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I’ve given my number to exactly one person outside the Kluvberg organization. I figured it had to be her when I saw the message from a German number this morning. But it hits differently, seeing Sophia standing in front of me.
She’s wearing a yellow sundress, which sounds like something a grandma might be dressed in. But it looks sexy as hell, the short hemline showing off her long legs and the neckline teasing at the curve of her breasts. Her blonde hair is down and loose, wavy strands blowing around in the slight breeze.
“So,” she says, adjusting her sunglasses.
I realize I never responded to her greeting. That I haven’t said anything. I’ve just been standing here and staring at her.
I stuff my hands into the pockets of my shorts, feeling weirdly off balance.
Nothing’s familiar. I’m in a strange place with a strange woman, having no idea what will take place next. That hasn’t happened in a long time.
I’m not sure it’s ever happened, actually.
“So,” I repeat.
“So, you’re a football player.”
I snort. “Yep. And you’re a…sports photographer?”
She glances toward the nearby cathedral. “Just a photographer. I’m doing an internship with a local newspaper, and…” She shakes her head, meeting my gaze again. Or rather, it looks like she does.
I can’t tell past the barrier of her sunglasses.
“It’s kind of a long story, but it ends with me getting assigned to cover Kluvberg for a few weeks. Interest in the team is especially high at the moment, and it’s cheaper for me to take photos than for the paper to buy them elsewhere to run with stories.”
“Why didn’t you say no?”
“It’s complicated.”
I shrug. “Okay.”
“So…you scored a goal,” she tells me.
I shrug again. “Direct kicks don’t really count. I can do those in my sleep.”
Just getting the ball past the goalie isn’t the same challenge as active play. It was like making the shot during my first practice with the team. Nice to know I’ve still got it, but not entirely satisfying.
Sophia slides her sunglasses down her nose to study me. “I can’t tell if you’re being weirdly modest or you seriously think scoring a goal in your first game isn’t impressive.”
I smirk. “I’m impressive, huh?”
She pushes her sunglasses back into place. “Cool. You’re cured. Come on. I need some coffee.”
I follow Sophia down the street and into a small storefront I would have walked by had I been exploring by myself. It’s so tiny inside; there’s not even any seating. Just a counter that’s mostly covered by an espresso machine.
“Can you order me an iced coffee?” I ask Sophia.
“No,” she replies. “It’s not on the menu.”
“What do you mean, it’s not on the menu?”
She sighs. “Saylor complains about the same thing. It’s not common here.”
“What’s not common here? Ice?”
“I’ll order you an Eiskaffee.” Without explaining what the hell that is, Sophia spews off a rapid flurry of German.
The woman behind the counter replies, and then Sophia holds out a hand toward me.
