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Summary
The sabbatical was Lina's idea.
Lars blames the wine.
A dart thrown at a map of the United States on a Tuesday night, somewhere between the second and third bottle, landed them in Victoire, Louisiana. Population two thousand. One diner. One church older than the state itself. Heat that sits on the skin like a second set of clothes, Spanish moss on everything, and locals who have been watching newcomers with long memories since before either of them were born.
They were supposed to do nothing. Spectacularly and at length.
Victoire is very good at nothing. The bayou moves slow. The days are gold and thick and unhurried. The nights are something else entirely.
Lars is six foot three of Belgian military bearing with absolutely nowhere to be for the first time in his adult life. Lina is the most overqualified woman to ever sit at a typewriter, currently on her third glass of warm wine on a porch in the American South, watching an alligator cross the water without leaving a ripple.
They have survived a great deal. Each other, most notably.
This was supposed to be the easy part.