My relationship with German cuisine has been antagonistic so far. The restaurant I went to earlier in the week with Ellie and a few other Scholenberg attendees was offering a wide variety of foods that did not sound appealing at all: rolls soaked in milk, beef with raisins, and potatoes prepared in more ways than I imagined possible. But all the German dishes here have English descriptions written underneath, and bratwurst on a pretzel bun or fried pork doesn’t sound terrible.

We reach the counter, and Natalie relays everyone else’s orders to the young blonde woman behind it as I continue to survey the menu. I’ve always been indecisive when it comes to food. Some might call me a picky eater.

Finally, I settle on just a pretzel to go with my beer.

We move to the side to let the next group order and take up positions along the wrought-iron fence that circles the perimeter of the eating area to wait. I stare out at the city for a couple of minutes and then turn my gaze back to the terrace, just in time to watch a brown-haired guy saunter over to us. The cocky grin he’s sporting tells me all I need to know about why he’s approaching us. Or approaching me, rather. He ignores Natalie, focusing his attention exclusively on me.

“Hello.” He addresses me in English, but there’s a thick accent underlying the greeting. I say nothing, just raise an eyebrow. “I know you speak English—I heard you ordering,” he adds.

“So?” I ask, raising both brows now.

“I was wondering if you’d like to sit with me and my mates.” He jerks his head toward a table filled with a boisterous group I’m not the least bit surprised to learn are his companions.

“We’ve already got a table,” I inform him.

His smile only grows. Men; they love the chase. “That’s not why I was inviting you.”

He’s persistent I’ll give him that. I’d smile if I didn’t think it would encourage him. “We’re good.”

“If you change your mind…” He nods toward the same table, as if I might have forgotten where he is sitting in the past ten seconds.

I nod once to acknowledge I do in fact recall the location he just shared with me.

Natalie turns to me as soon as he leaves. “Fuck, he was hot.”

“He was?” I reply, genuinely surprised. He wasn’t unattractive, but I found nothing particularly remarkable about him.

Natalie gives me a weird look. “Yeah, he was.”

I shrug. “Not my type, I guess.”

She makes a small sound of incredulity. “You’re hard to please, then.”

Uninvited, blue eyes and chiseled cheekbones flash before my eyes. A face women everywhere lust after.

Not that hard to please.

* * *