Page 50 of One Night in Alaska
“You said people come from all over the world to eat this gelato?” Georgia asked as we got in line. With five or six customers ahead of us, it wouldn’t be too long of a wait. They had several people working today.
“That’s right,” I told her. “A lot of people don’t know it’s here, but people who do their research before they visit will not want to miss this place.”
I could tell that she was excited to try it. “What flavor do you recommend?”
“What kind of ice cream do you usually get?” I countered.
“Chocolate. But that seems a bit boring,” she said with a shrug.
“Their chocolate is definitely delicious,” I assured her. “But if you want to try something else, I usually get the strawberry.” The line moved so we scooted up, and I could see her considering what she should do.
“Maybe I’ll get chocolate but just try a bite of yours,” she said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
Chuckling at her, I said, “You think that mega-squirrel was scary? You try coming for my gelato and see what happens to you.” I winked at her, and she laughed. It seemed that we were beginning to pick up where we’d left off before everything became so heavy between us.
I wanted to kiss her again, but I decided not to in front of all of these people. She’d seemed receptive when I’d kissed her before, but I decided to wait until later to try it again.
Eventually, it was our turn to order. I went with the strawberry, and Georgia got chocolate. The staff was friendly and efficient. I slipped several large bills into the tip jar, and the two of us headed out just in time to snag a table in front of the store.
“Oh my word,” Georgia said after trying hers. “This is amazing. Why have I never tasted this before?”
I decided not to remind her that she hadn’t tried it because she’d never been here before. All day, she’d been talking about coming back here someday, and I sincerely hoped she’d want to accompany me the next time I came here. I just had to figure out a way to stop making things awkward between us.
“What was your favorite part of the hike?” I asked between licks of gelato. “The killer squirrel or the ibex that returned to claim vengeance for the death of its friend?”
The sound of Georgia’s laughter warmed my heart. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “As much as I loved being laughed at for mistaking a giant version of a squirrel for an actual squirrel, the ibex is growing on me. I feel like he could’ve turned me into a soccer ball and headbutted me over the trees, across the field, and into the lake.”
“He most definitely could’ve done that if he’d wanted to,” I told her, chuckling at the vision of her flying through the air that her story created in my mind. “He seemed like a pretty tame fellow, though. People aren’t supposed to feed the animals along the trail, but I have a feeling a lot of people don’t heed those warnings and toss the critters a bite or two, which makes them less nervous around people.”
“He didn’t look nervous to me,” she said. “When do I get to try the strawberry?”
I couldn’t resist the look she gave me. Without hesitation, I extended my gelato to her, and she gave it a try. “What do you think?”
“It’s good,” she said with a nod. “But I’m glad I got the chocolate. Sometimes the safe bet is the right bet.”
I raised an eyebrow, thinking she might mean something more by that statement than what I could gather at the surface, but I wasn’t sure what she was getting at, and I didn’t want to ask for fear that we’d get into another topic that would quickly become heavy.
Besides, I didn’t get the chance to say anything in response anyway. Before I could open my mouth, I heard the sound of crying and the high-pitched shout of a little girl shouting, “Mama? Mama!”
Immediately, Georgia and I turned around to see a girl standing a few feet away, spinning around desperately. Tears cascaded down her cheeks as she spun around, her blonde curls billowing around her head.
“Oh, no,” Georgia said, abandoning what was left of her gelato as she bounded up to go help. “She must be lost.”
I followed behind her as Georgia approached. The little girl stared at her for a moment, blinked, then looked as if she’d met her new best friend. “Ich kann meine Mutter nicht finden,” she said in Swiss German.
I spoke enough to understand what she was saying, though Georgia only stared back at her for a few seconds, trying to sort out the problem.
“Du kannst deine Mutter nicht finden?” I repeated. The child, who must’ve been three or four, nodded. Turning to Georgia, I explained, “She can’t find her mother.”
“Oh,” Georgia said with a nod. “Poor thing.” Returning her attention to the girl, she said, “It’s okay,” even though neither of us was sure if she spoke English. “We’ll help you.”
I translated for her. “Wir helfen Ihnen,” I told her. The girl looked relieved to hear it. “Sprichen sie Englisch?”
“A little bit,” the girl said. “You’ll help me?”
“Yes, of course,” Georgia said, clearly relieved that the girl could understand some of what she was saying. “What’s your name?” She kneeled down next to her, gently touching the girl’s shoulder.
“Emilia.” She sniffled up her tears, but it was clear she was on the brink of breaking down again.