Anywhere Page 11

  The apartment was ours. As in we now owned it. His parents had told him, but not me, that they’d buy us an apartment in the City as a wedding gift. So he’d scoped out the best locations with the best schools (I almost passed out when he said THAT) and taken me to see them so I could pick the one I wanted.

  He knew, he’d told me in all sincerity, that I’d come to love the City as much as he did and would never want to leave. And he’d believed that. That’s the thing about Blaine—it wasn’t malicious, it was complete and utter ignorance combined with a touch of self-absorption. If he wanted something, well his perfect wife would want the same. It just made sense in his mind and it never occurred to him that I might not. That it might turn out to be the thing that finally woke me from my stupor and prompted me to call the whole thing off.

  From where I stood now, I was eternally grateful he’d told me about the apartment before the wedding. Thank god he didn’t have a clue how pissed I’d be. Otherwise I wouldn’t be staring at the more-beautiful-than-life Swiss Alps with Asher.

  “He’s really not a bad person. He was kind, wanted to take care of me. But I want to be a participant, not an accessory.”

  “You should be more. You should be a full-fledged partner.”

  He was watching me with the strangest expression, and I had no idea what he was thinking. Probably that I was just shy of being a complete pushover, and he’d be right. Only I didn’t want to be that girl anymore.

  “So,” I said, trying to fill the space. “That’s why.” I glanced at my watch. It had been a couple of hours since we’d left the workshop. I stood up, started gathering our things. “We should go pick up Paige’s bell.”

  He took my hand as we walked back up the hill. “It took a lot of guts to not go through with it. You’re a strong person, Skye. I like that about you.”

  My heart filled at his words—I’d never thought of myself as strong, but I liked that he did. I liked so much about him.

  And I tried not to think about leaving.

  eighteen

  We spent the next couple of days swimming in the Aare, taking a raft trip around the city, checking out the markets for cheesy souvenirs, and being totally devastated that we couldn’t take a tour of the Toblerone factory (okay, maybe that was just me).

  “I stand Triumphant!” Asher said. He looked around the marketplace. “Look at this: spoons, steins, plates, cow bells, postcards of the Alps. Where’s the kitsch? I can’t believe we found the tackiest souvenir as soon as we started looking. What kind of Quest is that? They’re supposed to be arduous and challenging, full of intrigue and danger. Come on, people sometimes die on quests!”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “One of us is supposed to die?”

  “No, not us.” He rolled his eyes at me. “We’re the Heroes of the Quest. The Heroes don’t die. God, it’s like you’ve never even been on a quest before. No wonder this isn’t working right.”

  “Or maybe it’s because of me that we completed it so quickly. Maybe I’m your Lucky Questing Charm.”

  Asher peered at me and started to nod. “Maybe you are. I could see that.” Then he looked thoughtful. “But if that’s the case, if David’s schwanz boxers—”

  “Ooh, nice one.”

  “Thank you. If they really are the tackiest souvenir—and I maintain that they are—then we are in desperate need of a New Quest. A Hero always needs one. Without it, a Hero is a Zero.”

  “I would have a hard time ever thinking you were a Zero,” I said, grinning at his fabricated logic.

  “Oh, I wasn’t talking about me,” he said.

  “Hey!” And I smacked him on the arm. He just laughed and grabbed my hand, pulling me away from the souvenir stalls.

  We made our way to the market to pick up food for the train to Germany. Half an hour later, packs heavy with Swiss treats, we headed for the station. I was a little sad to be saying goodbye to Switzerland. It was probably the most beautiful place I’d ever been.

  I had a little over two weeks left in Europe. That sounded short when I said it in my head, but it was starting to feel like a lifetime the more time I spent with Asher. It felt like we had all the time in the world, even though I knew we didn’t.

  We watched the Swiss countryside go by and morph into the deep green, forest-laden lands of Germany. Sun filled the train car, wrapping itself around me, kissing Asher’s hair with a golden light. I kept stealing glances at him as he stared out the window.

  He was so beautiful, more so the more I knew him. Oh, and when he smiled…I could feel it shine all the way through me.

  He aimed one of those smiles at me when he caught me looking. “You checking me out?”

  I could feel a blush coming on. “I might be.”

  “Good,” he said, his smile growing wider before he turned back to the window.

  I glanced down at his hand laying on the armrest between us. He had strong, thick fingers, skin roughened by work and play. His hands were one of his best features—there was just something about them. Strong, but unbelievably gentle. My hand reached for his before I even realized what I was doing. As I slowly slid my fingers across the back of his hand, he opened his fingers to welcome mine. We sat like that, our hands intertwined, until our train pulled into the station in Munich.

  Just before we arrived, though, Asher got out his phone and took a picture of us. It was one of the best photos that had ever been taken of me because I looked truly happy. And I felt it.

  Happy to my core for the first time in my life.

  I turned to look at him, still grinning, and he snapped another pic of us. When he showed it to me, all I could do for a few moments was stare. It was perfect. I was smiling into his eyes and he was gazing at my lips. It gave me butterflies—it was the picture of love. I made him text it to me right away.

  And honestly, I wasn’t fool enough to really believe Asher was in love with me. And I didn’t think for a moment that I was in love with him.

  But it was there in that photograph. Love. Loud and clear.

  I looked at that picture a lot.

  Finding the hostel was fairly easy, and we paid for a private room. Then we headed out for dinner at the Hofbräuhaus because OF COURSE. Where else do you go on your first night in Munich?

  The place was loud—crowded with a good mixture of raucous (aka drunk) locals and tourists all drinking beer from these huge glass steins. A small brass band played up on a stage at the far end of the hall, the musicians dressed in lederhosen.

  It felt as if we’d walked into the World’s Biggest Kegger. Okay, I’m guessing the Oktober Fest would actually win that distinction, but this had to come in at a close second. It was a little overwhelming. And I had no doubt that it was like this every night.

  Since it was a beautiful warm night, we walked out to the picnic tables in the beer garden. This part of the restaurant was packed, too—the only space available was at an almost full table of college students. We took it.

  Women in traditional Bavarian dress (looking just like the Swiss Miss girl, I kid you not) carried four liter-size steins in each hand, a Very Impressive Feat because those glasses had to be heavy. I was so busy looking at everything going on that I hadn’t realized Asher had spoken.

  He nudged me with his elbow. “This is Skye.”

  I smiled and nodded at the people we’d sat down with. They were all young—my age, give or take—and they each had a stein of beer in front of them. Rosy-cheeked smiles, half-mast eyes, and sweaty, they looked as if they’d been enjoying the place for a while.

  “Where are you guys from?” Asher said as he accepted the menu they passed over.

  “Sonja and I are from Stuttgart,” a blonde named Iris said in a heavy German accent. “And the boys here are from America.” She waved her hand at four guys sitting around her.

  They’d met in Marseille—the two Germans on vacation and the Americans backpacking—and had traveled back to Germany so Sonja and Iris could show them around. The guys had wanted to
stop in Munich just so they could come here.

  We talked with them for hours—dinner is an evening-long affair in Europe—over plates of wurst and baskets of bread that included these fresh-baked soft pretzels that were the size of dinner plates. The party atmosphere made me think of my brother, how he’d love this place, so I turned on my phone and sent him a quick text.

  ME: I’m in Munich at the Hofbrauhaus, which I’m pretty sure means “Large Beer Partyhouse” in English. You should totally come here when you’re older. And, you know, legal.

  JUSTIN: I’ll start making plans. What’s the legal drinking age in Germany?

  ME: I don’t know. 2? I swear I saw a couple of kids inside with sippy cups of beer. (Just kidding.) (Probably.)

  JUSTIN: I’m on a plane tonight!

  ME: I WISH. It would have been fun to do this with you. You’d like it here.

  JUSTIN: I’m glad you’re having fun. Drink some beer for me!

  ME: You know I’d take a bullet for you, but there’s no way I’m drinking beer. Too gross! But I had wine in Italy. Does that count?

  JUSTIN: Nope. This is not the kind of thing you can retroactivate.

  ME: First of all, retroactivate is totally NOT a word. And second, I’ll drink something else in your honor. How’s lemonade sound?

  JUSTIN: Like something you’d drink for a little kid.

  ME: Then it’s perfect for you! Consider it DONE.

  I slipped my phone back into my pocket, and then smiled at Asher. His arm brushed against mine, making me hyperaware of his every move, of every millimeter of his skin I could feel against mine. I didn’t move away. I should have, but I didn’t.

  Asher laughed when I ordered lemonade. I’m pretty sure I was the only person in the garden not drinking beer.

  “I’m the Designated Walker tonight,” I said. “One of has to make sure we make it back to the right hostel and into the right room.”

  “Ever so practical.”

  After several hours and two huge beers, Asher stumbled and laughed all the way back to our room, his arm slung over my shoulders as I held onto his waist.

  “You’re so beautiful, Skye,” he said as I guided him through the door and over onto the bed. I laughed as he immediately fell back onto it and gazed up at the ceiling as I slipped his shoes off. “You’re the most beautiful Skye I’ve ever seen.”

  “And you’re drunk,” I said with a smile.

  “Doesn’t make it not untrue,” he said, then he looked confused. “Wait. Did I say that right?” He thought about it for a few seconds then shook his head. “I don’t know. I meant it’s the truth. Even if I am drunk. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever loved.”

  My heart flipped. Loved? He had not just said that. But he was drunk, I reminded myself. Drunks love everything and everyone. So I just shook my head.

  “I don’t think you need to turn this into one of those I-love-you-man moments. Go to sleep, Asher.”

  He closed his eyes and sighed happily. I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and get changed, and when I came out he looked like he was already asleep. But he stirred as I crawled into bed and tried to slip silently under the sheet. His arms came around and pulled me close.

  As he nestled his face into my hair, I closed my eyes. “You smell good,” he said. “Gooder than anybody else.”

  “You smell like beer.” I laughed and snuggled closer. “Go to sleep.”

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he mumbled, his words falling away as he slipped into sleep. “I’ve been waiting for you…my whole…” And that was it. His breathing settled into an even rhythm and his arms relaxed around me.

  And I could barely breathe.

  He didn’t mean it. He was just a happy drunk, nothing more.

  Because if he meant it…

  And if I was feeling the same way (which I wasn’t because I couldn’t—I was leaving in two weeks)…

  But if I was…then how could I let him go?

  nineteen

  “Who turned up the sun?” Asher whispered as he pulled the covers over his head.

  I’d been up for an hour already, had showered and gotten dressed, sent the daily texts to Paige and my mother, and tried to get caught up in my travel journal. There was so much I knew I’d never remember about this trip, that I wanted to make sure I wrote down as much as I possibly could. I wanted to be able to take these memories out, dust them off, and look through them again in years to come. Who knew what my future would hold? These might be the best weeks of my life.

  They certainly felt like it.

  I grabbed the glass of water I had waiting for him and a couple of ibuprofen, and went to sit next to him on the bed.

  “Don’t sit so loud,” he said, and I laughed—quietly. “Oh my god,” he said, “don’t do that either.”

  “Here.”

  He lifted the sheet from his face and squinted at my offering. Then he took the pills, placed them gingerly in his mouth, and drank the entire glass.

  “Give me half an hour,” he said, and lay back down on the bed, his arm across his face.

  An hour later he was showered, dressed, and we were on our way out to find some food. He was walking slow, but he was upright, which was an improvement. We found the farmer’s market, bought some bread, fruit, unbelievably-delicious-looking pastries, and some more gargantuan soft pretzels.

  “Coffee,” Asher said. “I need coffee.”

  Half an hour later, we had a picnic breakfast spread out before us as we sat on the grass in the Englischer Garten—this huge park, even bigger than Central Park, in the middle of Munich. Asher drank his coffee, ate a little bit of bread, then lay back down and fell asleep.

  I watched him, and tried not to think about what he’d said to me last night nor how it had made me feel. Why couldn’t I have met him under different circumstances? Fate was cruel.

  Asher felt like a gift—the best one I’d ever gotten.

  And the only one I couldn’t keep.

  I wished Paige were here so I could talk with her about it. Tell her about Asher. Ask her what to do.

  I pulled out my phone and typed: I met someone and he’s amazing. I stared at the words, my finger hovering over the SEND button. As soon as she got it, she’d pump me for information. And the thing is, I wanted to tell her. I wanted to talk about Asher. I wanted to share this with her.

  So why was I hesitating? Because talking about something—saying it out loud to someone—always made it more real. And if it was real, what I was feeling, then it would hurt that much more when it was time for me to leave.

  I hit DELETE.

  We spent the afternoon wandering through the park after Asher woke up. It was an amazing place—you feel like you’re out in the country rather than in the middle of a large city. There were huge open green fields where people sunbathed, picnicked, and played, and even an artificial river that people were actually surfing on. It was incredibly cool, and we watched for a long time.

  We even passed by the clothing-optional part of the park. Seriously. There were people sunbathing COMPLETELY naked in the middle of the city! Even old men with their goods on display. And, really, who wants to see THAT?

  “Shall we?” Asher said, starting to take off his t-shirt. He’d completely recovered by this time and was, unfortunately at that very moment, back to his normal self.

  “Um…no.”

  “Aw, come on. Don’t you want to experience part of the culture? Immerse yourself, Skye! Immerse!”

  “Um…again, no,” I said. Asher started pulling me out into the field with the people in all their naked glory, and I was trying desperately to keep my eyes from landing anywhere near their glory. It’s not like I’m a prude, and I have a full appreciation for the human body—especially Asher’s, but I was trying not to think about that either.

  BUT these were just regular people laying out in the sun completely naked.

  No.

  No, no, no, NO.

  Asher had his t-shirt off
and was starting to unbutton his shorts, a huge grin on his face as I grabbed for his hands.

  “Asher!” I said, knowing I was blushing brightly by now. “Stop it. I’m not doing this. I’ve never even skinny-dipped, so I’m not about to take all my clothes off in public for everyone to see.”

  He stopped, tilted his head to one side. “You’ve never gone skinny-dipping? Aw, now that’s a rite of passage. We can probably fix that relatively soon.”

  I looked at him. “We’ll see.”

  “I’m going to take that as a yes,” he said, and he put his shirt back on. Then he slipped his hand into mine and we kept walking, my gaze staying far away from the sunbathers.

  “In all honesty,” Asher said quietly a few minutes later, “I don’t know if I could have done it anyway.”

  “Sunbathe nude?”

  “Lie next to you naked and not…” He didn’t have to finish that sentence.

  “I’m guessing they don’t allow that in public.”

  “No, they probably don’t.” He laughed and gently squeezed my hand, setting the butterflies dancing in my stomach.

  We took a few more steps before I said, “I don’t know if I could have done that either—lay next to you.”

  He turned to look at me then, his eyes going straight to my lips. We’d both stopped walking and just stared at each other. Heat emanated off of him and…want. The air was charged between us, and I felt as if I were being pulled to him magnetically, by a force of nature that I could not resist even if I’d wanted to.

  I didn’t want to.

  I wanted Asher.

  I wasn’t aware of moving and I didn’t see Asher move, but there we were face-to-face, lips only inches apart. He was breathing fast and I couldn’t take any air in. He was taking it all. He was taking me.

  He leaned down slowly, searching my eyes with a question on his face. I leaned toward him and that was all the answer he needed. His lips met mine and I was awash in flame. My skin felt hot all over, my blood rushing through my body as I slid my hands up under his shirt. His muscles clenched as my fingers explored the feel of the skin over his abs, then his chest, and slid around to his back.