Sun & Moon - a contemporary romance (The Minstrel Series #1) (7 page)

Sometimes she would busk and she always tried to give her earnings to Micah. He refused to take them, so she used the money to buy groceries and put the remainder in the fruit bowl on the table for the rent. Micah frowned when he saw it, but said nothing. He never took the money, either.

Every other evening or so, Micah’s cell phone would ring, and he’d disappear into his bedroom. At first Katja thought he had a long-distance girlfriend somewhere. She imagined he wouldn’t be telling her about his female roommate sleeping on the sofa bed. The thought of another girl out there had a weird effect on Katja’s nerves. She felt strangely jealous, though she knew she had no right to be.

Then one night, she heard Micah slip and refer to the mystery caller as “Mama.” At first Katja smiled to herself. Of course, Micah Sturm was a mama’s boy. But again, she wondered if he’d told his mother about her, or if she was just another one of his secrets.

She decided she wasn’t waiting on his company again. He had a right to hole up in his room and talk on the phone, and she had the right to leave. She put on a light coat and tugged a twenty euro note out of the fruit bowl and slipped it into her pocket. It was open mic night at the Blue Note. She eyed her guitar as she headed for the door. No, tonight she wouldn’t play. She’d just listen. And drink. Micah didn’t want alcohol in the house, which was fine, but sometimes a girl just needed a shot.

She walked briskly toward the center of
Neustadt
, breathing heavily through her nose. She pushed at the strong feelings of discontent that brewed in her stomach. Not only because she hadn’t made any real progress on her “career” since she started staying with Micah, but also because of
Micah
.

He was the complete opposite of her in every way. Where she was outgoing, he was a homebody. Where she was a creative, right-brained thinker, he was a left-brained numbers guy. Where she was poor, he was rich.

She had a naturally happy disposition, and he was undeniably melancholy.

So why was she
attracted
to him?

That was the truth. She
liked
Micah Sturm, and it irked her that he apparently had no such struggles concerning her. And if he did, he hid them well. And why would he find it necessary to bury them? Unless he felt she was beneath him. She
had
offered him sex for money. Probably not a characteristic he’d be looking for in a girlfriend. Her emotions were in a tight ball of hurt and frustration. Just how much rejection could a person take?

Herr Leduc welcomed her with a kiss on both cheeks. He folded his arms over his round body, his eyes landing on her empty hands. “
Ma Cherie
, you’re not playing for us tonight?”

Katja smiled and shrugged. “I need to give other people a turn, Herr Leduc. I’m here to listen.”

“Please, call me Maurice.”

She went inside and searched for a friendly face. She frowned when her eyes settled on Irma and Martina on the far side of the room. She hadn’t seen them since the night before they’d locked her out. Irma nudged Martina with an elbow and they snickered.

Sebastian and Yvonne were sitting at a table at the back. She moved toward them and felt immensely relieved and thankful when Sebastian smiled warmly at her. “Katja! Join us!”

She sat across from them beside a tall, skinny guy with dark, messy hair. Sebastian had introduced her to him before, but she didn’t remember his name.

Sebastian came to her rescue. Again. “Karl-Heinz, you remember Katja?”

“Sure. Hello.”

“Karl-Heinz is the drummer in our band. We’re called the Hollow Fellows.”

Katja laughed. “Great name. I can’t wait to hear you play.”

“At small gigs like this, KH and I play as a duo. Next week our band plays at Alexandra’s. You should come.”

“I’ll try.”

To Karl-Heinz he said, “Katja and I are writing this wicked song.”

Karl-Heinz nodded. “Cool.” Yvonne rolled her eyes.

The server came to their table and Katja ordered a glass of wine, downing half of it the moment it arrived. It’d been a long time since she had a drink and she loved how it burned slightly as it went down and left a warm glow to her cheeks.

Maurice introduced the first player, a guy with a beard and a wool cap, and the room quieted. That was the nice thing about playing to other musicians. They all understood how important it was to respect the artist by listening.

He was good, and everyone cheered when he finished his two song set. The next artist went on stage. Katja finished her drink and ordered another. She felt relaxed and happy. She was in her element, in a room full of people who were like her.

She smiled at Sebastian and Karl-Heinz. Yvonne didn’t smile in return, but at least she’d stopped scowling. They were her
friends
.

She had
friends
.

She had another drink and then leaned across the table toward Sebastian. “When do you play?” She heard the slur in her voice, but it just made her giggle.

“I think we’re next.”

Sure enough, Maurice called them to the stage. Katja cheered loudly. She loved her
friends!

She already knew from their songwriting session that Sebastian had a great rock voice, but it was even better in this performance. Karl-Heinz played a cool back beat to the song on a beat box. The song was new to her. It was
fantastic.

Katja leaned toward Yvonne. “I’ve never heard this before. Did he write it?”

Yvonne raised an eyebrow Katja wasn’t sure why. Was she talking too loud? Yvonne nodded looking bored. She’d probably heard this song a zillion times.

When Sebastian and Karl-Heinz got off the stage, Katja threw herself at them, giving them each a big hug. “That was so great! You guys are so great!”

Sebastian laughed. “Katja! You’re a happy drunk.”

She wobbled on her feet. “I’m not drunk.”

He laughed again and helped her to her chair. “If you say so.”

She wasn’t drunk. Was she? She ran her hands through her hair and then rested her face in her palms, elbows on the table. Her face felt thick, and she was light-headed and woozy. Maybe she was drunk.

Oh, no. What would Micah think?

Who
cared
what Micah thought? He didn’t own her. He didn’t
love
her. She could get drunk if she wanted to.

“I’m going home,” she announced. She struggled into her jacket and waved goodbye, stopping at the bar to buy a bottle for the road. She wasn’t driving. It was okay.

Somehow she managed to stay on the sidewalks. Even this late at night, there were loads of people out and about. A lot of them walking with open drinks in their hands.

Hey, she was thirsty, and she had a bottle of wine in her hand. Thank God for twist caps! She opened the bottle and took a long swig. Somehow she found her way back to Micah’s flat. She was like a freaking homing pigeon! She didn’t even have to think and, voila, here she was.

She had Sebastian’s song in her head, and she sang it as she climbed the steps. The stairwell had great acoustics, and she belted it out.

Micah was waiting for her at the top of the stairs. The door to his apartment was open.He had his arms folded over his nicely chiseled chest and a frown on his pretty face.

“What’s wrong?” Katja simpered.

“It’s late. I don’t think the neighbors appreciate being serenaded in the middle of the night.” Micah guided her inside and closed the door. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going out? I was worried.”

“Oh, you were?” Katja leaned against him heavily. She stroked his face. “I’m so sorry, I worried you. Here…” she held up her open bottle. “Have a drink.”

Micah took the bottle and set in on the table.

“Wait,” she said, reaching. “I want more.”

“I think you’ve had enough.”

Katja furrowed her brow and stuck out her bottom lip. “You’re mad, aren’t you? I’ve disappointed you.”

“I think you should go to sleep now.” Micah walked her over to the sofa bed. He opened it and helped her to lie down.

She propped herself up on an elbow. “What are we Micah? What
are
we?”

“We’re friends.”

She pouted. “Just friends? I
like
you, Micah. And I know you like me.” She patted the spot beside her. “Come. It’ll be fun.”

Micah hesitated, then to her absolute delight, he slid in beside her. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that she smelled mint toothpaste on his breath, saw his chest rise and fall, noticed the gold flecks around his irises. She laid a hand over his heart and felt his heartbeat speed up. He shuddered as her finger drew the shape of a crescent moon along his ribcage.

His mouth brushed against her ear, and she shivered. “I’m sorry Katja,” he whispered. “This isn’t right.”

What?

He shifted back, avoiding her eyes, and swallowed. “I have to go.”

“No, wait.” Katja felt the panic that preceded imminent rejection. “Why?”

“Because you’re drunk, and… just because.”

Micah sprung to his feet and walked toward his bedroom. Katja threw a cushion, hitting him on the back of the head. “You’re such a party pooper.”

He stopped but didn’t turn around. “Good night, Katja.”

Katja awoke the next morning to the aroma of strong coffee. The bright light pouring in from the windows hurt her eyes, and she whipped an arm over her face to shield them.

What happened last night?

Then she remembered everything—talking loudly and loosely at the Blue Note, throwing herself at Sebastian in front of his girlfriend. She groaned. Yvonne was sure to hate her now.

Oh, God. She came on to Micah. She’d felt so sexy and alluring, but now she knew she’d looked wrecked like a cheap drunk, slurring her words and stumbling over her feet. Ugh. She felt so stupid and embarrassed.

She dared to look around. The time on the clock above the stove told her that Micah had left for work long ago. She pulled herself to her feet and stumbled to the bathroom. Her stomach swirled and her head pounded.

She moaned when she saw her image in the mirror. Mascara smudged down her cheeks and around her bloodshot, hazel eyes. Her hair was a rat’s nest. She swallowed two Tylenol and took a long shower.

Once dressed, she made herself a cup of coffee. It was extra bitter and strong, but exactly what she needed to get her going.

How was she going to face Micah after her ridiculous behavior? Any chance of winning his affections and becoming more than friends was long gone now. The most she could do was make herself presentable and useful to have around.

To that end, she brushed and blow-dried her hair and applied a small amount of make-up. She cleaned the bathroom and straightened the living room. The kitchen was already spotless. Her half-empty bottle of wine sat beside the microwave. She almost dumped it, but couldn’t face pouring good money down the drain. She put it in one of the cupboards out of sight. Her stomach was ready for a little food, so she ate a piece of toast, washing her plate and knife immediately afterward.

Now what to do? Laundry? She could wash his clothes, but that would mean going into his bedroom, and she didn’t feel comfortable doing that. She dusted the TV and the end tables, pausing at the mystery door to see if it was still locked.

Yup.

She sat on the sofa and stared at the bare walls.

And she got an idea.

Taking her sketch pad and drawing pencils, she headed out into the spring sunshine, wearing a light jacket with her torn jeans. She planted her sunglasses firmly on her face. It was a short walk to the park, where she claimed one of the few empty benches. She wasn’t the only artist to be found along the banks of the River Elbe capturing the landmarks on paper. After sketching out the skyline to her satisfaction, she walked across the bridge, pausing near the arched gateway to the old town to sketch a street musician playing the violin. Then she continued on, entering the city square that surrounded the
Frauenkirche
. A dog lying in the sun at its owner’s feet at an outdoor café caught her interest. She sat at a table across from them and ordered an espresso, and busily sketched the dog while sipping at it.

She had three sketches she liked when she headed for a euro store to buy frames and finishing nails. She knew Micah had a small tool kit in the bathroom beside the washing machine. It had to have a hammer in it.

When she got back to the flat she chose a bare wall in the living room and hung her three framed sketches in a cluster. She smiled with satisfaction. They looked good there.

It was almost six and Katja wanted to make dinner for Micah for a change. She cubed the chicken breasts she’d found, added a jar of curry sauce and simmered it on the back of the stove. She kept her attention on the task at hand. She didn’t want to burn or overcook anything this time. She made a pot of rice, timing it precisely, and prepared a salad. She grabbed a couple bills from the fruit bowl and raced to the bakery café around the corner. She bought a fresh loaf of bread and two slices of apple cake for dessert.