Tattooed Sweetness: An Opposites Attract Slow-burn Small Town Romance by Katlyn S. Coen

Author:Katlyn S. Coen [Coen, Katlyn S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-12-06T16:00:00+00:00

Still giggling and a little out of breath, we board the suburban train a few minutes later, which has just arrived at the station at the Beetle’s Gate. We meander forward through the train as it swiftly starts up. We try to avoid eye contact with the young men— the common press euphemism for often criminal migrants from Islamic states who disrespect European women—who are almost drooling at us. Then, we find an empty seat bay behind the driver’s cabin.

In Binau, a regular customer of Pauline’s joins us and gratefully sits opposite us. As a natural consequence, our conversation turns to fashion trends, styling tips, and the latest gossip about celebrities.

“Did you see what a sickly-sweet dress Princess Charlotte wore to her aunt’s wedding?” Pauline sighs devotedly. “If I ever get married, my flower girls will have to wear something just like that.”

“You’re making wedding plans?” I tease her. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

Her customer raises her eyebrows in interest, but Pauline waves it off with a laugh.

“Purely hypothetical, dear Celine. Completely purely hypothetical. You know I don’t want to commit for the next five years.”

“Five years?” I can’t believe this.

“At least,” my friend confirms with a meaningful smirk.

In this way, the three-quarter-hour drive to Heidelberg passes in no time at all. With all the giggling with Pauline’s customer, who is continuing on to Mannheim, we almost miss getting off at Heidelberg’s main station.

“Whew,” I gasp as we jump off the train. “That was close!”

“Ouch!” Pauline almost loses her balance, and I can just barely grab her by the elbow.

“What’s wrong?”

“Crap, I twisted my ankle!” Leaning on my arm, she lifts her foot and moves it carefully. The sound of her sucking in the air makes me involuntarily feel her pain.

I shake my head, pointing across to the opposite track where the suburban trains back toward Mosbach and Osterburken are announced. “Then we’d better turn back. It doesn’t make any sense to keep going …”

“I think you’re nuts!” If Pauline had a hand free, she’d probably tap her forehead, as aghast as she’s staring at me right now. “I got those cards six months ago!”

“But your foot, your pain, you’re not having any fun then, and you’re torturing yourself …”

“When I have fun, it’s still me who decides!” she cuts me short, linking her arms energetically with mine. “And I just did!”

After we leave the station concourse at a snail’s pace, Pauline—while grumbling—at least allows me to hail us a cab to the location not far away.

The grumpy driver only waves me off after I have given him the address.

But Pauline, with her pitiful limp, can persuade him to take the tour despite the ridiculously short distance.

We quickly reach the sober cube of the new hotel building, in which one would not expect such an atmospheric lounge.

I pull out my wallet and generously round up the six euros fifty cents on the taximeter. “Keep the change.” I hand the driver a ten-euro bill and quickly get out to help Pauline out of the back seat.

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