Alternate version

How long has it been since I last saw Ilze? Five years?

But she looks just as stunning as she did back then. I walk down in front of the hotel to meet her, where she is waiting for me in her beautiful summery, flowy maxi dress. And me? The same old black boat-neck midi dress.

“Oh my God!” Ilze shouts, running to me, her arms wide open. “You look so good!”

It’s a black dress. I was expecting her to scold me for the obvious.

“So good to see you!” She gives me the tightest hug, and suddenly I remember why I do love her. I have been a horrible friend to her, but she…

“Come, let’s get in before I get a parking ticket!” she says, laughing and not in a rush whatsoever.

“How are you?” I ask as I sit in the car, but she completely ignores my question.

“The messengers tell me you have been in the sea today.”

The messengers?

“Spoke to my mum earlier, and she is so in love with Leo and Emilija that I am now being reminded of my responsibilities as a woman,” she says, laughing. “And here I am thinking — but how did Annija go swimming today? There must have been crazy waves.”

“It was not that bad…”

For a second, she looks at me. “You are so fearless. I am so jealous! You know that, don’t you? You always seem to be making the right choices.”

That is so not true!

“So, where are we going?”

“You will see. There is this new restaurant that has opened in a forest by the Lielupe, not far from Jūrmala. You will love it!”

That really does sound good.

“Do you go there often?”

“I have been there a few times, yes. The food is amazing. Oh, I am so happy to be the first one to take you there!”

***

Twenty minutes later, we are driving through a pine forest. The road is paved, and very soon there is this old brick building, surrounded by the most beautiful lampposts — the kind that one would imagine in old fairy tales. Ilze parks in the spacious car park, and as I step out of the car, I smell the pine trees and the nearby river. It’s just so beautiful and peaceful. The birds are singing in the forest. They were not singing earlier when I was at the beach.

“Stunning, right?”

I look at Ilze. “I would not mind living here!”

“Wait until you try the food!”

As we walk in, I look at the old, worn-out wooden steps that look as if people have been coming here for hundreds of years. The door is wide and heavy, but it’s opened for us as we walk into this shadowy room. The only light in here seems to come from candles on the walls, covered by colourful glass bulbs. If I did not know better, I would think I had stepped back in time some five hundred years.

“Table for Liepiņa, please,” I hear Ilze say as I follow her and the young man guiding us to a table.

I sit down, look at Ilze, and say, “I could never have imagined a place like this existed.”

“I know!” she says unusually quietly. “It’s only been open for a month or so, but the chef is amazing. You will love the food.”

“I will have to bring the children here!”

A menu is brought to us — it’s leather, and the pages are made of thick, heavy paper that feels very old, almost like linen fabric.

Oh, Matteo would have loved it here!

I don’t really have an appetite, but I order beetroot soup. That should do just fine.

Whilst we wait for our food, I am reminded that Ilze is just such a ray of happiness. Completely unstoppable. I need some of that from her. But one thing is for sure: nothing, absolutely nothing, can ever convince Ilze to have children. Or a husband, for that matter.

The soup is brought to me, along with a small clay bowl of sour cream and rye bread on the side.

“This just smells so good!”

“Try it! It’s food for the soul, I tell you!”

I put a spoonful of sour cream in the soup, break off a piece of bread and stir the soup with it before putting the now-soaked bread into my mouth, when someone comes up next to me and says, “Hope you enjoy it.”

I look up at the young man, who smiles at me. “Yes, thank you. This is very good. Compliments to the chef.”

“I will be sure to pass that on.”

And he is gone again, walking through the restaurant, stopping at some tables for a second.

“…was the chef.”

I hear Ilze saying.

“Sorry?” I turn back to her.

“That was the chef.”

Him? He does not seem to be doing a lot of cheffing… or is this what they do?

I eat the soup, and it’s so good that suddenly I am happy I did actually listen to Ilze and order some of the curd and apple bake.

Once that is brought, I realise it’s served with a glass of hot fruit juice.

“This just looks so amazing!”

“I know, right? The chef is hot as hell, but I am sure happy he is taken, because if I was his, I would be eating here all the time!”

The chef was hot as hell? I look back to where I last saw him, but he is not there anymore.

I did not notice he was… not that it matters.

When I finally finish my dessert, I look at my phone. We have been here for an hour and a half! How slow an eater am I?

“I will have to get some of that bake for tomorrow’s breakfast,” Ilze says.

That is such a great idea! Apart from the fact that, I am afraid, one might not be enough for me. This is just living out a medieval childhood dream. They could have, like, a children’s play area here, and cooking lessons! I would definitely come.

Soon enough, our take-home bakes are brought to us wrapped in thick paper boxes, and we get up to leave.

We walk out of the restaurant, and I look down at the ancient-looking wooden steps again. Ilze walks in front of me, so I am left looking at each step as it appears under her flowy maxi skirt.

One. Are they real? Two. Are they really that old, or just made to look old? Three. Because if they have been made to look old, I need…

My thought is cut short by the knowledge that I am about to land on Ilze… My ankle twists, and I brace myself, but a hand around my waist catches me before I even touch her.

“Careful,” comes a deep, familiar male voice.

I move my hair aside and look at his chest before lifting my gaze to his face.

“Are you okay?” Ilze is right next to me the next second, her arm around me.

It’s him again. I cannot believe this!

“So sorry!” I say, straightening myself.

“Tell Juris to look at these steps,” he says, looking at me.

Juris? Who is Juris?

“It’s not the steps, it’s me,” I say, but he has already turned away. Then he looks back at me, reaches out and takes my nose between his index and middle fingers, as if I am a child, and says, “Until we meet again.”

As if I am a child!

He is obviously younger than me! I should be doing that to him!

And he turns his back to me again.

“Good afternoon, Annija.” It’s his brother now, behind me like a massive wall. “You coming or going?”

“Going,” I say, and Ilze’s elbow is poking me in the back.

“Well, have a good evening, ladies,” Kristaps, I think his name was, says. His friend, the quiet one, doesn’t look at me.

Good. That is how it should be. Not pinching people’s nose!

“So, I see you have met the brothers…” Ilze’s voice is right next to me as we finally head back to the car.

We are not teenagers

“Please forget about it.”

“Gatis seems to like you a lot.” Of course she knows them…

“He does not like me, I assure you.”

“Well, that is not what it looked like from where I was standing.”

“Ilze, we are not teenagers. He does not like me. Let’s go. I need to go back to the hotel.”

“What about a movie?”

A movie… I really don’t want a movie. I want to lie down. Maybe drive back to Jūrmala at night and walk by the sea to show my demons that I am not going to die and there is no reason whatsoever to be scared.

“Tomorrow. Or if that doesn’t work…”

“It works perfectly.”