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Jasmine
* * *
With my arms wrapped around his waist, we cruise around the mountains and through the forests across all the narrow roads. His cabin wasn’t too far from the road, but I never imagined he’d be the one to ride a motorcycle.
Then again, there’s a lot I apparently didn’t know about him.
For example, he’s into tattoos, hunting, living in the woods … and a very horny son of a bitch.
I snigger to myself as the bike slows down.
“We’re here,” Liam says.
I peer over his shoulder at the village ahead. It’s a small town with barely twenty houses, all white and brown, with flower arrangements tumbling down the windowsills everywhere. The houses are all built on a slope, and there’s a small stream of water next to the house in the lowest corner. If you ask me, this town is beyond cute. Idyllic, like a painting on a canvas. And with the sun shining brightly and the sky above so blue, I could almost, almost forget I’m a captive.
Liam parks his bike on a small parking lot next to the first house and helps me get off. His warm hand enveloped around mine is hard not to think about as he pulls me along through the village. Something about all of this is oddly … romantic.
And it throws me off completely.
“What are we doing here?” I ask as we walk around the plaster houses where people are going about their lives, chatting with neighbors, gardening, and hanging laundry.
“Shopping,” Liam answers, pointing at a street to our left. “There’s a market there.”
I throw him a look. “I never pegged you to be the market type. I thought you were a recluse,” I joke. “Living off the land.”
He raises a brow. “Well, I hate people, but I still need food. You’d actually see this guy growing vegetables?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. You hunt deer for fun. I thought you’d have a thing for food.”
“I like hunting. Not cooking,” he replies. “Big difference.”
I snort. “I know. I could taste that.”
He squeezes my hand, and a playful smirk appears on his face. “You think you can cook better than me? I’d like to see you try.” He tugs me along to the small stalls. “Go on then. Buy something.”
He pushes me toward the produce, and I stare at it, completely befuddled.
“Hallo. Was willst du?” the stall owner says.
I may speak Dutch, but I don’t speak German. “Uhh …” I point at a bunch of veggies and fruits, and the man puts them in the bag for me. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” the man replies with a German accent. “That’ll be sixteen euros.”
Liam fishes his wallet from his pocket and hands the man some cash.
“Thank you very much,” the man says. “Enjoy!”
I grab the bag and check out the other stalls.
“That went well,” Liam says. “You don’t speak German?”
Obviously not. “I failed most of the classes.”
His brows furrow. “As a Dutchie?”
I want to smack him so badly right now. “Surprise, I’m not perfect.”
He smirks. “Guess we both failed at something then.”
