The Romantic Pact

by Quinn, Meghan

  “What?”

  “Most everyone else when they wear winter gear look like puffed-up marshmallows walking around, but not you. You make winter look good.”

  “You flirting with me, Haze?”

  “Ha, you wish. Your chance at all this is gone,” I say, motioning up and down my body.

  “Damn. Now I’m really regretting my choice to run away like a giant dick.” He pulls on his bottom lip with his teeth, and I swear a wave of butterflies hits me hard.

  It’s hard not to be affected by anything Crew Smith does. He’s the epitome of an All-American boy. Tall, devastatingly handsome, athletic, funny, and has no problem with being affectionate. He’s been my rock for so long. He’s been the boy I’ve measured every other man against. No one will ever be as good as Crew Smith in my eyes and my heart. And even though he puts butterflies in my stomach, it’s his heart and friendship that matter more to me. Would I want to be with someone like him? Yes. But be with Crew? No. Our lives don’t intersect naturally, and I’d hate to lose his friendship again by pushing for something that can’t evolve. He was my solace. My safe haven. And I’m okay with that going forward. Even if he’s hot.

  Turning a corner, I see the base of the large Christmas tree in the middle of the market. Towering over the stalls, it reminds me of the tree in Rockefeller Plaza, minus the skating rink below. Beautifully colored in white lights, its height almost seems impossible to capture in one picture, and the soft pine branches are a wonderful contrast against the ornate architecture of the Neues Rathaus Courtyard, which is Munich’s New Town Hall.

  “Crew, we need to take a picture in front of the tree. Just like Pops and Gloria.” From my pocket, I take out the picture Pops included in the package and show it to him. “Same backdrop, different tree. It would almost be as if we’re taking the picture with him—just many, many years later.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  We walk up to the tree, and thankfully there’s a small line where people are patiently waiting their turn to take their picture in front of the tree. Luckily, there’s a nice attendant who’s managing the line and taking the pictures.

  “What’s that smell?” Crew says, glancing around while we wait in line.

  “Nuts,” the gentleman in front of us says.

  “Excuse me?” I ask.

  He turns and points to a stall off to the right with a sign that reads Hot Nuts. “Some of the best hot nuts you’ll ever have,” he says with an English accent. “My wife and I travel to Munich this time of the year for the Gebrannte mandeln and an annual picture in front of the tree.”

  “Oh, wow. Well, looks as though we need to get some nuts after this,” I say.

  “It’s a must.” The gentleman smiles kindly. “Are you two on your honeymoon?”

  “Yes,” I answer automatically and snuggle up to Crew. “Can you tell we’re in fresh wedded bliss?”

  He nods. “You have a glow about you. You picked a nice place for your honeymoon. I hope you enjoy.”

  “Thanks,” Crew says, and there’s humor in his voice.

  “Ah, we’re up.” The man turns to the side and says, “Bella, darling, it’s our turn.”

  From the left, a woman in a wheelchair rolls up next to him and says, “I was just talking to a lady over there about the nuts. Told her she must get some.”

  I chuckle as I hear the gentleman say how he just told us the same thing.

  “He was nice,” I say.

  “So, are we going with the whole honeymoon thing now?”

  “Does it offend you?” I ask, a wave of insecurity crawling up my back.

  “No.” He shakes his head. “Just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

  I shrug. “Just seems easier than explaining that we’re on a trip that your dead grandfather and my dead pseudo-grandfather planned for us while he was sick.”

  “Yeah, I think you might be right about that.” He yawns and covers his mouth. “Shit, sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I’m feeling tired as well. I had plans to drink all the mulled wine I came across tonight, but I have a feeling that might be a bad idea. I might pass out in the giant tree.”

  “I might join you. And now that you have a—as you like to call it—bosom, I could find comfort in your chest as a pillow.”

  “Aren’t you funny.” It’s our turn and I tug on his hand. I hand the attendant my phone and then position us in front of the tree, hoping I have the right angle to mimic the photo of Pops and Gloria. Crew drapes his arm over my shoulder and pulls me in tight. I place my hand on his chest and, together, we smile.

  The attendant takes a few pictures, and when we’re done, we step aside to look at them.

  I pull out the photo of Pops and Gloria and compare it to the one on my phone.

  They’re almost identical, besides the people in the pictures.

  “This looks so good.” I smile up at Crew. “This might be my new favorite thing.”

  “Send me that picture, will you?”

  “Oh, sure, just let me try to guess your phone number.”

  “Wait, you don’t have my phone number?” he asks, a crease to his brow.

  “Nope. Just your email address. Remember? Pen pals.”

  “Jesus, okay.” He takes my phone from my hand and sends himself a text of the picture. I have free International roaming, which will make sending photos to each other easy. “There, now you have it. Feel free to abuse it as much as you want.”

  “Watch what you say, Hollywood.” Nodding toward the nuts, I say, “Want to try these famous nuts? See what all the talk is about?”

  “Can’t say I’ve ever been excited to get my teeth wrapped around some nuts before today, Allen.”

  * * *

  “You okay?” Crew asks, walking up behind me as I stare down at the Christmas market.

  “I can’t stop thinking about the nuts.”

  He chuckles, the rumble of his chest feeling like the beat of a bass drum, shaking my bones. “Want me to run down and get you some more?”

  “You’d do that?” I turn to find him in nothing but athletic shorts. God, this man’s chest. It’s unlike anything I’ve seen in person, having only seen similar on the covers of health magazines and romance novels. Thick in his pecs, defined in his shoulders all the way down to this waistband. Swallowing hard, I add, “You’d go down there wearing that?”

  “It would bring a new level to cold, but I do need to make shit up to you, so if Twigs wants more nuts, she can have more nuts.”

  “Why does it feel as though when you say nuts, you’re talking about a man’s balls?”

  “Uh . . . because apparently you’ve become perverted over the last few years.”

  “I guess that’s what happens when you lose your virginity, huh? You unlock a perverted side.”

  “Ah, I was perverted way before that.”

  I pat his chest and instantly regret it as my palm is met with rock-hard muscle. “Different for boys.” In my pink silk pajama top and matching shorts, I walk over to the bed just as he snags my hand and twists me back toward him.

  “Seriously, do you want the nuts?”

  I chuckle. “No, I think the three bags we ate was enough.”

  “Because I would really go get them for you.”

  “I believe you, Crew. But I think I’m about two seconds from passing out.”

  “Me, too,” he says in relief and lets go of my hand.

  While I get comfortable in the bed, Crew turns off the entry light to the hotel room and locks the door. Then he walks toward the bed and I catch a glimpse of him in the light from outside. Sleepy eyes, drooped shoulders, but there’s the smallest smile on his lips as he crawls into bed next to me.

  I face him, and when he’s settled, he faces me as well.

  “Never thought I’d get Hazel Allen in bed with me, but dreams do come true.”

  “Might want to pinch yourself. This very well might be a dream.”

  He chuckles and his eyes drift shut
.

  “Hey, can I ask you something?” I ask with a small poke to his hand.

  “Mm-hmm,” he says, eyes closed.

  “Are you going to pay attention or just fall asleep?”

  His eyes open. “I’m listening, Haze. I’m always listening.”

  Well, not always, but we won’t get into the blackout period again.

  “Did you think we did a good enough job honoring Pops today?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just felt as though we didn’t immerse ourselves into the Christmas market today. We barely got through half of it before we dragged our bodies upstairs and got ready for bed.”

  “Yeah, I feel a little guilty about it.”

  “You do?”

  He nods and adjusts his hands under his pillow. “I mean, the map he wrote was intense, and I keep thinking, what if there was a clue along the way? What if there was something he wanted us to see and we didn’t see it?”

  “That’s what I keep thinking.” I nibble on my bottom lip. “Do you think we should go back out there?”

  Crew thinks about it for a few seconds. “No. Do you know what I think would be best?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Getting sleep. We still have six more days here in Germany. Pops even said this wasn’t the start of the road trip. I think we take tonight to catch up on some sleep and recharge for tomorrow.”

  “So we can hit the ground running?”

  “Exactly. And, hey, we did do something that was very important today. We took that picture. Reading between the lines and looking back at the envelope he left us, I think he wanted us to experience something together that we’d both never done. To create new memories with him as . . . as our guide. Enjoy the atmosphere. Something so different from home, you know?”

  “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

  “Come here.” Crew lifts up and pulls me into a hug. The side of his head presses against mine and he squeezes me tight. “I don’t think we should put pressure on ourselves to make this perfect, or else we’re not going to enjoy it.” He pulls away and smiles at me. “Let’s just have fun, make it a part of Pops and a part of us as well. Okay?”

  I nod. “That sounds perfect.”

  We both lie back down and get comfortable. I scrunch my knees up and curl into a ball, accidentally grazing Crew in the process.

  “Sorry,” I mutter.

  “No need to apologize. I’ve a feeling we’re going to have to get used to sleeping in a bed together for the rest of the trip. Let’s just call it like it is. We’re going to bump into each other.”

  “As long as hands don’t try to grab for a free feel again.”

  Crew chuckles. “It was one time.”

  “Yeah, and driving a truck into a ditch was one time, too.”

  “Uh, two completely different things. My hand grazed your boob. Your mistake had to be pulled out by a tow truck. Apples and oranges, Haze.”

  “They both seem like little mistakes to me.”

  “Of course they would.” He closes his eyes. “Goodnight, Hazel.”

  “Night, Crew.”

  Chapter Six

  CREW

  “Come on, Crew. I’m sure your hair is perfect. We’re wasting time.”

  I finish tousling my hair and step out of the bathroom. “I spent like a minute doing my hair, unlike you, who spent ten minutes blow-drying yours.”

  “If your hair was as thick and as long as mine, then yes, you’d be spending ten minutes on it.”

  “You never used to,” I counter.

  “And how do you know?” she asks, arms folded.

  “Because it never looked that damn good.”

  Her eyes widen in surprise as her hand falls to her long locks. “Are you saying you think my hair is pretty, Crew?”

  “Gorgeous, actually,” I say, taking a seat next to her on the bed and snagging the “DAY TWO” envelope from her.

  “Okay, winning back some brownie points.”

  “When did I lose them?” I ask, opening the envelope.

  “When I rolled out of bed and you laughed at me. Morning appearances should be a no-judgment zone.”

  “Sorry.” I chuckle. “But you looked like you slept in a dumpster the night before rather than our comfy bed.”

  “Wow, aren’t you pleasant?”

  “It was endearing.”

  “Yeah, sure sounds like it.” She taps the envelope. “Just get on with it so we can move along to the next place.”

  “Want me to read it out loud again?”

  “If it weren’t for the dumpster fire comment, I would tell you that your voice adds a certain charm to the letters, but I’m going to skip that now and just say, yes, read it.”

  “That’s fair.” I take the letter out and smile. Clearing my throat, I read, “‘Hey kiddos. How was the Christmas market? Spectacular, right? Oh, wait . . . let me guess, you made it to a couple of stalls and then passed out. Am I right?’”

  “Oh my God, how did he know that?” Hazel whispers as if Pops is in the other room listening in on our conversation.

  “Seems as though he knows us a little too well.” Turning back to the letter, I continue. “‘It’s okay if you did. I expected that. Although, if you made it through the entire market, color me impressed. But my gut is telling me you didn’t. As long as you stopped by the Christmas tree and took a picture.’” Hazel squeezes my arm and I know she’s feeling just as relieved as I am. “‘I hope you got some sleep last night, because this is where the trip picks up. Today you’re headed to one of my favorite places in Germany during the holiday season: Nuremberg.‘”

  “Sounds exciting,” Hazel says, leaning into me.

  “‘Nuremberg not only has one of the most enchanting Christmas markets you’ll ever visit, but it’s also widely known for its gingerbread. Word on the street is, when you think of Christmas in Germany, you think of Nuremberg Lebkuchen—their gingerbread. And we’re not talking about the stale gingerbread recipe I never seemed to be able to master. This is different. It’s nutty and full of spices and flavors that will keep you coming back for more. Every Christmas, before my dear Gloria passed away, she had some Nuremberg Lebkuchen shipped to the house. It was a staple of our holiday for a long time. Now, I would love for it to become a staple of your holiday. But instead of buying it, you’re going to learn how to make it.’”

  “What?” Hazel says, excited. “We’re making gingerbread?”

  Continuing with the letter, I read, “‘The bakery is expecting you. It’s the small hole-in-the-wall bakery where we purchased our gingerbread every year. They know you’re coming today. Do me a favor and learn from the unique experience, so when you have children or grandchildren of your own, you’re not swearing up Ronald Reagan’s name in the kitchen with every burnt or foul-tasting piece of gingerbread you attempt to make.’”

  I laugh as tears spring to my eyes. Shit. I miss him.

  I take a deep breath and Hazel quickly wraps her arm around my waist.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. I get it. Feel free to cry anytime you want.”

  I chuckle lightly. “I’ll attempt to keep it together.” Going back to the letter, I continue to read. “‘After that, I expect you to check in with the hotel and then get ready to spend your evening at the Christmas market, and this time, no clocking out early. Eat some gingerbread, get a bratwurst, drink the wine . . . literally, drink the wine. Enjoy the music and, before you retire for the night, make your way to the Schöner Brunnen. The fountain is a rather large statue wrapped in gold and protected by an impressively built iron fence. But off to the side, in the fence, there are two bronze rings dangling from the iron. Legend has it that it’s good luck to spin the brass rings. I spun them with my Gloria when we were in Germany, and I’d say I was a very blessed man through my lifetime. I can only hope the same for the both of you. Give it a spin and know that I’m there with you in that moment. Addresses that you’ll need and hotel information is a
ttached. Have fun. Love you both. Pops.’”

  I rest the letter on my lap as Hazel grabs her phone and opens up her directions app. She types in Nuremberg. “Two-and-a-half-hour drive. Think you can handle it?”

  “You’re not driving.”

  “I wasn’t going to suggest it.”

  “Liar.” I playfully push her back on the bed and then get up, taking the note and sticking it in my backpack carefully, where the other notes and maps are.

  “It’s not nice to push. Didn’t you learn that when you were younger?” Hazel comes up next to me and bumps me with her hip. I don’t even move. “God, that’s frustrating.”

  “That you can’t move me?”

  “Yeah.” She turns toward me and gestures with her hands, “Face me.”

  “Face you?”

  “Yes, face me.”

  Confused, I turn toward her, only for her to place her hands on my chest and start pushing, digging her feet into the brown hotel carpet.

  I don’t move an inch.

  “What are you, made of stone?”

  “Pretty much.” I pat the top of her head and then set her upright. “Looks like you need to throw more hay bales.”

  “Apparently.” She takes a deep breath and then says, “Are you ready to spend two-and-a-half hours in the car with me?”

  “Depends.” I shoulder my backpack and take out the handle to my suitcase. “What’s on your playlist?”

  “Good music.”

  “Yeah?” I raise a brow at her.

  “Really good music.” She winks. “Anticipating such a moment and knowing the importance of music during a road trip, I made a playlist. I made two, actually.”

  “Two? That’s dedication.”

  She blushes and says, “Well, I did two because I wasn’t one hundred percent sure of who I would be traveling with. So, I made a generic one with classic road trip songs, and the other, well, the other is more for you and me.”

  “You made a playlist just for us?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, then.” I move closer to her, those innocent eyes cutting me deep, and I say, “Let’s get going so I can hear this playlist.”