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

by Strauss, Lee

  She fiddled with the phone. “I’ll call her one day. Soon. Just not today.”

  Micah reached an arm around her and pulled her into a warm embrace. Katja’s chin pressed into his shoulder and she breathed deeply of his scent—the musky soap she secretly sniffed in the shower. In his arms she felt safe and protected. She felt valued.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Micah whispered in her ear. He stroked her hair, then pulled back and reached into his pocket.

  Katja sighed. Of course, his mother would ruin a moment like this. But instead of answering, he tapped at the number pad. Suddenly another shrill sound came from her lap, scaring her. Then she laughed. Her new phone was ringing. No one even knew about this phone except Micah. She winked at him and answered, “Katja Stoltz.”

  “Hi Katja,” Micah said. “Did I hear something about cake?”

  Katja cut the cake, and Micah poured her a glass of wine from what was left-over from her night of shame. She raised an eyebrow when he handed it to her.

  “No reason why you shouldn’t have a glass of wine on your own birthday,” he said.

  She eyed the green bottle, noting that there was enough left for a second glass. “And you won’t join me?”

  He shrugged. “Nah. It’s not my thing.”

  She took the glass from him, not taking her gaze off his while she sipped the wine. “Thank you.”

  The chemistry between them sizzled. She wanted to grab him and plant a wet one right on his lips, but she held back. The way he stared at her, she could see he shared her desire, but there was still something secretive and sorrowful lingering behind his dark eyes. Whatever it was kept her from giving in to her impulses. And it kept him from giving in to his.

  He cleared his throat, breaking the spell. She glanced away nervously then lifted a small plate with a piece of chocolate cake and handed it to him.

  “Let’s eat this in the living room,” he said.

  “Sounds good. I’ll get the forks.”

  Katja settled in on the chair opposite Micah, with her dessert plate in her lap and her glass of wine on the end table beside her. “So tell me about New York City,” she said. “I’d love to go there someday.”

  “Well, New York City is pretty spectacular, but my mother’s family is actually from upstate New York. Lots of pastures and farms. Small towns, mining communities.”

  “When was the last time you were there?”

  “Ten years ago when I was a gawky teen. My cousins teased me relentlessly about my accent and about my ‘Euro’ wardrobe.”

  “Sounds awful.”

  “It wasn’t so bad. I spent the summer there, and by the end of it my accent was all but gone, and my mother had bought me a truck load of American-style clothes.”

  “How did your mother and father meet?”

  “After my mother graduated from business college, she took a summer off to travel Europe with her then boyfriend. They spent time in Hamburg hanging out in student pubs, and that’s where she met my father. They hit it off, and my mother dumped her boyfriend to be with my dad. They got married that next summer, and she’s lived in Germany ever since.”

  “That’s quite the love story.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “I wonder why your dad didn’t move to America. I know a lot of guys who’d jump at the chance. And New York is so exciting. Full of romance and possibilities.”

  Katja blushed when she realized she used the word “romance.” Micah’s eyes widened slightly, but then he graciously ignored it.

  “Dad’s career had already started here. My grandfather was also in banking, and even back then, it didn’t hurt to have a leg up. I remember a time when Mama used to try to convince Papa to move to New York, but she’s since given up, I think.”

  “There’s still time,” Katja said.

  Micah shook his head. “She won’t go if I don’t go.”

  “Don’t you want to go?”

  The shadow that followed Micah around, settled over his features. He answered quietly. “I can’t.”

  She wanted to know why. She desperately wanted to know what had Micah so bound and shackled. He’d almost opened up to her tonight and now, suddenly, he’d collapsed into himself again. She wanted to ask him, but his closed look frightened her. The wrong word would chase him away, and she wasn’t willing to risk it.

  “Feel like watching a movie?” she asked, hoping to lighten things up again.

  Micah blinked, and she was sure he was going to decline and tell her he needed to go to bed, but instead he nodded. “Okay. It’s your birthday. You choose.”

  Katja scrolled through the options, wondering if a romance would be okay, but then deciding against it. Better an action-adventure flick. She was about to suggest one when Micah’s phone buzzed.

  His expression widened with disbelief. He stared at Katja with something close to fear. “My mother just texted. She and my dad are in Dresden. They just parked the car and are on their way up.”

  “Quick!” Micah blurted. “We have to move your stuff!”

  Micah traveled through the living room gathering every object that would point to the fact that Katja was staying there. Her bag of clothes, the extra pillow and blanket: he traipsed to his room and tossed them behind the door. Katja stood there feeling flabbergasted at Micah’s strange behavior. Had he not mentioned her even once in all the phone conversations he had with his mother? Was she a secret?

  She snapped to attention and placed her guitar into its case and clicked it shut, then carried it along with her notebook and sketchpad and placed them on Micah’s bed. She took a moment to look around. She’d peeked inside before but had never fully entered. He had a large, neatly made bed with a dark cover, a wood dresser and wardrobe and a brown throw rug that lay on the wood floor on the side of the bed Micah favored. There was nothing frivolous about the décor. It was thoroughly masculine.

  Micah entered with an armful of her things she’d left in the bathroom. Her makeup bag and hair products. Her brush.

  She waved her hands about. “What’s the deal, Micah?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just, my mother…”

  They heard tapping on the door and Micah grabbed her arm, pulling her out of the room, closing his bedroom door tightly behind him. Katja was extremely perplexed by Micah’s behavior. She’d never seen him lose his cool and unravel like this before.

  “What should I do?” she said, feeling terrified now at the prospect of her imminent introduction to Micah’s parents.

  “Just stand there. It’ll be fine.”

  His voice betrayed his own conviction, and she absolutely doubted that it would be fine.

  “Mama! Papa!” Micah invited his parents in, and Katja was surprised by the physical affection that followed. Big hugs complete with kisses to both cheeks, along with verbal praises ( his father’s in German and his mother’s in English) about how great Micah looked. They obviously loved him. Maybe too much.

  They entered the kitchen area that opened up to the living room and stopped short when they spotted Katja standing there. She had her hands folded in front of her like a young girl scared of her teacher on her first day of school.

  Micah’s father was a handsome man for his age, with greying temples and the same warm, brown eyes as his son. His mother looked like Meryl Streep in, The Devil Wears Prada. She wore a high-end, fitted dress suit and four-inch stilettos, definitely brand name items. Her hair was short and blond and perfectly styled. She wore fashionable glasses, which she slowly removed as her eyes roamed from Katja’s face, down to her feet and back again.

  “Hello,” Katja said timidly.

  Frau Sturm looked at her son and said in English, “Seriously, Micah?”

  He frowned and returned in English. “Now, don’t be rude.”

  Katja took English all through school, and of course listened to a lot of English music and watched English movies. She wasn’t that comfortable speaking it, but she understood a lot.

  “Of
course.” She turned back to Katja and spoke once again in German. “Who is your friend?”

  “Mama, Papa, this is Katja Stoltz.”

  Frau Sturm stepped close to Katja and offered her hand. Katja shook it, hating how her palms had suddenly grown damp. “Good day,” Frau Sturm said stiffly.

  Herr Sturm was slightly more cordial. He shook Katja’s hand and smiled, “It’s my pleasure to meet you.” Then he settled on the chair nearest the window and stared outside.

  Frau Strum continued, “So, Katja, how did you meet my son?”

  Katja’s face grew red at the memory of being picked up on the street like a common hooker. Her eyes flashed to Micah for help.

  “I saw her playing at a pub. She’s very good.”

  Frau Sturm’s eyes darted to Micah and then back to Katja. “You’re a musician?”

  “Yes,” Katja said. “And an artist.” She didn’t know why she added that. This woman just made her so nervous.

  Frau Sturm’s gaze landed on the wall behind her, to the three framed sketches. Her heels clicked along the floor as she walked over to examine them. “These are new, Micah,” she stated.

  Herr Sturm twisted to look, apparently amused by the dramatic scene playing out in front of him.

  “I thought it time to hang something up,” Micah muttered.

  “Hmm,” Frau Sturm hummed. She turned back to Katja. “Is this your signature?”

  Katja nodded. She waited for a commentary on the quality of her work, but Frau Sturm’s lips formed a firm line. Then she said, “What do you do for employment?”

  “Mama?” Micah said, breathing out hard. “What’s with the interrogation?”

  “What?” Frau Sturm feigned puzzlement. “I’m just trying to get to know your friend.”

  “I work at the coffee shop around the corner,” Katja blurted out. It was a lie. She didn’t work anywhere, but she didn’t want Frau Sturm to think she was an unemployed bum. She wasn’t sure why she cared what this woman thought, but she did. And she did know why. She was Micah’s mother, an important person to him, and she knew deep down she had the power to take him from her.

  Even though he wasn’t hers.

  What was the matter with her? Katja couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so flustered and so… lacking.

  Frau Sturm turned to Micah. “I must visit your restroom.”

  It was like a tornado died down when Micah’s mother disappeared behind the closed bathroom door.

  Katja stared at Micah with wide eyes and whispered, “Should I leave?”

  He shook his head sharply. “No.”

  Katja slumped into one of the chairs, feeling completely exhausted and depleted.

  Frau Sturm’s interest returned to something outside the window. “Are you planning on staying at this branch for a while, then?” he said without looking at his son.

  Micah frowned. Katja sensed there was something deeper implied by the question. Micah didn’t answer. Instead he said, “I’ll get us some drinks.”

  Katja knew he meant juice or water or tea, but she could use something much stronger right about now.

  Frau Sturm came out in time to accept Micah’s offer of a tall glass of sparkling water. She took it, then motioned for him to follow her into the kitchen.

  Even though his mother made an attempt to lower her voice, Katja could easily hear her, and she understood her English perfectly. “What’s going on here, Micah? The truth now.”

  “I don’t know what you mean?”

  “That girl. She looks like…”

  “Mother!”

  “Are you living together?”

  “No, it’s not like that.”

  “I found feminine items under the sink.”

  Oh, good Lord, Katja thought. She’d left a box of tampons there.

  “You were snooping?” Micah’s voice was hard and low. Katja could picture the look on his face. Narrowed eyes, deep lines pulling his lips into a frown.

  “Don’t deflect. This girl isn’t right for you.”

  Katja stood sharply and grabbed her coat and purse. She couldn’t avoid seeing Micah and his mother as she approached the door.

  “I’m sorry, Micah. I forgot I have this thing.” She couldn’t think of anything nice to say to his mother, so she said nothing. She did make a point of slamming the door when she left.

  Not surprisingly, Katja found herself sitting on a bar stool at the Blue Note, her home away from home.

  “Hello, ma Cherie,” Maurice said when he saw her. “Oh, why the sad face?”

  “It’s my birthday,” Katja said. “I need a drink.”

  “All the best! We must celebrate!” Maurice removed her favorite wine from the shelf and poured her a glass. It warmed her heart that he remembered the kind of wine she liked.

  “So.” He leaned thick elbows on the counter. “How old are we today?”

  She took a long drink and then sighed. “We are twenty-one years old.”

  “Oh, yes. The twenties. Such an exciting time of one’s life.”

  Katja didn’t share his enthusiasm. “Can I ask you something, Maurice?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why don’t you live in France?”

  He grinned coyly. “How can I live there, when my true love is here?”

  His answer surprised her. “You’re married?”

  His smile faltered. “My dear wife passed away five years ago. I joke that my bar is my true love now, but my heart knows better. I’m here in Dresden because it was the hometown of my beautiful wife, and it’s my home now. We were married for twenty-five years.” He winked. “Otherwise, the Blue Note would be in France.”

  Suddenly Renata’s face flashed across Katja’s mind. “Do you think you’ll ever remarry?”

  He washed a glass in a sink of soapy water. “I doubt it. I don’t think love like that comes along twice in a lifetime.” He smiled and put the glass he was drying on the shelf. “She was the sun to my moon.”

  Did he really say that? “The sun to your moon?”

  “Yes, like your song.”

  A shrill ring came from Katja’s purse on the counter.

  “Your purse is ringing,” Maurice said. He left her to serve other customers. Katja removed her new phone and stared at it. She didn’t want to talk to Micah right now. She pushed ignore, switched it to vibrate and shoved it in her back pocket.

  The front door of the pub opened continuously, and the place was soon full. Music pumped from the speakers in the corners and Katja started to relax in the party atmosphere. Sebastian and Karl-Heinz were there, and she sat in a chair across from them.

  “Hey,” she said. “It’s my birthday.”

  “All the best!” Sebastian said. “Your next drink is on me.”

  Katja readily accepted it. She wanted to drink. She wanted to forget. “Thanks!” She looked around for Sebastian’s girlfriend. “Where’s Yvonne?”

  Sebastian shrugged and ran a hand through his spiky hair. “She has some family thing.”

  Karl-Heinz leaned across the table. She observed him with her artist’s eye. He had messy black hair and thick eyebrows. His eyes were a grey blue and he had slender lips. He’d be an interesting subject.

  “Where’s your boyfriend?” he said.

  Katja squinted at him. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  He flashed her a lopsided grin. “I think my night just got a whole lot better.”

  She laughed. He was flirting with her. See? She was desirable. Guys did like her. Take that, Micah Sturm. She winked at Karl-Heinz and slugged back her drink.

  She liked the buzz. It made her happy. It made her feel good about herself. She didn’t need anything or anyone. Especially not him.

  Why did her butt keep vibrating? She reached back and found the phone. Oh yeah, her birthday gift from Micah.

  “Heelllooo,” she sang. “What? I can’t hear you. Blue Note? Hell, yeah!” It took a couple tries to push the tiny end call button—why’d they make it so blurry
anyway?

  “Does anyone want to dance?” she shouted.

  Karl-Heinz reached out a hand. “I’m game.”

  She swayed with the upbeat music, and Karl-Heinz pulled her close until her body slammed into his. His hands moved down her shoulders and over her hips. She pulled away a little, not exactly comfortable with how close they were, but at the same time it felt good. His hands on her body signaled to her that he wanted her. She was wanted.

  She felt his lips brush her forehead, and she stiffened slightly. She didn’t know him, but, she decided at that moment, she didn’t care. She just wanted to be loved, and if he wouldn’t love her, she’d take it from wherever she could get it.

  Karl-Heinz whispered in her ear. “Do you want to get out of here?”

  She knew what he was saying. Did she want to go have sex with him? Did she want to have sex? Yes. With him? No. Besides, she hadn’t been here long, and she wanted to party.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder before she could answer. She turned and burst out laughing. “Micah? What are you doing here?”

  Why are you here? I don’t want you here. I really want you here.

  He didn’t smile. He flashed Karl-Heinz a blistering glare, then said to her, “Let’s go home.”

  She pulled away from both of them. “I don’t want to go home. I don’t have a home. I want to paarrrtttyyy.”

  Katja stumbled back to the table and squeezed in beside Sebastian. “You’re such a good friend,” she slurred. She picked up his drink and took a sip. “You don’t try to use me. You don’t try to change me. You’re not ashamed of me.”

  Sebastian wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gently removed his drink from her with the other. “I think you’ve had too much to drink already.”

  “I don’t care,” she whined. “It’s my birthday.”

  She was vaguely aware of the two empty seats in front of them becoming occupied by Karl-Heinz and Micah. They both looked frustrated. They both could go to hell.

  “Sebastian,” she said. “Why do we do this?”

  “Do what?”

  “This?” She flung out an arm almost knocking Sebastian’s drink over. He expertly rescued it. “Play music. Write songs. What drives us to pursue this life so hard?”