Sun & Moon - a contemporary romance (The Minstrel Series #1) (4 page)

The silence was thick and awkward, and Katja thought maybe she should bolt. The door was right there, unlocked. Get away before any craziness started.

Micah turned slowly to face her. “Are you hungry?”

Katja blinked. Yeah, starving, but she wasn’t here to eat. She forced a smile. “Maybe we should get started.”

The corners of Micah’s mouth twitched. “I’d rather not… on an empty stomach.”

Fine. “Okay, sure. Let’s eat.”

Micah motioned for her to take a seat at the table, and he proceeded to make a warm meal. Katja didn’t know what to think. She sat straight-backed with her hands on her lap. Micah removed dishes from cupboards and drawers and food from the refrigerator. Soon the large, open apartment filled with the aroma of schnitzel and fried potatoes.

Her stomach growled.

Micah glanced at her a few times as he worked, but didn’t comment.

“Can I set the table?” she asked. He pointed to a cupboard and she found the plates and glasses inside. She removed two of each and placed them on the table across from each other. She noticed the cutlery drawer from when Micah had removed a spoon, and took out forks and knives for each of them.

He dished out the meal, along with a salad that was already prepared in the fridge and opened a bottle of sparkling water. She smiled as he filled her glass, secretly wishing it was something stronger than water. She could really use a drink right about now.

Katja almost felt like she was dining at a restaurant. The only thing missing was a candle. “Smells great,” she said.

He offered her a hint of a grin. “
Guten Appetit
.”

Once she started eating, she found it hard to slow down. It had been forever since she’d eaten a meal like this. Micah watched her with a stone face, concern flashing in his eyes.

She smiled and made a joke of it. “My cooking is crap.”

His expression didn’t change and he remained silent. This guy is a piece of work, she thought. Zero personality.

She finished her meal, and then remembered why she was there. Suddenly, she wished she hadn’t eaten so much or so fast. She felt ill.

The silence was driving her crazy. Couldn’t he at least turn on the TV or the stereo?

“So, what do you do, Micah?” she asked. Micah’s eyes remained flat, and she wondered if she’d crossed a line by asking another personal question.

He finally answered, “I work at a bank.”

Katja nodded as if that explained everything.

“How about you?” he countered. “When you’re not doing… this?”

Katja sat back, unsure what she should divulge, if anything. She nibbled her lip ring. He answered her question. It was only fair that she answer his.

“I’m a musician.” She feigned a laugh. “The pay’s not that great.”

Micah rose and carried his dirty dishes to the sink, rinsed them and loaded the dishwasher. Katja stood to help, placing her own dishes into the sink. The move caused her to stand close to his side, and she felt him stiffen.

If she knew what she was doing, she’d know how to make him relax. She’d also know how to get him to hand over the money. She honestly didn’t know how to do either.

“I’ve never done this before,” she admitted.

Micah stepped back, his eyes scanning her from head to toe. He surprised her by saying, “I’m glad.”

He disappeared from the room, leaving her standing stunned in the middle of the kitchen. She didn’t know what to do next, so she finished loading the dishwasher.

Micah returned with a set of sheets. “The sofa pulls out into a bed. You can sleep here.”

“But…”

“I’ll still pay you. I just don’t want you to walk home. It’s too late, and I don’t have time to take you. I have to get up early for work.”

Katja was about to refuse, but Micah seemed so desperate.

“
Please
,” he added. “Stay.”

Katja didn’t know what to make of this turn of events. He said he would pay her for doing
nothing
, and he didn’t seem like the type to attack her in her sleep. She had nothing to lose, really. The sofa bed promised to be more comfortable than the lumpy couch she normally slept on. She held out her arms and accepted the bedding.

Once Micah had disappeared behind his bedroom door, Katja padded softly to the bathroom to wash her face. She ran her tongue along her teeth, wishing she had her toothbrush with her. She scrubbed them with a wet finger. That would have to do.

After making the bed, Katja peeled off her tight clothing, laid them on one of the chairs and slipped under the covers wearing only her bra and panties. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she took in the high white ceilings, the dim outdoor light highlighting the windows. Should she text Irma? Let her know she was okay?

She reached for her phone then remembered that she’d thrown it away. It was probably better if she didn’t call. Irma and Martina didn’t care about her. They’d just be angry if she woke them up or something.

Her eyes cut to the closed door at the end of the hall. What was Micah’s story? Why did he pick her up if he didn’t want to have sex?

She was grateful, though he may not follow through on his promise to pay her. Even if he did, she still didn’t have enough to cover her portion of the rent. She could only hope that her roommates would accept the cash and another IOU. Katja sighed. She’d have to venture out again tomorrow night. Chances are she wouldn’t get picked up by two decent guys in a row.

She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. She mustn’t think like that. Things have a way of working out. They always did. She’d laugh about this time in her life one day.

She wiped away a stray tear. Yeah, she’d laugh.

The next morning, she awoke with a start. It took a few moments before she remembered where she was. And why.

She listened carefully for any sounds that would indicate that Micah was still there, but the place was silent. A quick glance into the kitchen confirmed that Micah had eaten breakfast and made coffee—she couldn’t believe she’d slept through it.

She grabbed her clothes and rushed her half-naked body across the room and into the bathroom. It was bigger and cleaner than the one she shared with her roommates, and it had a water heating system that wouldn’t run out, at least not so fast. It was weird showering in a strange man’s stall. She used his soap and shampoo, and dried off with a clean towel. She felt like she’d stayed the night in a hotel and should be the one paying,
not
the one being paid.

She really didn’t want to wear her dirty shirt again and briefly considered looting through Micah’s closet. He had been so generous already; she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Instead she hand washed her shirt in the sink and laid it over the radiator. As soon as it was dry, she’d leave, but in the meantime it meant hanging out in her bra and short skirt, which wasn’t exactly warm. She used the throw blanket from the sofa to wrap herself in. She pushed the bed back to its sofa form and re-arranged the pillows.

The grumbling of her stomach called her to the kitchen. She found a letter on the kitchen table along with a fifty euro note.

Help yourself to breakfast.

I’ll be home at 6:00.

Micah

Like she’d still be here at six. She stared at the money but didn’t touch it. She hadn’t earned it, and Micah had already housed and fed her. It just felt wrong to take more from him.

She ate a bun with Black Forest ham and a slice of butter cheese and drank a cup of coffee with a good dose of milk and sugar. When she finished, she wiped the counters and washed her dishes, determined to leave the place spotless.

Her shirt was still damp when she checked it, but she found a blow-dryer and turned it on high. She attacked her shirt with hot air for five minutes. It would do.

She put on her jacket and high heels and headed home.

Katja gasped when she turned the corner of the hallway that led to the door of her apartment. All her belongings were lying on the floor, including her guitar! She rushed to tug on the handle but the door to the flat was locked. She had been kicked out.

She banged the wall with the fleshy side of her fist, immediately regretting it as the pain shot up her arm. She couldn’t fight it this time. Tears streamed down her face. She removed Irma’s heels and threw them against the wall at the far end of the hall, letting out an angry cry. She slipped into her own shoes, roughly stuffed her belongings into her duffle bag and zipped it shut. With her heavy bag in one hand and her guitar in the other, she left in a huff.

The frigid wind whistled around the corner and beat against her face. Her hair flew across her eyes and into her mouth. She blew at it unsuccessfully, and had to lower her guitar to clear it. Other people on the street walked briskly, bent over against the cold. She picked up her guitar and walked with her shoulders leaning into the wind.

But where to go?

It was too cold to camp out on a bench or behind a bin. There were shelters for the homeless, but she wasn’t ready to consider that just yet, and she didn’t exactly know where they were.

Precipitation began to fall in the form of wet snow. She had to get inside somewhere soon before she froze to death.

She’d walked the block around Martin Luther Church at least four times. It was her only way to try to keep warm. She glanced up at the dark, imposing cathedral, its spiral poking the winter blue sky, and prayed that God would watch over her.

Or, at least forgive her.

Her fingers were stiff from gripping her scuffed-up guitar case, and her shoulder ached underneath its weight. The bag with all her belongings pulled down on her opposite shoulder. She stopped to rest, rolling her shoulders, rubbing her cold fingers together, swallowing saliva to try to ease her growing thirst.

Ignoring her hunger. It’d been several hours since she’d eaten breakfast. She hesitated before heading back to
Alaunstrasse
. The row of restaurants and store fronts with open carts of fruit and vegetables taunted her.

Tempted her.

She could just sneak an apple. One apple wouldn’t put the vendor out of business but it would fill her shrinking stomach for another day.

But then she’d be a thief.

She may be many things, but she wasn’t a thief.

Perhaps she would get lucky and find a half eaten sandwich or kabob lying out on a sidewalk table, abandoned by the smoker who was forced to eat outside.

It’d happened once.

Worry curled in her chest. She didn’t know where she would sleep tonight. Maybe she wouldn’t. The parties on
Alaunstrasse
lasted through the night. She could mingle with the crowds, check out some live music.

That was what she was here for, right?

Then she walked by the soup kitchen. The blinds were up on the large, square windows that faced the street, revealing a mid-sized room with wooden tables filled with people eating. A girl, the same one she’d spotted a few days before, sat in the corner playing guitar. She noticed Katja looking in the window, her eyes falling to the guitar case in her hand. The girl smiled and motioned with her head that she should come in.