"I wonder if you cook yourself, you big mouth!" – I thought ironically as I entered Martin's restaurant.
I had to hand it to him: my brother was a smart guy. From the outside, the restaurant didn't look as cosy as it did inside: roughly chipped wooden tables (old-fashioned), imposing wooden chairs that looked more like thrones. On the tables – beautiful heavy antique copper candlesticks, with real burning candles. On the walls were folk-embroidered towels, wreaths of artificial flowers and red and white ribbons. But the centre of all this splendour was the fireplace. A real, dark stone fireplace, with a real fire lighting up the room. Despite the weather, the room was half full.
– Give me your mackintosh, Red Riding Hood. – Martin appeared from behind the door that led to the kitchen – I noticed it out of the corner of my eye – and came over to me. – I won't hug you yet.
– Blue Cap! – I parried, unbuttoning my mackintosh. It was dripping. So was my hair. – Look at my sneakers and jeans! Through and through!
– Take them off. Let's dry them off a bit. There's a fireplace.
– I noticed. But I'll make do.
– Suit yourself. I called you.
– My phone was left at the hotel.
– I understood that. Come on. – Martin took me under his elbow and sat me down at the cosiest table, next to the fireplace.
– The floorboards are creaking," I said.
– Only a little. People don't notice it at all," Martin grinned.
– Don't notice it or just don't hear it? – I grinned too.
– That's the point. What do you think of the restaurant?
– Five stars, Martin. Named it after beloved yourself. How's it going?
– Not bad. As you can see.
I took a critical look at the audience.
– Not bad, huh?
– Yes. It's not full because it's a weekday. But it'll be packed tonight. – Martin's face lit up with such a smug smile that I realised how much he was in love with his restaurant and how proud he was of his success.
– By whom? I asked.
– Tourists, locals. Mortals, basically. And I have a fifty per cent discount for students, so young people like to meet here in the evening, after classes. And our beer is cheap and tasty. We brew it ourselves!
He described everything in such detail, with such genuine enthusiasm, as if I were a reporter and he a famous restaurateur. Well, maybe he will be one soon.
– I believe he will. It's very cosy in here. You're a great one," I complimented with a smile. – I like it very much. And those wreaths on the walls… Reminds me of my youth.
– Welcome to the past, my dear. I'd like to treat you to something special, but I'm afraid you won't appreciate it," my brother smirked.
He knew I had never tasted, nor had I any desire to taste the food of mortals.
– You know I prefer to drink wine," I winked at him. – But don't tell me you're a cook now.
– No, our cook is Maya.
– Polish?
– Yes, and she has golden hands.
– All by herself in this big room?
– Boris, her son, comes in at five. Also a cook. Yes, and two more waiters.
– You've got it all worked out. You're a born businessman! – I patted Martin on the shoulder.
My wet hair on my back made my T-shirt wet too. It was disgusting to sit there in wet clothes and sneakers. I ran my palm over the back of my head. – Shit. I felt like I'd crawled out of the bathtub.
– What were you doing outside in this weather? – Martin asked.
– Walking," I answered honestly. It was true. Although I preferred not to reveal the reason for the walk. – You advised me to walk around the city.
