The next morning, my fingers danced over the neatly packed array of harvesting tools—each one chosen for its precision and reliability when dealing with something as delicate and potentially deadly as the wrong dried flowers. I zipped up the backpack with a satisfying swish, cradling the leather-bound handle. The small, empty canvas bag I also carried waited to be filled with the prized blooms.
As I approached the trailhead, courtesy of Hanna’s rather detailed directions—think less concierge, more cartographer—I couldn’t help but notice the solitary figure standing with the poise of a sentinel against the backdrop of frosted pines.
I squinted against the harsh sunlight reflecting off the snow-covered ground to get a better look at the man. He was draped in dark clothing, his posture rigid and resolute like a seasoned mountain climber, body braced against the chill sweeping down from the peaks. He turned slowly, as if savoring every moment of the crisp alpine air that filled his lungs and swept over his face. When he saw me watching him, his lips twitched upward into an enigmatic smile—a mix of curiosity and warm welcome. The sun caught his dark hair and set it aflame with auburn highlights. He seemed familiar, but then again around these parts, rugged good looks were far from rare.
“Hello!” I called out, my voice echoing through the stillness of the mountainside. His head tilted slightly to the side in acknowledgment.
“Good day,” he responded, his voice deep and mellifluous with a hint of a foreign lilt fascinating enough to pique my interest further.
Realizing that standing at a distance made for uncomfortable conversation, I trudged through the snow toward him. The subtle crunching underfoot was the only sound in contrast to the otherwise hushed silence of nature around us.
Hanna was right, I thought as I closed the distance. There is something quite captivating about the solitude up here.
“Glad to see someone else brave enough to face the chill.” He extended a gloved hand toward me, his arctic blue eyes sparkling with gentle amusement. “Lucas Bennett.”
“Penny Hawthorne,” I replied, shaking his hand. His grip was firm and confident, matching the aura of assurance he exuded.
“I take it you’re not here just to admire the beauty of the Alps?” he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.
“Actually, I’m on what you might call a peculiar mission,” I confessed, adjusting my scarf. As if on cue, a gust of wind swept across, sending an army of snowflakes spiraling around us.
“Do tell.” Lucas propped himself against a weather-beaten signpost marking the trailhead, seeming genuinely interested in my tale.
“I own a tea shop back in New England—in the US. My specialty is rare and restorative botanical blends,” I started, catching sight of his raised eyebrow. “Don’t laugh,” I added hastily. “It’s no small feat to master the art of tea blending.”
“No, no,” Lucas chuckled heartily. “I’m not laughing at you…merely intrigued. As a native son of dear old Britain, I would never laugh at anything related to tea. But what brings such a dedicated tea specialist to the Swiss Alps? Are the slopes here peppered with secret tea-leaf stashes that the rest of us are ignorant about?”
“Well, there might not be tea stashes,” I admitted, not able to suppress my own chuckle. “But there’s certainly a bit of flora up these parts that I’m keen to sample.”
“Like what?” he asked, curiosity painting his features.
“Aconite flowers,” I answered promptly. “Also known as monkshood or wolfsbane.”
“As in… the deadly, poisonous wolfsbane?” he asked, eyes widening slightly.
“Precisely,” I affirmed with a nod. “But when used correctly, it can have restorative properties. And it gives a certain je ne sais quoi to my brews.”
“Ah, a little risk with your tea. I like it,” Lucas said, grinning.
“And what do you do, Mr. Bennett?” I asked, intrigued by the handsome stranger.
“Interpol. I’m a detective,” he said simply.
My heart did a little leap. “An international policeman? How very glamorous.”
He snorted softly, grinning. “Not as glamorous as you’d think. You know, I didn’t expect to find another soul braving these trails today.”
“Nor did I,” I replied, feeling oddly self-conscious. “But here we are, two intrepid explorers about to conquer the wild. Or at least, find some elusive flowers.”
“Explorers, indeed,” he chuckled, his eyes warming to the idea. “Care for some company on your quest? I was headed up.”
The offer lingered between us, tempting as a cup of Darjeeling on a rainy day. I hesitated for just a heartbeat—after Daniel, trusting someone enough to let them walk beside me felt like a leap bigger than any alpine peak. But there was something about Lucas—maybe it was the way he carried himself, or that earnest glint in his eye—that indicated he was more ally than adversary.
“Company would be lovely,” I said, masking the flutter in my chest with the casual ease of a hostess offering a refill. “Just promise you won’t laugh if I start talking to the plants.”
“Scout’s honor, as you Americans say.” He grinned, extending an elbow in old-world fashion. “Shall we?”
We set off together, our boots crunching in unison over the blanket of snow that swaddled the earth. The trail wound through clusters of alpine flora, the kind that clung to life despite the chill—a bit like me clinging to my newfound independence.
“Ever tried a winter hike before?” Lucas asked, his voice as steady as his stride.
“Only if you count the treacherous journey from my front door to the teashop during a blizzard,” I quipped. “But I find a good pair of boots can make all the difference.”
“Indeed,” he agreed with a nod. “Boots can make or break an adventure.”
I marveled at the ease with which conversation flowed. With each step, the mountain seemed to pull us into its rhythm, a dance of crisp air and muffled footsteps. A symphony of colors unfolded before us as we trekked further along the snow-blanketed trail. To my left, a panorama of ivory peaks soared into the cerulean heavens, their majestic spires crowned in frosty splendor. To my right, the mountainside cradled pockets of audacious wildflowers that dared to punctuate the winter with bursts of defiant color—pops of yellow, red, and purple against a world turned monochrome.
“Looks like nature’s own quilt,” I mused aloud, feeling dwarfed by the sheer scale of beauty around us.
“Nature’s best work,” Lucas agreed, casting an appreciative gaze across the tableau. “Makes you believe in a grand design, doesn’t it?”
I smiled at his sentiment, finding it unexpectedly comforting. But just as I turned to share my agreement, my boot met not with the firmness of packed snow but with the treacherous slickness of ice. With a yelp that was anything but dignified, I lost my footing, arms wheeling in a frantic attempt to regain balance.
“Whoa there!” Lucas’s reflexes were as sharp as those of a mountain lynx. His arms encircled my waist, pulling me back against the solidity of his chest mere moments before I would have introduced myself rather rudely to the ground.
“Thanks,” I exhaled, my heartbeat a frenetic drummer in my ears. “That would’ve been one embarrassing way to get acquainted with the Alps.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time the mountain has caught someone off guard,” he said, his voice tinged with humor. His grip lingered a second longer than necessary—or perhaps that was just wishful thinking on my part.
“Guess it’s true what they say about slippery slopes,” I quipped, trying to regain some semblance of composure, though the warmth of his touch had sent a thrill skittering across my skin.
“Absolutely,” he replied, releasing me but staying close. “They’re much safer when faced together.”
“Is that official Alps expert advice, or are you speaking from personal experience?” I teased, brushing snowflakes from my sleeve, all too aware of the heat lingering where his hands had been.
“Let’s call it a bit of both,” he said with a wink.
We continued walking, the momentary lapse in grace behind us, but the flutter in my chest persisted. It had been so long since I’d felt anything but the ache of Daniel’s absence—the same ache that now seemed to dull in the presence of this man who caught me with such ease. I shook my head, chasing away the thought. I was here for peace, solitude, and alpine blooms—not to fall into another man’s arms, no matter how steady they might be.
The trail wound higher, and with each step, the air grew crisper, a stark contrast to the warmth bubbling between Lucas and me as we shared stories of past adventures. His tales of travels and hikes in exotic locales had me laughing, my previous tumble forgotten amidst the camaraderie.
“Okay, your turn,” he said after finishing a particularly thrilling recount of a Venetian trip gone awry. “What’s the wildest thing that’s happened at your tea shop?”
I smirked, rolling my eyes skyward. “Well, there was the Great Steeping Incident of Twenty-One,” I began, weaving the tale of a mischievous cat, an open tin of tea leaves, and an impromptu feline tea party that left us finding Earl Grey cold-brewed in a forgotten, half-full mop bucket.
Lucas chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds like quite the caper.”
“Indeed, it was a perfect storm,” I said, unable to resist the pun even as I winced at its cheesiness.
“Ouch.” He winced playfully. “Keep those coming and I might start questioning your innocence in any crime of bad jokes.”
Our lighthearted banter was cut short as the path veered sharply, revealing a precarious stretch of the trail ahead. Ice glazed the rocky terrain like a treacherous mirror, and steep drops called for careful footwork. The mountain showed its teeth, and suddenly, our ascent felt more like an act of defiance against nature’s whims.
“Looks like we’ll need to watch our step here,” Lucas observed, his tone shifting to one of caution.
“Agreed,” I replied, my focus sharpening. My boots crunched on the icy crust, each step a calculated risk. Lucas moved ahead, testing the stability of the frozen ground before gesturing for me to follow.
“Trust me, Penny,” he called back, extending a hand when I reached a particularly slick area.
“Seems to be a recurring theme today,” I muttered under my breath, taking his hand and sidling across the ice with all the grace of a newborn fawn.
“Whoa!” My feet betrayed me once again, and for a heart-stopping moment, I teetered on the brink. But Lucas’s grip was ironclad as he pulled me firmly back to solid ground.
“Thanks,” I breathed out, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Anytime. We’re a team, remember?” He winked, the earlier playfulness returning to his expression despite the close call.
“Best team on the mountain,” I affirmed, my confidence buoyed by his unwavering steadiness.
The trail opened up into a clearing, and there they were—the aconite flowers. They stood like purple sentinels against the snow, guarding the secrets of alpine herbalism that I coveted for my tea shop. I lost my breath, not just from the hike but from the sheer splendor of it all.
“Wow,” I exclaimed, dropping to my knees beside the first cluster of blooms. Their fragrance was delicate, a subtle blend of sweet and earthy notes that seemed to whisper of hidden magic.
“Careful now,” I reminded Lucas, who knelt beside me with my canvas bag in hand. He had slipped off his gloves, revealing hands that were steady despite the cold. “Remember, no touching. The last thing we need is a case of aconite poisoning on our hands—literally.”
I pulled out a pair of tweezers from my pocket. Together, we set to work, plucking the vibrant purple blossoms with precision. I focused intently on the task, trying not to think about how close Lucas’s knee was to mine or the warmth radiating from him in the crisp mountain air.
“Got quite the technique there,” he said, watching me navigate a particularly stubborn stem.
“Years of practice,” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “You’d be surprised how often I find myself elbow-deep in foliage.”
“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure myself,” he said, grinning. “Though I’ve handcuffed a fair share of criminals in less-than-ideal environments.”
“Botanical banditry is not quite as thrilling as your day job, I’m sure.” My hands deftly moved from one flower to the next, while my heart did an awkward little dance. “Interpol, you said?”
“Right. I’m the police kind of detective, not the American black-and-white movie kind. Thrilling is overrated. I prefer… serene,” Lucas said, his voice lower now, almost reflective. “Like this. It’s peaceful.”
“Peaceful with a side of danger,” I reminded him, eyeing the jagged peaks around us.
“Peace is best,” he assured me.
We filled the bag with careful efficiency, each flower a potential drop of relief in my future tea blends. As we worked, I couldn’t help but feel a sort of kinship with Lucas. Here we were, two people from completely different worlds, connected by a common purpose under the vast expanse of sky.
“Done,” I finally announced. “And our fingers are still intact!”
“Mission accomplished,” Lucas echoed, helping me to my feet. “Let’s get these beauties back to civilization.”
“Lead the way, Detective,” I said with a mock salute.
“Only if you promise to keep the wacky hijinks to a minimum on the descent,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with mirth.
“Mr. Bennett, I am the epitome of grace and—” A patch of snow gave way under my boot, sending a small cascade of powder tumbling down the slope.
“Smooth,” he commented dryly, offering his arm for support.
“Like butter,” I responded, taking his arm with a laugh. Our chuckles blended with the wind as we left behind the tranquil kingdom of aconites, descending back toward the world we knew, carrying with us a tiny piece of the mountain’s serene beauty.
I was admiring the stash of aconite in the open canvas bag, the petals a perfect shade of moonlit lavender, when the crunching of boots on snow caught my attention. Lucas and I weren’t alone anymore. A figure appeared at the summit nearby, his silhouette framed against the blinding white of the surrounding peaks.
“Seems we have company,” Lucas murmured, nodding toward the newcomer.
The man’s stance was as firm as the craggy mountains that embraced us, his eyes fixed on our little operation with a blend of curiosity and… was it admiration? I couldn’t be sure. He had the rugged look of someone who had weathered storms and scaled heights, a permanent tan etched into his features from a life lived under the open sky. His beard was a scruffy testament to his time away from civilization, and his eyes held stories untold.
“Stefan Vogel,” Lucas said in a low voice, and I recalled Hanna initially suggesting that I seek out the locally famous guide’s help on my hike—which I had declined.
The man in question descended to us as though he weren’t treading on snow and ice—sure-footed, quick.
“Penny Hawthorne, I presume.”
I was surprised. “Guilty as charged,” I said, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. “How do you know my name?”
“Hanna said I might run into you when I stopped for coffee at Chateau Blanc this morning.” Stefan’s grin was tinged with a roguish charm. “And now with aconite in your arsenal… a bold choice.”
“Bold but calculated,” I explained with pride swelling in my chest. “One must always bring something new to the table, especially if that table is nestled in the Swiss Alps.”
“Spoken like a true connoisseur,” he said, tilting his head in acknowledgment. “Your knowledge of botanicals must be vast to venture for aconite.”
“It is,” I responded, feeling a mix of validation and caution. “But let’s not forget the importance of handling such rarities with care.”
“Of course,” Stefan agreed, his eyes sparkling with what could either be respect or mischief. It was hard to tell with the shadows playing upon his face.
“Perhaps soon you’ll taste the fruits—or rather, the flowers—of today’s labor,” I jested, eager to maintain the lighthearted atmosphere.
“Nothing would please me more,” Stefan affirmed. “To drink a tea steeped with the essence of these mountains…” He paused, gazing at the horizon. “It’s a rare privilege.”
“Then consider yourself on the guest list for my next tasting,” I said with a laugh, turning to Lucas with a playful wink. “Assuming we make it back without any more ‘episodes’ of my fabled grace.”
Lucas chuckled. “We’ll make a mountaineer out of you yet, Penny.”
As Stefan gave a respectful nod and started to make his way down the trail, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of his enigmatic presence linger. There was something about him that piqued my curiosity—a riddle wrapped in a mountain cloak. But for now, I had an adventure to finish and a detective to impress with my not-so-graceful descent. Tucking the secured bag of aconite blooms into my backpack, I glanced at Lucas.
“Race you to the bottom?” I teased, feeling a buoyant mix of adrenaline and camaraderie.
Lucas countered with a mock sternness that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “My heroic reflexes might be on break.”
“A shame,” I said. With a conspiratorial grin, I took off down the mountain path, the crunch of compacted snow beneath my boots punctuating each step. I darted past gnarled trees and leapt over icy streams, my breath misting in the cool air.
Lucas kept pace beside me, moving with the ease of someone who’d navigated far trickier terrain than this. We weaved through the alpine flora, dodging rogue branches and the occasional sneaky patch of ice that seemed hell-bent on taking me down. Not today, ice. Not today.
“Remind me again why we’re not doing this on sleds?” I huffed as we rounded a particularly sharp bend, nearly losing my footing for the umpteenth time.
“Because watching you do the ‘don’t fall’ dance is far more entertaining,” Lucas shot back, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Ha-ha,” I replied, rolling my eyes but secretly relishing the playful banter. It had been too long since I’d allowed myself to just… play.
The last rays of sunlight painted the sky in hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over the mountain that felt like a cozy blanket draped over the world. My heart swelled with a sense of accomplishment.
“Look,” Lucas said, pointing to a spot where the trail opened up to reveal the twinkling lights of the village below, Chateau Blanc rising highest. “Home stretch.”
We barreled down the final stretch, laughter mingling with the crisp mountain air. As we reached the trailhead, panting and flushed with exertion, I couldn’t help but feel that rush—the thrill of adventure mixed with the quiet stirrings of something more.
“Looks like I win,” Lucas said, arriving a mere second before me. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, but his eyes sparkled with mirth.
“Technically, I think that was a tie,” I argued, though I didn’t actually mind the prospect of buying him a drink.
“Tell you what,” he offered, holding out his hand to seal the deal, “let’s call it even and buy each other a drink.”
I looked at his outstretched hand, then up to his eyes, where a playful challenge shimmered. A tantalizing invitation sparked between us, and for a moment, I was sorely tempted. But the tingle in my fingers reminded me of the delicate blooms waiting in my backpack.
“I have a counteroffer,” I said, brushing off a chilly bead of sweat from my forehead. “How about we take a raincheck on that? These little guys”—I gently patted my backpack—“need immediate attention. Apparently, their charm doesn’t last long if they’re not properly dried.”
Lucas’s smile took on a curious twist as he studied me, eyes twinkling with intrigue. “You’re serious about these flowers?”
“As serious as you are about catching criminals,” I replied, mimicking his pose from earlier in the day when he raised an eyebrow in skepticism at my profession.
He let out a hearty laugh that echoed through the stillness of the snow-covered landscape around us. “Touché” he conceded, his voice warm against the cool alpine air.
Retracting his hand, he instead extended it toward me as if in peace. “May I escort you back to the resort, then?”
I sniffed, trying to contain my laughter. “Such a gentleman.”
His smile brightened, light dancing in his eyes. “Well, I wouldn’t want the lady to come to any harm on her way back.”
I mulled it over, feigning deep thought. “Hmm… I suppose that’s agreeable.”
I accepted his outstretched arm, and we started our walk back.
After a moment, I looked over at him, feeling bold.
“Lucas?”
“Yes?” His voice carried a note of curiosity.
“Next time, let’s bring those sleds.”
I could hear the resulting chuckle rumble through him and felt it reverberate up my arm.
Yes, I said next time.
“Deal,” he agreed, his breath visible in the air between us. The warmth in his voice made me shiver—but not from the cold.
As we neared Chateau Blanc, its golden lights sparkled against the blanket of white snow surrounding us like a scene from some old-time postcard. It was indeed a sight.
But I wasn’t nearly as intrigued by it as I was with the man beside me.