Page 44 of Tipping Point

None of us have anything black tie.

Casey manages to rent the guys’ tuxedos for the occasion, but she doesn’t rent anything for me and her.

“Won’t it be fun to go shopping for something?” She’s bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. “The theme is Masquerade!”

She practically twirls out of the room.

So I need to find a place in Vienna that will rent me an evening gown before the ball in two days’ time.

Ugh.

Screw that. We’ve arrived by train to Vienna this morning and I have been working through the footage on the train right until now. I need a break.

I grab my backpack and head out.

The hotel is in the inner city, and I admire the building facades as I make my way towards my favourite little cafe. Wurstel Wunder is a small family-owned cafe situated opposite the Stadtpark. The usual melodies of buskers drift over me and the faint hum of people haggling at the market stalls gives me a very serene sense of peace.

I love Vienna, the monuments, the historic buildings, the horse-drawn carriages.

When I cross the street and step into the dusky cafe, the smell of sizzling sausages has my mouth watering. I order bratwurst on a fresh roll with a side helping of Käsespätzle. It’s a macaroni and cheese dish that’s very rich.

When I stand off to one side, I spot him.

“Finn?” I ask tentatively.

He looks up lazily from the table in the back corner. He’s guarded, but not unfriendly. I don’t want to intrude on his privacy, but he stands up to greet me, and now I’m compelled to walk over.

When will I learn to shut up?

It’s awkward.

I feel like I can’t just stand off to one side and wave, but a handshake would be too formal. A hug too intimate.

I settle for the dreaded side hug, and it’s embarrassing for both of us.

He’s drinking a large beer, and he has a half-eaten bowl of…

“Bratwurst and Käsespätzle?”

“I had a recommendation to try it.” He smiles carefully, indicating for me to sit down.

I glance at the counter and take a tentative seat.

“Oh, right! The plane. We were talking about food.”

He nods. His eyes are black, but they lack the usual scowl. He wipes his palms on his pants and sits down.

“Look, Camille-”

The owner’s young daughter, the cafe server, approaches me immediately. She has round cheeks and a wide smile and blonde hair tied up into a neat ponytail.

“Beer?” Finn asks me. “Please?”

“Uh, sure.” The server writes it down and gives Finn a cheerful smile.

“It’s good your friend finally came.” She turns to me too. “You are very late,” she admonishes playfully.

“I beg your pardon?”

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