The Importance of Being Alice by Katie MacAlister Page A

busy. That’s a good sign—it means their food is good. Oh, those people in the corner are just leaving. Let’s grab their table quick like a bunny.”
    Before he could come right out and ask her if she wasaware of what a coffeehouse was in the Netherlands, Alice had commandeered a small table tucked away under a couple of hanging ferns. Two cushioned armchairs sat at a white rattan table, the center of which held a paisley-painted hookah. He took the seat opposite her, batting away a fern tendril that caressed the back of his head.
    â€œThis is so exciting. I can’t believe I’m really sitting in Holland having dinner. With a lord, yet! My friends back home are going to die when I tell them. Sec, picture so they know I’m not lying. Smile!” Obligingly, he smiled when she snapped first a picture of him, then took a few shots of the coffeehouse. “I just hope there’s going to be enough room for all the food I want to order,” she finished, moving aside one of the hookah mouthpieces. “This centerpiece is a bit big.”
    â€œThat
centerpiece
is a water pipe,” he said, giving her a long look. She didn’t look at all like someone who was waiting impatiently to fill it up and begin smoking. She looked, as she had told him, hungry. “Alice, are you aware of why there is smoke here?”
    â€œBecause people are smoking. Drat, that waitress didn’t see us. You’re in a better position than me. Can you flag her down?”
    â€œYou are aware of what they’re smoking, yes?”
    She looked puzzled. “Cigarettes?” She sniffed a couple of times. “Sorry, my sense of smell is a little weird. I had allergies a lot as a kid and I think it killed off some of my smell receptors. It’s not a cigar bar, is it? I really hate cigar smoke, but I don’t see a blue haze that normally goes with a cigar bar.”
    â€œI see that I’m going to have to explain a few things about the drug culture in Holland.”
    â€œI know all about drugs.” Her back stiffened, and shegave him a little frown. “Just because I don’t like booze doesn’t mean I’m clueless about other things. Oh, wait! You mean the fact that you can get pot in Amsterdam really easily, right? I saw on a travel Web site that it was legal here, but I didn’t read much past a warning that it wasn’t smart to try to smuggle drugs out of the country because pot just makes my tongue go numb.”
    It took Elliott a moment to work through that last sentence. “I am relieved to know that you won’t be smuggling drugs, which I should point out are actually illegal in Holland. Partaking is not a crime punishable by the law, though, so the effect is a form of legality. However, the practice is not confined to Amsterdam.”
    Her eyes widened. She pointed at the hookah. “You said the centerpiece was a water pipe! So it’s a working bong, not just a funky decoration? Oh my god, we’re in a drug shop?”
    â€œCoffee shop.” He caught the eye of a passing waitress, who nodded at him. “I’m happy to find another restaurant for us to eat at, if you wish to find one that has less . . . ambiance.”
    A slightly stubborn look passed over her face. “Do you have any problems with people smoking pot?”
    â€œNot unless they become violent, no.”
    â€œGood. Neither do I. It’s not my thing, but I don’t think it’s any worse than booze, and lord knows that’s much more readily available, and kills a whole lot more people each year.” She took a deep breath, coughed a couple of times, then said with a lift of her chin, “We’ll eat here. I’m looking forward to you trying the wat.”
    He hesitated. He didn’t want to have to point out the obvious, but on the other hand, he felt obligated to at least mention it. “Will it bother you? Will being in anenvironment