Klaus furrowed his brows. "Blumen? Wofür?"
Axel translated in his shy half-English. "Why… flowers?"
It hit me then. There weren't many flowers left in Berlin. The city had burned, starved, frozen. Nature had barely kept up. Flowers were one of the luxuries no one had the right to expect.
And still, I wanted to bring her some. I swallowed. "Eh… never mind."
This morning, I couldn't sit still. I paced. I shaved twice because I botched the first one. I pulled on civilian clothes—jeans, a faded shirt, a jacket that wasn't military issue—and hoped I looked less like a flying uniform and more like a man.
Then I went to find flowers. It took three hours and a long walk to the French sector. I paid too much. I didn't care. The bouquet wasn't big, just a handful of wilted daisies, two pale roses, and a sprig of something green, but it was all the city had.
By noon, my palms were sweating around the stems. When I reached her ruin, I hesitated. My heart kicked like it wanted out of my chest. I knocked on the makeshift door. I felt more anxious than I had flying over Germany dropping bombs.
A rustle.
A pause.
Then she opened it.
Saw me and froze.
Her eyes—brown like forest earth—went wide, flicking from my face to the flowers and back again. Her lips parted slightly. She didn't breathe for a full three seconds. I swallowed. Hard.
"I'm sorry," I said.
Two words. Not enough. But they were everything I had.She didn't take the flowers, but she didn't slam the door or scream at me like last night.
Progress?
She just stared.
I saw the war on her face, the mistrust, the exhaustion, the brittle strength. The hope she tried to crush before I could see it. Every wound from the last few years lived in her eyes. I held the bouquet out a little more, like a shield, like a peace offering. "Please. Let me buy you lunch. Let me explain. Let me… fix what I broke."
She closed her eyes briefly, like she was fighting herself. When she opened them again, they shone strangely.
"And why," she whispered, voice trembling despite her stubborn posture, "would I do that?"
I breathed in, then answered honestly, "Because I would really, really like to get to know you, and I would really like for you to know me too."
Silence.
A long, tight silence.
Her gaze dropped to the flowers. Her throat worked. Her fingers twitched—just barely—toward the bouquet. Then she looked back up, and her voice came out hoarse, "You're… impossible."
I didn't dare grin, but I smiled, "Probably."
She let out a breath that trembled at the end. Then—slowly, cautiously, like approaching a wounded animal—she reached for the flowers. Her fingers brushed mine. Sparks ignited. Real, physical sparks that shot up my arm. She felt it too—her flush told on her, so did her widening eyes.
"Lunch," she whispered, almost to herself. "We can… talk."
Relief nearly knocked me off my feet. I held out my hand, careful not to let it appear too eager or, God forbid, grabby. "Come with me?"
She hesitated, but only for a few seconds. Before she took my hand, though, she remembered. "Hold on, the flowers."
I waited at the threshold, like I had never entered her apartment before, until I heard the boys giggle. Of course, they had stood right there, watching. I made a face at them, and they giggled some more.
"Oh, for crying out loud, Gideon, come on in," Inga called.
