18. Casey, Berlin

Outside, the bars and restaurants are beginning to fill, and the temperature has dropped enough to slip on my jacket. I wanted to message Holly, to reassure her I was on my way, but thought that might come across as too heavy. Or perhaps she would've liked that? The way she drank me in with those curious blue-grey eyes, unresolved emotions filling the space between us, waiting for us to grab them and run. It took all my strength to stop myself from pulling her to me and saying, ‘How could I be so stupid?'

When I round the corner, Holly's waiting, and my breath catches. Her hair is loose and she looks fresh and bright having changed into jeans and a vintage-looking green velvet jacket. I stop to compose myself before crossing the street, clocking the relief on her face when she sees me.

‘Hiya. You're here,' I say.

She smiles and my heart swells. She still has the prettiest smile. It's all sunshine and warm ocean breezes and tropical seas.

‘Did you think I wouldn't be?'

‘Um … no … yes … I don't know.' Fuck. Now I've lost the ability to string a sentence together.

Holly's smile widens.

As I step closer, I catch a soft musky scent. I have the urge to bury my face in her neck and inhale. Then I hear Chandice calling me a creep and quickly dispel all sniffing thoughts. I part my lips to speak, but my tongue fills my mouth. ‘You, erm, you look grood.' My face burns as I let out an embarrassed groan. ‘Oh my God. I tried to say good and great at the same time.' I take a nervous breath and try again. ‘Nice. You look really nice.'

She laughs, the top of her nose crinkling slightly. ‘Thanks. So do you.'

I'd forgotten how lovely she is when she laughs, and I can't help but gaze at her.

She points down the street. ‘Should we find somewhere to eat?'

It takes a moment for my brain to register what she's said. ‘Yes, we should.'

We fall into step side by side, our arms brushing.

‘What sort of food do you like?' Holly asks.

I shrug. ‘I'm not that fussy. I'll eat most things. You?'

‘Same. I can't get enough of German sausages and sauerkraut, though. I'm a tourist cliché and have pretty much been living off them since I arrived. And chips with mayo.'

I moan. ‘The chips with mayo are the best, yeah? Especially with onion and tomato sauce.' Eva turning her nose up at German sausage and chips with mayonnaise flashes in my mind, and the guilt hits me again but I swiftly brush it aside. This is dinner with an old friend. No big deal. I stop in front of a restaurant I'm familiar with. ‘How about here? I came here the other night with my aunt and uncle. Great food. They're heavy on the meat, though – not ideal if you're vegetarian or vegan.'

She shakes her head. ‘I'm not. This looks nice.'

Inside, the restaurant is almost full, but I spot a couple of free tables. A waitperson approaches. ‘Guten Abend, Tisch für zwei?'

I nod. ‘Ja, danke.'

He grabs some menus and leads us through the tables to the back of the restaurant, then lights a candle. ‘Date night?'

Holly and I exchange a shy glance.

‘Something like that,' Holly says quietly.

‘M?chten Sie Wein?' the waitperson asks as we sit.

Holly nods and picks up the wine menu. Remembering the wine bar photos she posted, I assume she's better with wine than me and let her choose. She lifts her gaze from the menu. ‘Oh, do you drink wine?'

‘Sure.'

‘The riesling sounds good.' She looks at the waitperson. ‘Eine … oh, I've only ordered glasses since I've been here. I can't remember the word for bottle.'

He grins. ‘It's Flasche, and good choice,' he says, switching to English.

Once he's gone, Holly groans. ‘My German is so bad.' She points at the wine menu. ‘And it says Flasche right there.'

‘At least you tried.'

‘I attempted a crash course by podcast when I arrived, but not a lot has stuck,' she says, pouring us both some water.

I pick up a menu and hand her one. ‘Well, you're about to get a lesson in food, because this menu is in German.'

She opens it and I sneak glances at her while she reads. Her brows are drawn together in concentration, and it's adorable. ‘I might need your help,' she says in a hushed voice.

‘I'm having the Kalbsleber – it's veal liver.'

She grimaces. ‘Ugh. Not for me.'

‘The Schweinebauch is nice,' I say. ‘That's what I had the other night. It's pork belly.'

She nods. ‘Schwein … of course. I should've worked that out. Okay, I'll have that.' She looks at the menu again. ‘Oh, some of the sides are in English and they have mash and gravy. I have to have that. It reminds me of my mum.'

‘It does?'

She closes the menu and places it on the table. ‘Long story.'

‘Liver reminds me of my parents.' My face heats. Jesus. What a thing to say. I glance around. Where the hell is that wine?

‘Yeah?' she says, actually sounding interested. ‘Why's that?'

‘Oh, they own a butcher's, so I grew up eating all sorts, but Mum loves liver.'

The waitperson returns, pours our wine and takes our food order.

Once he's gone, I say, ‘It's how my parents met. Dad was doing his apprenticeship there and Mum was working in the shop. They liked each other straight away and that was that.' I rush to get it all out, like I need to make up for not telling her anything about my family when we first met.

‘That's cute,' she says.

I nod as I take a sip. ‘It is. They're still kind of cute together.'

‘So, you might inherit a butcher's shop one day?'

I shrug. ‘Maybe, although my sister and I never got into it like they hoped.' I reach for my glass. Why the fuck am I talking about my parents and butchering? ‘Sorry,' I say. ‘That's such an uninteresting topic.' She laughs and my stomach flips at how beautiful she looks in the candlelight.

‘Well, it's something you never told me the first time we met, and it's not every day someone has a story about why liver reminds them of their parents.'

I grin. ‘I guess not.'

She takes a slow sip of wine, taking me in over the rim of the glass. My body warms and I remove my jacket, placing it over the back of the chair. When I face her again, she's eyeing the tattoos covering my arms, her head tilted. It takes me right back to showing her around galleries –the way she'd always angle her head when looking at a piece of art, as though that was the only way she could make sense of it.

‘Sorry,' she says, eyes cutting back to mine. ‘Your arms were bare when we … before. I didn't expect it.' Her gaze drops again. ‘They're amazing.'

I extend my left arm and turn it slightly. ‘It's taken me years to get to this, but it's my art, I s'pose.'

‘You designed them?'

‘Some of them.' I lift my T-shirt sleeve and point to a tattoo that circles my upper arm. ‘This was the lace design that was on my gran's wedding dress – my dad's mum.' I point to the one underneath – a multicoloured abstract of a woman dancing. ‘This is new. It's a watercolour tattoo.'

She takes it in. ‘Huh. Looks just like a watercolour painting.'

My first tattoo is hidden under my other sleeve, but I don't want to show her that. Not yet. ‘So,' I say, pulling my sleeve down. ‘I think you've probably heard enough about my parents and butchers and tattoos. What have you been up to for the past eleven years?'

She gives a short laugh and places her glass on the table. ‘Where do I start?'

Please don't start where we ended,I want to say, but I shrug. ‘Wherever you like.'

We catch up on each other's lives, from finishing university to our postgraduate degrees, jobs, friends and families. I ache for her when she tells me about her dad dying from testicular cancer, her mum's stroke three months later and the dementia diagnosis. Although I'm desperate to know about her past relationships and that bloke in the photo, she doesn't mention anyone and I don't ask. As the wine bottle empties and the food disappears from our plates, we settle into a lovely ebb and flow of effortless conversation, like we've never lost touch, like it was just this morning our naked bodies were entwined.

Now, she's talking about her brother and his family, and I'm listening but also not, because I'm mesmerised by her kind eyes, the tiny mole to the right of her nose, the freckle on her bottom lip, the soft lilt of her voice. And then I think how nice it is to be with someone who doesn't stop mid-conversation to snap a photo of their meal and upload it to their socials or live stream their night out. It's just great food, nice wine and good conversation about things that matter – family, friends and life.

Holly stops mid-sentence. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?' Her face falls. ‘I'm talking too much, aren't I? I've barely let you speak. I'm sorry. I've been alone since I left Melbourne and trying to talk German. It's nice to speak to someone?—'

I hold up a hand. ‘Oh, no. I've talked loads. Sorry. Um, I…' Fuck, Casey, just speak. ‘You're really beautiful,' I blurt out, heat racing up my neck. ‘More than I remember,' I add quietly.

She looks down, but not before I catch the delight in her eyes and a quietly confident smile. It's the type of look that tells me she's heard that compliment before and a shard of jealousy cuts right through me, like I have any right to be jealous.

‘You, too,' she says, meeting my gaze. ‘More beautiful with age. And your eyes…' She glances away. ‘God, I can barely look at them.'

My stomach knots. This is not good. Not good at all.

‘Should we go for a walk or something?' she asks.

I nod, under her spell.

Outside, the temperature has dropped further, and we slip on our jackets. It's busier now, the restaurants and bars more lively. We cross the road and walk along the path that runs parallel to the river. Holly slips her hand in mine, and I look down in surprise at our entwined fingers. Her palm is warm and my pulse quickens at the sensation of her skin against mine.

‘Is this okay?' She asks the question with such tenderness that I almost crumble.

I gently squeeze her hand. ‘Yeah.'

We walk along the river in silence, sneaking disbelieving glances at each other, and stop when we reach a quieter area.

I lean against the rail and look out over the water at the buildings opposite that shimmer with blue lights. ‘Such a nice spot.'

Holly stands close to me – so close that I could dip my head and brush my lips against her delicate neck.

‘It really is,' she says, reaching into her bag and pulling out a small camera. ‘Sorry, I have to take a photo of this.'

‘You carry a camera everywhere?'

‘Pretty much. My phone takes decent photos but the night mode is better on this and it's small enough to carry around.' She takes a few snaps and shows me the display.

I glance at the image, but I'm distracted by her smell – fresh shampoo and musk. A shiver passes through me. ‘Yeah. That's a great shot.' My voice is raspy, and I clear my throat.

She slips the camera back into her bag and faces me. She's inches away and I can almost taste her lips. ‘Where did you go that day?' she asks. ‘Why didn't you return any of my calls or messages?'

And there it is. The question that's been hanging between us since we ran into each other this afternoon. I sigh heavily, almost relieved. ‘I went home.'

‘Home? As in, back to London?'

I nod.

Her brow crinkles. ‘Okay. Why? And why not just tell me that?'

I'm silent for a few seconds while I work out the best way to articulate myself. ‘I was really struggling here. It was the first time I'd been away from my family and I missed them so much. I didn't gel that well with the people in my course, and apart from absorbing myself in the art scene, I spent most of my time with my aunty and uncle. I was about to go home when I met you, and you gave me a reason to stay. But I fell for you so hard and so fast, it messed with my head.'

I pause to give her space to reply, but she just watches me with questioning eyes, so I continue. ‘Before we met up that day in the park, I'd been on the phone to Mum, saying I felt like I was drowning and couldn't cope, then that afternoon you mentioned leaving Australia and your university for me. You were so determined?—'

Her face falls. ‘So it was what I said that day.'

I grab her hand. ‘No. That's not what I'm trying to say. It wasn't your fault. It was mine for not coping. I could've opened up to you or talked to my family about it, but I didn't understand it at the time. I was so in awe of you, how you were so sure about things, about us, and I couldn't measure up to that. I couldn't see how I could ever be that person you thought I was, so I took myself away, thinking it would be the best for both of us.'

‘I wasn't sure about us, Casey. All I was sure about was that you were special and I wanted to see where that could go. That's all.'

I nod. ‘I worked that out after a while. Once I felt better and had time to process everything. I hated myself for doing that to you.' I shake my head. ‘Fuck. My mum gave me the biggest bollocking when I told her.'

Her lips twitch at that comment.

‘But I missed you,' I say. ‘I thought about you all the time and wished it had worked out differently.'

‘I tried to find you,' she says. ‘I went back to the park every day for a week. I went to your campus asking for you, went to the galleries, looked online. I've been in London, too. Went from gallery to gallery, hoping I might spot you. It was like you died, Casey, and I had to grieve. If I had known you were okay, it could've been so much easier. I just wanted to know you were okay.'

I bow my head, my heart heavy that despite hurting her so badly, she continued to look for me. ‘I did call you back.'

‘What? When?'

‘In December of that year. You said you weren't going back to Australia until after Christmas, and I rang mid-December, but the number was dead.'

She gives a pained groan. ‘Fuck, Casey. I went home at the end of November when lectures finished because it hurt too much to be here.'

‘I thought you probably had. I told myself it wasn't meant to be and to leave it because we couldn't be together anyway.'

She rests her arms on the barricade and looks out over the water.

‘I've always wanted to tell you how sorry I was,' I say. ‘I knew how you felt, and I knew that I hurt you.' I hesitate, uncertain whether I should voice my next thought, but it's pressing on my tongue and I can't stop it. ‘I've never forgotten you.'

She turns slowly to face me. ‘Never?'

‘Never. I've tried to find you too.' I bite my bottom lip. ‘Don't be creeped out, right.'

Her brows furrow. ‘Oh-kaay.'

‘I did find you.'

Her eyes widen. ‘What?'

‘On Insta. I found you.'

Confusion crosses her face. ‘Then why didn't?—'

‘I mean, like, just in the past week.' I rush to get it all out. ‘I wasn't sure about contacting you because I didn't know whether you'd remember me.'

Holly scoffs. ‘Not remember you? You crushed me when you disappeared, Casey. You were the first person who made me feel like that.' Her brows draw together. ‘Did you see my Berlin photos? Is that why you went to the park?'

‘Yes and no. I mean, yes, I saw your photos, but I was at the park the day before because I thought our day was the twenty-second. I wanted to feel close to you and I always remembered what I said about meeting there. When I finished work today, I checked your profile, thinking about how to contact you, and there was a photo of the Tiergarten and the gallery, and I hoped the park was your next stop.'

The breeze blows a loose strand of hair across her face. Before I realise what I'm doing, my hand is brushing it away, and my fingers linger behind her ear. She side-eyes my hand, then meets my gaze.

‘Sorry,' I say, dropping my hand.

She steps closer. ‘It means a lot that you wanted to find me.'

I swallow.

‘I've never forgotten your kiss,' she says, inching her face closer to mine. ‘The way it made my body hum.'

Oh, God.My trembling hands find her hips. ‘Listen, there's something else I should tell—' But my confession about Eva is broken by Holly's lips lightly brushing against my own.

‘This okay?' she whispers.

I nod. There's the briefest hesitation before our mouths meet. Her lips are as soft and sweet as I remember. The kiss deepens, and her hands slide under my T-shirt and rest in the small of my back. My body reacts to the memory of her touch and my hands gently clutch her face. Our tongues mingle and my groin burns. We finally break apart, our foreheads touching, our breathing rapid.

‘Jesus,' Holly breathes. ‘Better than I remember. Maybe I had forgotten after all.'

‘Holy fuck,' I reply. ‘Me too.'

She chuckles. ‘Are we praying?'

‘That was definitely a divine experience.'

‘Come back with me,' she murmurs.

I hesitate.

Her lips brush my ear, and a shiver crawls over my skin. ‘Please,' she says. ‘I've waited so long to find you.'

I link my fingers through hers, no power to stop this, and let her lead the way.