All This Time

13 ⦿ in which i cannot take it back

December 22, 2010 4:00 p.m.

After we warm up with a steaming mug of hot cider at the bazaar, we make the icy trek across the parking lot. In front of Levi's car is a tall, narrow building made of brown stone. It looks nondescript, despite the fact that the number of cars in the lot has grown, and their occupants are currently making a beeline for the door.

"We've done this before," Wolf explains. "There's a rather dull video on the second floor, but the real interesting bit about the Weighhouse is that the original weighing scales are still here. We can even get certificates affirming that we aren't witches." He flashes me a rare grin.

No one mentions Diana's conspicuous absence. We all traipse through the double doors, stamping on the floor mat to shake off excess snow clumps. A blast of air hits me the moment the door closes behind us and I close my eyes, relishing the warmth. It feels hot as a sauna, but I don't mind; especially not if it means regaining the feeling in my fingers and toes.

As we acclimatize ourselves, I take a moment to study Wolf. His face is relaxed, almost boyish, and his cheeks are pink from the cold. His hair is a little damp from the snow, and the ends of his curls coil tightly on his forehead. He and his brother have both been genetically blessed with supermodel hair; the kind that looks good no matter whether there's rain or sleet or shine. Just like the Pony Express. Levi's hair is shorter, his curls cropped. He catches me looking at Wolf and silently raises an eyebrow as if to say, really, Charlotte?

I avert my gaze, blushing furiously. I don't know why it embarrasses me to be caught ogling his brother - it's not like I've been replaying that kiss over and over again in my mind. Okay, maybe I have. But so what? It was a good kiss. The kind of passionate kiss all women want.

It was the best kiss of my life, a little voice pipes up. I try to squash that traitorous voice, stat.

It wasn't like Steven was a rotten kisser, he just wasn't all there. There was a screw loose with his kissing, just something shy of being an Oscar-worthy, toe-curling kiss to write in my proverbial diary about.

"Come on, the crowd's dispersing," Graeme squeals. She tugs on Xander's arm and leads him towards a grey-haired, matronly woman sitting at a desk. "We'll get the tickets," she announces over her shoulder, like at any second we're going to fight her for the privilege.

I'm left with Wolf and Levi, both of whom stay studiously silent. I brush some snow out of my hair; the movement raises my shopping bag to eye level.

"What'd you buy?" Levi asks. He looks at the white plastic bag with interest.

"Just a few little souvenirs."

Wolfram narrows his eyes. "You overpaid."

"Probably." I'm surprised he knows the concept of the value of money. My voice comes out just a little bit sharper than I intend, and Wolf looks surprised.

"I'm not criticizing." He peels his gloves off and shifts them from hand to hand.

Levi rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to say something, but one of the employees beats him to it. "Hallo, welkom in Museum de Heksenwaag," the lithe, flaxen-haired woman greets. She beams beatifically at us, smile stretching broadly across her long, narrow face. Xander and Graeme rejoin us, both of them holding onto pamphlets.

"Goedemiddag," Wolfram responds, unsmiling.

What follows is a burst of Dutch that I can't understand. "She just said 'Hello, welcome to the witch scale museum," Levi translates. "And Wolf said 'Good afternoon' and just told her we want to skip the video and just go straight to the scales."