“Thank you.”
Louis spreads a thick layer of butter on one half of his two chocolate buns, and old memories come flooding back. Sunday mornings, family breakfasts. I was always welcome, there was always a whole-grain roll and a pretzel for me.Always cheese, which I still love so much but never got at home. Real butter, not margarine—and yes, you can taste the difference. And two chocolate buns for Louis. That hasn’t changed.
“Tell me about yourself, David. How old are you? What do you do? Where are you from?” He takes a bite with relish, leans back, and waits for my answer.
“I’m twenty-five. I come from a small town about fifty miles south.”
“Oh, really? Me too. Which school did you go to?” I raise my eyebrows in what I hope is an emphatic“Really?”, but Louis just looks at me innocently. Damn, that’s exactly what I always loved about him. I still love it. The unyieldingness, the playfulness, and a smile curls around my lips.
“Goethe-Gymnasium.”
“Oh, me too. You were probably one year my senior, otherwise we would’ve met before. Funny that we never crossed paths. And what are you doing now?”
He really pulls this off without batting an eye. Impressive. As if this were all completely normal, he keeps the conversation going, as if he wasn’t the only person in the world who knows everything about me. Maybe he doesn’t know what I’m studying or where exactly I live, but he knows me on another level. There’s no part of my body he hasn’t touched or even kissed. Only he knows how I like to be touched, what drives me crazy, what takes my breath away.
“I studied business administration in Mannheim and now I’m doing my master’s degree here. What do you do?”
“I’m studying math and French to become a teacher.”
“Math, like your father.” That just slipped out. Damn it.
“To teach at high schools.” Ah, Louis’s father is a middle school teacher. “Why business administration? Is it fun? Isn’t it relatively boring with lots of numbers and stuff?”
I choke violently on my now cooled tea, laughing. “Math doesn’t have numbers, does it?”
“Details. You didn’t answer my question.” He rolls his eyes with a grin and shoves the last bite of chocolate bun into his mouth.
“I want to take over my father’s company.” I don’t add that I only have this option because my half-sister took herself out of the game ten years ago. I have the potential, too, what I’m doing here is completely insane when you consider what’s at stake. And then I look at Louis and everything else fades into the background.
Chapter 33
Louis
24 years
David is insecure. Even if I didn’t know him so well, it would be impossible to overlook. His smile is fleeting, it’s difficult for him to maintain eye contact. He nervously plays with his napkin, folding it and twisting it in his hands. But he’s always been like that.
When he knows his role and knows how to fill it, he is an unshakeable force bursting with self-confidence. But as far I know that David only existed on the handball court or at school. The real David was different, and that’s exactly what I’ve always loved about him so much. Still do love. He stillaffects me just as much as he did seven years ago, six years ago, five years ago. Because he knew what he wanted with me, but he showed it in a completely different way than with everyone else. With me, he was just himself. Completely David, real and genuine.
His calmness and gentleness always caught me when I was nervous, enveloped me and held me. And yes, of course, his devoted nature complemented my playful dominance well. We were good together, so damn good. Even though our circumstances weren’t ideal, it was always easy between us. And when I throw my fear and caution overboard and manage to just get caught up in the moment, it feels like we have a chance to make it work again.
It’s our second date. David was at the club at ten o’clock sharp and waited at his seat until five in the morning. Now we’re sitting in the little bakery again.
What do you talk about with someone you feel like you know everything about, but aren’t allowed to know because you’re pretending to start from scratch? I still think the idea is brilliant in principle, but it has its pitfalls.
“What’s your favorite color?” The question comes out of nowhere and I’m surprised when the words leave my mouth. David looks at me with a frown and stirs his tea thoughtfully. “Light blue. But not azure or cyan, more like ice blue.”
My heart skips a beat. “Um, has it always been that color?” No, it hasn’t. His favorite color used to be orange, and as expected, he shakes his head. I shouldn’t ask, but I can’t help myself. “What happened? Why did your favorite color change?”
His gaze meets mine, holds it, and I don’t look away. “Ice blue reminds me of someone, someone who was very close to me and...” I see him swallow, hear the tremor in his voice. “...um, who I miss.”
Hemeans me, right? “And what does that someone have to do with ice blue?”
David’s gaze falls on his fingers, which are now tearing the napkin into wafer-thin layers. “The wall next to his bed was ice blue.”
It still is, but I don’t say that out loud. I’m also not sure if I’d have the necessary strength in my voice to say anything at all without embarrassing myself.
“Do you have a favorite color?” The question comes quickly, probably to sweep the ice blue elephant under the rug, and I play along, only too happy to do him the favor. “Dark green. Like ivy. Or fir trees.”
