat, cupping steaming mugs in their hands.

“Great. I’m starving.”

We stepped out of the rental and the chilly air nipped at my skin, a sharp contrast to the cozy car confines. The cobbled street was quiet, and colorful buildings that lined both sides looked like something out of a travel magazine.

Our breaths clouded in the cold air, and Tory tightened my scarf around her neck and tugged at her coat as she dashed toward the café entrance. Inside, the café was warmed by a blazing fire, and scents of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods greeted us. We found a table by the window, and Tory settled into her seat with a relieved sigh. She cupped her bandaged hand to her chest and winced as she reached for the menu resting against a giant beer stein.

“What do you feel like?” I said.

The menu was all written in German.

“Anything warm.” Her smile was strained, convincing me that her pain was much worse than she let on.

She glanced at the menu, then flopped it onto the table. “I wonder if they have soup?”

“Only one way to find out.” Raising my hand, I signaled to the waitress who approached with a friendly smile.

Her warm welcome fell away when her gaze flickered over Tory’s bandaged hand to her bruised face. A hint of wariness clouded her expression before she said, “Guten tag.”

“Guten tag,” I replied in the most German-sounding tone I could muster, earning a crooked smile from Tory. “Do you speak English?”

“A little. Yes.” Her accent was thick, but understandable.

“Oh, lovely.” Tory smiled. “Do you have any soup today?”

“Ja. Goulash, or potato and pork sausage.”

“Yum. I’ll have the goulash,” Tory said.

“And I’ll have the other one. Thank you. And a strong coffee for me.”

“Make that two.” Tory raised two fingers on her left hand.

After taking our order, the waitress marched to the kitchen like she couldn’t wait to get away from us.

Tory’s gaze lingered on the crackling fire beside us, her features softening. In the warm glow, the flames danced in her eyes, casting shadows and light across her pale irises. I had so many questions to ask, but I reined them in, hoping that she would open up to me on her own.

The waitress delivered the soups in chunky brown bowls and added a basket of steaming bread rolls to our table.

“Danke,” Tory said, nodding at the waitress.

The waitress left our table, and Tory’s eyes lit up as she broke open a bread roll. “This looks delicious.”

As she lifted a spoonful to her lips, blowing softly on it before tasting, I dipped a chunk of bread into my soup. The rich soup was the perfect balance of flavor and heat and hit the spot nicely.

Our coffees arrived and as we ate and drank in silence, Tory’s expression seemed to soften more with each bite. It was a stark contrast to the guarded facade she’d been wearing since I’d met her in Aria’s office. I had the feeling that Tory was pissed off at me before we’d even met, and I’d put that down to her knowing about that stupid mistake I’d made with Indiana over a decade ago. But Tory seemed to have walls built around her.

Pausing between bites, I said, “So, Aria tells me you’re a treasure hunter.”

“Yep. She said the same about you. Is it true?” She tore a chunk of bread off the roll and dipped it into her soup.