Ch65 - Swiss Nut Tart

The ride from Zurich to Jura was barely two hours. Violet had only made it halfway through her book when the car pulled into St-Ursanne station, where she’d arranged to meet Edward. He’d arrived two days earlier and promised to pick her up.

As she stepped out of the car to grab her suitcase, she noticed another vehicle pulling in right behind hers. She recognized the people inside—Julian’s security team, and he’d even sent the two female bodyguards to stay with her.

When Edward’s car rolled up, Violet expected the driver to hand her the luggage… but the trunk didn’t open. Confused, she turned. “You’ve already brought me here. It’s fine, you guys can head back.”

“We’ll be staying in Switzerland and keeping you safe,” one of the bodyguards replied.

“But I’m not sure there’ll be room where I’m staying.” She hesitated. She’d be staying at Josef’s place, and she definitely hadn’t warned him she’d be bringing extra people.

“Don’t worry about us,” the bodyguard said firmly. “We’ll find a place nearby. Worst case, we’ll sleep in the car. Just pretend we’re not here.”

Their seriousness left her no room to argue. This was their job—and judging by the muscle definition under both of their jackets, they were clearly seasoned. Chances were they’d handled far worse situations than following her around a quiet Swiss town. The least she could do was not make their lives harder.

“Alright… could you move my suitcase to his car then?” she said to the driver. “Makes it easier for me to take it to where I’m staying.”

She only had one big suitcase anyway. Edward, ever the British gentleman, reached out a hand as if to help, then awkwardly pulled it back when he realized there was nothing left for him to do. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Come on. Josef’s waiting in the atelier.”

Hearing Josef’s name hit her nerves like a jolt. Right—she was going to meet the Reinhardt very soon.

Once they were on the road again, Edward glanced at her stiff posture and overly solemn expression and chuckled. “It’s a thirty-minute drive to the town. Relax a bit. Enjoy the scenery.”

“You saying that only makes me more nervous,” Violet laughed weakly. “Thirty minutes isn’t long at all.”

“He doesn’t bite,” Edward said lightly, keeping his eyes on the road.

If he weren’t driving, he would’ve loved to see her face—probably a mix of excitement, dread, and that pretty smile she kept trying to hide.

The car rolled from empty stretches of road into a sparse residential area. The driver who had brought her earlier had already left; behind them was only the bodyguards’ car—until, at some point without her noticing, even that slipped out of sight.

Small shops began to appear. Medieval buildings lined the street. It looked like a little town straight out of a painting. Beyond the low roofs, a mountain loomed—completely covered in snow.

They passed another row of storefronts when Violet suddenly gasped. “Oh no—can you drop me off for a few minutes? I need to get a gift.”

Edward knew Josef wouldn’t care whether they brought anything, but she clearly wanted to show some respect. He eased the car to the side. “There are two shops right here. Take your pick. I’ll wait.”

To the left was a butcher selling sausages; to the right, a pastry shop spilling warm, sweet smells onto the street. Violet didn’t hesitate—she ducked into the pastry shop, lifting the little Christmas curtain at the door. 

The whole place was visible at a glance: the counter was right up front, no other customers, just her and the shop owner. She greeted him and leaned toward the glass display, eyes quickly landing on a Swiss Nut Torte.

It looked perfect—deep golden edges, glossy nuts, the kind of rich smell of butter, caramel and walnuts that cut through the glass.

But before she could even open her mouth, she saw the owner swing the glass door open, spatula sliding underneath that tart.

“Wait!” Violet pointed quickly. “Sorry—can I buy that one?”

The owner gave an apologetic wince. “Ah… sorry. Someone just called and reserved it. Fresh ones come out every day at ten. If you want, I can put your name on one for tomorrow.”

They spoke in French.

Violet’s shoulders slumped in disappointment.

Just then, the door chimed behind her. The owner lifted a hand without looking. “Ah, hey, you’re here. This is the one you wanted—last slice today. I’ll wrap it up for you.”

Violet stayed where she was, mentally scrambling. Nothing else in the case looked half as presentable as a whole tart—giving anything else as a gift felt sloppy.

The man who’d just come in glanced over at her, noticing her dilemma. “Tourist?” he asked. His voice was deep, gravelly—clearly an older gentleman. “If you’re looking for souvenirs, the next street has better options.”

Violet turned toward him—and the moment their eyes met, the man froze.

His gentle, aged gaze tightened sharply; his back straightened. He’d never lost composure like that. But her eyes—those eyes—were the exact same shade, the same shape, as his late daughter’s. And not just the eyes—her whole look, her aura. For a second he honestly thought he was seeing a ghost.

When he walked in earlier, even her back had stirred something strange in him. Face-to-face, the resemblance was shocking.

Violet, unaware of the storm in his chest, simply felt a faint sense of familiarity she couldn’t place. She gave him a polite smile. “Oh—I’m looking for a gift for a friend. Well… an elder, actually. Around your age, I think.”

The owner chimed in with a laugh. “She had her eye on your nut tart. It’s a pity—last one for today.”

The old man snapped out of his trance, realizing he’d been staring. He cleared his throat softly. “Ah. In that case, take it. You can have it.”

Violet lit up. “Really?”

The owner blinked, stunned. Since when did Josef give up anything—especially his favorite tart?

“I live nearby,” Josef said mildly, waving it off. “I can get another anytime.”

The owner wrapped the tart in wax paper, tied it neatly, and handed it to Violet. “You’re lucky—this guy never gives up his stuff. Especially that nut tart.”

Violet was delighted but embarrassed. She held the package carefully. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Josef said, taking her hand gently.

She turned to leave, but after two steps, he called out, “What’s your friend’s name? I might know him.”

Violet smiled and opened her mouth—

—and Edward stuck his head through the doorway. He must’ve gotten worried she was taking too long. If he hadn’t come in, fine. But he did, and suddenly both she and Josef were staring at him.

Edward blinked at Josef. “What are you doing here? I thought we said we’d meet at the workshop.”

The words clicked instantly. Violet whipped her gaze back to the old man. Her lips parted in stunned silence before her voice finally returned. “So… you’re Mr. Reinhardt. It’s an honor. I’m Violet.”

Josef raised a brow at Edward, then looked back at her. “So you’re the Violet he’s been talking about—the new apprentice.”

The owner looked between the three of them, amused. “Ah, so you do know each other. If I’d known, you two wouldn’t have had to fight over the tart. Perfect—now you can share it.”