“Only you never used them.”
One-nil for Rachel. Oh God, she was right. I faltered, but only for one second.
“Dan gave me his word. Of honor. There will be no funny business.”
“You believe him?” she challenged.
“I do. And I trust him. Implicitly. He’s never, ever given me cause to doubt him, or done anything that he hadn’t warned me about.”
“Also true,” Rachel conceded and let me off the hook. I came off the phone jubilant. This verbal grilling was a great sign; I was almost one hundred percent certain that I had my best friend back. Things were looking up.
Chapter Eighteen
There was a light drizzle when the taxi deposited us at the Humboldt Hotel the next day. Dan had been true to his word. While we both had beautiful and extravagant suites, they were nowhere near each other. Mine was on the sixth floor, and his was on the eighth. There would be no clandestine midnight openings of magically unlocked interconnecting doors.
I eyed the four solid walls of my suite with mixed feelings. Obviously, I didn’t want temptation, obviously I was totally, totally over Dan, and obviously I was still holding on to my Steve-moments, but this brought back so many memories that I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed at the similarities and dismayed at the differences.
Depositing my pink carry-on suitcase in the wardrobe, I took a quick tour of the suite. A bedroom, a small sitting room, a sumptuous bathroom with a spa bath and surround shower. As always, Dan wasn’t stinting, bless him.
I was eyeing myself up critically in the mirror when there was a knock on the door followed by Dan’s impatient voice, “Hurry up, woman, we’ve got a city to explore.”
I snapped to and we were off.
Dan’s excitement was contagious. We fair skipped out of the hotel together and walked up the Ku’damm , taking in the traffic driving on the right side of the road, the big plane trees lining this major boulevard, and all the fancy shops. I was worried that Dan would drown me in extravagant gestures, but all we did was window shop and look at the sights. We stopped at a bakery-cum-coffee-shop where Dan ordered two coffees and two Pfannkuchen , which I assumed would be pancakes but turned out to be doughnuts. They were still warm and freshly rolled in sugar and absolutely to die for.
“My clever book,” Dan announced, unexpectedly brandishing a guide to Berlin, “tells me that these little delights are known as ‘Berliners,’ which translates into ‘doughnuts,’ all over Germany. Except in Berlin, these darlings are actually called Pfannkuchen, which the rest of the world would translate as pancake.”
My mouth must have been hanging open in shock because Dan nudged me playfully and said, teasingly, “Do close your mouth, darling, we are in polite company.”
I did as instructed. Then I snatched Dan’s book out of his hands. “What is this?”
“A guide to Berlin,” he replied deadpan. “I thought it might come in handy.”
Berlin for Kids , it read. “This is a children’s guidebook,” I stated, stupefied.
“Why, of course,” Dan acknowledged cheerfully. “It’s so much more interesting that way. Look, it’s got treasure hunts and puzzles and picture clues, and there are little tips about where to eat…”
I must have looked utterly confused. I hadn’t known Dan was into kiddie-style sightseeing, or any kind of sightseeing. When I had accompanied Tuscq on tour, there had been next to no free time for doing touristy things, and nobody had brought any guidebooks.
“I find city guides for adults boring,” Dan explained. “There’s always so much information in there, and it’s all educational. And okay, it’s really interesting but there’s always so much of it. So I prefer children’s guidebooks.” He winked and tugged at my elbow in a c’mon kind of way.
“I think it’s—” I never got round to saying what I thought it was as a flash light went off. Dan gave a soft little
One-nil for Rachel. Oh God, she was right. I faltered, but only for one second.
“Dan gave me his word. Of honor. There will be no funny business.”
“You believe him?” she challenged.
“I do. And I trust him. Implicitly. He’s never, ever given me cause to doubt him, or done anything that he hadn’t warned me about.”
“Also true,” Rachel conceded and let me off the hook. I came off the phone jubilant. This verbal grilling was a great sign; I was almost one hundred percent certain that I had my best friend back. Things were looking up.
Chapter Eighteen
There was a light drizzle when the taxi deposited us at the Humboldt Hotel the next day. Dan had been true to his word. While we both had beautiful and extravagant suites, they were nowhere near each other. Mine was on the sixth floor, and his was on the eighth. There would be no clandestine midnight openings of magically unlocked interconnecting doors.
I eyed the four solid walls of my suite with mixed feelings. Obviously, I didn’t want temptation, obviously I was totally, totally over Dan, and obviously I was still holding on to my Steve-moments, but this brought back so many memories that I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed at the similarities and dismayed at the differences.
Depositing my pink carry-on suitcase in the wardrobe, I took a quick tour of the suite. A bedroom, a small sitting room, a sumptuous bathroom with a spa bath and surround shower. As always, Dan wasn’t stinting, bless him.
I was eyeing myself up critically in the mirror when there was a knock on the door followed by Dan’s impatient voice, “Hurry up, woman, we’ve got a city to explore.”
I snapped to and we were off.
Dan’s excitement was contagious. We fair skipped out of the hotel together and walked up the Ku’damm , taking in the traffic driving on the right side of the road, the big plane trees lining this major boulevard, and all the fancy shops. I was worried that Dan would drown me in extravagant gestures, but all we did was window shop and look at the sights. We stopped at a bakery-cum-coffee-shop where Dan ordered two coffees and two Pfannkuchen , which I assumed would be pancakes but turned out to be doughnuts. They were still warm and freshly rolled in sugar and absolutely to die for.
“My clever book,” Dan announced, unexpectedly brandishing a guide to Berlin, “tells me that these little delights are known as ‘Berliners,’ which translates into ‘doughnuts,’ all over Germany. Except in Berlin, these darlings are actually called Pfannkuchen, which the rest of the world would translate as pancake.”
My mouth must have been hanging open in shock because Dan nudged me playfully and said, teasingly, “Do close your mouth, darling, we are in polite company.”
I did as instructed. Then I snatched Dan’s book out of his hands. “What is this?”
“A guide to Berlin,” he replied deadpan. “I thought it might come in handy.”
Berlin for Kids , it read. “This is a children’s guidebook,” I stated, stupefied.
“Why, of course,” Dan acknowledged cheerfully. “It’s so much more interesting that way. Look, it’s got treasure hunts and puzzles and picture clues, and there are little tips about where to eat…”
I must have looked utterly confused. I hadn’t known Dan was into kiddie-style sightseeing, or any kind of sightseeing. When I had accompanied Tuscq on tour, there had been next to no free time for doing touristy things, and nobody had brought any guidebooks.
“I find city guides for adults boring,” Dan explained. “There’s always so much information in there, and it’s all educational. And okay, it’s really interesting but there’s always so much of it. So I prefer children’s guidebooks.” He winked and tugged at my elbow in a c’mon kind of way.
“I think it’s—” I never got round to saying what I thought it was as a flash light went off. Dan gave a soft little
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