Page 57 of One Week
Eli is a little breathless when he responds. “Dave, this is Gabriella.”
Dave extends a hand. I shake it, and smile up at him. He’s tall like Eli, with curly black hair and a dark complexion, friendly brown eyes, and a little extra weight around the middle. I like him already.
“So nice to meet you,” he says. “I’ve heard so much about you,” he adds with a wink.
“Oh, have you?!” I ask, and gaze in Eli’s direction. Eli blushes and it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.
Dave grabs my suitcase and settles it in with the others. “Your bag is safe with me,” he assures me. “If you want to grab a bite, feel free, breakfast is still being served,” he says and nods in the direction of a cafeteria room. I take a peek, and realize I’m famished. “Thanks so much.”
“You wanna go see?” Eli asks.
We venture into the space, and my stomach does a little happy dance. Pretty white linen covered tables with glass candle holders, an old piano in the corner, and a cafeteria full of food.
Eli and I fill our plates with a selection of deli meats and cheeses, hard boiled eggs, fruit, and Danishes. There’s also yogurt and oatmeal. We grab some orange juice and some coffee (I certainly need it).
Everything tastes so good. Eli watches me eat, fascinated. “Wow, you were hungry.”
“Famished,” I tell him. “These curves don’t just happen by themselves.”
“No, they don’t.” He smiles. “Eat some more. I love those curves.”
I smile. I know my curves are not for everyone, but I’m glad they’re for him. I appreciate a man who likes a woman with meat on her bones.
“So, is this free?” I ask, hoping I won’t need to shell out a small fortune for this breakfast. I’ve heard Copenhagen is a very expensive city.
“All free.” He grins. “Dave is my best buddy, and he owns the place.”
“You certainly know how to choose your friends.”
“Yep,” he says. “Well, just look at you… my new friend.”
I smile shyly, and turn my gaze down to my huge plate of food.
We then walk the streets for the next three hours. I snap photos feverishly, like the tourist that I am. Eli tells me that he loves to take photographs as well, which he uses as reference for his watercolors. Apparently, his paintings sell pretty well in the tourist shops. We stop by an old book shop, where Eli buys me an old book of poetry. It has a worn red cover with gold foil letters. The pages are frail and smell musty. I know I will treasure it forever.
Chapter Twenty-Four
WE VENTURE INTO A GIFT SHOP where we finally separate and browse the aisles. There’s all kinds of colorful interesting stuff — I’m in shopping heaven. I buy a pretty decorative box for Emma, and an antique toy car for Theo. Eli buys a fork. I shake my head, wondering what kind of weirdo I’m hanging out with. “Do you always buy random flatware when you’re just walking around, chilling. Do they not have flatware at restaurants in Copenhagen? Should I go back in there and buy one too?”
I’m fascinated by the Danish coins — they call them Kroners. I study the 2 Kroner in my hand — it’s so interesting; cool design, and a hole in the middle. I almost want to wear it as a pendant on my neck.
He smiles. “You hungry?”
“A little. It’s only been three hours since breakfast.” The thing about me is I’m usuallyalwayshungry. If I were ever onSurvivor, I’d die by day two.
We take a seat at one of those outside restaurants lining the boardwalk. It’s so cozy; small white tables, bistro wicker chairs, and red flannel throws — the kind you can buy at Ikea. I immediately wrap myself in one, and watch the buskers do their thing. The guy close too us is an amazing singer. He strums his guitar with no care in the world — it’s wonderful to watch. I reach into my purse and give him a few dollars. I hug myself as I head back to our table. I’m still wrapped up in the red throw.
Eli studies me, concern tracing his brow. “Are you cold?”
Yes, I am. My jacket is not quite warm enough. “What?! My chattering teeth gave me away?”
He grins. “I told you to dress warmly, you silly girl.”
“I know, I did bring a sweater, but I took it off on the plane, and forgot it there.”
He shoots me a sweet pout and shrugs out of his jacket.
“No, no… you don’t need to—”
