Sun & Moon - a contemporary romance (The Minstrel Series #1) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Lee Strauss, Elle Strauss
Tags: Coming of Age, Contemporary Romance, Genre Fiction, new adult, Literary Fiction, European fiction, music & musicians
in. She pushed the bed back to its sofa form and re-arranged the pillows.
The grumbling of her stomach called her to the kitchen. She found a letter on the kitchen table along with a fifty euro note.
Help yourself to breakfast.
I’ll be home at 6:00.
Micah
Like she’d still be here at six. She stared at the money but didn’t touch it. She hadn’t earned it, and Micah had already housed and fed her. It just felt wrong to take more from him.
She ate a bun with Black Forest ham and a slice of butter cheese and drank a cup of coffee with a good dose of milk and sugar. When she finished, she wiped the counters and washed her dishes, determined to leave the place spotless.
Her shirt was still damp when she checked it, but she found a blow-dryer and turned it on high. She attacked her shirt with hot air for five minutes. It would do.
She put on her jacket and high heels and headed home.
Katja gasped when she turned the corner of the hallway that led to the door of her apartment. All her belongings were lying on the floor, including her guitar! She rushed to tug on the handle but the door to the flat was locked. She had been kicked out.
She banged the wall with the fleshy side of her fist, immediately regretting it as the pain shot up her arm. She couldn’t fight it this time. Tears streamed down her face. She removed Irma’s heels and threw them against the wall at the far end of the hall, letting out an angry cry. She slipped into her own shoes, roughly stuffed her belongings into her duffle bag and zipped it shut. With her heavy bag in one hand and her guitar in the other, she left in a huff.
The frigid wind whistled around the corner and beat against her face. Her hair flew across her eyes and into her mouth. She blew at it unsuccessfully, and had to lower her guitar to clear it. Other people on the street walked briskly, bent over against the cold. She picked up her guitar and walked with her shoulders leaning into the wind.
But where to go?
It was too cold to camp out on a bench or behind a bin. There were shelters for the homeless, but she wasn’t ready to consider that just yet, and she didn’t exactly know where they were.
Precipitation began to fall in the form of wet snow. She had to get inside somewhere soon before she froze to death.
She’d walked the block around Martin Luther Church at least four times. It was her only way to try to keep warm. She glanced up at the dark, imposing cathedral, its spiral poking the winter blue sky, and prayed that God would watch over her.
Or, at least forgive her.
Her fingers were stiff from gripping her scuffed-up guitar case, and her shoulder ached underneath its weight. The bag with all her belongings pulled down on her opposite shoulder. She stopped to rest, rolling her shoulders, rubbing her cold fingers together, swallowing saliva to try to ease her growing thirst.
Ignoring her hunger. It’d been several hours since she’d eaten breakfast. She hesitated before heading back to Alaunstrasse . The row of restaurants and store fronts with open carts of fruit and vegetables taunted her.
Tempted her.
She could just sneak an apple. One apple wouldn’t put the vendor out of business but it would fill her shrinking stomach for another day.
But then she’d be a thief.
She may be many things, but she wasn’t a thief.
Perhaps she would get lucky and find a half eaten sandwich or kabob lying out on a sidewalk table, abandoned by the smoker who was forced to eat outside.
It’d happened once.
Worry curled in her chest. She didn’t know where she would sleep tonight. Maybe she wouldn’t. The parties on Alaunstrasse lasted through the night. She could mingle with the crowds, check out some live music.
That was what she was here for, right?
Then she walked by the soup kitchen. The blinds were up on the large, square windows that faced the street, revealing a mid-sized room with wooden tables filled
The grumbling of her stomach called her to the kitchen. She found a letter on the kitchen table along with a fifty euro note.
Help yourself to breakfast.
I’ll be home at 6:00.
Micah
Like she’d still be here at six. She stared at the money but didn’t touch it. She hadn’t earned it, and Micah had already housed and fed her. It just felt wrong to take more from him.
She ate a bun with Black Forest ham and a slice of butter cheese and drank a cup of coffee with a good dose of milk and sugar. When she finished, she wiped the counters and washed her dishes, determined to leave the place spotless.
Her shirt was still damp when she checked it, but she found a blow-dryer and turned it on high. She attacked her shirt with hot air for five minutes. It would do.
She put on her jacket and high heels and headed home.
Katja gasped when she turned the corner of the hallway that led to the door of her apartment. All her belongings were lying on the floor, including her guitar! She rushed to tug on the handle but the door to the flat was locked. She had been kicked out.
She banged the wall with the fleshy side of her fist, immediately regretting it as the pain shot up her arm. She couldn’t fight it this time. Tears streamed down her face. She removed Irma’s heels and threw them against the wall at the far end of the hall, letting out an angry cry. She slipped into her own shoes, roughly stuffed her belongings into her duffle bag and zipped it shut. With her heavy bag in one hand and her guitar in the other, she left in a huff.
The frigid wind whistled around the corner and beat against her face. Her hair flew across her eyes and into her mouth. She blew at it unsuccessfully, and had to lower her guitar to clear it. Other people on the street walked briskly, bent over against the cold. She picked up her guitar and walked with her shoulders leaning into the wind.
But where to go?
It was too cold to camp out on a bench or behind a bin. There were shelters for the homeless, but she wasn’t ready to consider that just yet, and she didn’t exactly know where they were.
Precipitation began to fall in the form of wet snow. She had to get inside somewhere soon before she froze to death.
She’d walked the block around Martin Luther Church at least four times. It was her only way to try to keep warm. She glanced up at the dark, imposing cathedral, its spiral poking the winter blue sky, and prayed that God would watch over her.
Or, at least forgive her.
Her fingers were stiff from gripping her scuffed-up guitar case, and her shoulder ached underneath its weight. The bag with all her belongings pulled down on her opposite shoulder. She stopped to rest, rolling her shoulders, rubbing her cold fingers together, swallowing saliva to try to ease her growing thirst.
Ignoring her hunger. It’d been several hours since she’d eaten breakfast. She hesitated before heading back to Alaunstrasse . The row of restaurants and store fronts with open carts of fruit and vegetables taunted her.
Tempted her.
She could just sneak an apple. One apple wouldn’t put the vendor out of business but it would fill her shrinking stomach for another day.
But then she’d be a thief.
She may be many things, but she wasn’t a thief.
Perhaps she would get lucky and find a half eaten sandwich or kabob lying out on a sidewalk table, abandoned by the smoker who was forced to eat outside.
It’d happened once.
Worry curled in her chest. She didn’t know where she would sleep tonight. Maybe she wouldn’t. The parties on Alaunstrasse lasted through the night. She could mingle with the crowds, check out some live music.
That was what she was here for, right?
Then she walked by the soup kitchen. The blinds were up on the large, square windows that faced the street, revealing a mid-sized room with wooden tables filled
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