Charcoal Suit:Lobby, 30 minutes? Trousers, sensible shoes.
Klaus looks one part mischief, one part trepidation as I walk over from the elevators. I loop an arm through his offered elbow and follow him out the door. In the pickup area is a silver-and-black Triumph motorcycle with two helmets sitting on it.
“You should wear my jacket,” Klaus tells me, shrugging his off as we emerge. He drapes his green flight jacket over my shoulders. Since I’m not in heels, he seems even taller. The scent of his cologne sends a shiver of familiar longing through me.
“Thank you,” I manage, inserting my arms into the sleeves. “But, um…” I glance at the motorcycle.
He inspects my expression, and his inky eyes go serious. “I should have asked. Have you ever been on a motorbike? Are you nervous about it?”
“No, no. It’s not that. I’ve… been on them plenty.”
He gives my shoulders an amiable squeeze. “You’re in good hands. I used to do this professionally.”
“Oh, I know. I read about that.” I anxiously twist the zipper pull on the jacket. Memories of my dad flutter through my head like moths diving at a light source: silent and harmless, but with an erratic insistence.
Klaus touches my chin. “You’re troubled—this was a poor idea. We can certainly take a car to our destination.”
I draw a bracing breath and force a smile. “It’s fine. Let’s go for it.”
He hands me a helmet and mounts the bike, andwow… it thrills me in some “swooning medieval maiden” way, watching the ease and command of him swinging one long leg over and settling into place, natural and confident as a knight astride a war horse. I slide behind him, affixing my helmet and wrapping my arms around his waist.
Everything about it plunges me into a vivid, body-deep recognition—the oily motor smell, the engine’s feral growl, the vibration wicking up my backbone, the muscled wall of the human to whom I cling. When we launch and curve out of the driveway onto the road, the wild caress of the wind as it increases brings both elation and sorrow.
Within a mile, the physicality of the ride strips everything else away. I’m nowhere else, doing nothing else. Freed from distraction in a world where usually there’snoise noise noise, inside and out. I’m justhere, and it’s luscious.
Every detail looms large, alive and immediate. The contrast of cool, rushing air and the warmth of Klaus’s torso beneath my arms. The scent of trees and Mediterranean sunshine. The weaving pattern of a flock of birds dipping on the wind, rising and falling as if they’re playing with us.
After about fifteen minutes, we approach a sign:PARC DEL LABERINT D’HORTA. We park in a shady spot and I dismount, removing the helmet and shaking out my hair. Klaus watches me, a tiny smile quirking his lips.
“Your cheeks are pink and those bright blue eyes are shining.” He takes the jacket I hand to him and slings it over one broad shoulder, then scoops me under his left arm and points us toward a gravel path. His shirt smells like crisp spring air and his own musky-yet-citrusy warmth. I fight the urge to burrow against him shamelessly.
“This place is incredible,” I marvel, scanning around as we wander past a marble bas-relief of Ariadne and Theseus. There are stone neoclassical buildings and staircases, elegant statues, topiary arches, and a giant hedge maze straight out of a fantasy movie.
“I thought we could get a little lost with each other,” Klaus tells me.
Looking up into his beautiful eyes, I think I alreadyamlost. For weeks now we’ve been texting and sneaking video calls into our mad schedules. The tension between us is ramping up as we’ve gone from cautious flirting to bold declarations of interest. Multiple times, late into the night, we’ve exchanged anecdotes about our lives, often surprised by unusual “favorites” we have in common (cheese toasties eaten with pickles, the classic filmThe Shop Around the Corner, “weed flowers” like dandelions and buttercups, the bookLonesome Dove).
Admittedly, we both have topics we avoid. I haven’t revealed the truth about my parents, for one. And anything touching on Emerald turns Klaus crisp and businesslike, with short, studied replies. I’m doing my best to take Auntie Min’s advice and get to know him better before I’ll consent to spend time alone with him in private.
The physical chemistry is intense, and I know my limits.
This courtship has me walking on air. Klaus seems in no rush,never pressuring me to visit behind closed doors (even if our work duties weren’t too all-consuming to make that easy). I love how he notices little details of things that please me, like how he’s remembered that the romantic in me has always wanted to explore a labyrinth, ever since seeing the movie as a young teen.
It’s gorgeous here. There are only a few other people around, couples holding hands or taking photos. Klaus and I fall into relaxed conversation as we stroll, chatting about the race weekend results, Spain, the upcoming Monaco Grand Prix.
After a minute’s easy silence, he asks, “What you mentioned earlier, about the motorbike. Did you date someone who rode one?”
I shake my head. “My dad had an old Honda Gold Wing. I probably shouldn’t have been riding around on the back when I was little, but… I loved it.” Daring to offer a more personal detail of my history, I add, “I only, uh… have a few clear memories of him, but that’s one of the best.”
A look of concern darkens Klaus’s face.
I rush on. “No, no, he didn’t die or anything tragic. He and my mom skipped town and gave me to my great-aunt to raise when I was seven. I haven’t seen them since.”
He seems to weigh his reply carefully. “One might argue thatisa tragedy. Perhaps more so than a death.”
“Maybe. But they had me too young, and my aunt was awesome. No big deal.”
Maybe the most haunting big deal of my life, but who’s counting?
