Until There Was You(30)

“We’re all over ninety,” Vivian said. “There’s a high probability of death on any night. If you come back on Monday, I may be ready to sign the salvage rights to you. We’ll see.”

“I come by every Monday,” Posey said. “You don’t have to bribe me.”

“Don’t I?”

“You don’t. See you Monday.”

As she struggled into her truck, Posey sighed. Tonight was the official start of the Barefoot Fraulein taking over as head chef of Guten Tag.

Hard to believe Gret was back. Posey was positive there was a story here—the Barefoot Fraulein living in Posey’s old room? When Posey had asked her plans at dinner last week, Gretchen had been vague. “It’s so good to be back,” she said, squeezing Stacia’s hand. “Why rush me off, right, Auntie?” And Stacia, of course, had clucked her assent as Max nodded.

Posey acknowledged that it would’ve been nice to have had a date for this. The night would’ve felt a lot different if she’d had Dante on her arm, giving her those dark Mediterranean looks he did so well. But she hadn’t had so much as a text since The Talk.

Dang it. She pulled into a parking space and headed toward Guten Tag, catching a glimpse of herself in the windows. She didn’t have girly shoes—well, she had one pair, but the heels were almost fatally high. The boots had looked cute enough at home, but you know, maybe they weren’t working. Steel-toed engineer boots and sundresses…then again, maybe she’d start a trend. It had a certain carefree appeal, right? Maybe? No? She checked her reflection again. It was a no. Ah, well. Too late now.

Guten Tag was mobbed, which was weird enough. A giant banner hung across the front—Guten Tag says Wilkommen to the Barefoot Fraulein, Gretchen Heidelberg! And there was a life-size cutout of Gretchen herself, dressed in traditional German clothing, boobs pushed up almost to her chin.

“Wow,” Posey said as her brother and Jon approached.

“That bra must be made of steel,” Jon said. “That, or they Photoshopped out the two dwarves standing under there, hefting those puppies up.”

Posey laughed. “Having fun, boys?”

“Your brother’s hoping for an amputation to get him out of this.”

“I’m actually hoping for a reattachment,” Henry said, perfectly serious. “I’ve done three amputations this week alone.”

“We have friends here from Boston,” Jon said. “Come! Meet! And, oh, sweetheart, those boots? Why didn’t we call me?”

Jon and Henry’s friends seemed to be having a jolly time. Posey chatted a few minutes, then announced the need for a beverage.

“Posey,” Jon added. “We’re planning to ditch in about an hour and head to Portsmouth for dinner. Want to come?”

Posey grimaced. “Yes. But I can’t. I’m the daughter.”

“You can do it! If Henry can…”

“Well, you know, Henry’s the son. He can do whatever he wants.”

Jon sighed. “Sad, but true. Oh, the curse of the double standard! You sure? You can sneak out. Gretchen won’t notice.”

“No, but Mom and Dad would. That’s okay. It’s fine. You guys have fun.” She patted his arm and headed for the bar, only to bump right into the Barefoot Fraulein herself.

“Posey! I’m so glad you’re here!” Gretchen pounced and, holy Elvis, could she show more boob? More leg? She wore a silky cream-colored scrap of fabric that clung to her curves, most notably the junk in her trunk. “You look so cute!” Gretchen pinched her cheek, and Posey twisted away.

“Gretchen. Don’t you look…pretty.”

“You’re so sweet! Let me introduce someone. Posey, this is Dante Bellini. Dante, this is my little cousin, Posey Osterhagen.”

“We’ve met, Gretchen,” Posey said, her stomach flipping. Dante? In Guten Tag without turning into a pillar of salt?

“Good to see you, Posey.” He smiled, and a little flare of hope fired in her chest. Had he come because he knew she’d be here? “Of course you know each other! I keep forgetting how small a town Bellsford is. I guess I’m still used to New York. Oh, I’m sorry, the reporter from Channel 2 is waving. You two chat, get something to eat, have some tapas. Essen und geniessen! Or, as you might say, Dante, mangia!” She flashed her painfully white teeth and wove through the crowd, leaving Posey and Dante in a cloud of her musky perfume.

Tapas? Since when did German restaurants have tapas?

“How are you?” Dante asked.

“I’m good.” She smiled. “How’ve you been, Dante?”

“Great. I have to say, I didn’t realize you knew her.” Dante’s eyes drifted over to Gretchen, who had seemed to have surgically attached herself to the reporter from Channel 2, laughing and tossing her hair and posing for pictures. “She’s quite a force to be reckoned with.”

“Um…yeah.” That dark Mediterranean look was still on Gretchen…her boobs, specifically. Posey crossed her arms over her chest, which made things itchier, then unfolded them. “I’m a little surprised to see you here, Dante.”

He had the grace to look sheepish. “Well, Gretchen invited me. Said there’s plenty of room for two gourmet restaurants on the same block, no reason to be enemies.” He took a sip of his drink. “I had no idea you were related.”