Page 39 of Tattooed Sweetness
“That’s really impressive,” I admit, casually typing the term into my cell phone. “Buttremors, in case of overdose, palpitations, hallucinations, loss of consciousness, rise in blood pressure, and insomnia?” I read out. “Would you subject your husband to such side effects…?”
“Well…” Katja pulling an innocent face makes me worry about the worst. “Unlike your powerless Kevin, he has a lot of power in the area of…” She swiftly dodges the ball of crumpled baker’s paper I aim at her head.
I’m completely fed up with Pauline torturing me with her bedtime stories! If my favorite colleague starts doing it, too…I falter in my train of thought and look at her. “Could it be you’re actually interested in experiencing this miracle herb in action for once?”
The corners of Katja’s mouth, raised into a smile, twitch downward for a moment.
Ha! Busted!
“Well…” she admits hesitantly. “But then again, it’s not right how Kevin treats you. Completely selfish, he’s subjecting you to the side effects of sex deprivation. And if he doesn’t survive our treatment…” With her fingers, she performs a vague gesture in the air. “Then you’ll just hook up with a new, more potent guy.”
I stare at her.She didn’t really say that, did she?
“Now don’t look so scared, Celine,” she adds in a conciliatory tone. “It’s not like you have to kill him. Just breaking up would be the easiest option. Wouldn’t it?”
Oh my God! From the look on her face, she truly expects an answer from me!Not wanting to have to say anything, I shove the entire rest of the cupcake into my mouth without further ado.
But my streak of bad luck doesn’t end, because just at this moment the phone rings…
“Crap!” I jump up and try to chew down the sticky crumbs in my mouth on my way to the desk. Without looking at the display for the caller ID number, which is upside down anyway, I pick up and wet my lips one more time. “Chamber of Commerce and Industries, Mosbach Branch, Celine Lechner speaking.”
“…received an awesome offer,” a man’s voice reaches my ear, which I easily identify as Mr. Sandtmann’s—uh—Philipp’s. “Ideally located residential and commercial property…” The rustling of paper can be heard, apparently, he is leafing through an exposé. “…right in the pulsating heart of the major district town of Mosbach.”
“In thepulsating heart of Mosbach?” I suppress a laugh. A large number of vacancies aren’t particularly attractive to the population. “Is that really what it says?” A real estate agent with that much imagination had better write fiction. Preferably fantasy fiction.
“Uh, yeah. Why?” Philipp sounds irritated.
“No reason,” I smirk, which earns me a complicit wink from Katja, who waves goodbye. “What else does it say?”
“Wait a sec…” There’s another rustle before I hear his voice again, reminding me of Fritz Kalkbrenner’s soft rap. “Here:This attractive residential and commercial property allows you to realize living and working in one place.That has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Just what I was looking for.”
It does. “And? What else?”
“You want more info?” Philipp laughs. “The four-story residential and commercial building in traditional half-timbered construction has a fully cellared basement and is located directly on Mosbach’s market square.”
In my head, I let the buildings around the central square pass me by in a clockwise direction: The former electronics store currently sells children’s items. The watch store, the Greek taverna, and the tourist information office. The clothes store, the traditional shoe store. The imposing town hall, the listed Palm’s House, and… Actually, only one half-timbered house remains, to which the description could fit.
“…wanted to ask,” Philipp’s warm syllables drip into my ear. “I wonder if we can’t just meet and have a look at the property together? After all, it’s only a few steps away from your office.”
Am I mistaken or did my heart really do a little hop just now? No!After all, I’m no longer a teenager with a crush on some bad boy who has at least ten devotees on every single finger. I’ve seen what sort of vibes women get from him, judging by the reactions of his business partner and the Russian customer… Anyway, I wipe the weird distress out of my brain. His suggestion comes just in time. I quickly check the calendar to see if there are no more appointments until the end of the day. “Yes, that’s a great idea. Where do we meet? How long do you estimate it will take you to get here from Hassmersheim?” Taking advantage of the long telephone cord, I mosey over to the window. I look down at the old town, where the towers of the town hall and the collegiate church mark the location of the marketplace.
“To be honest…” Philipp’s mischievous smirk is almost three-dimensionally tangible through the wire. “I’m already here. Look down…”
“How? Where?” I lower my gaze—and sure enough:
Philipp is standing on the sidewalk in front of the parking lot. He holds his cell phone to his ear and waves a folder in his other hand up to me.
As if by magic, my arm lifts and I feel a smile flood my facial muscles. “Well then… I’ll see you in a minute!”
“I’ll see you in a minute,” he echoes, and I hang up and shut down the computer. In front of the mirror, I quickly touch up my lipstick and grab my purse, coat, and cell phone. “I’m off to a client appointment!” I inform Mr. Bretschneider in the room next door, then I’m already in the stairwell on my way down.
“Hi.” Philipp’s perfectly cut mouth moves in a hypnotizing way to get that one syllable out.
I have to try my hardest not to just gape at him. Instead, I grab his outstretched hand and enjoy the warmth of his skin in the powerfully measured greeting. “Hello.”
For a few seconds, we face each other wordlessly. Quite a few cars roar past us, and only the stinking exhaust of a scooter snaps us out of our strangely familiar silence.
“I’m…”