Page 85 of The Hundred Loves of Juliet
“At least one surprise,” I say. “But maybe plural, if you’re lucky.”
HELENE
A week later, we walkin through the heavy wooden door of Axes and S’more.
“Oh my god,” I say. “I already adore this place.” Half the interior is axe-throwing cages (like a shooting range for target practice, but with hatchets), and the other half is a restaurant with tabletop fire pits in the center of each table. It feels so quintessentially Alaskan—or at least how a tourist like me imagines “Alaskan-ness” would be distilled.
“Thought you’d like it,” Sebastien says, kissing the top of my head.
“Welcome to Axes and S’more,” the hostess says. She’s appropriately clad in flannel and a faux fur hat, and she has a twangy Alaskan accent. “Are you here to throw or roast or both?”
“Both,” Sebastien says. “But we’ve already got a table, thank you.”
I look up at him, confused. “We do?”
“Surprises, remember?” He winks, pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket, and blindfolds me.
I jump up and down. I’ve always loved surprises. Even as a little girl, I never tried to find where my parents hid the birthday gifts, and I never shook the presents under the tree; for me, the anticipation is part of the thrill.
Sebastien leads me past the hostess stand and into the restaurant. Miraculously, I don’t bump into any furniture or waiters on the way, which is testament to Sebastien’s careful steering.
“Okay, ready?” he asks when we’ve stopped.
“Ready.”
He takes off the blindfold. I blink at the tables and chairs in front of me, but I don’t see what the surprise is. I don’t know any of the people here. Am I supposed to be looking at the huge wolf mural on the wall? Like, is there a clue in the painting?
Sebastien puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me one hundred and eighty degrees toward the corner of the restaurant.
Mom and Katy jump up from the booth. “Surprise!”
I scream, and all those people at the tables behind us probably glare at me. But I don’t care, because I’m suddenly enveloped in bear hugs from my two favorite people. “What are you doing here?”
“Sebastien flew us up to celebrate your finishing the draft of your book,” Katy says.
Still wrapped in my mom’s and sister’s arms, I turn to look at him. “You did?”
He just smiles, and I love this man who doesn’t always say much, but shows it instead.
Katy and Mom and I hug some more, and I don’t even need to introduce them to Sebastien, because they already “met” on the phone when they were planning this surprise party. Finally, we settle into the booth. There’s a small fire pit in the center of the table, presumably for s’mores. Sebastien grabs a stack of laminated menus from behind the napkin holder.
“Oooh,” Katy says as she checks out the options. “I could go for venison steak.”
“You’re going to eat Rudolph?” I say, teasing.
She shakes her head. “Blitzen.”
Mom arches a brow. “Now we know where Trevor gets his penchant for gnawing on dinosaur heads.”
“Who eats dinosaurs?” Sebastien looks at me for help deciphering the conversation.
“My grandson,” Mom explains. “Katy’s boy. He has chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs, and he likes ripping off their heads and dipping them in blood…well, ketchup.”
Sebastien laughs.
“But seriously,” Katy says, “is the venison good?”
“Kit Kat,” I say. “I think you’re missing the point of this place.” I reach across the table and flip her menu over from the dinner options to the side titled “Alaskan Stars,” presumably named after the state flag.
