When Frau Lamm’s footsteps faded away, Susanne finally lifted her head and stared after her, trying not to take in the way her damp shirt clung to her torso. Scare the customers. Right. She doubted anyone would be scared. Fear was definitely not what she was feeling at the moment. She used the catalog she’d hidden behind to fan her face.

God, what are you—twelve? It wasn’t as if she’d never seen breasts, even though, admittedly, it had been a while since she’d seen them up close and personal. Frau Lamm wasn’t even that well-endowed. Even if she were, it shouldn’t matter since she was an employee and probably not interested in women.

When the bell above the door jingled, she looked up, glad for the distraction.

It wasn’t her uncle, as she had expected, but a customer—a woman of about forty. She closed her umbrella and slid it in the stand next to Susanne’s.

“Good morning.” Susanne reminded herself to smile. Working with customers wasn’t her strong suit; she preferred the more matter-of-fact style of interacting with behind-the-scenes businesspeople. But if she put her mind to it, she knew she could be good at it. Helping out in her father’s many different businesses as a teenager had taught her that.

“Good morning.” The woman looked around.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes.” The customer stepped closer. “I’m looking for a present for my son. He’s starting university next month.”

How the hell had she gotten so old that a woman her age had a kid in university? Susanne tried not to grimace. “That’s great. Are you thinking of anything in particular? Maybe a leather-bound journal?” She pointed at the ones on display at the center island and tried to remember what Frau Lamm had said about them. “It has wonderful, creamy paper, so pens just glide over the pages like a dream.”

The woman took one of the journals and studied it. The price tag didn’t make her blink, so maybe Frau Lamm had been right—some people were willing to pay that much for a notebook. “I’ll take it.”

Yes! Susanne held back a triumphant grin. It looked as if she was getting the hang of selling stationery. “Good choice. How about a fountain pen to go with it? Writing instruments like these are pretty popular with young people at the moment, and we have a nice selection of high-quality ones.” She swept her hand toward the glass display along one wall.

They walked over to it, and Susanne used the key her uncle had given her to unlock the case.

The woman picked up the two-thousand-euro fountain pen and studied it from all angles.