Chapter 8 Olivia
I can’t remember the last time I went to someone’s house for dinner. Surprisingly, the prospect is quite thrilling. I’m carrying a heavy bag of books for Marie to choose from because I don’t know what she likes to read. I’ve translated cosy mysteries, dark detective novels, and some pretty terrifying thrillers I wouldn’t recommend anyone read in the middle of nowhere when it gets dark early.
When she opens the door, she plants a kiss on each of my cheeks. Her being from Belgium, I was prepared for one—or three, which is such a funny number of kisses to exchange as a way of greeting. Then again, Belgians are known to be quite peculiar. I googled her before I came over. She did some of her training in the US, worked there for a few years before returning home. As she menti
