Page 57 of Holiday Cheese and Capers
“Or…I could quit, then,” he offered. “Come back to land. We could open a—I don’t know, a crystal shop or a pet store or?—”
“Right. And you’d resent me for the rest of your life for taking away this opportunity you’ve been so excited about.”
“I wouldn’t?—”
“You would. Eventually. Maybe not tomorrow or next year, but someday you’d look at me and think about what you gave up.”
They stared at each other, the impossibility of their situation settling like a weight between them.
“So what are you saying?” Bayard’s voice was barely a whisper. “That yesterday was a mistake? That we should just... pretend it didn’t happen?”
“I don’t know what I’m saying!” Exandra pressed her hands to her face. “I just know that I’m one hundred and eight years old. I’ve spent my entire adult life building a career with the Society. I’ve never lived in one place for more than a year. I don’t know how to do domestic. I don’t know how to just... be still. And you—” She looked at him. “You’ve built this beautiful new life. Teaching, traveling, sharing your knowledge with people who appreciate it. You’re finally doing exactly what you want to do. I can’t ask you to give that up.”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“It’s not!” Bayard moved closer, taking her hands again. “Exandra, listen to me. I’ve spent ninety years being afraid. Yesterday, in that canyon, I stopped being afraid. And I’m not going to start again now just because the logistics are complicated.”
“The logistics aren’t just complicated, they’re impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible if we want it badly enough. We are two incredibly smart, resourceful, and determined magical adults. We can do anything!”
“That’s naive,” she said, half joking but her eyes were filling with real tears now. “Bayard, we’re not kids any more. We can’t just run away together and make it up as we go. We have responsibilities. Obligations. We’re too old to?—”
He kissed her again, cutting off her protests.
“We arenottoo old,” he said firmly when they broke apart. “Yesterday you watched me climb through a gorge that was eerily similar to the one that nearly killed me ninety years ago. You saw me rappel down waterfalls and navigate slot canyons. Does that seem like someone who’s too old for adventure?”
“That’s different?—”
“Is it? You’re the one who’s been working dangerous cases for decades. Facing down vampires and dark wizards and who knows what else. And you’re telling me you’re too old to take a risk on us?”
She laughed through her tears. “When you put it that way?—”
“We’ll be fine,” Bayard said. “I don’t know how yet. But we will. Because what’s the alternative? Going back to the way things were, pretending yesterday didn’t happen, spending another ninety years apart? That’s not acceptable. Not anymore.”
Outside the closet, Fred quacked urgently.
“Someone’s coming,” Exandra whispered.
They listened as footsteps approached, paused, and then moved on. Fred quacked again, softer this time, giving them the all clear signal.
“We should go,” Bayard said. “We’re docking in Italy soon. The tour…”
“Right. The tour.” Exandra wiped her eyes. “Bay, I?—”
“We don’t have to figure everything out today,” he said gently. “Let’s just take it one step at a time. Okay?”
PRIDE AND PARMESAN
The monastery-turned-creamery sat perched in the rolling hills of the Parma countryside, its ancient stone walls glowing peachy gold in the afternoon sun. It was an architectural treasure, all arched doorways and terra-cotta roofs with a bell tower that still cheerfully chimed out the hours.
“Caseificio San Benedetto,” Bayard announced to the group as they disembarked from their shuttle. “Founded by Benedictine monks in 1134, it’s one of the oldest continuously operating Parmigiano-Reggiano producers in the world. The monks are not big fans of magic, but they do believe in miracles and they have long believed that the aging process and resulting cheese is akin to a form of blessing. The longer the cheese matured, the more blessings it accumulated.”
A robed figure emerged from the main building—an actual monk, elderly and serene, with a kindly wrinkled face and gnarled, calloused hands.
“Welcome, welcome,” he greeted them in accented English. “I am Brother Tomasso. We are so honored to host you for your final stop on this remarkable journey.”
