The first morning of the holiday had already established two things about König. First, he was considerably larger than any car manufactured for ordinary civilian use could reasonably accommodate. Second, he was rather pleased with the seating arrangements, although he had enough sense not to announce that in front of both your mothers.

He had spent a good five minutes adjusting the driver's seat before leaving Waldschlössl, eventually pushing it as far back as it would go and accepting that his knees would remain uncomfortably close to the dashboard. His mother had watched the entire process from the parking area, offering suggestions that were neither requested nor particularly helpful, while your family finished organizing themselves for the day's excursion. The two mothers had decided that putting their respective unmarried offspring in the same car was the most sensible arrangement.

König hadn't objected. He had noticed you at dinner the previous evening, and while he'd been perfectly capable of making polite conversation with the rest of the family, he'd found himself paying considerably more attention to you than to the discussion about the weather forecast. You were attractive, you were close enough to his age that he didn't feel like someone's oversized teenage son being dragged along on a family outing, and you had apparently been sentenced to several days of hiking despite having very little enthusiasm for the activity.

He liked that last part more than he probably should have. There was something rather endearing about a person who had come all the way to the Austrian mountains and would still prefer to take the cable car.

Now he was driving toward Semmering with you in the passenger seat, the radio playing quietly and the morning sun catching the tops of the forested hills. He'd offered to let you choose the music, made sure the air conditioning wasn't blowing directly at you, and spent the first few kilometres trying to think of something more interesting to say than commenting on the condition of the roads.

He wasn't particularly good at flirting with strangers. Unfortunately, he was also quite interested in flirting with you.

"Your mother said you have the NÖ Card."

It wasn't the most romantic opening he'd ever managed, but at least it was a subject he understood.

"Sehr gut. [Very good.] Clever purchase, actually. If you visit several attractions, it pays for itself very quickly." He glanced toward you with a small smile. "You have good taste. In tourism passes, at least. I cannot judge the rest yet."

He looked back at the road, privately rather pleased with that one.

"Today we go to Hirschenkogel. The cable car is included, up and down. Otherwise it is quite expensive. And at the top there is the Millennium Observatory, very nice views over the mountains." He gestured toward the green slopes visible through the windshield. "We can walk around, take pictures, perhaps have something to eat. Nothing too exhausting."

He paused before adding, "I was told you are not such a big fan of hiking."

His mother had actually told him considerably more than that. Between the two women, he had received an extensive briefing on your preferences, your dislike of unnecessary physical exertion, and your rather impressive fear of heights. He suspected you had received a similarly unsolicited account of his life, although he sincerely hoped his mother had omitted certain childhood anecdotes.

"That is fine, you know. I like hiking, but I am not going to make you climb a mountain just because I think it is fun." He considered this for a moment. "Unless it is a very nice mountain."

A grin tugged at his mouth.

"Then perhaps I will try to convince you."

He liked the idea of showing you around. It gave him something useful to do with the unfamiliar pleasure of finding someone attractive. He knew the region, understood the transport system, and had a respectable collection of opinions about which attractions were worth visiting. If he could make you laugh somewhere along the way, all the better.

"Tomorrow, Schneeberg," he continued. "We take the Salamanderbahn from Puchberg. Very interesting railway. And at Baumgartner they have Buchteln. Have you tried them?"

He glanced over, his expression brightening at the prospect of introducing you to something he genuinely enjoyed.

"With Powidl. Plum filling, you know? Very good. I think you would like them. And if you don't, I will eat yours. No problem."

He laughed quietly at his own generosity.

"Friday is Rax. The cable car there is famous, first passenger cableway in Austria. Opened in 1926, so a hundred years this year. We can walk to Ottohaus, maybe. Not such a difficult hike."

He hesitated, then looked toward you with an expression of exaggerated innocence.

"Well, not difficult for me. But I have very long legs. It would be unfair to compare."

For someone who had contributed perhaps fifteen sentences to the previous evening's dinner conversation, König was proving remarkably talkative. He was aware of it, too. Ordinarily, he would have been perfectly content to drive in silence, but today he kept finding little things worth mentioning: an old railway bridge, a particularly beautiful stretch of forest, a village bakery he remembered visiting, and the fact that Austrian tourist attractions had become rather expensive in recent years.

Occasionally, he caught himself talking too much and fell quiet, only to find another excuse to start again a few minutes later.

The truth was that he liked having you beside him. He liked that the two of you had been left alone for the drive, liked the possibility of getting to know you without your mothers providing commentary, and liked that he could make you the audience for his rather extensive knowledge of regional tourism.

By the time they reached the parking area near the Hirschenkogel valley station, he had also explained the benefits of the NÖ Card at three separate attractions, complained about tourist parking fees, and recommended a restaurant in a village neither of you was currently visiting.

He parked, switched off the engine, and unfolded himself from the driver's seat with an audible grunt of relief.

"Ach, endlich. [Ah, finally.]" He straightened his back, stretching his arms above his head before pulling his shirt down again. "Next time I drive my own car. This thing is made for children."

He came around the vehicle while you collected your belongings, lingering near the passenger door without making a production of it. The height difference was rather ridiculous when the two of you stood beside each other, something he was accustomed to noticing but found himself unusually conscious of today.

He glanced down at you with a small, almost bashful smile.

"You know, I was quite happy when they said we would drive together."

The admission came out more directly than he'd intended, but he didn't take it back.

"Better company than my mother. She would have spent the entire drive telling me how to drive." He chuckled, then added, "And you are prettier, of course. That helps."

There. A perfectly respectable compliment. He was thirty-four years old, for God's sake. He could tell a woman she was pretty without needing medical assistance afterward.

They started toward the valley station, König initially walking at his usual pace before realizing that his long strides were carrying him ahead. He slowed to match yours, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his cargo shorts.

The station was busy with families, hikers, and tourists consulting maps. König checked the ticket information, then glanced toward the cable cars travelling steadily up the mountainside.

"Ah, and one more thing. At the top there is a mountain cart track. You can drive down part of the mountain in these little three-wheeled things. Very fun, actually. Not included in the card, unfortunately, but perhaps worth paying for."

He looked toward you, considering the suggestion.

"Unless the heights are too much. Your mother mentioned that as well."

His expression softened a little, although the amusement hadn't entirely disappeared.

"Don't worry. The cable car is very safe. Austrian engineering. They inspect these things constantly." He paused, then gave you a sideways look. "And if you get frightened, you can hold my hand. Very big hands, as you can see. Plenty to hold."

He held one out briefly to demonstrate, looking altogether too pleased with himself.

"That was flirting, by the way," he added, his deep voice carrying a dry note of humor. "In case my accent made it difficult to understand."

He laughed, retrieved his NÖ Card from his pocket, and gestured toward the entrance. "Let me show you my mountains. I promise there will be very little actual hiking involved today."

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By the time everyone returned to Waldschlössl, König had decided that the first day of the holiday had been a success. The weather had been a little miserable, the families had managed to turn a perfectly ordinary supermarket visit into a lengthy international discussion about grocery prices, and his back was still recovering from several hours in a car designed for someone approximately half his size, but the mountain had been beautiful. More importantly, he'd enjoyed spending the day with you.

Semmering had been worth the trip. The rain had come and gone in fine, irritating little showers, leaving the forest damp and the mountain air pleasantly cool. The viewpoint had offered a spectacular panorama whenever the clouds permitted it, although the stairs leading up to it had presented a rather more serious problem. König had discovered that your fear of heights was not an exaggeration. He'd stayed close, offered his hand, and refrained from pointing out that the structure was perfectly safe after realizing that this particular information wasn't nearly as comforting as he'd imagined. The view had been gorgeous, but he'd found himself watching you almost as much as the scenery.

Afterward, they'd wandered through the forest for a while, taking the easier paths beneath the trees, looking around, and enjoying the sort of quiet that was increasingly difficult to find whenever their respective families were involved. Eventually, they'd taken the cable car back down and rejoined the others for the drive home.

Then there had been Billa.

König liked supermarkets. He appreciated a sensible layout, clear prices, and the opportunity to buy food without paying restaurant prices for every meal. What he did not particularly appreciate was standing in the middle of an aisle while several adults debated whether Austrian milk was better than Hungarian milk, whether the bread was more expensive than it should have been, and whether the local selection of cold cuts represented a meaningful improvement in quality of life.

The shopping itself had been perfectly reasonable. Milk buns, bread and sandwich ingredients, coffee for the morning, several bottles of soda, alcohol for the evenings, snacks, and a Monster Energy for you. König had also made a point of finding something decent for breakfast, because he refused to begin a day in the mountains on nothing but caffeine and optimism.

Unfortunately, every purchase had apparently required a committee meeting.

By the time they reached the accommodation, even his mother had begun to sound tired of everyone else's opinions. Dinner had been a simple affair of sandwiches assembled from their purchases, accompanied by the usual family conversations, a few complaints about aching feet, and repeated discussions about what time everyone needed to be ready the following morning. König had eaten enough for two ordinary people, contributed very little to the planning, and quietly enjoyed the fact that you were sitting nearby.

Now, finally, the evening belonged to the two of you.

König emerged from the bathroom freshly showered, wearing an old grey T-shirt and black sleeping shorts, his damp hair sticking up slightly where he'd rubbed it with a towel. He had left his hiking clothes folded over a chair to dry properly and deposited his boots beside the door, where they would be out of the way. The room was small but comfortable, with wooden furniture, a window overlooking the darkening grounds, and one queen-sized bed that had seemed considerably larger when he first saw it without another person standing beside him.

He looked at the bed, then at you, and gave a quiet chuckle.

"Well. Here we are."

He'd known about the sleeping arrangements before arriving, of course. His mother had explained them with the casual confidence of a woman who had already decided the matter was settled. Two unmarried adults, one room, one bed. Perfectly economical. König had been less convinced about the practicality of the arrangement, particularly given his size, but he'd agreed because there had apparently been no other reasonable option.

That had been before he'd spent the day discovering that he rather liked you.

Now the situation was becoming considerably more interesting.

He crossed to his side of the bed and sat down, testing the mattress with an appreciative little bounce. It was reasonably firm, although the pillows looked suspiciously soft. He picked one up, squeezed it experimentally, and frowned.

"These Austrian guesthouse pillows," he muttered. "Always enormous until you put your head on them. Then suddenly there is nothing inside."

He gave it another squeeze before dropping it back onto the mattress.

"At least the bed is comfortable. I was worried it would be one of those terrible mattresses where you can feel every spring."

He stretched his legs out in front of him, looking down at his bare feet before glancing toward you with a faint smile.

"You did well today, by the way. Semmering was nice, ja? Even with the rain."

His smile widened slightly.

"And the viewpoint. Ach, that was something." He shook his head, amused but not unkind. "I thought you were going to murder me when I suggested going up those stairs. You looked at me like I had personally built them."

He laughed, a warm, low sound that came more easily now than it had during their first conversation that morning.

"But the view was worth it. And the forest was beautiful. I liked walking there with you."

The last admission was delivered simply, without an elaborate attempt to disguise it as a comment about the scenery.

He'd been thinking about that walk, actually. About how pleasant it had been to have someone beside him who didn't feel compelled to fill every silence, and how much he'd enjoyed showing you places he knew. He'd also found your reactions to the day's various inconveniences rather entertaining, particularly during the supermarket expedition.

"Although tomorrow, I think we should leave the families at Billa and collect them three hours later," he continued. "They can discuss the price of cheese without us. I have never heard so many opinions about cheese in my life."

He shook his head again, still smiling.

"And your Monster. I thought we would need another twenty minutes just to buy that."

The room had grown pleasantly quiet around them. Outside, the last of the evening light was disappearing behind the mountains, and somewhere farther down the corridor, one of their relatives was still talking loudly enough to be heard through the closed door. König glanced toward the sound, waited until the footsteps passed, and let out a long breath.

"Endlich Ruhe. [Finally, some peace.]"

He leaned back on his hands, looking considerably more relaxed than he had at any point during dinner.

"I like my mother, you know. Very much. But sometimes..." He made a vague gesture toward the door. "Sometimes I think she could argue with a wall and the wall would apologize."

He glanced at you, grinning.

"Your family is not much better."

He let the observation sit for a moment before adding, "At least we have each other. Two sensible people surrounded by lunatics."

The irony of including himself among the sensible people, after spending half the day delivering unsolicited lectures about mountain railways and discount cards, appeared to escape him entirely.

König reached for the extra blanket folded at the foot of the bed and placed it between the pillows.

"Now, about this." He gestured toward the mattress. "I should warn you that I am very large. You may have noticed."

His expression was perfectly serious, although the amusement in his eyes betrayed him.

"I don't think I snore. Nobody has complained recently, anyway. And I usually sleep quite still, but I cannot promise my legs will remain entirely on my side. They are very long. Terrible design, really."

He shifted farther toward the edge of the mattress, demonstrating how much space he intended to leave you, then looked down at the narrow strip remaining beneath his own considerable frame.

"Hm. Perhaps not."

Another quiet laugh escaped him.

He wasn't embarrassed about sharing a bed with an attractive woman. A little uncertain about the etiquette, perhaps, but certainly not unhappy. The prospect of waking up beside you was considerably more appealing than he'd anticipated when his mother first announced the arrangement.

"Listen," he said, his tone softening. "I know this is a little strange. We barely knew each other yesterday, and now we are supposed to sleep together for four nights."

He paused, then smiled at his own choice of words.

"Sleep in the same bed, I mean. Although I suppose that was obvious."

He rubbed a hand over his face, chuckling.

"Ach, scheiße. [Ah, shit.] I am making this sound much more complicated than it is."

He looked at you again, his expression warm and openly interested.

"I had a very nice day with you. I am glad we came together. And I would like to spend more time with you tomorrow, if you can tolerate another mountain."

He reached for his pillow, arranged it behind his head, and settled against the headboard, leaving the other half of the mattress available.

"Come, get comfortable. We can talk a little before sleeping. I promise not to explain the entire history of the Schneebergbahn tonight." A mischievous smile spread across his face. "Unless you ask nicely. Then I cannot refuse."

König had been awake for approximately forty minutes when he decided that he liked travelling with you considerably more than travelling with either of your mothers. This was not an especially difficult competition, considering that his mother had already called twice to ask whether he had remembered the tickets, but he felt the distinction was worth making.

It was still early when they left Waldschlössl, the morning air cool and the roads pleasantly quiet. König had managed a shower, coffee, and two milk buns before getting behind the wheel, although he would have appreciated another hour of sleep. Sharing a queen-sized bed with you had been a surprisingly pleasant experience, even if his legs had spent part of the night negotiating with the footboard. He'd woken up in a good mood, which was unusual for someone who generally preferred not to speak until he'd finished his second coffee.

You had brought your Monster Energy from yesterday's Billa expedition, and the familiar sound of the can opening had accompanied the first few minutes of the drive. König had glanced over with mild amusement, made a comment about the nutritional qualities of breakfasting on caffeine, and then promptly admitted that his own breakfast hadn't been particularly impressive either.

The music had started quietly, something to fill the comfortable silence while the countryside passed outside the windows. König had offered you control of the playlist, expecting the usual assortment of English-language pop music. Instead, he'd discovered that you had a rather enthusiastic appreciation for German music.

He'd recognized Nena immediately, of course. Everybody knew "99 Luftballons." He'd been considerably more surprised when the playlist moved through Wir sind Helden's "Nur ein Wort," CRO's "Einmal um die Welt," Zartmann's "Tau mich auf," and eventually Ikkimel, whose music had prompted him to glance at the display with an expression of genuine disbelief.

"Ach du Scheiße. [Holy shit.] You listen to Ikkimel?"

He'd laughed, shaking his head as the road curved between wooded hills.

"Of all the German music you could have chosen. My mother would have a heart attack."

That hadn't stopped him from enjoying himself. He knew more of the songs than he'd initially admitted, and before long the two of you had been singing along, occasionally getting the words wrong, occasionally laughing at each other's attempts, and generally making a considerably more cheerful journey of it than either had expected at such an unreasonable hour.

König's singing voice was deep, reasonably pleasant, and completely lacking in embarrassment once he got going. He had even joined in enthusiastically when "99 Luftballons" came on, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel and grinning whenever he glanced toward you.

By the time they reached Puchberg am Schneeberg, he was awake, cheerful, and looking forward to spending another day with you.

Then came the parking.

The railway parking area operated through EasyPark, a system so straightforward that König had initially assumed there was nothing worth discussing. The first two hours were free, additional parking cost €1.20 per hour, and all anyone needed to do was register their vehicle and start the parking session by text.

You knew the system from living in Denmark, where EasyPark was equally familiar. König understood the instructions perfectly well. Between the two of you, the car had been registered, the parking session started, and the entire matter resolved in a few minutes.

Unfortunately, the rest of the family had developed a different interpretation.

Somebody had decided that the first two hours being free meant parking was only permitted for two hours. Somebody else believed the cars would be towed if they remained longer. A third person had begun speculating about fines of such extraordinary proportions that König wondered whether they thought the Austrian authorities intended to confiscate the vehicles and sell them at auction.

The fact that the sign explicitly stated the hourly rate had done remarkably little to improve matters.

König had explained the system once. Then again, more slowly. Then a third time, pointing directly at the information on his phone.

"Nein, Mama. Two hours free. After that, one euro twenty per hour. It is written there. We have registered the car. Everything is fine."

His mother had responded by asking whether he was absolutely certain.

He'd stared at her for a moment.

"Ja. I am certain. I can read German."

Apparently, this had not been sufficiently persuasive.

The discussion continued for another ten minutes, during which König gradually abandoned any hope of convincing everyone that the Austrian parking authorities were not preparing to arrest a family of tourists over an entirely legitimate parking session.

He eventually retreated to stand beside you, folding his enormous arms across his chest as another relative began explaining a theory about the maximum permitted parking duration.

"Unglaublich. [Unbelievable.]" He leaned down slightly, speaking quietly enough that the others couldn't hear. "We have paid for the parking. We have the confirmation. The sign is right there. What more do they want? A personal letter from the Bürgermeister?"

He glanced toward you, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

"And you have used EasyPark in Denmark. I have used it here. But apparently we are both wrong, and the cars will be taken away by the police."

He pressed a hand over his face, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh.

"Next time we tell them the parking costs fifty euros and they must leave the cars in Hungary. Perhaps then they will listen."

By the time everyone finally agreed to walk toward the station, König had decided that the two of you deserved some sort of medal for patience.

Unfortunately, the Salamanderbahn presented its own challenges.

The train itself was wonderful. König loved the distinctive green-and-white carriages, the mechanical ingenuity of the rack railway, and the way the route climbed steadily through the forest toward Hochschneeberg. The views were spectacular, opening between the trees to reveal valleys, distant villages, and mountains stretching into the morning haze.

The passengers, however, were considerably less wonderful.

A particularly unpleasant family had managed to occupy the surrounding seats while behaving as though the entire carriage had been reserved for their personal use. There was very little room, an unfortunate assortment of smells, and a seemingly endless amount of unnecessary movement. One of the adults kept leaning across the aisle, another had spread their belongings over more space than seemed physically reasonable, and König had already been elbowed twice by someone who apparently considered his ribs an extension of the armrest.

He endured the first incident politely. The second earned a long, disapproving look.

By the third, he was leaning closer to you, his voice lowered to a conspiratorial murmur.

"I think they are trying to see how much of an Austrian they can annoy before he becomes a problem."

He shifted his long legs as best he could, making a little more space for you while accepting that his own knees were unlikely to enjoy the journey.

"At least the view is beautiful. Imagine paying all this money to look at the back of someone's head."

He nodded toward the window, where the railway had emerged from another stretch of forest. The landscape fell away beneath them, green slopes rolling into distant blue mountains. For a moment, even the irritating family seemed less important.

König smiled, looking from the scenery back to you.

"See? I told you Schneeberg would be worth it."

When the train finally reached Hochschneeberg, the difference in temperature was immediate. The wind swept across the exposed mountain, cool enough to make König grateful for the extra layer he'd packed. He stepped onto the platform, drew a deep breath of clean alpine air, and stretched his shoulders after the cramped journey.

"Ah, endlich. [Finally.] Fresh air. And nobody hitting me with their elbows."

He looked around, visibly delighted.

The mountain was magnificent. Broad green slopes stretched beneath a sky filled with fast-moving clouds, and the distant peaks appeared and disappeared as sunlight travelled across the landscape. The wind carried the smell of grass and damp earth, and the air was so clear that the surrounding valleys seemed almost close enough to touch.

König had been looking forward to this part of the holiday for weeks. He loved the mountains, loved the cool air, and loved the particular satisfaction of standing somewhere high enough that the world below appeared wonderfully small.

He was also becoming rather fond of sharing these experiences with you.

The family eventually organized itself into something resembling a hiking group, although not before another discussion about which path to take and whether the weather would remain cooperative. König consulted the signs, checked the route, and suggested a scenic walk that would allow everyone to enjoy the views without committing to an unnecessarily strenuous descent.

He had learned from Semmering that your fear of heights was genuine, and he was careful not to turn the outing into another test of your nerves. There were plenty of beautiful places to explore without insisting that you stand beside every steep drop.

The path led across open alpine terrain, occasionally rising over gentle slopes before winding between patches of grass and exposed rock. König walked comfortably, his boots crunching against the gravel, although he made a conscious effort to keep his stride manageable. Every so often, he pointed out a particularly impressive view or stopped to take a photograph.

He had also begun teasing you with considerably more confidence than the previous day.

"Not so bad, ja? You have survived two Austrian mountains already. By Friday, perhaps I can make a proper Bergsteigerin [mountaineer] out of you."

He grinned, then added, "Or perhaps not. I think you would divorce me before we reached the summit."

The words slipped out so naturally that he didn't immediately register what he'd said. When he did, his smile turned a little sheepish.

"Not that we are married, obviously. You know what I mean."

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Although if we were, I would at least buy you Buchteln afterward. I am a generous husband."

He was still looking rather pleased with that joke when the path curved around a grassy rise and revealed a large herd of cows grazing across the mountainside.

König stopped.

"Oh, look at them."

His entire expression brightened.

There were dozens of them scattered across the pasture, some grazing peacefully, others resting in the grass, their bells ringing softly whenever they moved. A few lifted their heads to observe the approaching hikers before returning to the apparently important business of eating.

König watched them with obvious affection.

"Beautiful animals. Very peaceful when nobody bothers them."

He kept a respectful distance, well aware that alpine cattle were not decorative attractions placed there for tourists to pet. Still, he couldn't resist taking a photograph of one particularly impressive cow standing against the mountain scenery.

"That one is enormous," he observed, sounding almost impressed. "Very handsome, too."

He glanced toward you with a grin.

"Not as handsome as me, of course. But close."

The joke earned a laugh from him, and he slipped his phone back into his pocket before continuing along the path.

The family had spread out somewhat by now, different walking speeds creating small gaps between the groups. König was perfectly content with that arrangement. The morning's parking disaster and the cramped railway journey had left him with very little desire for another committee discussion, and he was enjoying the opportunity to walk beside you without constant interruption.

He slowed near a particularly beautiful stretch of the trail, where the mountains opened into a wide panorama of green valleys and distant peaks. The wind tugged at his shirt, and he pushed a hand through his already untidy hair before looking down at you.

"You know," he said, his voice softer than before, "I was quite happy when our mothers arranged this holiday. I wanted to come hiking, and I thought it would be nice to spend some time in the mountains."

He paused, smiling.

"But I did not expect to enjoy the company so much."

He looked out over the landscape for a moment, then back at you.

"I like you. Quite a lot, actually."

There was no elaborate confession, no dramatic attempt to make the moment more significant than it needed to be. He simply said it, with the same straightforward sincerity he'd shown when telling you about his favorite mountain railway or the quality of the Buchteln waiting farther down the line.

His smile became a little more playful.

"And I think you like me, too. Otherwise you would have pushed me off the mountain yesterday."

He laughed, then offered his hand as the path continued over a slightly uneven stretch of ground.

"Come, schöne Frau. [Beautiful woman.] We still have some walking to do. And on the way down, I am buying you those Buchteln I have been talking about since yesterday."

He glanced toward the cows once more, then leaned closer with a conspiratorial smile.

"Just don't tell the families. They will want to discuss whether the pastries are worth the money for another twenty minutes."

By the time König finally sat down on the balcony at Waldschlössl, he had decided that the day had been absolutely wonderful, provided he was allowed to exclude approximately forty percent of the people involved.

Schneeberg itself had been magnificent. The weather had held up beautifully, the wind had been pleasantly cool, and the hiking had turned out to be exactly what he'd hoped for. They'd walked through gorgeous alpine scenery, encountered an enormous herd of cows, admired the surrounding mountains, and managed to enjoy several stretches of genuine peace before the rest of the family caught up. König had taken plenty of photographs, including several of you, and had been in an exceptionally good mood throughout most of the excursion.

The journey down had been equally pleasant, particularly because they'd finally stopped at Baumgartner.

After nearly two days of talking about the place, König had approached the station with the satisfaction of a man about to fulfill a sacred obligation. The Buchteln had been warm, soft, generously filled with Powidl, and every bit as good as he remembered. He'd insisted on buying enough for both of you, although he'd also made a point of securing some to take back to the accommodation. There were certain things a man simply didn't leave behind.

He'd been particularly pleased that you finally got to try them.

Unfortunately, the return to Puchberg had also meant returning to the cars, and with them, the unresolved family crisis surrounding the EasyPark system.

Both vehicles had been exactly where they'd left them. Nobody had been arrested. Nobody had received a fine. The Austrian authorities had apparently decided against confiscating two perfectly legally parked cars belonging to visiting families.

Better still, the parking hadn't cost a cent.

As it turned out, parking was free on weekends during the season. All anyone had needed to do was register the session through EasyPark, precisely as König and you had explained that morning.

König had stared at the confirmation on his phone for several seconds before looking at you.

"Zero euros," he'd announced, with the solemn satisfaction of a man presenting evidence at a criminal trial. "Not one euro twenty. Not a hundred euros. Zero."

He'd been tempted to deliver a lengthy speech about reading signs and listening to people who understood the parking system, but he'd restrained himself. Mostly. His mother had still received a rather pointed explanation of the final cost.

The families had then decided that everyone should have lunch together.

This had resulted in another lengthy discussion about where to eat, followed by a visit to a little restaurant where nearly everyone ordered Schnitzel. König had enjoyed his meal, although the conversation had eventually returned to parking, Austrian prices, and the quality of the potatoes. He'd spent a significant portion of lunch exchanging increasingly incredulous glances with you across the table.

Then someone remembered that they'd forgotten something at Billa the previous evening.

Naturally, this required another supermarket visit.

König had initially considered remaining in the car, but he'd followed you inside when you announced that you needed more caffeine. He'd watched with amusement as you selected Red Bulls and Monsters, apparently preparing for the possibility of remaining awake until the following Tuesday, and had helped carry the drinks while you looked for something else.

The snack sausages had been your idea. A little something to share later, preferably somewhere far away from the ongoing family debates.

König had approved immediately.

Now, several hours later, they were finally back at Waldschlössl. Everyone had dispersed to shower, rest, unpack shopping, or continue discussing tomorrow's plans, and König had seized the opportunity to escape onto the balcony with you.

The view was spectacular.

The Rax massif rose beyond the trees and rooftops, its broad slopes catching the warm afternoon light. Clouds drifted lazily across the mountain, casting enormous shadows over the forested hills below. The air was cooler than it had been in Puchberg, carrying the pleasant smell of greenery and the occasional distant sound of birds.

König had dragged a second chair closer to yours, abandoning the rather formal arrangement of the balcony furniture in favor of something more comfortable. Between the chairs sat a little table holding two glasses of Prosecco, the remaining Buchteln from Baumgartner, and the snack sausages you'd bought at Billa.

He had also brought a bottle of water, because despite everything, he was still a sensible Austrian man.

König leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs as far as the balcony permitted, and took a generous sip of Prosecco. He was wearing a clean T-shirt and comfortable shorts, his hair still slightly damp from the shower. His enormous frame looked almost comically oversized against the modest balcony furniture, but he seemed entirely content.

"Ahhh. Endlich. [Finally.]" He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the silence. "No parking tickets. No Schnitzel discussions. No supermarket committee. Just us."

He opened one eye, glancing toward you with a lazy smile. "And the mountain. Very nice mountain, actually." He lifted his glass toward the Rax as though offering it a toast. "Tomorrow we conquer you."

The statement was delivered with considerably more enthusiasm than the prospect of another hike probably deserved, but he was already looking forward to it. Rax was one of his favorite places in the region, and he had several ideas about where to walk, what to see, and how to convince you that the excursion would be worth the effort.

For now, however, he was perfectly happy to remain seated.

He watched you smoke for a moment, the thin trail of smoke drifting away on the afternoon breeze, then reached for the packet of snack sausages. He opened it, took one, and offered the rest toward you.

"These were a good purchase," he observed, examining the sausage with professional seriousness. "Very practical. Protein. Easy to carry. Much better than paying six euros for a terrible sandwich at a tourist attraction." He took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and nodded. "Ja. Good."

The two of you had spent enough time together by now that he no longer felt compelled to fill every silence. He liked sitting beside you, liked the occasional little conversations that developed naturally, and particularly liked that neither of you had to explain why the day's family activities had been so exhausting.

He took another sip of Prosecco before shaking his head with a quiet laugh. "I still cannot believe the parking." He looked toward you, his expression brightening with renewed disbelief.

"All that arguing. All those theories. Your family thought the cars would be towed. My mother thought we would get fined. And in the end, it was free." He laughed properly this time, his shoulders shaking. "Free! We could have parked there all day and paid nothing. But no, we had to spend twenty minutes discussing whether the Austrian police would arrest us."

He rubbed a hand over his face, still grinning. "Ach, Gott. [Oh, God.] I love my mother, but sometimes I wonder how she survives when I am not there to explain things."

He glanced toward the open balcony door, making sure nobody was approaching, then leaned a little closer. "And your family is just as bad. We are surrounded by people who can apparently organize an international holiday but cannot read a parking sign."

He raised his glass toward you. "To us. The only two functioning adults in Niederösterreich."

He clinked his glass gently against yours, looking entirely too pleased with the joke.

For a while, they simply sat together, enjoying the Prosecco, the snacks, and the view. König occasionally pointed out something on the mountain, explaining where the cable car station was or which part of the plateau they'd be exploring the following day, but he kept his enthusiasm relatively restrained. He'd already spent most of the day talking about mountains, and even he understood that there were limits.

Eventually, his attention returned to the little package from Baumgartner.

"Ah. The Buchteln." He sat forward with renewed interest, reaching for the pastries as though remembering an important appointment. "We cannot forget these. That would be a tragedy."

He opened the packaging and inspected the contents, visibly pleased that they'd survived the journey without being crushed. The pastries had cooled, but they still smelled wonderful, sweet and rich with plum filling.

He offered you one before taking another for himself.

"You know, I have been telling you about these since yesterday morning. I think I have talked about Buchteln more than anything else on this holiday." He considered that for a moment. "Except perhaps the NÖ Card."

He laughed, taking a bite.

"Very good Buchteln," he declared, with exactly the same conviction he'd expressed on the drive to Semmering.

Then he looked at you, smiling.

"Although I think I have found something I like more than Austrian pastries." He let the statement linger for a moment, his eyes meeting yours with an unmistakably flirtatious warmth.

"Your company, of course. What did you think I meant?" His grin widened.

König wasn't particularly experienced at this kind of easy, playful flirting, but he was discovering that he enjoyed it. He liked making you laugh, liked seeing how far he could push a joke before becoming embarrassed himself, and liked the growing sense that the two of you were developing something that belonged entirely to you, separate from the families and their endless opinions.

He leaned back again, stretching one arm along the back of his chair, close enough that his fingers could brush yours if either of you shifted slightly.

"You know," he said after a moment, his tone becoming a little more thoughtful, "I was worried about this holiday before we came."

He glanced toward the mountains.

"Not the hiking. I was looking forward to that. But spending five days with people I barely know, sharing a room with a stranger, all the family things..." He made a small gesture with his glass. "I thought it might be exhausting."

He looked back at you.

"And it is exhausting. Your family and my family together could make a man go insane." He smiled softly. "But you make it much better."

There was a comfortable sincerity in the admission, the sort that came more easily now that he'd spent two days getting to know you.

"I like having you around. In the car, on the mountain, even at Billa. Especially when everyone else is being ridiculous." He took another sip of Prosecco, then added with a mischievous little smile, "And I like sharing the bed with you. Although I suspect you have noticed."

The afternoon light had begun to soften, turning the mountain slopes a deeper shade of green. König watched the scenery for a moment before shifting his chair a little closer, the legs scraping quietly against the balcony floor.

"Come here," he said warmly, patting the armrest nearest you. "You are too far away. We have survived two mountains, one parking catastrophe, and approximately six hundred family arguments together. I think we can sit a little closer."

He offered you another piece of Buchteln, his smile turning distinctly cheeky.

"Besides, I still have to convince you that tomorrow's hike will be romantic. Very beautiful views, fresh air, perhaps a little kissing if I am lucky." He chuckled, looking altogether too pleased with himself. "Although if you tell me I must carry you up the Rax, we will have to negotiate. I am a very large man, but I am not a cable car."

By the time Friday arrived, König had developed three rather firm opinions about the holiday. The mountains were every bit as beautiful as he'd remembered, the combined families were capable of turning even the simplest activity into an international diplomatic incident, and sharing a bedroom with you had been the best thing his mother had arranged in years.

The last discovery had been particularly unexpected. He'd originally approached the sleeping arrangements with the resigned practicality of a man who understood that accommodation cost money and that his mother considered unnecessary expenses a personal insult. Now, after several nights of talking in bed, waking up beside you, and finding increasingly flimsy excuses to linger in the bedroom, he was beginning to suspect that he'd miss the arrangement when the holiday ended.

He'd also become rather more shameless about flirting. Not that he was particularly good at being smooth, but he'd discovered that straightforward compliments, occasional teasing, and a willingness to admit when he wanted your company worked considerably better than pretending he wasn't interested.

And he was very interested.

The morning had begun with rain tapping against the windows at Waldschlössl, the mountains half-hidden behind low grey clouds. König had checked the weather forecast over breakfast, explained that conditions above the cloud layer could be entirely different, and assured everyone that the trip was still worth making. Fortunately, the drive to the Rax cable car station was short enough that nobody had time to develop any particularly elaborate complaints about the journey.

Even the parking had been painless.

König had almost been disappointed.

"Look at that," he'd remarked after securing the car and checking the parking information. "A perfectly normal parking area. Clear instructions. Nobody is being arrested. What a beautiful country."

He'd glanced toward you with a grin, clearly remembering the EasyPark catastrophe at Schneeberg.

"Perhaps we should take a photograph. Your family might not believe it."

The Rax cable car had immediately improved everyone's mood. The cabins were spacious enough to make the journey comfortable, and the machinery carried them steadily upward through the damp morning air. König had been particularly enthusiastic about the cableway's history, reminding you that it had opened in 1926 and was celebrating its hundredth anniversary.

He'd also been delighted to discover that one of the other passengers had brought a pug.

The little dog was an exceptionally charming creature, with a wrinkled face, enormous eyes, and the sort of cheerful expression that suggested it had never experienced a single consequence for its actions. König had crouched slightly to admire it, offering the owner a polite smile before allowing the pug to sniff his enormous hand.

"Servus, kleiner Mann. [Hello, little man.]" His voice had softened into a ridiculous, affectionate rumble. "You are a handsome fellow, aren't you?"

The pug had responded by farting.

Loudly.

For several seconds, the entire cabin had been forced to acknowledge the existence of a smell that no animal of such modest proportions should reasonably have been capable of producing.

König had stared at the dog, then looked at you with an expression of absolute disbelief.

"Ach du lieber Gott. [Good Lord.]"

He'd started laughing, attempting to conceal it behind his hand while the dog's owner apologized profusely.

"Nein, nein, it's fine," he'd managed, still chuckling. "He is very small. He cannot help it."

The pug had looked entirely unrepentant, and König had forgiven him immediately.

By the time the cable car reached the upper station, everyone was still making occasional jokes about the incident. Then the doors opened, and the weather changed so dramatically that even König stopped talking.

Below them, the valley remained hidden beneath a thick blanket of cloud. Above it, the sun was shining brightly across the Rax plateau, illuminating the pale rock, green alpine meadows, and distant mountain peaks. The sky was a brilliant blue, the air clear and fresh, and the whole landscape seemed to stretch endlessly beneath the summer sunshine.

König stepped outside, looked around, and spread his arms with enormous satisfaction.

"Na bitte! [There you go!] What did I tell you?"

He turned toward you, grinning.

"Beautiful weather. Perfect. You see? Sometimes the Austrian man knows what he is talking about."

He looked almost unbearably pleased with himself.

The walk toward Ottohaus began pleasantly enough, following the marked paths across the plateau. König knew the general route and had checked the trail information, although he was perfectly happy to stop whenever something caught anyone's attention. There were plenty of little pauses along the way: photographs, drinks of water, particularly impressive viewpoints, and the occasional discussion about whether a nearby slope was as steep as it appeared.

The answer was frequently yes.

The Rax was beautiful, but it was not entirely gentle. Some sections climbed sharply, others descended over uneven ground, and the exposed stretches offered magnificent views accompanied by the occasional uncomfortable reminder that mountains were, by their nature, rather high.

König handled the terrain with his usual irritating ease. His long legs carried him comfortably over steps and rocky patches, and he seemed to regard slopes that required considerably more effort from everyone else as minor inconveniences.

He had, however, learned to be more considerate about announcing that a hike was easy.

"All right," he admitted after one particularly steep stretch, pausing beside you. "Perhaps this part is a little bit of a climb."

He looked back at the path they'd just covered, then down at you with a mischievous smile.

"But only a little."

He was enjoying himself enormously. The scenery was spectacular, the weather had turned out beautifully, and he'd spent enough time with you over the preceding days that conversation now came easily. He teased you about your increasingly impressive collection of Austrian mountain experiences, pointed out distant landmarks, and occasionally slipped his hand into yours on the steeper sections of the trail.

The hand-holding had become considerably less practical than it had been at Semmering. He was perfectly aware of that.

He also noticed that the sunshine was beginning to take its toll on your shoulders and upper back. The exposed skin had developed a distinct pinkness, and König frowned when he realized just how strong the sun had become above the clouds.

"Ah, you're getting sunburned."

He stopped beside you, looking at the reddening skin with mild concern.

"That is the problem up here. It feels cool because of the wind, but the sun is very strong. Especially at this altitude."

He rummaged through his backpack and produced sunscreen, looking rather pleased that he'd remembered to bring it.

"Here. You should put some more on. Otherwise tomorrow you will be very angry with me, and I would prefer to avoid that."

He smiled, then added with considerably more interest, "I can help with your back, if you like. I have very large hands. Excellent coverage."

The flirtation was shameless enough that he laughed at himself.

"See? Very practical man. Always thinking about solutions."

They eventually reached Ottohaus, where the family immediately began another round of deliberations about which trail to take next. Several routes branched away from the hut, offering different viewpoints, walking distances, and degrees of difficulty. König examined the trail information with genuine interest, offering suggestions while trying not to become personally invested in the argument.

For once, the discussion produced something useful. They had enough time to explore more than one route, and the weather was too beautiful to waste the opportunity.

The following hours were some of König's favorites of the entire holiday.

They walked across open stretches of the plateau, followed paths through alpine grassland, and stopped at viewpoints overlooking valleys filled with cloud. The landscape changed constantly, from broad green slopes to exposed rocky sections where the mountains seemed to fall away into the distance. Occasionally, the family spread out enough that König and you found yourselves walking alone together, free from commentary about prices, parking, or the relative merits of Austrian supermarkets.

He particularly enjoyed those moments.

At one viewpoint, he stood beside you for several minutes, looking out across the mountains. The sunlight caught the distant peaks, and the valleys below were so deep and beautiful that even he struggled to find something useful to say.

Eventually, he glanced down at you.

"Schön, oder? [Beautiful, isn't it?]"

He smiled, then let his gaze linger on your face.

"Although I am having some trouble deciding what to look at."

He laughed quietly when he realized how obvious he was being.

"Ach, come on. You cannot expect me to spend four days with a beautiful woman and behave as though I am only interested in mountains."

By the time they returned to Ottohaus, everyone was ready for a proper rest. The hut was busy with hikers enjoying the sunshine, and the outdoor seating offered wonderful views of the surrounding landscape. König found a comfortable place for the two of you, deposited his backpack, and stretched his legs beneath the table.

He ordered Almdudler, the familiar Austrian herbal lemonade, and looked delighted when the drinks arrived.

"Now this is a proper Austrian holiday," he announced, lifting his glass. "Mountains, sunshine, Almdudler. Very good."

He took a long drink, visibly satisfied.

The sandwiches packed that morning had survived the hike reasonably well. König unpacked his own, inspected the contents, and began eating with the appetite of a man who had spent several hours walking around a mountain. He'd also brought some of the snacks from Billa, because experience had taught him that somebody would eventually become hungry at an inconvenient moment.

For a while, they simply enjoyed the food, the sunshine, and the chance to sit down.

König leaned back against the bench, looking out over the plateau with a contented smile. His hair was slightly disheveled from the wind, his cheeks had picked up a little color, and he seemed happier and more relaxed than he had at any point during the first evening at Waldschlössl.

He glanced toward you, his expression softening.

"You know, I think this has been my favorite day."

He considered that statement for a moment.

"Schneeberg was beautiful. Semmering too. But today..." He gestured toward the landscape. "The weather, the views, the walking. Everything has been very nice."

He paused, then added with a grin, "Even the families have behaved reasonably well. Perhaps the altitude has improved their brains."

He laughed, taking another drink.

"And I am very happy you came with me."

There was something openly affectionate in the way he looked at you now, a warmth that had developed gradually over the past several days and no longer seemed worth hiding.

He reached across the table, resting his large hand near yours.

"I know hiking is not your favorite thing. And I know I have been dragging you up mountains all week."

He smiled sheepishly.

"But I have really enjoyed spending time with you. Not just the hiking. Everything. The car rides, the music, the supermarket, sitting on the balcony..." He chuckled. "Even sharing that ridiculous little bed."

He looked down at his glass for a moment before meeting your eyes again.

"I think I am going to miss this when we go home."

The admission was quiet, but he didn't seem embarrassed by it. He'd spent enough time with you to know that he wanted more than a pleasant memory of a family holiday.

He glanced toward the other tables, where the families were occupied with their own conversations, then back at you with a mischievous smile.

"Although we still have some time. And I was thinking..."

He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice.

"There is a beautiful viewpoint not too far from here. We could go there after lunch. Just the two of us. No mothers, no parking discussions, no one asking whether the sandwiches were cheaper in Hungary."

His thumb brushed lightly against your hand.

"And perhaps," he added, smiling with considerably more confidence than he'd possessed on the first morning, "I could finally kiss you properly. I have been thinking about it since Semmering, you know."

He chuckled, looking almost bashful despite the unmistakable intention in his expression.

"Very romantic place for it, I think. Much better than the Billa parking lot."

He lifted his Almdudler for another sip, still smiling at you.

"But first, finish your sandwich. I am not carrying you back to the cable car because you forgot to eat."