She tilted her head to the side.
“We’ve met before.”
“Before the lookout?”
I nodded. “It was a long time ago.”
“Oh.” Her expression went from suspicious to worried.
“You don’t remember me,” I said. “But that’s OK. I’ve changed a lot.” I pulled on my hair to suggest it might not have been this long when we first met - which was the case.
“And I haven’t?” she asked.
I looked at her good and long. “What can I say? You left an impression on me.”
She frowned. “I’m sorry I don’t remember you, Jason. Maybe if you gave me a hint.”
I shook my head. “You already know too much.” I pointed at her. “You won’t tell anyone what you saw, right?”
She shook her head.
“Good. I’m in enough trouble already.”
“Someone try to poison you?”
I laughed. “Actually, I’ve had Betty’s cooking before, and quite a few times, too. She’s not the regular cook at the lodge. But tourist season is over, so she picks up some days there.”
“I won’t be eating there again.”
“Tomorrow,” I said, suddenly feeling confident, “I’m making chickpea soup. Doesn’t sound impressive, but I make it real good. I would love to have you over for lunch.”
“At the gingerbread house?”
“At my film studio, yes.”
She twisted her lips into a pensive frown. “I don’t know.”
“Bring Hans,” I said, “assuming he can keep a secret.”
“Speaking of Hans.” She pulled out her phone. “Let me check where he is.” She looked from her phone to me. “Why don’t you give me your number? I’ll call you if we’re free tomorrow.”
I shook my head. “I don’t have a phone.”
“You don’t have a phone?” she said, surprised.
“Nope. I’m sort of off the grid.”
“Yeah, secrets, the deep web, won’t tell me your name - that sounds like off the grid. That’s going to be a pass on lunch tomorrow.” She put the phone to her ear. “Hans, where are you?”
I was gutted. Damn, Jake. You had one shot, and you blew it.
“OK. We’re sitting on a bench at the dog park.” She ended the call and put her phone away. “He’s just down the road. Be here in a minute.”
I stood and walked out to the lane. It’s probably for the best. That’s how you get caught, let a girl get too close.
Greta came up behind me. “It’s a beautiful night,” she said.
I turned to face her. A lock of blond hair fell over her eyes and she tucked it nervously behind her ear. I couldn’t help but smile. I took her hand in mine. “As far as first impressions go, I can’t imagine I’ve made a good one. But you should give me another chance. You and Hans should come over for lunch.”
She tilted her head to the side and considered my offer.
I could tell she was about to cave in and say yes.
“I’ll tell you my name,” I said to sweeten the pot.
“And you’ll tell me where you know me from?”
I raised my eyebrows. “That, you’ll definitely have to keep a secret. Can I trust you, Greta?”
She pulled her hand free and rubbed her chin. “You’re not wanted by the cops, are you?”
I put an index finger vertically to my lips. “You promised.”
7
Greta
So much for mixing business with pleasure. During the first two days in Perth, I hadn’t done much of either.
And when we phoned the airline in the morning and got no update on where our gear was—that meant no work—I was determined to at least have some fun.
Hans, however, was feeling a bit sluggish. Not surprising, given the amount of sweet cement soup he’d eaten the night before. And the models all had hangovers and were not getting out of bed much less going into the mountains with me. I was on my own.
No sooner had I made it onto the hiking trail that led to the lookout than the sky began to turn gray threatening to rain. I should have turned back. But far be it for me to spot the warning signs and make a reasonable and prudent decision.
That had never been my MO. Instead, I put my hands out, palms up, didn’t feel any raindrops, and continued on my hike up the mountain.
By the time I made it to the lookout, the rain had started to fall lightly, and it added nicely to my melancholic mood.
The gray sky and light rain also suited Perth well and made the view from the lookout even more impressive.
Instead of perusing the landscape, I found myself staring at the shack where Mr. Edison’s petting zoo had been.
But this time, I didn’t think of Mr. Edison or Clarence, but rather the hunky mystery man who was squatting in the place.
Bonita wouldn’t hesitate to go see him again. Why can’t I be more like Bonita?
I argued with myself, citing all the reasons why I should stay away from the shack and from the mystery man, while a part of me channeled Bonita’s voice to counter the arguments.