Summer of Bliss: Love Me Right, #5

By Bridgette Tell

AN UNCERTAIN FOODIE.

A SUMMER EXCHANGE STUDENT.

A SHARED BATHROOM.

Klara has been playing it safe. She loves her parents, when they aren't nit-picking how she spends her time. She loves her job, when she isn't thinking about the offer from her dream school. She loves her friends, when she isn't jealous and tired of their drama. Why change it up when the familiar is a comfortable blanket?

Eric has felt like something is missing his entire life. The last of the MacGrath family, he is the only one that has no memories of his mom. Hoping that a last minute trip to Germany, his mom's homeland, will bring him closer to the woman, and help him feel less disconnected from his siblings.

What neither of them expects is a summer full of passion, drama, and maybe…just maybe…love.

*Warning: Explicit content and a happy ending leaving you wanting for more

• Language: English
• Publisher: Independant
• Release date: Feb 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9781777544973

Book preview

To my dearest friend who found her passion in life. It took guts to follow your dreams, especially going against the grain and by far not the easiest path in life. I hope to be half as determined as you and filled with as much happiness.

CHAPTER 1

Eric

THE BED IS DECEIVINGLY empty. A stack of boxers. A couple of shirts. Some shorts. A pair of jeans. My phone and a travel wall plugin.

That’s it.

I shove my hands in my hair as I go over the contents on the bed. It is barely enough to fill a backpack. Is it enough to last me a month of living and traveling in Germany?

A noise at my door has me turning around. Kitty, the sister I’m closest with, eyes my bed and gives a low whistle. Wow, baby bro, you bring a whole new meaning to packing only the essentials.

I turn back to the bed, frowning.

Kitty comes up beside me, her hair tickling my arms. It still throws me that my sister is suddenly a head shorter than me. For years I had been the same height as her. And then in high school I grew a foot in a year. And it kept going.

What about a laptop? she asks, fingering the single phone cord.

Don’t need one. Classes are in person. And the host family said they have a family computer I can use if I really need it.

Her eyes, the same strange hazel as mine, twinkle as she peers up at me. And toiletries?

I can buy full-size stuff when I get there.

Camera?

I snort and pickup my phone and wave it in her face.

She hesitates before asking the next question in a soft voice, Violin?

I rub my chest as I stare at the case on my desk. I thought about taking it with. But what if something happens to it? My family, all the sisters and my dad, had pulled their money together and bought me a D Z Strad Maestro Old Spruce Stradi for my final semester in grade twelve. It costs over five grand.

I’m there to learn German, not to play music, I mutter as I start shoving my clothes into the backpack.

Thankfully, Kitty keeps quiet about the violin.

From downstairs, her husband calls for us both. I zip my bag up and throw it over my shoulder, shoving my wallet, passport, and phone in my front pocket. Let’s go, I say as I hit the lights in my room and head downstairs without a backwards glance. It will all be waiting for me when I get home. It is only a month.

Kitty hurries behind me as I meet dad and Matt downstairs. Matt gives me a nod. Dad, not caring how uncomfortable it makes me, pulls me into a hard hug. Have fun, son. Text me when you get settled.

Will do, I mumble, avoiding his eyes as he looks me up and down. He eyes my floppy bag but says nothing.

I slide into my old sneakers and head outside without a backwards glance. If I don’t linger then it won’t hurt. At least, that is my philosophy in life. Just get in and get out, only do what I need to do and nothing more. The extra, the feeling, the overwhelming, the emotions, I leave to my violin.

I take the front passenger seat, adjusting the seat as soon as I sit down. Kitty and Matt get into the sedan on the other side.

If you get any taller, we’re going to have to buy a truck for you to fit in, Kitty jokes as she leans in towards the front console.

Matt starts the car, smirking but staying otherwise quiet.

Kitty hits him in the arm. Don’t you dare, she threatens as she glares up at him. I try to get closer to the window, not wanting to get in between the loved-up couple and their telepathic conversations.

I didn’t say anything! Matt protests.

Before either of them can say another word, I hit the radio and turn it up. Thankfully, since they offered to drive me to the airport, they keep quiet.

A short half hour later and we are parked in the day parking for the Edmonton International Airport.

You don’t have to come with, I mumble as I stare down at the clean pavement with crisp yellow painted lines.

Kitty pats her hand on my arm. You’re my little brother. Of course we are coming inside and making sure you get through security.

Plus, Matt adds as he steps up beside his wife and wraps an arm around her waist, I love an excuse to go location scouting with your sister.

She glares up at him. "After we get him on the plane."

We head inside. Thankfully, check-in is easy since I don’t have any luggage for under the plane, just my lumpy backpack. The lady at the Air Canada checkout gives me a suspicious look but doesn’t say anything.

Apparently it’s a fucking crime to get on a plane with next to no luggage. Whatever.

Shrugging my bag on again, I head to the security line. Kitty and Matt follow. Before I can step into the sectioned off line, Kitty pulls me back.

I ignore her too bright eyes and her splotchy cheeks. She pulls me into a hard hug. I try to let go after a minute but she growls. I’m not done yet, doofus.

Matt chuckles. I look up at him and he shrugs.

Finally she lets go, sniffing and turning away from me. Matt gives me a pat on the shoulder. Drink a stein for me, he says with smirk.

I give him a chin nod. Then I turn and get into line.

It isn’t until I’m at the front, backpack in the box to be scanned, that I finally look back out into the lobby. But Kitty and Matt are long gone.

And it finally hits me that I’m alone. That for the next month I will be surrounded by people and places that aren’t familiar to me.

Passport, please.

Shaking my head, I pull out my passport and ticket and hand it to the airport security.

Good. You may step up when they motion for you.

In five minutes, I’m through security and sitting in gate E42, watching planes take off and land. My fingers play a silent song restlessly against my knee. Boarding starts in a half hour.

And then I will be flying seven hours straight. My ear twitches at the familiar guttural sounds from the older couple seated beside me.

Germany.

I am really doing it.

I pull my phone out and double check the emails from my host family. They had said they would be waiting for me at the airport. I pop open the latest email which is a picture of an older couple. The posing is a bit awkward and forced, the smiles not real. But they don’t look like they would be scammers.

At least that’s what I hope.

We will now be boarding Flight 927 for Frankfurt. If people traveling with small children or who need extra time to board could please come to Gate E42.

The older couple beside me get up. The guy has a cane and slowly hobbles behind his wife as they head to the gate doors behind me.

My leg begins to bounce as I close the email and stare out the airport windows. Despite it being summer, the sky is cloudy with a strong breeze whirling through the planes and teasing the flags. It should be sunny and plus twenty-six when I land in Berlin tomorrow morning.

Now calling all passengers in Zone A.

I pull my ticket out, even though I know it says Zone D. A few people get up from around me and begin lining up at the gate even though they haven’t been called.

Should I go to?

Shaking my head, I turn back to the window. There is no point in getting in line only to sit in the plane longer. It is seven hour flight. And then another short flight from Frankfurt to Berlin. My knees already ache. If the plane is anything like the one our family took to Mexico two years ago, I’ll be lucky to fit my legs into my seat.

Now calling all passengers in Zone A and B.

Maybe I should have packed more shirts. What if I don’t get the chance to buy any before my first language class starts? I don’t want to be the dork from Canada with the wrinkly clothes.

I mean, it is an international language school, with the sole focus being that everyone is there to learn German. Lots of language classes mixed with a little culture.

That doesn’t mean the other students won’t be German. Probably more than a few will know English. I sure fucking hope so.

Now calling all passengers to board for flight 927, heading to Frankfurt to Gate E42.

I bounce out of my seat and quickly walk to the end of the long lineup that has snaked around several columns before ending in front of the gate. As I pass strangers, a mix of English and German fills the air, confusing and familiar at once.

My mom’s parents were from Germany. Near the black forest. Which is no where close to where I am going. But still, it is the same country.

And while my grandparents passed on years ago, just as my mother had, there are a few cousins sprinkled across the expansive country.

I play with the straps of my back pack as the line slowly moves forward. Beyond the gate desk I can see the sky bridge connecting to the plane. The plane that I will soon be sitting in to cross an ocean.

My palms are sweating by the time I get to the gate attendant. She smiles at me, Passport? Ticket?

I hand her both. She briefly glances down at it before handing it back to me. Then she’s already looking past me to the next guy.

Nervous, I take a few quick breaths as I walk down the sky bridge. Another lineup in front of the plane door has me stopping. The rumble of the plane vibrates the bridge as the engines drown out whatever the two flight attendants are saying.

The first, a woman, waves me inside.

Soon enough I’m sitting in row 39, seat C. My legs are stretched out into the aisle. The intercom starts as people begin sitting down.

Ladies and gentlemen…

CHAPTER 2

Klara

IT IS STRANGE BEING in Monika’s room. She has moved in with her boyfriend years ago. My mom repainted the walls white and left only a desk, a chair and single bed in it. Gone are the glow in the dark stars across the ceiling. No longer is there a massive bookshelf on the wall when I walk into the room, where each week it seemed like a new book appeared on its shelves. The fuzzy reading chair has moved to the garbage, its fur looking ragged after years of Monika and I curling up in it with a hot chocolate and good book.

Sighing, I drop the fresh sheets onto the desk and quickly strip the plain cover off the mattress. Underneath is the goose feather blanket and pillow, bare and bright white.

My mother replaced everything after Monika moved out. Will she do the same with my room?

I am ready to go out in the world, I know that. But a larger part of me clings to home, and comfortable, to my friends who I’ve had since kindergarten.

I quickly pull on the plain light blue duvet cover over the blanket. Then I wrestle the fluffed up pillow into the tight confines of the matching plain blue pillowcase.

Once the bed is made up, the pillows fluffed, I turn and fall back onto the bed.

A single pale star clings on its very pointed edge to the ceiling. Smiling, I close my eyes and imagine Monika downstairs, studying for her national exam to be a licensed optometrist. Mother will be washing dishes at the sink while dad drinks a cold beer and reads the newspaper at the table.

Klara! My mom’s voice jars me out of my daydream.

Yes? I shout back as I sit up and quickly fluff up the blankets again.

The tell-tale thud on the stairs that separates my room and Monika’s room warns me that my mom is coming. Have you finished with the she… she stops and looks behind, smiling at the perfectly made bed.

Oh, thank you, Klara. I just wasn’t sure I would have time to prepare the room before your father and I leave for the airport. She passes me with her arms full of towels and shower stuffs.

I follow her back into Monika’s room and take the food stuffs off the top of the pile.

My mom carefully places the towels on the desk, keeping them in line with the edge. Rolling my eyes, I make sure to set the chocolates and beer bottle perpendicular to the towels, and her handwritten note lining up with the bottom edge of the desk.

Everything has to be exact. Nothing messy. Nothing extra.

Mom pats me on my arm, her pale blue eyes flashing with excitement and nervousness. You are sure you don’t mind showing this boy around? she asks.

I roll my eyes, the same pale blue as hers, and give her an easy smile. Mom, I’ve told you before, I don’t mind. I mean, I think he will be a bit bored since he has no German and most of my friends have only a little English from school. But it will be fine. Good practice for everyone.

She nods, the lines around her eyes loosening as she looks down at the desk. Good, good, she mumbles.

Therese! my dad’s deep voice calls from the bottom of the stairs.

My mom jumps a little as the nervous tension returns. Okay! she says more to herself than to me. We should be back after lunch. I will see you after your shift then. She leans in and gives me a quick hug before hurrying out of the room.

Smiling, I shake my head as I watch her disappear down the stairs. A minute later the door to the garage slams closed.

I have a couple hours before I need to head to the café. I probably have time to bake something for dinner tonight. Maybe a Schwarzwalder Kirschtorte?

I glance down and quickly scan my mother’s familiar clean handwriting.

Dear Eric,

We are excited to be your host family for the next two weeks. If there is anything you need, please let us know. There are…

Smiling, I stroke the even pen marks.

A ping from my phone pulls me out of the strange mood I’ve been in this last morning. Glancing down, I see Hermione has sent a snapchat. Popping it open, I’m met with her wide brown eyes and a soft smile.

Have you met them yet?

I take a quick snap of the made bed.

Parents just left to pick him up.

I’m not surprised when a chat bubble pops up right away.

Him???

Smiling, I leave her on read and head downstairs. The main floor is not much bigger than the main floor. Like many homes on our street, it is a simple one family cottage and attached garage. The backyard is a strict square just barely as large as the garage. The front has no yard, with the front steps attaching to the sidewalk with the rest of the homes on our street.

But it is fine. I love our home.

The part I love the most is our kitchen.

It has a small breakfast nook with sliding doors to the backyard. The rest is counter space, an island, and my personal favourite is the large gas stove and oven. There is something about baking with gas that just makes the recipes that much better.

But it also makes it that much trickier.

I pull my long hair up into a high ponytail and quickly don my cute apron my Oma had sewn for me last Christmas. I pull out the little notebook Oma Lydia, mom’s mom, had bought me when I was a little girl. The cover is splattered with eggs and milk. There is a distinct circular burn from the time I accidentally left it on a burner.

I easily flip to the right page, Bienenstich. A classic German recipe. And my Oma’s specialty.

I leave my phone on the island and turn on my baking playlist. Soon I’m humming along to I’m not Pretty by Jessia, mixing the flour, sugar, yeast and salt. While the oven heats, I prep the baking pan.

By the time I’m done, my snapchat notification has pinged no less than twenty times. Hermione can be a little dramatic. I mentally eye roll as I lick the spoon.

With the timer on, I quickly clean up the kitchen and pull out the cooling racks. Since I have another thirty minutes baking time, and another hour before work, I pull open my Instagram page, theGermanbakergirl.

It still shocks me seeing the red notification number.

Over two hundred comments, likes and more…

Sighing, I settle onto the bar stool and begin swiping through. Commenting back, liking comments, following back.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Shaking my head, I look up dazedly as the timer on the oven warns me that it’s time. I gladly set the phone down and pull on my little rabbit oven mits. With the Bienenstich cooling on