Page 107 of Sinful Temptations

“Ever since the nineteenth century, Baden-Baden has been attracting tourists to this spa town in the south-western corner of the Black Forest. Does anyone know why it’s called the Black Forest?”

“Because it’s black,” Mitchel, one of the New Zealanders, yelled from the back row.

“Not exactly,” I replied. “The forest is so dense that sunlight has trouble getting through the foliage. The Romans called it Silva Nigra which means black, or dark and murky forest. At the time it was considered impenetrable, and therefore scary. It’s no wonder several of the Grimm brothers’ fairy tales come from this region.

“Anyway . . .” I shifted in my seat, affording me a better view of Roman. He was the picture of concentration as he guided the bus into the packed parking area. “You are free to stretch your legs here for one hour. There are loads of cute shops selling everything from cuckoo clocks to souvenirs, to black forest cake. We’ll see you back on the bus at three o’clock.” I knew exactly what I was going to do for the hour. I was heading for that cake and a bloody big chunk of it too.

The troops offloaded, and with sorrow hanging in my heart, Roman and Lydia walked one way talking about checking out the cuckoo clocks, I marched the other.

The coffee shop I headed for was at the end of the street, and if I was lucky, I’d be able to snag one of the tables that overlooked the Oos River.

At the counter, I ordered a double-shot cappuccino andthe signature dish—a slice of the rich, Black Forest cake loaded with plump cherries—and requested a double dollop of cream.

Adele, the middle-aged woman behind the counter, promised to bring my order out soon, and I went in search of a secluded seat.

Stepping onto the balcony, it was a nice surprise to note very few people were still dining. So, lucky me, I was able to grab a chair in a prime position overlooking the fast-flowing water, with sufficient shade from an enormous tree with equally enormous branches hovering above me that I didn’t have to worry about getting sunburnt.

The delightful trickling sound as the water tumbled over rocks did little to settle my tumbling brain. It just wouldn’t shut down.

By the time my cake arrived, I was about to chew my own arm off, and I attacked it like I hadn’t eaten for a week. It was moist, rich, and delicious. Three qualities in a cake that would usually have me in heaven. Not today.

Today, I was in hell.

What I’d done with Frederik was so wrong. My guilt was eating me up.

And that was also wrong.

I’d nearly finished my cake by the time my coffee arrived.

“Thank you, Adele.” I smiled up at the woman who I’d learned long ago had been serving in this tiny café since she was fourteen years old—some thirty-two years ago. I couldn’t even imagine being in the same country for that long, let alone the same job. Yet Adele seemed happy.

I wasn’t sure I’d know what happiness was even if it slapped me in the face.

Last month, I’d thought I was happy. I’d thought it was my newfound sexual freedom that’d instigated that. But itturned out that was an illusion. The only thing that made me happy was Roman.

And I couldn’t have him.

The sooner I left Europe, the better it would be for both of us.

In the meantime, I’ll keep my distance. That was the best I could do.

With that decision made, I drained my coffee and stood. It was time to head back to work.

Strolling toward the bus, I passed a tacky souvenir shop and something in the window caught my eye—a snow globe. Recalling Roman’s smile as he talked about his mother’s collection of globes, even though she’d never been out of Italy, I stepped inside.

Who’d have thought there were so many ways to make a snow globe? The options were abundant. After taking way too long to make a decision, which required tipping nearly every one of them upside-down to see how the ‘snow’ spilled over the miniature scene, I headed to the counter to pay for it.

As I awaited service from the very large woman whose enormous boobs bounced on the counter while she worked, I studied the cuckoo clocks lining the walls. There would be as many handcrafted original clocks here as there were Chinese knockoffs. Little plastic birds popped out of the hundred or so clocks at random intervals, bleating a ghastly cuckoo noise that went non-stop.

If I ended up in a job like this after I left Europe, I’d be the one who was cuckoo.

When the staff member finally called me forward, she took forever to wrap the box in brown paper and handed it to me with a grunt. Feeling sorry for her, I slipped a twenty-euro tip across the counter before I strode out the door.

Back at the bus, I sat in my seat and counted each of mypassengers as they returned on board. Out the front windscreen, I spied Roman halfway along the street. As always, my Roman radar was on point. He was smiling. Lydia, of course, was at his side and the two of them strolled along like newlyweds.

I couldn’t believe how close they’d become in such a short amount of time.

Then again, I’d thought he and I were that close too.

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