Page 7 of Dating Goals
His eyebrows shoot up, and he actually has the audacity to chuckle. “I wasn’t following you.”
“Then why,” I demand in a much slower voice, “are you in this cabin?”
“I think the bigger question is why areyou?” he says. The easy laugh in his voice tells me he’s maybe not afraid at all, but the charm in it tells me I should still be worried. Just about different things. My sanity, for instance.
“I’ll be asking the questions here, mister. What are you doing here?”
My mind goes straight to worst-case scenario and hopes the man I found in an otherwise vacant cabin doesn’t want to murder me. His master plan might be to bludgeon me, while smiling and having dimples.
But I can bludgeon right back. I could take him. Throw him off balance long enough to escape. Time to summon my inner ninja.
“I live here,” he says.
“Liar! Walter Egger lives here!” I edge toward the door, keeping the fish between us, Blondie still playing through my headphones, which now dangle uselessly around my neck.
“Walter’s in Argentina. Though I’ve got to say, this is the first time someone’s threatened me with a singing fish.”
The fish suddenly bursts into “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” in a tinny electronic voice, making me jump and nearly drop it. The plastic fish head bobs side to side in time with the music, its mouth opening and closing mechanically while the fin flaps in my hands.
His shoulders shake with silent laughter. “Do you want to club me over the head with that before or after I tell you who I am?”
Heat floods my cheeks. Of all the weapons I could have grabbed.
“Du meine güte,” I mutter, heat creeping up my neck as the fish continues its performance. I jab frantically at its side, trying to find the Off switch, but somehow only manage to make it start over. “Stop singing,dummes ding!”
“Here, let me help.” He reaches for the fish, but I snap it back.
“Stay where you are! Just because you know Walter is in Argentina doesn’t mean—” The fish launches into an encore.
“Ach, halt die klappe.Shut up!” I scream.
His dimples deepen as he watches me wrestle with the mechanical trout.
“I’m renting the cabin. I can show you the lease agreement if you’d like, though you might have to put down the fish.”
The fish mercifully stops mid-verse, leaving us in awkward silence except for Falco’s “Der Kommissar,” which is now crackling through my ancient headphones.
I’m still not entirely convinced this man is not a burglar, but something about his open face and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners makes me lower my makeshift weapon. Just slightly.
“You’re…renting Walter’s cabin?”
“For the next few months, yeah.” He gestures to a suitcase by the door I hadn’t noticed before. “Just moved in yesterday, actually. I really appreciate the welcome committee, by the way.”
I narrow my eyes, keeping the fish at the ready. “How do you know Walter?”
“Through a rental agency in Visp.” He leans against the wall, completely unfazed by my interrogation. “Though I did meet him on a call before he approved the lease.”
“You spoke to Walter?”
“Would you like to call him? I have his WhatsApp number.”
“Ha! Walter doesn’t use WhatsApp. He says social media is for?—”
“People who have nothing better to do than stare at their phones all day.” He mimics Walter’s gruff voice perfectly.
The fish slips a little in my grip. “Okay, what is Walter doing in Argentina?”
“Living his best life in Buenos Aires with a tango instructor named Rosa.”
