“Your grandmother the Nazi-resister!”
“Mm,” Max said in a way that struck Dani as evasive, but she didn’t have time to parse his response, because she was too busy looking at everything. She was in Max’s home! In Eldovia!
The place looked like Max—it had an air of old-money ease but not of the stuffy variety. There were Persian rugs everywhere that were probably priceless heirlooms, but they were worn and mismatched. His living room looked like the genuine version of the aesthetic that “shabby-chic” Instagrammers spent their lives chasing. He led her through a small kitchen outfitted with modern appliances but that also contained an actual fireplace with a pot hanging next to it and a deep sink with both a modern faucet and an ancient pump handle on it.
In the back corner there was a trapdoor in the ceiling with a rope handle dangling down. He pulled it, and a narrow, steep staircase fell, startling Dani. He gestured for her to go ahead of him, and she climbed the rickety staircase, which was really more like a ladder.
And emerged into the garret of her dreams.
“Are you kidding me?”
“I am not. Remember that first night in New York? I asked you what you would do if you could do anything, and you said hole up in in a garret and write. You won’t tell me about the mystery project, but I assume it’s something that needs to be written.”
Oh, Max. Max who listened and remembered. Max who coaxed her to make snow angels and do Dirty Dancing lifts. Max who conjured ballet tickets and garrets.
“Perhaps you don’t remember.” He grinned. “That was two negronis in.”
“I remember,” she said, her voice a little squeaky as she took it all in. The open space spanned the top of the cottage and featured slanting walls that created cozy nooks. The ceiling was crisscrossed by wooden support beams, the unfinished nature of which contributed to the same worn-luxury look of the rooms downstairs. There were more timeworn Persian rugs on top of rustic, sightly uneven whitewashed wooden floors. There was a queen-size bed in the middle of the space piled high with white bedding of the sort you saw in rich-people advertisements, expensive but wrinkly because it was one-million-thread-count linen. On one side of the bed was an armoire and a full-length mirror on a stand. On the other, nestled against a large stone chimney, was a little sitting area with a love seat and coffee table.
And of course on the far end of the space was a desk perfectly sized to nestle in a dormer with a window that overlooked the mountain.
“There are a few drawbacks,” Max said, “namely no bathroom. You’ll have to come downstairs and share with me.” He crossed to the desk and picked up the end of an extension cord draped over it. Dani followed it with her gaze to see that it lined the edge of the floor until it disappeared under the bed. “The only outlet is on the other side of the bed,” he said. “And it’s going to be dark in here at night. And cold. It’s suboptimal, but—”
“Max.” She hated to interrupt him, but honestly. “This is amazing.” She spun in a slow circle to take it all in once more. “Amazing.” And she wasn’t just talking about the room.
“There’s more,” he said with a grin as he beckoned her over to the desk. “This attic used to be storage. I was under the impression that it was all my mother’s old equestrian things—she used to be quite the rider, and all her old saddles and trophies and the like were stored up here. And indeed, when I started clearing the place out, that’s mostly what I found. But . . .” He pointed to a stack of wrinkled, yellowed papers.
“Oh my god!” She knew, without him saying anything. “Oh my god!”
He produced a pair of white cotton gloves from his pocket, the kind you’d use to handle fragile artifacts, and handed them to her. “These are going to the exhibition design firm tomorrow, but I wanted to show them to you first.”
She pulled the gloves on, her hands shaking with vicarious excitement. “I don’t read German.”
“Look at the names, the opening and closing salutations.”
“‘Liebe Karlotta,’” she read.
“Karlotta was my grandmother’s name.”
Dani’s excitement notched even higher as she flipped the paper over and read the name of the writer. “Karina.” She gasped, even though she’d known that was what she’d find. “Max! And they were on a first-name basis, it seems!”
“There are half a dozen letters there. It looks as though my grandmother did give over the mine to the resistance, and she funneled money to them as well. She didn’t want her husband—my grandfather—to know. The letters were hidden under a floorboard that had been covered with boxes for who knows how many years.”
She set the letter down carefully. “This is going to be huge, isn’t it?”
“It is.” He smiled like the cat that ate the canary. “I wish I could find Oma’s letters to Karina. I’m following a few leads on that front, but even without them, yes, this will be major news.”
She was so thrilled for him. She peeled the glove off her right hand and held it up for a high-five. He slapped her hand but then grabbed it. Used it to reel her in. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said into her hair as he hugged her tight.
She was, too. It felt so good to leave all her Vince junk behind, to be off the teaching treadmill for a while.
But that wasn’t all. This feeling of relief and rightness wasn’t just about what she had left behind. It was about Max. Smart, kind Max. They were going to have so much fun, and she was so happy to be here with him.
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning, Dani awoke in bed alone. There was no Max.
Minimus, she mentally added. There was no Max Minimus. She threw a sweatshirt over her flannel pajamas—Max had warned her that the cottage was cold, and he had been right—and made her way down the ladder. The kitchen and sitting rooms were empty, but she found the Maxes in bed together.
“Good morning.” She made a kissy-face at the dog, who lifted his head from where he was snuggled into Max’s side and let loose a happy bark of greeting, but instead of bounding over to her as he normally would have, he merely turned, licked Max’s cheek, and tucked himself back in.
Max Maximus lowered the newspaper he was reading and made a kissy-face back at her.
She rolled her eyes. “Are you trying to steal my dog?”
“Yes, Daniela. Our friendship has all been an elaborate long con aimed at stealing your mongrel.” He mock scowled at Max Minimus. “Who, I hasten to add, snores like a dog of significantly larger stature.”
“Did he sleep with you?”
“He arrived around three a.m.” Max Maximus shrugged. “I can’t help how irresistible I am.”
“You better watch yourself, or I’ll sic my lawyer on you. I can have custody papers sent over while you’re lazing about.”
He hopped out of bed, and Max Minimus followed. “I may appear to be lazing about, but I’ve actually been plotting. I have a proposal.”
She followed him into the kitchen and watched as he measured coffee into a French press. He paused and looked at her over his shoulder. “Do you drink coffee? Tea? I find it odd that I don’t know that about you.”