“You can go to the caves,” he said. “I can take you tomorrow.”
“Is it on our itinerary?” I looked over at Ryan who was still focused on his phone.
“No, but I’m sure we can fit it in.” The man smiled at me, and I got the feeling he liked that I was so intrigued by his story and his home.
At the restaurant, I ordered the traditional meal of raclette with bündnerfleisch, some sort of cured beef, and Ryan ordered fondue. I also ordered a traditional drink instead of just wine. I don’t know what was in it. It made me think of flavored liquor. It
was tasty and potent, and pretty soon, Ryan and his boring work persona didn’t bother me anymore.
At one point the owner came over to chat with us. He was a jovial man who sang and danced for us, and then asked us about San Diego. I’d figured he’d spent time with us because Christian asked him to take care of us, like he’d done with Umberto, but as Oskar danced off to the next table, I realized he greeted every patron. I found it even more charming that regular folks were getting a special personalized attention from him.
A loud horn sounded. Oskar stopped and spoke above the noise. “Don’t forget to blow the horn before you leave tonight.”
I laughed, as I made room for another drink the waitress was giving me. “I definitely want to blow the horn.”
“You might want to go easy on the drinks,” Ryan said, sipping his locally brewed beer.
“Why?”
He shrugged. “So you don’t feel like shit tomorrow?”
A mean retort about already feeling like shit sat on my tongue, but it was petty to be mad at him for trying to live by his values.
We ate dinner, and after finishing another drink, I made my way to the Swiss Alpine horn. I didn’t stumble, but I definitely felt loose and free from the alcohol as I blew my heart out. I was probably making a fool of myself, but what the hell. YOLO, right? If this was my one life, I was going to enjoy it.
I made my way back to the table, and noticed a fancy hot coffee type drink on someone else’s table.
“What’s that?” I pointed to the whipped cream covered drink.
“Schümli pflümli,” the person answered.
I had no clue what she just said, but I knew I wanted one. I waved my hands to our waitress who hurried over.
“I want one of those,” I said pointing to the drink.
She smiled. “Schümli pflümli?”
“Yes. What is it?”
“Coffee, plum schnapps, sugar and whipped cream,” she said in her accent, although I couldn’t tell if it was French, German or Italian. All of those languages seemed to be in Switzerland.
“Yes, I want one. And bring one to my boss.” I pointed to Ryan. As I headed back to the table, I realized I called him my boss, when he was supposed to be my husband. Oh well. He’d be happy that I’d fallen back into our old relationship.
His blue eyes watched me as I sat down.
“Am I embarrassing you, boss?”
He flinched, but then he sat back and relaxed. “I’m entertained actually. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so…free.”
“Drunk?”
“Are you drunk?”
I shook my head. “Not quite. Almost. Maybe after I have my shumly flumly…or whatever it’s called.”
“Schümli pflümli?”
“Yes.” I frowned. “You knew?” Of course, he knew. He was rich and cultured and probably well-traveled. “I ordered you one.”