his entire life.
“Yeah, they do. You’d like living here. People ride their bikes everywhere.”
Trevor sure loved riding his. He enjoyed his car, but when it came to getting back and forth to work he and his bike were one. A Saturday morning ride was always good for an endorphin high.
The city center was a pulsing anthill of people getting around, not just by bike but also on foot. It was all a little too crowded for his taste.
Soon after they turned onto Haarlemmerdijk he spotted the attraction his brother had wanted him to see. Oh, yes, this was art.
“Wow,” he said as they stopped in front of the window.
“Thought you’d like it,” Kurt said.
Jordino Chocolateria was a veritable museum of edible art, and Trevor ogled the creations the way a man would ogle the girls on display in that famous red-light district. Small, chocolate treat boxes shaped like colored vases held tiny treats, an elaborately carved chocolate frame held a miniature Dutch Masters painting, gold boxes held chocolate men’s shirts of varying colors. But what he loved the best were the high heels—blue, pink, green, red, lavender, orange. The tiny colored-candy sprinkles densely coated the underlying chocolate, giving them texture and pizzazz, and each sported a red, chocolate rose on the top of the pump. The dark chocolate stiletto heels reminded you of the artist’s medium.
He snapped a picture with his phone.
“Maybe you need to expand your product line,” Kurt said.
“Maybe,” Trevor agreed.
“Think their stuff is as good as yours?”
“Let’s find out.”
Inside, Trevor bought them both a chocolate truffle and he bought a red high heel.
“You hoping to find Cinderella?” Kurt teased.
“Market research. Those shoes are amazing.” He’d seen high heel pumps made from chocolate before, but nothing like these. The truffles were spectacular, too.
Kurt popped his in his mouth, chewed and nodded. “As good as yours, bro. Maybe even better.”
“As good as, not better,” Trevor said with a grin.
They left the chocolate shop and made their way back to the ship, via the Anne Frank House so Trevor could at least see the outside.
“Thought I’d get some takers for this but none of the kids wanted to spend the extra money.”
“I’d have gone,” Trevor said.
“Misty and I have both toured it. By the time I knew you were coming it was too late to get tickets. You usually have to buy them two months in advance.”
“Good to see it’s still such an attraction,” said Trevor. “People can’t be allowed to forget what happened over here.” He turned thoughtful. “Do you think people are basically good?”
Kurt shrugged. “I think they want to be. Most people,” he amended.
“Yeah,” Trevor said. “Not counting Dad.”
“Not counting Dad,” Kurt agreed.
Trevor thought of the chocolate shoe he was carrying, boxed and bagged with the care due such treasure. “Mom would have loved that chocolate shop.”
“Yeah, she would’ve.”
“You know, Misty kind of reminds me of her.”
“She’s got a lot of Mom’s good qualities,” Kurt said.
“You gonna make it permanent?”
“Yeah, so don’t get any ideas.”
Trevor was sure his brother had gotten the last good woman out there.
Kurt and Misty had met online. Maybe Trevor needed to try that. He sure hadn’t done so well on his own. There had to be someone somewhere who had both a big smile and a big heart. Are you out there, Cinderella?
He thought of the woman he’d seen on the ship. What was she like? Did she already have a Prince Charming?
If she didn’t, would he qualify? He was just an average guy who liked to watch football and play poker with his buddies, go for a bike ride in the summer, make a batch of lasagna and have friends over. He gave money to environmental charities and cancer research (in honor of Mom). But he was also stubborn and tended to hold a grudge, even though he knew better. And he snored. Not very princely.
But Kurt wasn’t all that princely, either, and he’d found somebody. You never knew.
The face of the cutie on the boat danced in front of him. He did have a shoe.
* * *
Even Denise, who had twice the energy of Catherine, agreed that a little rest would be good before going to the lounge. The two women stretched out on their beds and within minutes Denise was snoring. Catherine found she was simply too wound up to sleep in spite of her jet lag.
She was actually here, in Europe, taking a cruise. It had been on her bucket list for years, and was something she’d lobbied