Sun & Moon - a contemporary romance (The Minstrel Series #1) (27 page)

Matthias noticed and leaned back. “Whoa.” He reached up to wipe a tear off her face. “Was it that bad?”

Katja crumbled and Matthias wrapped his arms around her. She cried into his shoulder, feeling weak and helpless to stop it.

“Too soon,” Matthias said, rubbing her back. “I get it.” He led her to a bench. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Katja pulled tissues out of her purse and blew in a very unattractive manner. “I don’t think you want to hear me talk about my problems with another guy.”

“Well, not really. But I am curious to know what my competition is. So, spill.”

“He asked me to marry him.”

“Wow.” He leaned his elbows on his knees. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“It lasted
two hours
.” She chuckled like she was being strangled. “I was
engaged
to be married for two hours. How lame is that?”

“You need to give me more, girl. I can’t stand it.”

Katja blew her nose again, then filled him in on the whole Greta debacle.

“So, you’re mad he left you on your engagement night to catch up with his old fling?”

“Yes. Wouldn’t you be?”

He huffed. “You’re damned right. That guy’s an idiot. Not worth another tear, if you ask me.”

“To be fair, he had thought she was dead, so it was a big shock for him. And he had loved her once, so of course he’d want to know what happened to her.”

“Sure,” Matthias conceded. “But did that have to take all night? Especially if the night in question is the one where he’d just asked someone else to spend her life with him?”

“That’s my thinking, too. But I still wonder, sometimes, if I’m being too hard on him.”

“No, definitely not.”

He wasn’t exactly unbiased if she could go by the tingling sensation that remained on her lips. She pressed her balled up tissues against her nose and leaned into him. Matthias put his arm around her and said, “I promise I won’t kiss you again until you tell me you’re good and ready. Okay?”

She sniffled. “Okay.”

Katja and her guitar were estranged lovers. In a way she blamed it and her stupid dream for the pain that ballooned in her chest like a fat bear. The instrument, locked in its case, had been propped up in the corner of the bedroom she shared with Sibylle all these weeks, and she eyed it from her place on the bed.

It called to her, whispering for her to come back to it. She moseyed over, brought it back to her bed and carefully removed her guitar from its case. She laid it on her knee and caressed the curves of the blond, rosewood frame. Blaming her guitar for her problems was stupid. This instrument had been nothing but a good and faithful friend. It never lied, never betrayed, waited patiently for her to return her affections.

She tuned the strings, noting that they sounded a little dull and she’d need to buy new ones soon. The fingers of her left hand automatically ran up and down the frets, knowing exactly where to land and where to press, while her right hand alternately strummed and picked at individual strings.

She was rusty, for sure, but like riding a bike, playing guitar was something she’d never forget. She played for hours, lost in the world of her favorite folk artists and some of her own songs that belonged to her before the Dresden days. By the end of it the tips of her fingers burned. She knew she’d suffer for a couple days, and she vowed she’d never let her calluses disappear again from lack of use.

Maybe she would perform again. Possibly line up a few gigs around town. Not as a career move, but just for fun. The idea sparked a little life that she needed right now.

She couldn’t imagine ever playing “Sun & Moon,” or “How Deep Can You Feel” again. “Don’t Go Now” remained unfinished and was hidden deep inside a proverbial drawer. She’d have to write new stuff, or she could just stick to cover tunes.

In fact, she’d have to come up with a whole new set list. Her old one reminded her of Micah, and it was just too painful. She needed to move on, and it appeared that he finally agreed. He’d stopped texting weeks ago. Even though it was what she’d wanted and needed, his silence, the fact that he had, in fact, given up on her, crushed her heart.

If only she could stop thinking about him every spare minute of every day, all would be fine. She smirked sadly. She was thankful for one thing. She was glad for Micah’s spiritual beliefs, and for the imaginary force field. Breaking up with Micah was the most painful thing she’d ever experienced. It was physically weakening and emotionally crushing. She couldn’t imagine what it would’ve been like for her now if he’d accepted her invitation to join her in his bedroom.

Katja left early for the Musique Club because she didn’t want Matthias to see her lugging in her guitar. It was open mic night, and she signed her name on the form when she walked in. Matthias didn’t know about this side of her life, and she wasn’t sure if she would go through with it. He’d egg her on if he knew, and she just didn’t want the pressure.

Matthias arrived and flashed Katja a smile before taking the seat beside her. They’d stepped back into friendship, and their one and only kiss wasn’t mentioned again. Matthias pulled a wool cap off his head and ordered a beer.

“Who’s up tonight?” he asked. “Anyone we know?”

Katja held in a smile. “Possibly.”

Three acts in, the host of the evening called her name. Matthias slapped the table. “Seriously, Katja? You never thought to mention this?”

“Just shut up and listen, before I change my mind.”

Katja eased out and collected her guitar. Her heart thudded when she stood under the spotlight. It’d been a long time since she played in front of a crowd and she was nervous. She closed her eyes and strummed. Her stage fright melted away with the first word she sang. This was her scene. She was made to do this. She belted out Joni Mitchell’s “Big Yellow Taxi” like she owned the song. Her voice was strong and powerful, and she felt the rush of knowing the room was hers. Every eye was turned to her, every ear listening.

She finished with a flourish, and the room exploded.

“Hot damn, Katja!” Matthias said, giving her a gigantic hug. “You are a major talent!”

She couldn’t stop the huge smile that crossed her face. “It felt good.”

Matthias ordered another round of beer. “No, seriously, you’re really good.”

Katja thanked him again and then forced herself to focus on the next act. At least she tried to. She couldn’t stop herself from reliving her performance in her head, basking in the afterglow. She knew for a fact that she’d do it again. She just needed the courage to write a new song.

Matthias walked her home that night. “Are you ready?” he asked, when they got to her building.

She knew what he was asking, and she shook her head. “I’m sorry.” Matthias was too good a person to lead on, and until she was really and truly over Micah, she vowed she wouldn’t kiss him again. “You shouldn’t wait for me,” she added. “I fell hard. I don’t know when I’m going to be ready to be with someone else.”

Matthias’s shoulders slumped, but he didn’t try to talk her out of it. He sighed, giving her a firm hug and left. Katja didn’t know if that meant he’d wait for her or he’d move on. She wasn’t sure what she wanted from him, but for his sake, she hoped he’d move on.

Sibylle was asleep when she entered her room. She tiptoed quietly to the bed and kissed her little sister softly on the forehead. She turned on the bedside lamp and Sibylle grunted, but turned over and fell back asleep. Katja picked up her duffle bag and looked inside. Now that she had conquered one fear, she thought maybe it was time to face the others. Her sketchpad and lyric notebook were the only things remaining in the bag. She pulled out the sketch book first, stroked the cover and spine, but didn’t open it. She knew what filled the pages. Besides the faces of strangers from the café, and a few of Renata, they were mostly images of Micah Sturm. She pushed the book aside. She wasn’t ready for that.

Her lyric notebook wasn’t much better. The last song scribbled out was the one she’d written the night everything with her and Micah had imploded. She tossed them both back into the bag and shoved it under the bed. Tomorrow she’d buy a new lyric book.

As time went on, Katja created a name for herself in the indie scene. Like with Maurice at the Blue Note, she was usually offered a full night by the managers of the clubs. She accepted those offers when they came, but she didn’t delude herself into thinking they were the gateway to stardom. She sold a few of her old CDs and made extra cash, sure, but it went to buying Sibylle new clothes and boots for the winter, not into a dream fund of any kind. Katja kept her wits about her, keeping her drinking to a minimum. She didn’t trust easy flattery, and played to please herself, not worrying if the crowd loved or hated her.

She had a gig that night, where she shared billing with another indie artist called Simone Pellar. They’d tossed a coin to see who went first and who got the more coveted last spot. Katja won that round, but she still wanted to get there early to show Simone her support.

It grew dark earlier now, and the mid-November frost caused the leaves to fall, leaving skeletal trees in their wake. Katja shivered and ducked her head to the wind. She could’ve taken a bus or taxi, but that cost money she didn’t want to spend. The club wasn’t so far away, and in good weather, a pleasant walk.

Her arm grew tired and she shifted her guitar to the other hand. A blast of wind tossed her hair across her face, and she worked to clear it away. Even through her gloves, her fingers burned with the cold. Maybe she should wait at the next bus stop and ride from there.

In her periphery she spotted a silver Audi. Her heart jumped, and then she calmed herself. Lots of people owned silver Audis. But this one didn’t pass by. It slowed to a stop. Katja’s eyes darted to the driver, and she felt the blood drain from her face. This couldn’t be happening. Not again.

The window lowered, and the driver said, “Get in?”

She ducked to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. “Micah?”

“It’s cold,” he said. “Let me drive you.”

Katja had a very vivid moment of déjà vu. Eight months ago Micah had pulled up beside her on a side street in
Neustadt
and said the same thing. Getting in his car that night had changed her life. (Probably saved it, but that was beside the point.)

She couldn’t take her eyes off his face. She was mesmerized by his eyes, his bone structure, the lips she fantasized over every night in her dreams. She sincerely never thought she’d ever see him again in the flesh.

“Katja? Please, I’ll take you to your gig.”

Her breath hitched. “How do you know where I’m going?”

He nodded to the guitar in her hands. “Good guess? Get in. You’re freezing to death.”

As if of their own accord, her legs moved around the front of the car, and she found herself placing her guitar in the back seat. Micah reached over and opened the passenger door, and she got in, feeling strangely detached. None of her senses could be trusted right now. Her emotions were in a turmoil and her body responses completely out of control. Her heart rate soared and a cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck. She sat centimeters away from the man who’d torn her heart in two and her world to shreds. Did he not understand how hard she had to work to move on? In one second flat, she was back to where she was in the beginning. Completely destroyed.