‘I am not planning to take you out to any strip bars,’ he assured her. ‘We can leave all of that to the stag and hen parties.’
Having never been to Germany before, Pepper was not sure what to expect, but in the end she found herself charmed by Finn’s hometown from pretty much the moment they emerged from the underground station. While the buildings they passed were far taller, grander and more imposing than those at home, the attractive little details that she loved so much were the same. Late-spring blooms the colour of jellybeans were packed into window boxes, bold swathes of street art gave new life to exposed brick walls, and everywhere Pepper looked, she saw groups of friends hanging out together. A few were walking their dogs, some rode past on bicycles, while others sat in artful heaps on benches and kerbs with hand-rolled cigarettes and visible tattoos.
Finn seemed to know everyone, and exchanged cheery greetings and waves as they walked, Pepper’s trusty wheelie case clattering merrily over the paving stones behind them.
‘Are you secretly the Mayor of Hamburg?’ she asked.
‘Far more famous than that,’ he joked. ‘Freunde is very popular around here – you will see later.’
Pepper was greeted by people in Aldeburgh all the time, but that was because it was a small town and she favoured an eccentric outfit, not because she was highly rated. On the contrary – she had always felt distinctly average. Finn, by contrast, did not seem to be self-deprecating at all, as far as she could tell, and it was interesting to get a glimpse of the world through his eyes.
‘We are here,’ Finn announced, as they arrived at the door of a cosy, one-room café with a few fold-up tables propped outside.
‘In or out?’
‘In,’ she decided, gazing through the large open window and taking in a clutter of mismatched wooden furniture, threadbare cushions, framed photographs and bedraggled-looking flowers in vases.
‘Guten Morgen,’ Finn said to the two women behind the counter, then launched into a further stream of German. Pepper, unable to follow a word of what was being said, lingered awkwardly in the open doorway.
‘Sit anywhere that you like,’ one of the women urged in English. Then, turning back to Finn, ‘Essen Sie?’
‘Ja, bitte,’ Finn replied, accepting two menus and heading to a table beside the window.
‘I come here on most days,’ he told Pepper, as she stowed her case under her chair. ‘Sometimes for my breakfast, other times to do some work with a cup of coffee, that sort of thing.’
‘It’s nice,’ she said, looking around admiringly. ‘Oh, wow – what an amazing cat.’
There was a large ginger tom stretched out on one of the café’s many cushions.
‘Ja,’ Finn agreed. ‘That is König – it means king.’
The cat twitched its ears and flicked its stripy tail.
‘It suits him,’ she said. ‘I think every cat I have ever met has thought of itself as a royal – perhaps we should all be a bit more cat?’
‘You are purr-fect already,’ he joked, and Pepper groaned in good humour.
‘You are cheesy,’ she informed him. ‘But luckily for you, I am crackers.’
The coffee arrived, thick and creamy and dusted with cinnamon, and after a cursory glance at the breakfast menu, which was fortuitously printed in both German and English, Pepper opted for the intriguing ‘egg in a glass’. Finn made no comment, but when their breakfast arrived ten minutes later, hers consisting of two poached eggs in a glass served with nothing but a sprinkling of salt and chopped chives, he found it hilarious.
‘This is your first German lesson,’ he said. ‘We always mean what we say – and we are very literal.’
‘And my second?’ she asked, jabbing her spoon through the fragile white of her egg and watching the rich, golden yolk ooze out into the glass.
Finn pressed his knee against hers under the table.
‘When we have finished here,’ he said, ‘I will take you home and show you.’
Chapter 22
In all the many fantasies about Finn that Pepper had indulged in, the single common denominator was an urgent, all-consuming passion – one that she had been sure would take hold the moment the two of them were alone together. But there was something about being in Finn’s home that made her come over all shy, and once he had given her a quick tour of his split-level apartment and fetched them both a glass of water, she was not sure what to do next.
She had been brave enough to get herself here, travel to a foreign country for the second time in her life to visit a man she had only met a handful of times, but now she was frozen. In the moment where confidence was most ardently required, it had completely abandoned her. She had no moves, no shimmy, no ‘come hither’ sexy finger-hooks.
Stealing a glance a Finn, she found that he was looking at her intently, and had to suppress a nervous laugh. He was so playful most of the time, light-hearted, if a little stiff on occasion, but he was never serious, as he was now. Pepper reminded herself that he was a man, and a mature, capable and strong-willed one at that. Of course he would not find sex funny; he was too grown-up for that.
She caught her breath as he came towards her, his movements so swift and decisive that for a moment she almost stepped backwards. Finn did not smile until he was standing right in front of her, and then he slid a finger under her chin, lifting it slowly as he lowered his face, kissing first her lips, then her cheeks, her neck, the soft hollow of her throat. Pepper knew it was corny beyond comprehension to rattle on about a ‘connection’, but she couldn’t find a word that better suited herself and Finn. It was as if he knew her in an intrinsic way, and she him, and it wasn’t long before all her worries were forgotten, tossed aside along with their clothes and inhibitions. Pepper let herself go, let herself be taken, and it was bliss to feel so free, so unburdened by anything other than Finn, in this room, in their moment.
Afterwards, he wrapped them both up in his bedsheets and took Pepper from room to room, giving her a more thorough tour of all the paintings, photos and sculptures he had on display. When she saw the portrait she had drawn of him in Lisbon framed and hung up in pride of place in the lounge, Pepper almost buckled with shyness, and Finn was forced to kiss her again to silence her protestations.
Sunshine had broken through the clouds by the time they ventured back outside, and the air felt warm and clean. Finn offered her his hand to hold as they walked along the wide, tree-lined street, and she grasped it with pleasure, happy to be in this bubble with him. She had never been with a man she was so proud to be seen with before, and Pepper found herself relishing the stares that the two of them got as they strolled back past the same groups of people they had passed just a few hours earlier. In Hamburg, nobody knew who she was, or what had happened to her family, to Bethan – and it was a liberating feeling. Pepper was unshackled from the past and felt able to luxuriate, for once, in the present.
The further they ventured, the more she found herself falling for the old city, for its cleanliness and friendliness, its bespoke themed cafés and pretty resting spots.
‘It is a shame you missed the cherry blossom,’ Finn said, as they passed a churchyard coated in pink petals. ‘We celebrate a spring festival in Alsterpark every year, with performances and fireworks – this time Freunde had a pop-up kiosk, and we did very well.’