Miss, That Costs Extra

Chapter 2: The Add-On

I asked Clara to find lunch before we reached the old market.

"Do you have any dietary restrictions?" she asked.

"Not really. I don't eat shellfish."

"That's a restriction."

"I can handle restaurants myself."

"I didn't say you couldn't."

I opened the map on my phone. It showed a dozen places clustered around the market, all with names I couldn't pronounce and reviews that contradicted one another. The little blue location dot spun in a circle.

"I'm not asking you to make a reservation," I said. "Just point me toward somewhere that won't be terrible."

"Restaurant selection is a separate service. I can give you three recommendations for ten euros, or I can come with you and help order for forty-five."

I looked up. "You charge forty-five euros to have lunch with me?"

"I charge forty-five euros to work through a meal service. I don't eat during it."

The distinction made me feel worse, not better. I imagined her standing beside my table, watching me ask questions about food while she remained on the clock.

"Isn't lunch part of a walking tour?"

"Not unless it's on the itinerary. We're booked until one. The market is included. Finding somewhere to eat is not."

"Couldn't you just give me a place you like?"

"I can, if you're asking for a recommendation as a friend."

I waited. "And are you?"

"I'm your guide."

Her answer was plain. The market entrance opened onto a bright courtyard crowded with stalls. We passed baskets of apricots, jars of honey, and a man slicing paper-thin rounds from a wheel of cheese. The crowd moved around us like a river around stones.

I wished I had asked for the restaurant list. I wished I had not.

Clara stopped at a stall selling small pastries. "These are almond and orange. They're from a bakery on the north side."

"I thought you weren't recommending anything."

"I'm describing what's in front of us. The tasting is part of the market walk."

She bought one pastry and handed me half. I took it. The orange zest was sharp and sweet.

"See?" I said. "That didn't cost extra."

"I bought it as part of the tour. I'm not charging you for half a pastry."

"I meant the recommendation."

"I was already here. I didn't have to go anywhere or spend time finding an answer."

I could have left it there. I could have thanked her and kept walking. Instead I heard myself say, "You make kindness sound like a line item."

Clara's expression didn't change much. A small crease appeared between her eyebrows.

"Kindness is free," she said. "Time and labor aren't."

The sentence stayed between us as we wandered through the market. I wondered whether she had ever had to learn that distinction the hard way. I did not ask. She had made it clear that asking might be billable.

At the end of our walk, she led me to the edge of the square and checked the time.

"We have six minutes left," she said. "The closest taxi stand is on the east side. If you want directions to a restaurant, I can send a list after the tour."

I expected her to say she could accompany me. She didn't.

"Could you stay for a minute while I pick one?" I asked.

"Staying is work time. My hourly rate is seventy euros."

"I'm not asking you to eat with me. I'm asking you to stand here while I decide."

"That's still additional time."

I felt my jaw tighten. "You're very good at making a person feel like an inconvenience."

Clara folded the map she had been carrying. "I'm sorry it feels that way. I'm giving you a choice about what I do and what it costs."

"Right. And I'm giving you money."

"Yes. For the service we agreed on."

The clock on her phone changed. Our tour was over.

I paid her by card. The total included the three euros for the photographs. It was not a lot. It was the smallness of the amount that made my irritation feel ridiculous.

Clara handed me a card with her business name and a QR code for future bookings. "If you want the restaurant list, message me. No charge for the three names. If you want a reservation or accompaniment, the rates are on the site."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

She turned toward the market before I could think of a less stiff goodbye.

I found a café by using my map, a trick I had supposedly been avoiding. I ordered a salad, then sat at a table under a striped awning and called Lena.

"Are you having fun?" she asked.

"I'm being educated in the financial value of time."

"That sounds fun."

"It's not."

"You wanted to take a solo trip. So take one."

"I am."

"Then what's the problem?"

I watched a waiter carry a tray of coffees past my table. "I hired someone to make it feel less solo."

"Did you tell her that?"

"I thought it was what her listing meant."

Lena took a breath. "Maybe it means she'll help you feel comfortable while she's working."

I hated that this sounded reasonable.

After lunch, I walked back to the hotel alone. At the narrow end of a side street, I stopped to photograph a row of blue shutters. I got a stranger's shoulder in the frame, followed by a smear of sunlight.

I deleted both pictures.

Then I saved Clara's card in my phone.