Page 3 of Love Bites

“Opa, honestly, that is a ridiculous demand to place on a grown man. Perhaps the boutique shops should be given more study. America is not Europe. They don’t appreciate the finesse that is required to create chocolate masterpieces that are to be viewed for hours before being eaten. They just cram food into their mouths. I’ve walked past some of the fast food restaurants in Manhattan and the things that I have seen…”

Opa then went on about troughs, greasy burgers, and my lack of commitment to an idea that would finally get our foot in the door. The American market had been a thorn in my family’s side for years. European candy and American candy were very different. And we had come up against a few large chocolate companies that we could not out-muscle. It was hard to compete with streetlights shaped like one of your best-selling candies. But small shops, catering to the Millennial and Gen Z customers, seemed the way to go. And while it was proving to be a successful plan—four shops in each state was slowly fillingout—now we were battling with one stubborn man in a tiny New Hampshire village.

“Perhaps we can have three in New Hampshire?” I asked, hoping to get out of this damn flight. I had things planned for the next week or two. Berlin was coming alive with the warmth of early summer and I had wished to enjoy some of the attractions, as well as some of the men. It had been several months since I had taken a man to my bed. It was past time to rectify that.

“No, the plan is four. No more and no less. Bring back that contract.” His frenzy of speech had left him gasping for breath. His health was dreadfully poor and getting worse by the month.

Opa then hung up. I sighed. My coffee and cake, a generous slab of Bienenstitch or Bee Sting cake as the American I was not getting out of using my charms on, would call it.

“Danke,” I whispered to the young lady, paid my tab, and then passed the pretty thing a few Euros as a tip. She blushed prettily before informing me that her shift ended in two hours. I would be in the air in under forty minutes but thanked her for the kind invitation. She left looking quite sad. I forked into my cake, using the sweet yeasty dough, vanilla custard filling, and crunchy caramelized almonds to distract me from this upcoming flight.

Edgar, my factotum, arrived and sat beside me, his quirky silver brow rising as cake crumbs fell down the front of my suit. Edgar Hoffmann was not just a personal assistant, he was a valet, a butler, a secretary, and a dear friend. A gentleman’s gentleman plus, if one wished. He’d been with me since I was ten. In lieu of my mother who was…well, who knew where she and her dogs were at the moment.

“The jet is now fully fueled, sir,” he said as he stared at the crumbs on my lap.

I brushed them off to ease his discomfort.

His worried eyebrows softened. “Good. Would you like some cake and coffee before we take off? The Bienenstitch is quite good.”

“No, thank you. I am trying to watch my weight.” Given that the lanky man seated with me in a demure black suit with white shirt and crisp blue tie was lean as a pencil I doubted he was really concerned about his waistline. “All of our bags are loaded. They are going over the seats with a vacuum to remove any of the dog hair left behind from when your mother and her pack used it last.”

“Good, good. I’ve never seen beasts shed like those dogs of hers. At least have some coffee. What kind of German are you to not enjoy one of our most delightful traditions?” I teased and got a flat look. I was quite used to those. I rather enjoyed them. It was fun to poke at people.

“The kind who does not wish to have to have his trousers let out. I will have coffee though.”

I suspected he would. We all loved our coffee. Hopefully Mr. Haider Gray did as well. Sometimes all it took was one shared pleasure to open up a dialogue.

WE LANDED ATa small airport about an hour away from Caldwell Crossing.

Both of us were feeling washed-out and jetlagged as Edgar fiddled with the lone car rental kiosk at the tiny landing strip. I’d dozed fitfully on the plane. For some reason I never slept well on flights. I did envy those who could. My cheeks were raspy, my eyes dry, and my lower back tight. Nothing that a good hot shower and about fourteen hours of sleep wouldn’t cure.

I sent out some texts as Edgar signed papers. One to my grandfather to let him know we had landed, a few to the peopleunder me in acquisitions just to check how things stood in our various propositions. Nothing new to report on any front so I pocketed my cell, rubbed at my face so hard it was a wonder the stiff whiskers didn’t set off sparks, and then smiled weakly at Edgar when he approached, carrying keys. I’d been silently hoping to see that Haider Gray had agreed to sell while we’d been in the air. This way I could leap back on the Lear jet and return to Germany for beer and men. Alas, such was not my luck.

“We have a Subaru,” he informed me while I stared out of the windows at the verdant green mountains. “I asked for an Audi.”

“Obviously,” I commented as I scooped up my bags—two massive things that made my shoulders ache as I toted them outside. The air here was clean with a hint of a chill. Night had fallen and while it was technically early summer here in New Hampshire it seemed the nights still had a tiny bite to them. Refreshing, to be honest.

“Yes, well, they did not have an Audi in the garage, and the young man at the counter seemed to have difficulty understanding me when I spoke.”

Edgar had two of his own bags and tried repeatedly to take one of mine as we made our way across the parking lot to the rental area. He was twenty years older than me. There was no way I was allowing a sixty-five year old man with silver hair to carry my bags. I was forty-five, fit, and fully able to tote two leather duffels.

“That is common here,” I said as we found the blue Subaru then dumped our bags into the rear of the SUV. “When I visit New York I have to strain to understand much of what is said to me when I buy hot dogs on the street.” I got a look. “Yes, I know. They are fattening. I run them off so let me indulge in a few simple pleasures.”

“A few the man says,” Edgar mumbled as we climbed into our car. I chuckled softly as I sank into a plush seat. “It is an hour to the inn so you can sleep if you wish. There is little to see I’m sure.”

And so, knowing I was in good hands, I let my eyes close as the headrest cradled my skull. Between the sound of the engine and a lovely radio station playing soft pop hits from the sixties and seventies, I was asleep in no time.

No sooner had my eyes closed, or so it seemed, did Edgar hit the brakes, lurching me forward with a snap to the chest belt.

“Mein Gott,” he said as he stared through the windshield as I tried to blink the sleep from my eyes.

“Ah,” I whispered when my sight landed on a moose standing in the middle of the road. I could never recall seeing a moose before. They had been eradicated in the 1700s back home in Germany, and while a few had been spied in the eastern part of the country, it was thought most of those sightings were wandering moose from other countries. “Magnificent, is it not?”

“Massive is what it is,” Edgar replied so quietly I had to strain to hear him. “Why does it not move off the road when a car is sitting a foot from it?”

“Perhaps she is waiting for a calf, or perhaps she is just unconcerned about us or our silly car.” I leaned up to get a better view of the beast. She really was amazing, and huge. I was relatively sure it was a female for it had no bumps of a new set of antlers growing in. “How sad it is that our past countrymen felt the need to shoot every damn one of them.”

Edgar sighed, his thin wrists resting on the steering wheel. “Much like the Americans and the buffalo.”

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