Page 12 of The German's Guilty Pleasure
“A what now?” I asked, her words foreign to my ears.
She lowered her brow in surprise. “Wait, you’ve never had a Bartles & Jaymes?”
“I do not recall anything by that name. I am unclear what a Bartles & Jaymes is.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “It’s a wine cooler. Back in the ‘80s, they were sweet, tasty, and cheap. You know, Bartles did all the talking and ended the commercials with,and thank you for your support.Is this ringing any bells?”
I cracked a smile. Not at her words, but at the way she tried to imitate the guy’s voice. “No, I am afraid it does not. I was all of a year old at the end of the ‘80s, so there is that, as you say here.” I flicked my hand at her body. “You were not even born yet. How do you know about alcohol from the ‘80s?”
She rolled her eyes heavenward and tromped past me, but I grasped her elbow so she could not escape.
“You don’t know much, do you? In America, everything from the ‘80s comes back around at some point to be new again. Things like My Little Pony, clear Pepsi, leggings, parachute pants, Smurfs, Tab—”
She paused for a breath, and I jumped in. “I have to say, of all the things you mentioned, I can understand why leggings came back around again. I do enjoy your little leggings.”
She huffed at me and yanked her arm free. “Why are you here again? You said something about dinner. It’s almost nine.”
I waved my hand at her, my watch catching the setting sun through the patio door. “No, I was going to ask if you wanted to go to dinner, but I like your plans better. We should stay in, listen to music, and drink the Bartles.”
“We?” she asked, her hand on her hip. “Like as in together?”
“When I went to school, that was the definition of we, yes.”
She shook her head and threw up her hands. “Fine, okay, you know what? Fine. Let’s listen to music and drink the Bartles.”
“Should we do the pizza thing, too?”
“By pizza thing, do you mean picking up the phone and having it delivered? That feels like a lot of work.”
“To use the phone?”
“To go down to the lobby and get it,” she teased, heading to the kitchen.
“I can afford to pay someone to bring it to the door.”
She grabbed the handle of the fridge and spun back toward me. “But why when I can have a hotflammkuchenon the table in thirty minutes?”
I moaned against my will. “Do not mess with my taste buds,frau.”
She held up both hands. “I’m not messing with anything. I have everything I need to make one. I love it.”
I stalked toward her and pressed her up against the door. “Why is this the first time I have heard about your ability to make German pizza?”
“Maybe because you never asked?” she squeaked, pushing against my chest to ease me back a step.
I took a moment to soak in the sight of her wearing the thin tank top in the cold room. “It seems you have many hidden talents, myblauer vogelchef. I cannot wait to discover them all.”
The look of equal parts heat and terror that crossed her face told me exactly what I wanted to know. She was as hot for me as I was for her.
Six
Serenity
He leaned back in his chair, the warm breeze blowing across the balcony and ruffling his hair. This was probably the first time I had seen him completely and utterly relaxed since I started working here. Wound up tighter than a drum was his natural state of being, so it was nice to see him unwind and enjoy life a little bit.
“I have not hadflammkuchenlike that since …” he paused for a moment and looked to the sky, “ever. I do not know what you did with it, but it was better than any I have eaten.”
I didn’t want to smile, but I couldn’t stop it from spreading across my face. “Thank you. It was probably the homemade sour cream and the muenster cheese. Oh,” I snapped my fingers and pointed at him, “and the center-cut bacon. Less fat on the strip makes for a smokier taste to theflammkuchen.”
